Indigo Waters

by Riley Magnus

 

His last memory was that of advanced battle. The smell of powder burning his nostrils and the sound of cannon fire so deafening, he could barely hear his own bellowed commands. Jack could remember sweaty arms and legs, moving nimbly through clouds of billowing black smoke, leaping the gap between decks; the rattle of drums; the colors of flag and blood. And he could disdainfully remember the searing pain that ripped into his neck. Then cold water. Icy and deep. And nothing else. 

And just before he woke, he clearly remembered thinking that surely he must be dead. His eyes had not yet opened and already his mind reeled with concern for his crew, his senior officers, and his particular friend and confidant, Stephen. 

The sensation of shattered bone and torn flesh gripped him, rippling from the base of his jawbone to the opposite clavicle. He tried to swallow. The consequence; shocking, blissful unconsciousness.  

Jack had no idea where he was, no clue of the results of the battle, the condition of his ship. His mind refused to reveal what part of the world he’d stationed or which sea he=d last sailed. And beneath the extraordinary anguish of his body, was the excruciating concern for his mission. For home and country.  

How long had he been detained? Was he a prisoner? What demands would he make? Or would be made of him? And most important, was he in fact still alive? For surely he must be dead. 

Days crawled, a week passed. And still his eyes had not opened. During his perspicuous moments, Jack strained his exhausted brain, attempting to catch the sound of a voice, a language, a feeling, some sense of his surroundings. The effort rendered him paralyzed, mentally, emotionally and physically. He slept more than thought. Could not recall taking food or water. Would not relinquish the possibility that he was, in fact, still alive. 

When finally he woke fully, Jack Aubrey began to feel. A thrill rippled though him. Alive? Yes. He felt pain first and foremost, but relegated that to the back of his cognizance, taking clear inventory of it for future perusal. His head thudded, his arms and legs ached but moved, albeit very little, but it was movement and he reveled in it. Fingers flexed, fists wadded weakly. His neck, immobile, concerned him most. His stomach growled, and this pleased him. Good heath required good appetite and he was encouraged. But his eyes refused to cooperate, to reveal his mysterious milieu. And the unbearable pain required to swallow, God’s teeth!

And what else did he feel? Jack concentrated deeply, blithesome at the ability to perform such an elementary task. He felt a soft mattress beneath him, the warmth of a blanket over him. He felt his body, weak and to the fully naked, under the soft wool. He felt a smooth breeze move across his exposed chest and arms. He felt. So, indeed, he was alive. 

With aching determination, Jack then undertook the task of awareness, the wary knowingness of a man of his station, his learning, but also the sentience of his spirit to inform him of his true state of affairs. He calmed his heart, pounding at a drums pace for moments on end. He relaxed his breath. He flexed his inner energy and listened for the answers.  

They came in waves, like the black waters of night slipping onto a rocky shore, slapping the hull of his ship, his home. And his ship? Still alive? He thought not. The battle was well underway before he'd fallen. And well in dire straights. But try as he might, Jack's spiritual eye could not envision her battered and weary hull, slump into the deep.  

He breathed slowly, taking in the scent of lavender and honey, lye soap and . . . woman.  

Jack had to surmise that he was being cared for. That somehow, tending hands were feeding him without his throat's assistance, heroically keeping him to this flush of life. But Jack marveled, who? And this became his primary endeavor. 

It would be another day before he would discover the reason his eyes had been so uncooperative. His desire to chuckle was squelched by the frightful discomfort in his neck as Jack relaxed to the feel of hands gently sliding a binding from his face. A bandage. Blinding him. Holding him to rest and sleep for want of visual stimulation. No, he could not chuckle at his feeble inability to calculate the most obvious, but he could smile. It pulled lopsided against his bruised cheek, sustained only by his overwhelming joy. Fluttering his eyes opened, the blaze of light tortured him and with a painful jerk, he again closed them into a tight spider of lashes and brows. 

“Shhh, shhh,” a small sound. A hand hovered close over his brow. He could feel the warmth, its tiny fingers brushing his skin. “Shhh.” The sensation laid upon him was female. The sent was woman; the touch, unbearably tender. 

With caution, Jack squinted one eye open, permitted it time to adjust then slitted the other. God’s teeth! He marveled. The room was black as pitch, the slice of soft moonlight alone bringing fire to his eyes. He relaxed and once again, attempted what a man never thinks about in his mundane daily function. Jack attempted to see. 

Then he responded, reflexing a gasp. His mouth opened to speak and pain shrieked through his brain. 

All went black, Jack swimming in the now familiar waters of unconsciousness. 

***

Time moved reluctantly. He was as weak as a kitten, in the hands of a woman he could hardly decipher. His vision, slow to recover revealed little more than a warm form, moving gently over him, washing his body, cleaning his wounds, pouring a foul tasting brew down his battered throat. Drop, by drop. 

