The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,262

If it was broken outright, there would have been war. So he broke it indirectly, by having Brian marry someone else.”

“You?”

“If I had been a member of any other clan, our marriage would have started another war. Since I wasn’t even Scots…” Cate lifted her shoulders, allowing him to complete the thought.

“Violent politics.”

“You have no idea,” she said with an emphatic roll of the eyes. “More violent and treacherous than any pirate ship.”

Pyramiding his fingertips, Nathan examined them thoughtfully. “I would think marriage is not an easy thing: always waking to the same person, week after week…?” He lifted one brow in subtle inquiry.

“But, that’s the point. Marriage is the desire to wake to no one else.”

“And when the wanting wears off?” He posed the question with air of one who already knew the answer.

“Never does.”

He scoffed, but Cate pressed on. “You may be angry all day, with all of life’s little irritations, but at night…” She sighed dreamily. “At night, you can’t think of anyone else.”

Nathan stared with an odd mix of caution, skepticism, and curiosity. “Don’t you tire of…?” His fingers swirled the air in suggestion.

“The same person doing the same things?” she asked.

Nathan's implications were clear enough, the concept not lost on her: a man and a woman married but no longer husband and wife, existing in concentric circles of coexistence, never physically touching. For her, such marital malaise was unimaginable. Her first night with Brian had been as passion-laden as the last. But their union had existed only a little over four years. What if Providence had allowed them 10 or 15? What then? Would she have grown weary of bands of moonlight floating across muted shapes under a quilt? Would the fire’s glow on bared arms or the candlelight on a chest become wearisome? Would the absence of sighs and muffled moans into pillows be a welcomed relief?

The ragged sound of Nathan clearing his throat snapped her back.

“Sometimes you might…maybe…” Cate stammered, cheeks flaming. “But mostly, you look forward to it. Anticipation has its place; ’tis sweet nectar. A lot of times, it’s not necessarily what they can do for you; it’s what you can do for them.”

He smiled, the high cheekbones rounding. “Laying on of the hands, eh?”

“Exactly. And when you need said laying-on, they will know exactly what to do.”

“And if they don’t?”

Typical Nathan, he had found the hole in her argument with the same precision as a musket shot.

“Well,” she began slowly. “Either you haven’t been married long enough, or you’re married to the wrong person.”

“Exactly my point,” he exclaimed, stabbing an emphatic finger skyward. “How do you know who’s right or who’s wrong?”

Cate shifted irritably. “There’s no checklist. I don’t know, you just know. There’s a little voice—at least for me—that said ‘this one.’ Of course, there always the Demon of Self-doubt.”

Nathan leaned back on his elbows and rocked. “I don’t have demons,” he said glibly.

“I think you have more demons than you care to admit,” she said, and then added in the face of his dubiousness, “You have to be honest with yourself: is it love, or is it lust?”

The walnut eyes narrowed. “Is there a difference?”

“I think so, yes, a vast difference. Don’t you?”

He squirmed, looking in every direction but hers.

“C’mon, Nathan. Surely you’ve thought about it.” Cate nudged him encouragingly on the shoulder. “Come on.”

“Oh, very well. Bloody parlor games.” He blew the long breath of a one about to exert a great effort. “Lust is…”

His voice lowered as he sank deeper in thought. “Hungers of the flesh: looking forward to the next whore, before you’ve finished with the first. It’s the having, nothing more, which is not to be dismissed,” he added, wagging a finger. “It’s served me well for many a year.”

“As I can well imagine.” Cate looked away, fearing Nathan might feel compelled to elaborate. Knowing of Nathan’s escapades was one thing; having them described would be quite another.

His mouth compressed into a grim line. “There are other manifestations.” He glanced at her, and then away. The hand on his leg curled into a fist until the tendons stood out. “Lust can be wanting, wanting so badly you shake with it, knowing it’s within your grasp, but you can’t have it. You can’t touch it, and yet you know if you don’t have it soon, you’ll likely perish.”

Unprepared for his ferocity, she was stricken momentarily speechless. “And love?” she asked in a hoarse rasp.

Nathan sat unnaturally quiet. The leafy shadows laced over the line of