by Dawn Cook
I made a small sound. He was lying; we both knew it. Sighing heavily, I continued to work at my neck. Angel’s Spit, I was sore. And dirty. If the filth I was covered in didn’t keep me awake tonight, the pain in my neck would. And I wasn’t even going to think about rain.
“Stand up and turn around,” Duncan said suddenly as he rinsed his hands clean and dried them. I stared, not understanding as he tossed the towel into a dry sink. “It’s your neck, right? You haven’t taken your fingers off it since you came in. I’ll rub the knot out of it for you.”
I hesitated, my fingers dropping. My thoughts went back to having kicked the breath out of him when he tried to do the same thing with my knees. Then they darted to his words said outside the inn. I froze in consternation, not knowing what to do. Despite my better judgment, I liked Duncan, but the last thing I could afford to do was give him the wrong impression.
He puffed in exasperation. “Go ahead. Hurt all night, then,” he said, sounding wounded.
“No,” I said as I slipped from the counter. “I’d like that. You—surprised me. That’s all.” Still unsure, I got to my feet and turned to show him my back. I regathered my hair in front of me. Head bowed, I heard the tension ease from him as he exhaled.
His hands touched me, cool from their fresh wash. The gentle pressure of his thumbs steadily increased until it had me almost moaning in relief. He was silent, and I relaxed. It did feel better, his coarse motion lacking the seductive feeling I was worried about. The square of sunlight coming in the door shifted from the waves, and I reached for the counter for support.
“So you’ve been on your own since you were twelve?” I asked. No one came up to the bow much unless it was time to eat, and I felt the need to maintain the conversation to keep the situation from growing intimate.
“For the most part, though I’d have died that first week if it hadn’t been for Lan.” He sounded irate as his fingers found a knot between my neck and shoulder and concentrated on it. God help me, but it felt good, and I had to stifle a sigh. Kavenlow had often rubbed aches and pains from me. Duncan was right; it didn’t mean anything.
“Lan took me in,” Duncan said as he worked. “He kept food in my belly, taught me how to beg properly. I never knew why we never spent more than a few days in any one town until I got too well-fed to beg, and he took me off the street and taught me how to move cards.”
I didn’t know what to say, keeping my eyes on my hands braced against the counter.
“I was so stupid,” Duncan whispered, his ceaseless motion moving outward to my shoulders. My eyes closed, my body shifting slightly under his hands. “By the time I’d figured it out, I didn’t care. I saw him as a big brother. Better even, as he never hit me unless I deserved it. He always dressed well. He always knew what to say. Always had money. I was so bewitched with the desire to be like him, I never saw how he was using me.”
The boat dipped and hit a wave wrong. My eyes flashed open as Duncan reached to steady me. “What happened?” I asked as he let go.
He turned me around, and I pressed back against the counter. His sudden nearness gave me pause until his hands began rubbing away the deeper tension in the front of my shoulder. My hands dropped, and I didn’t know what to do with them.
“Lan was more than a cheat,” he said. His gaze went distant, and I noticed he had a tiny scar above his upper lip. “He was a thief, and a very good one, or so I found out. But one night he was caught and somehow slid his thievery onto me. I had no idea what was going on.” The strength in Duncan’s fingers grew less, and his face lost its expression. “He laughed with the rest when they dragged me through town in chains and burned a thief-mark into me.”
Anything I might say would sound trite. My life looked suddenly worthless, my childhood worries and disappointments petty.
“The man Lan had robbed wanted me hung, and they would have, but it rained like the flood that night, and Lan broke me out of the pillory. Expected me to thank him.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I was so self-absorbed, it sickened me.
He shrugged, seeming far too at peace with himself. “Someday. Someday I’ll find a way to get back at him. Make him pay for what they did to me.” His voice was calm and relaxed, standing in a sharp contrast to his words. It was an old hate, spoken without passion. It almost seemed as if he wasn’t listening to what he was saying. His hands, too, had gentled their motions as my muscles loosened.
My face lost its emotion. The intent behind his touch had changed. It was deeper, slower. And it now held an unspoken question of the possibility of more.
A spark of warmth flickered through me. My eyes darted to his, seeing anew how close he was. They were dark and one thought ahead of me, waiting to see what I would do as I stood against the counter, clearly having felt the difference in his hands, yet not moved.
His motions slowed, his touch becoming firmer, more demanding. My heart pounded. I was suddenly filled with the desire to know what it was like to kiss a thief, a dangerous, clever thief who wasn’t fumbling or worried. Someone who knew what he was doing and felt no shame.
He was taller than me, but I would only have to tilt my head a little. Breath held, I leaned forward. My chin lifted, and my lips parted.
Only now did the heat in his eyes falter and his hands on me go still. “You’re a princess,” he whispered, clearly having recognized the invitation. “You’re not serious.”
“I haven’t been a princess for the last seven days,” I said. “And I’ve kissed men before.”
He said nothing, but his look of doubt prompted me to reach up and cup my hand behind his neck, pulling his head down to mine. It was only a kiss.
His beard was scratchy against me, a delightful contrast to his lips, soft as they met mine. Relaxing into the kiss, I let the warm feeling take me. My eyes closed, and I found my tension easing under his hands gripping my shoulders. He pressed into me, prolonging it. I willingly responded, parting my lips and pushing gently back against him. My hand ran down his back, stopping just above his hip.