On his fifteenth day of recovery, the woman came clearly into view. She’d spoken no words. Made no offering of information, except for her kind, encouraging smile and Jack reveled in that alone. Such a smile. Such a strange woman. She was very proper. Blond hair pulled tight behind her head, fully exposing an eloquent face and even more eloquent eyes. Eyes the color of gold and sand, the irises circled with mysterious deep green rings. Her dress, modest to the extreme. Her mannerisms, efficient and caring. Jack blinked and realized, by all that is holy, the woman was the female version of his dear Stephen! Around her neck she wore a fine gold chain. And upon that chain hung several intriguing items. A gold cross, a silver Star of David, several symbols he recognized from the orient, and a small chunk of red ruby, rough and unpolished.  

Oh, how he wanted to ask her of those things. Women do not adorn themselves needlessly; although the need was usually one of creating envy among their peers, it was still a need, and Jack respected that. But this woman had more than enhancing her beauty intended. This woman, Jack marveled, needed nothing to enhance her beauty. She also wore a large gold ring, pierced through her ear the way several of his crew were want to do. It glistened in the afternoon sun and his deepest desire was to reach up and touch it, to touch her. But his hands were still not wholly within his command and far too fallible to rise so high. 

She was fussing with his blanket, tucking it tightly around his chest when a knock came at the closed door. Jack started. His eyes snapped a gaze around the room. It was the first time he’d even thought about the room or where he was for nearly three days, so enthralled was he with the remarkable, silent woman. He took in the neatness and austere furnishings, sparkled here and there with small treasures; fresh tropical flowers; books; a delicately carved wooden box; brass candle cradles.  

She did not seem alarmed by the intruder. She finished preparing Jack for visitors by smoothing his hair then ran her tiny hands down the front of her skirt, and turned to the door. Opening it, she bowed slightly and brushed out. Jack could almost feel her energy dissipate from the room. The room that had become Jack’s entire universe, and he suddenly felt deserted, left behind. Alone against an enemy.  

He lay propped on a pillow, his head at an angel, but not enough to see the visitor until he moved into Jack’s range. He heard heavy boots on the floor, the rustle of a fine silk waistcoat and the distinctive quiet gasp of surprise. But before the man came into view, Jack could clearly sense him composing himself. Good Lord, I must be a sight! Jack realized. 

He was young, with dark wiry hair and tiny black eyes that twitched nervously. He was dressed elegantly and carried himself as a gentleman. He reached a hand out to Jack.  

“Captain Aubrey.”

Jack could barely raise his hand six inches from the mattress and the man lowered fingers into his reach.  

He cleared his throat. “Captain. I am Morris Peabody, and I have been sent by the Admiralty.” 

Jack blinked in response, attempting to appear as though he’d spoken a welcome. 

Peabody dragged a chair close and sat, carefully pulling his coat tails aside and lowering his thin bottom onto the seat. “I suppose, Captain that you have several questions, but unfortunately I have little time. But I will convey what I can before I depart. You see, I am soon to board a ship for civilization and I surely do not wish to miss the opportunity.” He blinked, as though he’d suddenly become aware of flaunting his good fortune in the poor, injured Captain’s face. “Forgive me, sir. I . . .” 

Jack smiled his lopsided grin, the young man relaxed and continued. “His Majesty is most pleased with you, Captain Aubrey. The battle will be immortal and this victory will be studied for many years to come.” 

Victory? Jack blinked. Victory! Then his eyes asked the question even his words, had they been available to him, would have faltered. 

“Ah, yes Captain. It was a victory, hard won, with dear losses, I’m afraid. You have lost some thirty and four seamen. I do not recall their names, but this may hold the information you require.” 

He handed Jack a letter, the parchment stamped with the red wax seal of his dearest friend. Jack was elated and crushed at once. Stephen had survived the battle but so many good souls had not. Peabody rambled on. 

“Your crew managed to take not one but two fine ships that day, Captain Aubrey, as well as save your life. You were brought here aboard one of those prize vessels, a sleek, fast new design that boggles the imagination . . .  held to life by the good Doctor Maturin. Unfortunately, he was called to duty and has sailed a week past. He bid me to inform you Captain that you are in good hands here.”

 The man turned and eyed the closed door. “An interesting woman, is she not?” 

Jack nodded solemnly, wishing he could throttle the man for the thoughts obviously running through that sniveling, addled brain of his. 

“She doesn’t speak.” He returned his attention to Jack. “Horrible, distasteful thing, you know sir. It’s said that she has lost her tongue.” Peabody visibly shivered. “Though I do suppose that a silent woman is a blessing at times, wouldn’t you agree?”

 Jack’s scowl was lost on the man.

 “It is also said that she is a gifted healer. Her name is Indigo. But,” he leaned close, “I have heard in the tavern that she is a witch. My dear Captain. I urge you to take care around her.” 

If he could have laughed aloud, his bellow would have blown young Peabody across the room. As it was, Jack held his peace, disliking the man more and more.  

Peabody stood and brushed his lapel easily. “And so, my dear Captain Aubrey. I fear I must take my leave. Time is short and I . . .” 

Jack knew better than to attempt speech. But he would not permit the man to leave so abruptly, with so many unanswered questions floating inside his fevered brain. He reached out to hold Peabody in his command, insist on more time, more information. But the imbecile mistakenly assumed a farewell handshake, and took Jack’s aching hand in his and shook hard.   

