He drew in a sharp breath and caught her hand up to bite her palm. Then he stood to pull his shirt over his head and stripped down.

There was too little room on the cot: they were all elbows and knees, awkward until he found her mouth again and they lay for a long time on their sides, kissing; the kind of kiss that had no end and doubled back on itself. Struggling to slow the rush of his blood, covered with sweat and the sweet stickiness of her milk, Nathaniel stroked her thighs, felt her quiver and quicken, sought out softly swollen flesh slippery to the touch.

"Are you still tender?" He touched her and she shivered.

"Yes. No. I am healed, but--"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" She caught his hand, pressed it hard. "Don't stop." This against his neck, hardly more than a whisper. "Nathaniel?"

His fingers busier now, coaxing from her those words she found so hard to give. "What?"

She grabbed his face, dragged it to her own. Gentle suckling and then harder, showing him what she wanted, thrusting her tongue against his. He cupped the saddle of warm flesh between her legs. His own flesh leaped in response, barely under his control.

"I missed you." She whispered against his mouth, harsh and gentle all at once. She was crying, dripping milk and tears and salty moisture over him, drawing him in like the sea. "I missed you."

"God knows I missed you too, Boots. The thought of you like this kept me sane all those weeks."

She wound her fingers in his hair, tugged hard. "Come to me now. Come to me. I want you, I want this." Her legs sliding up and around him, living ropes: another kind of bondage, and one that he came to gladly.

Elizabeth drifted up out of a deep sleep, aware first of the weight of Nathaniel's leg over her own, and the cool breeze from the porthole on damp flesh. Up on deck the watch was changing, but it was Curiosity's voice that woke her. She was crooning to the twins. Elizabeth's own body told her that they would soon need more than soft words.

She turned her head, hungry still for the sight of Nathaniel. In the vague light from the porthole she watched him sleep, resisting the strong urge to put her hands on him and convince herself that he was alive and well, that the tingling of her flesh was more than just a dream.

He cracked an eye at her. "I can hear you thinking, Boots."

Caught out again. She felt herself blushing. "So you always claim." And struck his roving hand away, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

Nathaniel came up on one arm to catch her wrist: his strong hands, broad and hard and warm and capable of the softest touch, enough to set her blood humming again. His eyes burning gold in the faint moonlight, the power of his wanting enough to turn her purpose and make her forget everything but the heat in her bones.

"Had enough of me already?"

From the other room, a hungry wail. "Never," she said, her voice wavering. "But I'm afraid you'll have to wait your turn. That is your son calling ... and your younger daughter, too."

He let her go to reach for his breeches, grinning at her over his shoulder as he pulled them on, her wolfish husband, teeth flashing white. "Wait here."

"Curiosity will bring them," Elizabeth protested, but he was already halfway out the door.

Alone for a moment, she tried to set the cot to rights, smoothing the rumpled covers and damp sheets. There was no telling what trouble this day might bring; she was tired and more than a little sore from the intensity of Nathaniel's attentions; she could not remember being happier. Aunt Merriweather would not approve or even understand, but it was simple enough: she was in love with her husband, and she had him back again.

Nathaniel appeared at the door with two squirming babies firmly in arm. Elizabeth accepted them, murmuring calm words. She leaned back against the paneled wall and let the children settle down to nursing while Nathaniel busied himself lighting the lamp. Then he came to kneel next to the cot and watch, his chin on his hands and his face in shadow.

"You don't get much sleep, I guess."

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. "They have quieted a great deal this sennight past. Lily often sleeps through the night, now. Or at least until the dawn."

Nathaniel touched one curly head and then the other. "I wondered if I'd ever see them again."

"You're not sorry I brought them so far?"

"No," he said, moving in closer to study Daniel's hand, kneading the white skin of her breast. "I ain't in the least sorry."

"Nathaniel," Elizabeth began slowly. "There is something I need to talk to you about."

He sent her a sliding glance. "I thought so. Well, come on out with it, Boots."

Elizabeth pulled the blanket up tighter around the twins, cleared her throat, and then met his eye.

"Before I knew that you were on board the Nancy, I made arrangements to have another boat meet us this evening, just north of Montréal. I thought we should have to have some means of getting away, and I feared that Captain Pickering could not be trusted with the whole truth."

"That makes sense," said Nathaniel. "But how did you think to get us out of gaol to start with?"

She shrugged. "I was hoping that diplomacy might be enough, with Will's help." Daniel was paddling his feet against her abdomen, and she winced as she shifted him. "But Captain Pickering gives me to believe that Somerville would have hung you in any case."

"Aye, well. Pink George is a fool. Carleton might have been more reasonable, but we'll never know." Nathaniel smoothed a curl away from her face. "So you found a boat with a willing captain ..."