"Bluurgh!"

With the enthusiasm of a professional vomit-cannoneer, I leaned over the side of the ship and sent a series of half-digested projectiles into the beautiful blue ocean. Only when my stomach had stopped heaving and I'd wiped the back of my mouth did I spot the small swarm of fishes below.

"Oh. Um...I hope you like showers?" I said, optimistically.

"Somehow," a cool voice came from behind me, "I very much doubt that, Mr Linton."

"You!" I wheezed, waving in the approximate direction of the heartless, ice-cold slab of stone that called itself my husband. "Don't you even start with me! And what's with this 'Mr Linton'? Is that any way to address your dearest, most beloved wife?"

Stepping up beside me—out of range of vomit, mind you—he cast me a cool sideways glance, his customary show of conjugal affection. "May I remind you, Mr Linton, that it was on your insistence you embarked upon this journey dressed in your male disguise? If you think you can expect me to publicly address you as "Mrs Ambrose" while wearing trousers and a bowler hat, you are very much mistaken."

All right, that was...sort of reasonable. Dang!

Luckily, I wasn't in a very reasonable mood right now.

"You expect me to go on a month-long ocean marathon in a dress and whalebone corset?" I gestured around at the swaying ship and creaking rigging. "I wouldn't even be able to bend ove-uuurggh!"

Abruptly, I grabbed the railing and, bending forwards, bestowed another shower upon the lucky fishes.

Yay! Three cheers for generosity!

It took quite a while for me to straighten up again.

"Case...in point," I rasped. "Besides, it was your fault we stepped onto this dratted ship to begin with! If you hadn't had the bright idea to start our honeymoon on this vessel from hell, I wouldn't feel like this right now! I..." Instinctively, I clutched my stomach, trying to convince it not to evict its contents. "I don't even know what the hell is going on! I've been on a ship plenty of times before, and nothing like this has ever happened! And now that I'm on my honeymoon I'm puking my guts out all of a sudden?"

"Goodness," said my currently-not-so-beloved husband. "After your wedding night, you suddenly feel sick and begin regurgitating. I wonder why that is."

"Why the heck are you being as cryptic as a crypt tick?" My grip on my stomach tightened as the darn thing started roiling again. "Are you sure you're the Mr Rikkard Ambrose I married? The silent rock who hates to pry his lips apart unless there's something serious to talk about? If you have something to say, say it!"

Mr Ambrose cocked his head, gazing down at me. "Oh, I think I prefer to simply watch and wait a few months."

"What...bleearrgh!—what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Silence.

"Mr Ambrose? Hey, husband! Spouse! Not-really-better-but-adequate half?" Taking a deep breath to calm my stomach, I turned—only to find Mr Rikkard Ambrose already gone.

Seriously?

What had that all been about? I knew he was rather taciturn, but only wanting to talk to me about it after a couple of months of waiting? Months?

That was bad even for him.

"What's the matter with him?" I demanded, turning to Karim, my dear husband's bodyguard, walking weapons store and leading contender in the century's-biggest-beard contest. "Wait a few months? What does he mean?"

"I couldn't possibly say," the bodyguard rumbled with a somewhat strange expression on his face—then glanced at my stomach and raced off into the belly of the ship.

What the heck?

Were they all suddenly allergic to lilies or something?

"Oh, who needs them anyway? After all, I still have you!" I told my dear fishies, and gifted them with another round of well-digested delicacies. Don't let anyone say I wasn't generous to my friends.

After a while of said "generosity", I pushed myself back from the railing, breathing hard. Spending time with friends was such fun! Who cared about little things like puking your guts out on your honeymoon? I was lucky to be on honeymoon at all. Knowing Mr Rikkard Ambrose as I did, it had been a distinct possibility to be handed a spoon full of inexpensive honey under the moonlight.

Instead...

Turning away from the ocean, I gazed upon the vista provided by my magnificent honeymoon cruise: atop the gently swaying deck of the sailing yacht—which coincidentally bore an amazing resemblance to a mouldy cargo ship—waiters dressed in quaint sailor uniforms hurried here and there, and lounging chairs, parasols as well as a large pool, all conveniently disguised as cargo crates, were tied down everywhere. It was really quite amazing, the lengths to which my dear husband had gone to make this seem like a miserable dump of a freighter when it was obviously a luxury cruise ship.

Sarcasm, bow down before thy queen.

"Well, since I am on such a marvellous luxury cruise ship, I might as well go to the bar and ask the nice waiter for a drink," I mumbled. And, squaring my shoulders, I strode towards where the nearest bunch of sailo—ehem, waiters were struggling with several large cargo crates that had slipped loose from their bindings and were threatening to careen across the deck.

"Oy, you fellows! Need any help?"