Pain rippled through his body, but with gritting teeth, Jack endured the man’s briskness then nodded a small farewell bow, indicating his dismissal. 

*** 

Alone, Jack pondered the letter, ached over it then set it aside, as yet unable to face the names written within. He sighed; deeper than he could do so comfortably, reveled in the pain that gripped him, wishing to feel the anguish of his lost crew members.

 Indigo entered the room like a whisper. She watched him closely then sat at his side, lifted the letter and offered it into Jack’s shaking hands. He did not grasp it. Her tender hand touched his face and finally his eyes met hers. In that way he begged her. Do not press this upon me, my lady. I beg of you. 

But slowly, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, laying it upon his chest. She sat; her tiny hands at rest in her lap. He squeezed his red eyes closed and felt his heart crush beneath his fear and grief. Deciding that this was something best faced immediately; Jack raised the parchment and read. 

In his mind, Jack was standing upon his own deck, reading aloud the names scribed in Stephen’s fine hand. Drums tapped, the salty breeze blew his hair loose from its binding, tears stung his eyes. And when Jack read the final three names, the brave souls who lost their lives saving his, his heart tore at its mooring, threatening to float free, far from his chest. He saw their faces, heard their voices; remembered their mannerisms, the names of their sweethearts, their families, clear as though he’d stood with them only hours earlier.  

Ah, but it was the way of battle, the way of the sea. A prayer filtered forward and Jack lowered his eyes to experience the powerful depth of the words; words spoken by a captain over his fallen men. Words designed to forge a strong reality of the precious moments between birth and death.

Jack turned his head on the pillow, then slowly lowered his shattered body into a crumble of physical and perilous, spiritual anguish. The letter floated to the floor. There was not another word he could read that day. 

 Indigo slowly lifted the letter, placing it aside then lay herself beside him, her small arm over his shaking body, holding him from the strangling depth of his despair, cradling Jack near her fathomless heart. And this way, Jack finally drifted into grateful sleep, comforted in the tender arms of the strange woman who had become his whole universe. 

 *** 

With the morning light came new challenges. Jack was exceedingly pleased to discover that he would not be subjected once more to the hateful brew, but instead tantalized with a smooth, nearly flavorless, broth. He was fully eager, but Indigo’s eyes clearly urged him to patience. Not a time to damn the manoeuvres, but instead an opportunity to participate in his own rehabilitation.

 Twice as she fed him, holding a spoon to his battered lip, Jack’s eyes met hers, held there for an eternity, swimming within the green circles that enclosed her oceans. Her world. He was more curious than ever to learn the secrets of this remarkable creature, to understand her mysticism, to explore her power . . . and to discover her body. To study the flavor of it, the texture, the scents. Jack’s heart pounded unevenly, his hands twitched and through it all, he learned to swallow. Spoonful after spoonful entered his craving mouth, nourishing his starving gullet.  

And with each taste, his utmost desire was that Indigo would feed his flesh with hers. He longed for the strength to reach up and run a gentle trail down her face, a thumb over her full, soft lip. His weakness enveloped everything, frustrating him beyond the words he could not utter. Damn and blast to all hell! His mind reeled at the ferocity of his desire, the helplessness of his body.

 But at that moment, a stirring called his full attention. A growing below. Slight as it was, the demand was pleasant and reassuring. With time, Jack, with time. Patience, my man! For surely this was a true sign of recovery.  

The sustenance revived his body and his soul. Jack felt better than he had since the adrenalin thrill that accompanied the moment of sure battle. His last battle, so long ago. A lifetime ago. He reached for the unfinished letter and studied it chapter and verse. Stephen was thorough, describing the damage to his vessel, and to his body. 

An errant piece of forged metal no larger than a pressed coin had rendered him in such a state. It had flown aimlessly into his neck and cut through muscle and bone to his shoulder, slicing his throat along its treacherous path. Jack’s injuries were further complicated by a life threatening crush between the warring ships, an extended lack of oxygen beneath the ocean, and of course a vast loss of blood.

 Steven then elaborated on the skills of the woman nursing Jack, explaining the benefits of Indigo’s herbal remedies and her impressive understanding of the complex map that is the human body. 

“She will care for you in a manner that I am pleased to admit I accede to. But my dear Jack, I must say, ‘tis by God’s will alone, that you live at all.” Stephen had written. 

By God’s will, and the lady Indigo’s compassion, Jack marveled. And this time, Jack did chuckle. It was nearly bearable.

 The throaty sound of Jack’s glee caught her attention. Her face snapped up and she gifted him with a brilliant grin. An idea brightened Jack’s cogitations. As she changed bandage at his neck, he held the letter and wriggled his wrist, indicating that he wished to pen a draft. 

Indigo nodded and deftly completed her ministrations before fulfilling his request, presenting him with a polished flat board, quill and ink well. She stood to leave. 

Jack was truly recovering, as was evident by the speed and accuracy of his hand, smoothly raising, wrapping gently around her wrist, urging her to remain with him. She sat on the edge of the mattress and held the ink well as he dipped the tip of the perfectly balanced quill.  

