COLD WATER
The beach was a short walk from the Tolbooth where they’d worked on the gun. Morgan intended to strip off and take a bracing swim in the waters of the North Sea, but when he reached the sand, his men were standing around, seemingly unsure. The reason soon became obvious. The civilian camp was located at the other end of the beach and fully-clothed women and shrieking children already cavorted in the water. Sharing the lads’ obvious disappointment, he sat down on the sand and lifted one foot. “Help me get shuck of these boots, Syddall. I suppose we’ll have to keep our drawers on.”
“Right you are, sir,” Syddall answered, coming to his aid as the others removed their uniform breeches.
They were splashing about by the time he’d taken off his clothing, which Syddall folded and piled atop his boots.
“Should be alright here, sir,” the youth offered, eyeing his gleeful comrades, clearly not wanting to stand guard over his captain’s garments. “Nobody about.”
Impatient to be in the sea instead of standing in his drawers buffeted by the incessant east wind, Morgan agreed, and strode into the shallows. When the frigid water reached his thighs, he took a deep breath and plunged head first, immediately wishing he’d opted for a bath at the inn. The blood in his veins turned to ice and he was surprised he managed to move his arms and swim a few strokes. He surfaced moments later, treading water farther from shore than he’d thought.
The lads cheered when he reappeared.
“Cold enough to freeze me bluidy balls off, sir,” Atherton shouted.
Frozen to the bone and gasping for breath, Morgan had to agree.
~~~
Hannah walked along the shore-head road from the camp, waving to Tommy Beaton and his siblings splashing about in the sea. Their mother stood in ankle deep water nearby, skirts hoisted to her knees, the scowl on her face betraying she wasn’t as impervious to the chill as her laughing bairns seemed to be.
There were several families taking advantage of the shallows to bathe. She didn’t blame them. Camp followers had to seize every boon that came their way. Who knew what conditions they would encounter on the Causey Mounth?
She’d bathed earlier, but an afternoon spent fretting over Maggie, Solomon, her uncle, the meeting at Bouchmorale, and the impending tryst with Morgan had drained her spirits. She’d likely feel better if she dipped her mucky feet in the sea.
Walking on wet sand was like trying to make headway in a bowl of porridge, but easier than the nightmarish trek across the rocks below Dùn Fhoithear. She shoved the horrible memory away, lifted her skirts and was about to dip a toe when she heard familiar voices.
Further along the beach towards the Tolbooth Morgan’s men were indulging in horseplay. She smiled and glanced back at Tommy and the other bairns. In these brief moments, only age separated the two groups of males. It was good to see the army lads having fun.
But when she turned again to the English soldiers, her breath hitched in her throat. She withdrew her foot from the water, let her skirts fall and stepped back, her eyes fixed on the broad shoulders of a man who swam towards them, his powerful arms parting the waves like a mighty sea god. It could only be Morgan.
He would reach the shallows in a matter of moments. She should turn away, hurry back to the camp. The possibility he might be naked buzzed at her brain like a pesky gnat. He stopped swimming, stood in waist-deep water, wiped droplets off his face—and saw her.
He smiled, and waved. Her heart rejoiced that he was glad to see her. But then he hesitated and glanced down.
Oh God.
She curled her toes into the sand when he shrugged and strode to the beach.
Rivulets sluiced off his bronzed body. He’d gone swimming in his army-issue drawers. He wasn’t naked, but he might just as well have been.
Having spent months in the company of rough and ready camp folk, she’d often heard it said that cold water shrank a man’s private parts. Morgan Pendray’s impressive maleness put paid to that old wives’ tale.
~~~
Two things occurred to Morgan when he saw Hannah watching him, hands fisted nervously in her skirts. Elated that she’d come as agreed, he nevertheless felt at a disadvantage clad in naught but his wet drawers. But then the practical side of his nature argued that when they married, she’d see his body—all of it—so in the long run…
The revelation nearly knocked him off his feet, but one glimpse of her had brought his frozen balls back to life and turned his flaccid cock to granite. He had to have Hannah Kincaid, conflicting allegiances notwithstanding.
Any lingering doubts blew away like chaff on the wind when they came face to face. Humbled by the longing in her eyes, he took her trembling hand. “My uniform lies yonder. Tell the innkeeper you’ve been instructed to deliver my clothing. He’ll direct you to my room. Wait for me there. I won’t be long.”
She swayed, glancing warily at the pile of garments, then back at him.
He squeezed her hand. “All shall be well. Do as I ask.”
She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering a moment too long on the bulge at his groin before she licked her lips.
He suddenly had an urge to fall to his knees in thanksgiving to whatever God was watching over him. Protestant or Catholic, he didn’t care. If he wasn’t mistaken, Hannah would prove to be a passionate bed-partner, a miracle he’d long thought denied him. “Leave the boots. I have freshly laundered clothes in my tent,” he rasped. “I’ll join you shortly.”