One of the gnarled old sailors glanced around—and nearly lost hold of the crate hovering above his head. "M-Mr Linton?"

"No, I'm the other man on this ship wearing a peacock vest and bowler hat." Stepping forward, I grabbed the first crate and started to push. "Now, what do you say to us shoring up these crates before those nasty dark clouds over there come over, and Zeus and Poseidon start their party?"

"But, Mr Linton...ain't ye...I mean, ain't ye some fancy secretary or something? Da right hand man of da big boss?"

My lips twitched. "Oh, I've recently taken up fulfilling the duties often fulfilled by a man's right hand, definitely. Particularly a single man's."

The sailor nodded energetically. "Ye see? Ye've got a great position with important duties! Ye shouldn't be dirtying yer hands with da work of us simple folk!"

"Oh, pish-posh! I've plenty of experience with getting my hands dirty!" Giving a shove, I pushed the crate back where it belonged and, huffing, grabbed the ropes to tie it in its place. "Darn heavy! What's in those things, anyway?"

The sailor shrugged. "Nothing much. Just honey and moonshine."

I dropped the ropes and the crate nearly flattened me into a pancake. "What?"

"Honey and moonshine. Why?"

"No reason," I growled, my smile somewhat strained, while inside I swore, Just you wait! Just you wait, Mr Rikkard Ambrose! One day I'm going to get you for this! "No reason whatsoever."

Moving to the next crate, I grabbed it, imagining it to be Mr Rikkard Ambrose's neck, and pushed. And another neck—ehem, crate. And another crate. And another crate. Who knew that moving cargo could be so satisfying? Humming to myself, I continued stacking crates and tying kno—

"Tying the knot, are you, Mr Linton?" Came a familiar, cold voice from right behind me. "I thought we had already taken care of that recently?"

I jumped, letting go of the crate. A single hand shot past me and, grabbing the teetering crate, slammed it back in place before it could slam into me. I whirled around and came face-to-chest with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Raising my gaze, I met his eyes, eyes that seemed to be just a teensy-weensy bit icier than usual.

"What, pray," he spoke in a voice that sent shivers down my back, "are you doing?"

I blinked. "What do you mean, what am I doing?"

"I mean why are you working?"

"Err..." I blinked. This was a first. It actually sounded as if he were...complaining about my working? Was I hallucinating because of sea sickness? "Because you pay me for it?"

Bending down, I reached out to pick up a crate that had tumbled to the deck—

—only to have it instantly snatched from my grasp by a certain stony someone and slammed in place with resounding force.

"Nonsense!" he informed me briskly. "We are married. Everything I own, you also own. So if I pay you a salary, that means you only pay yourself. Why would you have to work for that? Sit down and relax!"

I blinked. "Who are you and what have you done with Mr Ambrose?"

"Sit down and relax now! That is an order!"

Before I could even twitch my legs, he had dusted off a nearby crate, pushed me down on it and nailed me to the spot with an imperious gaze. Then he turned to the sailors who were watching the whole proceedings, wide-eyed, unmoving, crates suspended in mid-air.

"What are you fools standing there for, staring? Go hurry up and rela—ehem, I mean work! What do you think I pay you for?"

The sailors stood frozen for a moment longer—then leapt back to their work, now doing it twice as fast as before. I was just about to stand and follow suit, when a heavy masculine hand landed on my shoulder, holding me in place. A pair of dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into mine.

"Sit!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Woof, woof?"

"I'm being serious, Mr Linton!"

"So am I," I huffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I'm not just going to sit around like an obedient little puppy." Lowering my voice, I leaned forward. "Didn't we get this straightened out before the wedding? What's up with this caveman attitude of yours all of a sudden? Or—"

I cut off, and slowly, my eyes narrowed, sudden understanding flashing through my mind.

"That's it, isn't it? The reason you've been hovering around me all this time! The reason you won't let me anywhere near your paperwork, or the cargo, or any work whatsoever!"

"Ehem. I—"

"And Karim...he knew, too, didn't he? And he didn't say anything!"

I placed a trembling hand over my stomach.

"The reason you won't let me do any work...won't let me near any work-related documents or the load of the ship—"

"Now, see here! I can understand why you might be upset, but—"

"—it's because you're afraid I'll puke all over it!"

He blinked.

"Ha! Suddenly, you have nothing to say?" Standing up, I took a stride forward and prodded his too-darn-chiselled chest. "Just because of a little seasickness, you won't allow me to raise even a single finger? It's not even that bad! I can totally keep it in check, and—bluuurgh...! Grrrrnnnk! Blaaagh!"

"You were saying?" enquired Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who by some extremely enervating miracle had managed to move out of the way of the vomit aimed at his ten-year-old mint-condition shoes.