He blinked. The mere touch of his hand on her skin still rippled through his palm. He poised the tip and wrote his first words to Indigo. And thus began a communication that would forever be burned upon his heart.

 My lady, I wish to extend my deepest gratitude for your remarkable healing skills and exceeding kindness.

He turned the parchment for her to read, she nodded, a slight blush upon her fair cheek. Turning it again, he penned. Please forgive my boldness, but may I ask how you learned such a skill? 

Gently pressing the quill into Indigo’s hand, Jack focused a begging eye, encouraging her to participate in the conversation.  

She dipped the point and slowly scrawled upon the parchment, her penmanship elegant, musical in its flow.

 My dear Captain. My father was a missionary. Japan, China, Africa, the Southern Americas. I traveled with him from infanthood until just one year past, when I came to be here. During those many years, I often learned from the powerful medicine people among the poor lost souls my father sought to bring into the Lord’s fold. It was a grievous sin for me to do so. 

Indigo re-read her words then turned the parchment to Jack.

He read, considered, then took up the quill, dipped and scratched the surface, spattering tiny drops of ink, reflecting the intensity of his opinion. 

My lady? How can such a gift be a sin? In any good man’s eyes, the ability to nurture and heal is the bounty of the spirit, a thing to be honored and treasured. Did you seek this knowledge? 

A thousand questions followed, but his strength was not up to the excitement growing at the new found communication. And surely Indigo would become suspicious of his questioning. He would not risk sudden closure to an avenue he was so desirous to travel. He would be patient. He turned the parchment with slow purpose, careful to watch her eyes. 

She took the quill, her fingers brushing his. 

I did not. 

Then it was offered upon a soul worthy of such knowledge. 

Perhaps, but this has brought great shame upon my family. 

Jack blinked then focused directly into her eyes. How remarkable, this woman. How truthful, when she could have easily created simplicity and duplicity to deceive him. Instead, Indigo told him of her pain and he was deeply touched. He reached up to the golden chain. 

Her chest heaved as his fingertips toyed with the charms and symbols near the rise of her breast. He chose one and held it up, then raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Japan. Courage. She wrote. 

He held another, dwarfing it between his huge fingers. 

The ancient Chinese symbol for the sacredness of family. A tear brightened the sea in her eyes. 

His skin had become drenched with sweat, the afternoon air growing stagnant and oppressive. But Jack drove on, finally lifting the tiny chunk of unpolished ruby. 

She took it from his fingers, holding it tight in a delicate fist and closed her eyes. Indigo gathered up the writing implements, indicating an end to their conversation. 

He sighed. It was for the best. With every advance of strength, Jack was soon to experience an equally powerful wave of weakness; one that demanded respite before his next journey toward health. He was extremely uncomfortable, his hair stuck to his face, the blanket pressed down heavy and wet with his profuse perspiration. He turned a gaze to the open window. Deep seafaring instinct warned against the oncoming storm. Ominous darkness enveloped the room and distant thunder proclaimed the advancing conflict of nature. And he thought. Batten down the hatches, for surely hell’s fury shall soon be upon us.

Jack was panting, praying for the cool air that would follow the storm. His bones ached, his chest puddled sticky sweat. Indigo worked calmly, reaching to comfort his distress, a cool, damp cloth in hand. She washed his face with tender strokes, running the cloth over his hair, pushing it back. He watched her; Indigo, suffering the heat as he was, but faithfully, unselfishly affecting change where she might. 

She lowered the blanket, gently washing his chest with a slow caress, blowing cool breath onto damp skin, drawing a deep sigh of relief from him. She slid the blanket further down, wiping coolness over his belly, down his aching ribs.  

And Jack marveled. How many times had she bathed him in this way? His heart thundered in his ears as lightening penetrated the room, flashing a brilliant glow on the woman caring for him. She modestly raised the blanket up from his feet and tenderly washed his legs, lifting them to spread cool wet relief around his ankles, beneath his knees, along his thighs.  

And the cooling was at war with the heat growing in his groin. Weakness overtook him, denying his desire to conceal his most embarrassing state, too push her away before he was discovered. Indigo slid the soaked blanket from his overheated body, dropping it to the floor, and dipped the cloth into cool water.  

His excitement was more than evident and Jack held his breath, fearing the worst. But Indigo did not react as he had anticipated. She cupped water in her tiny hands and dribbled it over his growing member, then washed him tenderly, between his legs, beneath his scrotum, over his hardened desire. She turned and placed a dry blanket over him then once again wiped sweat from his face and shoulders before taking the water away. 

Jack released a deep sigh. Good lord, what have I come upon? He wondered. And what will become of it? 

The room darkened to an imitation of dusk although it was still midday. Wind flowed into the room along with loose yellow petals from a tree somewhere beyond the window. Indigo walked toward the open sash and stood, still as a marble statue and far more beautiful. Jack watched her glow in the growing darkness. Lightening illuminated her, thunder crashed and the wind blew hard against her. She opened her arms and leaned into it, her skirts fluttering, wisps of her hair blowing loose and whipping back. Her eyes closed. 

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. How he wished to stand behind her, his own arms open, to fly the tropical storm with the woman he desired, the woman he needed more than air at that moment. 

***

 Jack slept well into the evening, the air relaxed after the storm’s highly charged energy. He woke refreshed, was fed then to his joyous surprise, once again presented with the tools to communicate with Indigo. Their conversation was pleasant, moving along at a comfortable clip in short, unstructured sentences.  She brought several candles close and finally sat upon the bed beside him. They chatted mirthfully of nothing important or in particular, merely the pleasantries of everyday life, even interrupting occasionally, pulling the quill from one another’s fingers.  

But it changed, Jack scripting the question he’d held for fear of presuming too much familiarity.

My lady, have you always been so empowered to heal? 

She was silent for a long moment. Captain Aubrey, I assure you, I am not a witch. 

He held the quill tight in his fingers, brows curled. Please, sweet woman, do not presume that I am an addled dupe, or that I would believe such foolishness. And I beg of you, do not address me in such a formal manner. Call me Jack, and I shall call you Indigo. He turned to her, his eyes speaking, begging her understanding, acceptance. 

She nodded then wrote. I have always seen pain and discomfort, and have not only moved with the desire to ease it; I follow guidance from within. Jack. 

A smiled pulled at his lips. And how did you come to be in this place, Indigo? Ah, the joy of writing her name, the sound of it inside his head, flowing like the deep, soulful waves upon his heart. He wanted to repeat it over and over like a prayer. 

She was slow to respond. He read the words as she wrote them, his heart pumping, his imagination soaring to fill in the enormous gaps of her answer. 

When my father turned me away from the warmth of my family hearth, a man took me from the streets. He brought me to this place, and keeps me in this house. 

Jack couldn’t help himself. Is this man your lover? 

No, Jack. He is not. I believe he fears me. I am kept in this way to gain wealth for him. He has never touched me, except to take from my hand any payment I receive for the services I render. 

Are you satisfied with being kept in this manner, Indigo? Jack scribbled. 

She shrugged and looked into his concerned eyes. It is an arrangement that renders me a safe opportunity to do my work. I am protected. I do not feel kept in any manner. I want for nothing. 

His head nodded thoughtfully. His mind reeled. Indigo was a survivor. A woman worthy of utmost respect and admiration. He drew in a deep breath, feeling the rebellion of his healing ribs. 

Please forgive my presumptuousness, my lady, but I must ask. Why do you not speak?

She quickly took the quill and scratched upon the parchment. And so my dear Jack, you have listened to your errant visitor. It is a constant amazement to me that many believe that since I do not speak, I can not hear. She turned a scowl on him and his reaction was to straighten against attack. Contrary to what you have been told, no brutal mutilation has been served upon me. I do not speak by choice. I have taken a vow, in penance, for the disgrace I have bestowed upon my family. She looked at him and slowly tipped her pink tongue out, running it wet and smooth along her lovely upper lip.  

Jack was washed over with obvious relief. An uncontrollable ripple of passion traveled across his face, lowering his eyelids to a languid, desirous gaze.  

Indigo blushed and fumbled with the quill, then spilled the ink as she leapt from his side. He reached for her, but she was gone, sweeping out the door with a rustle of her skirts and a sigh, leaving Jack in a puddle of India ink and remorse. 

***

 As he feared, Indigo was exceedingly aloof the next day, and the next  . . . and again the next. He was suitably cared for, fed and treated with respect, but no longer privy to her gaze, her smile, her thoughts. For hours on end, Jack lay alone in the room, regarding at the door longingly, the quill and parchment. Wondering how he was to repair the enormous stultification created by his unfortunate, inappropriate behavior.  

The ample bandage, finally removed from his neck, left him feeling stronger, even vital. Enduring the rebellion of his ribs and rippling spasms along his back, he carefully rose and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for his breeches and was tugging at them up, his head dangerously lowered, his vision wavering, when Indigo entered. She stood an unbearable distance away and watched him. His eyes met hers. My lady. They said, his brows pulled together in request. 

She assisted him, covering him with his own clothing, tying the laces at his waist, then lowered her shoulder under his arm and heaved him to his feet. Blood rushed to his head, rumbling a thudding cadence inside his ears. His legs, wobbly but determined, held, and Jack slid one foot forward, setting pressure upon his sole that thundered agony the length of his spine. His breath caught, shuddered, calmed, and he moved the other foot.  

And in this way, with his weight on the tiny woman, Jack walked across the room, his sense leading him to the window, the sound of the sea and a breeze refreshing enough to revive his spirit. Indigo dragged a chair close with her foot. Jack lowered, settled with a thud and a painful grunt that strained the muscles in his throat. He tightened a hand over his neck then raised his eyes in gratitude.  

She slid a small table near, then simply turned and left. But not before Jack witnessed her despair, saw her rub her eyes, tighten her lips, sigh. What have I done? God’s teeth, how could I have stopped it? Jack wondered, his heart shattering under the weight of such an indiscretion.

It was another three days before Jack could dress himself, slowly walk across the room and lower himself into the chair alone. Alone. For Indigo spent less and less time with him as he recovered.