"Blargh! Argh!"

"Indeed, that is what I thought, Mr Linton."

Hands on hips, because I sure as hell wasn't going to let them anywhere near my bloody oversensitive stomach again, I glared up at him.

"This proves nothing! It's mere coincidence!"

"I'm sure."

"I'll be right as rain as soon as we step on land!"

"Do you wish to bet on that, Mr Linton? Preferably a large sum of money?"

Responding with an expletive that made even some of the nearby sailors pale, I pushed past him and made my way towards the nearest stack of crates. He thought he could use this as an excuse to order me around? He thought he could make me sit around idle just because my stomach was a teensy-weensy bit irritable? Ha! He'd have to find another way to protect his precious cargo from puke projectiles. Knowing my dear husband, if he was shipping moonshine, it was so cheap a little vomit would only serve to improve the taste, anyway.

Rejoining the sailors, I resumed my work—or at least as far as I could. He'd let me tie knots and spread tarpaulins, but whenever I tried to lift a crate, Mr Rikkard Ambrose would instantly be breathing down my neck, snatching it out of my hands. Was this truly Mr Ambrose, or the bloody removal man? It was enough to drive you bonkers! And to judge by the slack-jawed looks on the sailors' faces, they weren't used to this kind of behaviour from the big boss, either.

"Will you stop?" I hissed, after he had snatched away the latest crate before I was even able to touch it.

"No."

"That was supposed to be a rhetorical question!"

"Indeed?"

Grumbling something in a language I very much hoped he didn't speak, I pushed past him and pounced on the ropes, fastening the crate in place before he could snatch that task away from me as well in his effort to give his precious cargo puke-protection. The sailors had long since decided it might be wiser to keep a safe distance, and had removed themselves to another stack of cargo that suddenly seemed to be much more interesting than this one.

Traitors! That should teach me to share the load with people. Here I had gone out of my way to help them with their work, only for them to leave me alone, and me not having to do any of the work because my boss did it all himself.

All right...somehow, that didn't end up sounding as terrible and traitorous as I thought it would.

Dang!

"Mr Linton?"

"What now?" Whirling around, I sent Mr Ambrose a look that made it only too clear who would be sleeping on the couch tonight. If, that is, we had a couch on this bloody ship. Heck!

"That," he said, pointing past me towards the stack of crates, "was not the right kind of knot."

"Wha—"

A wave crashed against the ship, and the whole thing jerked violently. Slipping on the wet deck, I lost my footing and sailed towards the floor. Shock. Pain. A huge shadow from above, rushing towards me! Oh heck! The crate!

Instinctively, I tried to raise my arms. But before I could get them up to shield me...

Thud!

Mr Rikkard Ambrose moved faster than my eye could see. One moment, the crate that had slid free from its bindings was heading straight for my stomach. The next, he was hovering above me, jaw clenched, muscles tense, as he held back the massive thing that had slammed into his back.

"How chivalrous of you," I told him. Frowning, I put a hand to his forehead. "Are you sick?"

"You're very much welcome, Mr Linton," ground out my husband from between clenched teeth. Back straining, he pushed against the crate until it slid back on the pile with a thud. His expression didn't reveal a hint of the pain of having half a stone of weight digging into his flesh, except for a muscle in his cheek twitching, once.

"You know...you needn't have done that. It would have hurt, but I would have been all right." I raised my chin, proudly. "I'm tough!"

His sea-coloured eyes gazed into mine for a long moment, somehow longer than seemed normal, before he reached out, gently touching my cheek. His gaze swept over me, as if I were a priceless, and completely uninsured treasure. "Not right now you aren't."

Turning around, he stalked towards the door of the captain's cabin. In the doorway, he halted.

"In the near future, be more careful, Mrs Ambrose. That's an order!"

And with that, he was gone.

I stared at the place where, just a moment ago, I had seen a broad, retreating back. What the heck was up with him? This wasn't just strange. This was beyond that. He almost acted as if—

"Ship ahoy!" Came a shout from far, far above me, out of the crow's nest. "Ship ahoy to the west!"

I turned instinctively, even though knowing from down here on the deck I wouldn't be able to see anything—and froze when, in fact, I did. There in the distance, at the border between sea and sky, a column of smoke was rising heavenwards. Moments later, a distant explosion rang out over the ocean.

Well, well...looks like my honeymoon just got interesting.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Here it is, the first chapter of "New Storm Rising"! I hope you enjoyed it so far! Any guesses what the reason for Lilly's nausea could possibly be...? ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Crow's nest—nautical term for the platform at the top of the highest mast of a sailing ship, where a sailor was stationed to keep a lookout for land or ships in the vicinity.

Moonshine—a variety of cheap alcohol