He’d begun to practice his voice, humming softly, music inside his head, music he longed to dance, the feel of Indigo in his arms. Desire and loss tormented his soul; the songs of the ocean far below, dancing its own waltz against a rocky shore could no longer sooth him. Only forgiveness and promise could calm his need. Indigo offered him neither. 

With a long sigh he ran a hand down his chest then smoothed back his loose hair. His eye settled on the small table; on the quill awaiting his command. With and aching heart, Jack wrote a letter of apology and love to the lady of his deepest desires.

 

My dearest Indigo, 

As Post-Captain in the Royal Navy during wartime, my life entails a measure of control unsurpassed by any responsibilities I have ever held on land. But until this time, I have never found such difficulty walking upon the earth.  

It happens that I have lost my footing upon this solid ground, sensing a swell beneath my feet far more unbalancing than the squalls of a typhoon. I most humbly extend my deepest apology to you, my dear lady, for the inappropriateness and presumptuousness of my behavior toward you. 

As my body recovers the ravages of battle, I fear this heart has grown tenfold with the complete amazement at my fortuitousness to be placed into your able and gentle hands. My lady, you have healed this broken body. But with deep remorse, I must now pass this wounded heart into your care as well. It has endured the joy of your gaze, and the crushing defeat at the loss of it. It is overfull with an unprecedented love for the woman I see before my eyes, even as she hides herself from my physical sight. 

I assure you my lady, that the deep emotion I feel for you is rooted far beyond gratitude. God help me, Indigo, for I am in love with you. Fully and most uncontrollably in love with you and all that you are. I most humbly honor the gift of the feelings you have released within me. But this does not excuse my appalling behavior. 

As my body recovers, so do its inappropriate urges and I am fully embarrassed by my ungovernable desire for you. But my dear Indigo, I am but a man. A man who constantly struggles with the practice of great restrain, and painful as it is for me, I assure you that I will never press myself and these tremendous, amorous desires upon you.  

But I must confess that I am weak. Human. As I will forever honor my pledge never to reach for the joy of your flesh without welcome, I must confess that my heart has desperate need to speak of it. I most humbly request your kind indulgence, my lady as this heart will certainly burst without the liberation of the sentiments pressing upon it.

If I were your lover, Indigo, I would take you into my heart. I would explore every inch of your tender flesh as I journey the depths of your remarkable eyes. If I were your lover, I would revel in the feel of your arms around me, the scent of your hair. If I was your lover, my lady, you would want for nothing. I would be your servant, with my hands, my mouth, my body. My mouth would find yours, sweet and soft then move to the breasts that would nurture me, sustain me. My fingers would explore, my love, every inch of you, the depths that are wet with desire, open and willing to receive. If I were your lover, for all love, I would not rest until you had climaxed a hundred times at my hands. If I were your lover, my mouth would search your core, taste and savor until I dropped from the exhaustion of loving you in that way. If I were your lover, God’s teeth! Indigo, if I were your lover, you would have all of me.

 I request, my lady, that having read these words, you will acknowledge the truth of them, the need behind them, and I ask nothing more. 

Indigo, I have decided to take my leave of you on the morrow, as I am finally able to negotiate the path down to the village. There I will await my passage two weeks hence. I wish to cause you no further discomfort, my lady, only to leave you with the knowledge that Captain Jack Aubrey will love you until the Lord chooses to take him from this earth.

 All love,

Jack

 

No wax available to seal the words of his struggling heart, Jack simply folded the parchment and set it on the table, Indigo’s name scrawled in his best cursive across the surface. 

He went to the window and leaned there, wondering at his life, his past and what lay ahead. And Jack pondered, why had he never thought to ask of his whereabouts? Why had he no memory of where on God’s earth the battle had ensued? What waters he sailed before his fall or the sea he gazed upon from that very window? He shook his head sorrowfully. Stephen had warned of such a condition in his missive, assured him that it would pass with time. This was not a comfort. Jack required an explainable, recent past to help carry him into a future without Indigo. As he breathed, she was his beginning and his excruciating end at once. 

Night was slow, heavy as iron weights upon Jacks burdened heart. For endless hours he lay, unable to command the peace of mindless slumber. Indigo entered the dark room and watched from a distance, observing the regular rise and fall of his chest, unaware of his observing eyes. As she turned, her attention fell upon the letter, calling to her, highlighted by a shaft of tender moonlight. He watched her lift the parchment, finger it gently, leave. Alone again in the room, suddenly bleak and silent, a tear crawled down Jack’s cheek. He rolled to his side and implored his aching soul for reprieve, for numbing sleep.  

***

Pale dawn crawled into the window like a whisper. Jack dressed in his cleaned and repaired clothing, the ruffles of his shirt crisp, his vest, pristine, his blue coat elegant and refreshed with new gold braiding. He ran a hand down his chest, aching, aware that Indigo’s own fingers had healed his uniform as she had healed his flesh. He pulled on polished boots and sat, watching the sun rise, hoping for an opportunity to offer his fair well. Waiting for Indigo.  

Before the full orb of the sun crested the sea, Indigo silently entered . . . and Jack held his breath. She stood, his letter tight in one hand, the other clutching the neck of her thin, fabric wrap tightly. She took one step closer, than another. Jack stood, straight and tall, tilted his head and lowered a humble, loving gaze onto her fair face.  

“My lady.” His voice was a comfortless rasp, but the words, clear. 

The pages of his letter fluttered to the floor as she stepped closer and raised her small hand, setting it lightly upon his mouth, sending shivers down his spine. Jack sighed and pressed his lips soft against those fingers, sliding a kiss onto her warm palm, his eyes, intense and imploring.  

Indigo responded, answering his unspoken request, cradling his face in both her hands, a vivid invitation glowing within the green rings of her fathomless golden gaze. Jack slowly, smoothly captured her into his arms and pressed a tender kiss onto Indigo’s willing lips, shaking with the control he commanded of his overwhelming desire. He released her to breathe, regroup his senses, panting, a tear in his still bruised eye. 

The front of her dressing gown floated open. Beneath were the gentle peaks and valleys of the land Jack longed to explore. The tips of his shaking fingers drew a soft trail along her waist, over perfect hips, then his palms settled flat against her tight belly, just above a riot of tight yellow curls and Indigo gasped, leaning into his touch. Weakness overcame him and he carefully sat on the bed, his eyes locked on her open, telling face. Jack’s hands were called to her breasts, inviting, directly at his eye level. Her breath was heavy and he moved with careful stratagem, sliding soft hands up, encircling already taut nipples, dancing around them then taking her breast into his hungry grasp. His mouth found her heart, nursing there until he could no longer breathe.  

“For all love, my lady!” He gasped and whispered in shivering waves.  

Indigo dropped her wrap, exposing herself fully into his lustful vision. She took his hands, urging him to his feet and deftly undressed Jack. He watched her eyes, her hands, the growing flush on her fevered cheek. His mind reeled. Damn the maneuvers! With swift attack, he swept her deep into his starving embrace and moved his tortured, wet mouth over every inch of her face and shoulders, taking Indigo as his prize. The battle won, none but the pillage ahead.  

Jack waltzed his lady in an elegant turn then sweetly lowered her back onto the bed and knelt painfully on the floor between her open knees. His physical discomfort of no importance; only the bounty of her flesh held his full attention captive. And he wondered, who is in fact the victor here? Surely love and only love.

“God help me, I love you, Indigo.” His words, a breathy rustle against the skin of her inner thigh. Indigo tensed, gasped, tentatively brushing a hand over his hair, appearing fearful. His heart tugged. Could it be that the woman has never loved or been loved before that moment? His movements instinctively became slower, easier, suddenly desirous of only one goal. That the woman in his grasp enjoy his advances, his full passion and carry a most pleasant memory of it for all her days. 

He sat on the bed beside Indigo, his naked skin tingling against hers. He lowered his lips to hers, lightly touching, brushing a chaste kiss. Her tongue slipped out and took a taste of his lip, then another. He imitated her gentle touch then probed the tip of his tongue deeper, licking slowly at the inside of her upper lip.  Indigo followed his lead. And in this way, Jack taught his love to kiss him. Slow, deliberate motion governed everything, and Jack relished in her growing fervor. Their tongues swirling, tasting, their mouths sucking and devouring. 

Jack was called lower, to the soft rise of her tender breasts. He marveled at the size of his own hands on Indigo. The smallness of her waist, her feet, and concern rippled through his veins. What of her path? Control was of the utmost importance and Jack was committed to gentling Indigo as he bedded her, taking her on the journey to the heavens along the compassionate road of a caring lover. For he truly wished to care for her, as she had done for him. 

He suckled her nipples, feeling her pant and move beneath his touch. And lower still, his tongue circling her navel, lapping into it. He returned to his knees and licked so near to the aroma of her, his tongue soaking the tangles there. He raised her leg, kissed her tiny foot, gentled a brushing kiss up her leg and behind her knee, devouring the scent of Indigo, calling to him. So close. So very close. 

Looking up into Indigo’s eyes, half closed in passion, her chest heaved with excitement, Jack sighed deeply. Control, man. Control.

 He raised her knees and set them onto his shoulders. Her sweet fragrance drove him mad and finally he took his first taste, sliding his tongue from stem to stern, lapping and then sucking until she nearly wriggled from his grasp. Taking the soft globes of her ass in his hands, he raised the feast closer, probing his desperate tongue its distance, taking nutrition for his soul, gobbling the honey there.

 His finger slid to the entrance. Jack pulled his face from the flavor of his lady and carefully opened her, looking closely, examining the beauty and graceful curves of her hidden flesh. Slowly he pressed the tip of his huge finger past the door, deeper. And deeper yet. Until he met his obstacle; the protective veil of his virgin lover. With slow progress he circled the wall, pressed it, gentled it until it finally gave under his touch and Jack receiving the gift of her maidenhood upon his finger.

 Indigo gave a small whimper and he slid a hand to hers. She clasped tight for a moment then relaxed, her body softening into the giving. Jack slid his finger out of her silky path, covered with her cream, laced with blood, and he sucked it clean.

 Again, he pressed inside, moving more surely, deeper. Jack added another finger, and a third. Indigo cried out but he placed a large hand over her belly, soothing her. Jack stilled, filling her with his hand, whispering words of encouragement and blessed thanks.

 He stood and lifted Indigo up to the pillow, lying along her warmth, savoring the full feel of her against him. Her eyes were frightened, breaking his heart.  

“My sweet lady. Do not fear. I will love you gently. I will love you forever, my dear Indigo,” his whisper, mellow against her ear. 

He kissed the tears from her cheek, took her soft mouth in his, then slid his finger to her heat and moved it over the swollen trigger of her desire. He circled, pressed, pulsed. Watching her closely, reveling in her growing intensity, her tiny hands grasping the blanket, her arching back. Indigo gasped then cried out, a hand flying to her mouth. Did she speak? Jack was unsure, uncaring. He took her higher and higher until her flesh glowed with dew and shook uncontrollably. Then he took her into his embrace, rocking her against his joyful heart. She held him tight and kissed deeply.  

Jack moved over her, hushing a calming melody close to her ear. Taking himself in hand, again he worried for her, but alas, it was too late for him. His heart shook and he prayed for patience, then placed himself in position and pressed into the silky wet passage, the holy union, connecting his passion with Indigo’s. With steady slow pressure, he rose on his arms and watched her straining face. Soon it will be finished, soon she will be fine. Soon, soon. He slid the final mile and encircled her body, pulling her up into his. Indigo wrapped her shuddering legs around his hips and gasped a sob as he pressed deeper, meeting the door of her womb. 

She turned into a kiss that sucked her lips into his swollen mouth. His hips rocked slowly. And Jack marveled at the tight sensation around him, the rippling energy of her growing orgasm massaging his cock into a frenzy. Too far gone and out of control, Jack tried to think of anything but his body’s demand and for a time, it served. But all too soon, he was a raging animal, wanting nothing but the glorious fruition inside of this all too special woman. His scrotum knotted into a tight fist and with a howl, Jack released his seed into Indigo. She shivered beneath him, wrapped tightly in his protection, crying and coming, her spasms pulling every last drop from him.

 And he dropped over her. Panting and rolling her into his arms, his heart thudding with exertion. His body rebelled in an instance. Jack groaned. His back ached but his soul was replenished, fulfilled. Joyous. 

“My deepest gratitude, my lady,” he moaned just before he dropped into slumber. Sleep. At last, for the first time in days, Indigo cradled to his chest, her breath skimming his skin, soft and regular.  

*** 

Not once did she leave his side. Learning a new healing art of loving a man, Indigo sought to please him with her mouth, her hands, her body. And Jack taught her to please herself, using her own fingers to discover the hidden treasure of her sacred womanhood. Indigo impressed him with her willingness, her gentleness and her extraordinary power. More than once he woke with a start, only her desirous eyes upon him and he offered her his passion as a gift upon the temple of her flesh.

The night before his departure, Indigo led him outside to the garden. They stood naked, glowing in the full moon. He gazed down at the beckoning ocean. He had been with Indigo for three full months, been repaired, broken and replenished again . . . and it had come to their final hours. He gracefully took his lady into his arms and danced to the deep sound of his humming Strauss waltz. Jack’s voice had recovered, gaining its resonance, its expression, its depth. He swirled her in his arms until Indigo smiled radiantly and raised a knee to his hip. He chuckled.  

“No dancing tonight, my lady?” 

Her face nuzzled into his chest. He felt warm tears and lifted her up, then reached down and placed his swollen cock into the waiting woman. Deep inside, he held her tight; her legs wrapped around him, and danced an image he would never again forget. Never listen to, or perform music without remembering; the sound of the crashing waves, the pale moonlight silhouetting the garden, glowing upon her face, his beautiful Indigo, one with him.  

He lowered to the ground and pressed deep inside, then rolled over permitting her control. She sat upright, her wet passage clutching him tight within. Leaning her head back, fair hair flowing loose in the evening sea breeze, her arms spread wide to the moon in a prayerful manner that took his heart. Indigo was a woman of the spirit and witch or not, she had bewitched him, would hold a portion of his heart eternally. 

Her tiny hips rocked.  Finally her small hands braced on Jack’s shoulders and she watched his eyes. The tightness of her was intoxicating and Jack lay still as stone, allowing her movements alone to force him to the pinnacle. She was panting, using her knees to raise and press, pulling him deeper than he would have attempted. Jack moaned then exploded into the depths of Indigo. She continued to rock, reaching for her own climax. Jack pressed his hand at their joining and fired Indigo. She shouted then dropped, a tiny, quivering bundle of sweat and tenderness into his waiting arms.  

Her face close to his ear. Her breath blowing his hair. And her voice. Soft and sweet. “Jack Aubrey, I will love you forever.”

 ***

More than a year had passed. Jack leaned over the rail, gazing into the deep; hearing a pulsing waltz within the water slapping against the hull.  

“You are well this morning, Jack?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am well.” He glanced up and patted Stephen’s shoulder with a smile. “Very well, my friend.” He returned his full attention to the water.  

Steven joined him, watching the sea slide by far below, taking an occasional glance at Jack.