Slowly I pulled away, and Duncan leaned after me until our lips parted. Opening my eyes, I found him waiting for me. Heart pounding, I kept my hand where it was, feeling the heat of him through his thin shirt. It had been a very nice kiss. Much nicer than my last, even if he did smell like chicken and potatoes.
Duncan’s eyes were bright with surprise. “You have kissed a man before.”
A sly smile hovered over me. Did he think that royalty was any less randy than common folk? We were perhaps more so since we had to be so discrete about it—especially princesses. “It was just a kiss,” I said, believing it.
He nodded, his brown eyes dark with an unsaid emotion. “Just a kiss.”
Yet I was holding my breath when he cupped my cheek in his palm and leaned close. I let him draw me in, and my eyes closed as he tilted his head and met my lips again. Stronger, the feeling of warmth rose in me. My breath slipped in, gathering my will and seeming to melt me into him. I sent my fingers to link behind him, pulling him closer.
So slow it was almost unnoticed, his gentle kiss shifted from inquisition to a deeper heat. The growing hint of his restrained need was like a spark, jumping from him to me. The feeling crashed over me in a warm wash, shocking me to stillness as it drew from me a surprising, almost desperate need I’d never felt before.
Shocked, I pulled away. My hands dropped from him, and I stood with my back to the counter, frightened. I knew better than to let a kiss become more than a kiss.
Duncan looked at me, seeming to have to catch himself. “You started it,” he said, his voice low and husky as he stood with his arms at his sides, a heady mix of want and restraint in his stance.
I swallowed hard, frightened that I had slipped so badly. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.” Unable to meet his eyes, I headed for the open door.
“Sorry?” A jolt went through me as he grabbed my upper arm, halting me. His eyes were angry,
and I let him pinch me, thinking I deserved far worse for having mislead him like that. “You can’t tell me you didn’t like that.”
“Of course I liked it,” I said. “It was the most—” My words caught. I couldn’t tell him it had been the most sensuous, the most passion-lost feeling I’d ever let myself experience and that I’d do almost anything to feel it again. “I can’t do this, Duncan,” I whispered, frightened. “I can’t do this, right now.” His hand loosened, and I continued out into the sun. The wind beat at me, seeming to take the last of my certainty with it.
“Well then, when can you?” he called belligerently after me. I clutched my cloak about myself and went to stand at the railing. I would have thought he was no better than an animal, but that I was wondering the same thing about myself.
Twenty
The breeze was glorious up On deck, lifting through my hair in a wonderful sensation. The curly strands were smooth and silky against my fingers—and about a foot shorter since I’d cut them to fall midback instead of to my waist. I was finally clean, and it felt so good. My dress clung uncomfortably to my shoulders, the waistband of my red underskirt was positively damp, and my stockings had fallen apart to rags in their wash, but I didn’t care. I was clean.
I stood between the water and sky on the deck of the Sandpiper adrift off Brenton. The faint noise from the small cluster of buildings was lost behind the excitement of the horses being winched over the side, and it was only knowing I would be leaving the Sandpiper that dulled my satisfaction.
I had finally gotten my bath this morning, taking it in the captain’s quarters since the crew would have mutinied had I bathed elsewhere. Duncan had toted the buckets of water across the deck from the galley. He was sulking, now. I had confronted him about his mood, thinking it was from our kiss. I had said that I was sorry, that he had every right to be angry but that he would do better to forget about it. He had turned belligerent then, telling me not to flatter myself and that he was angry I had gamed with the captain without him, not about some fool kiss from a tease of a woman who couldn’t control herself.
I had soothed my injured pride by throwing the soap at him, thinking he probably believed that. And he had good reason for being upset about my card game. As crew, Duncan wasn’t allowed to play cards with the captain. He hadn’t even been allowed to watch, since only the first mate was allowed into the captain’s common room. The small chamber had quickly become my favorite spot on the boat, a cozy oasis from cold looks and cutting wind.
Thankfully, the captain’s fatherly coddling had vanished as soon as he realized my skill at cards rivaled his. By the end of it, I not only had the water for my bath but the fuel to heat it.
The captain and I were on excellent terms now, having shared much conversation and tea. He had a tea leaf equaling the quality I had grown up on and, saint’s bells preserve us, the honey to go with it. I found he was quite the learned man, eager to tell an appreciative ear of his stories: dark-skinned women who went about half-naked under a sun strong enough to strike a man dead, warriors bedecked with feathers, spices that burned from the inside, clever animals with tiny faces and hands like men, and music beaten from drums to drive one mad.
In return, I entertained him with anecdotes from the palace. He readily accepted my story that I was a member of the court fleeing the possibility of war. It explained my skill at sums and why I spoke the way I did. I thought the randy behavior of men and women of noble standing boring, but he listened with a rapt attention. Of the darker news of the capital, I was circumspect. I couldn’t bear that Captain Borlett would become an officer and his trading of salt and grain would turn to flaming tar and metal. I said nothing of my parents’ death, only that the Misdev prince was making irrational demands, forcing the wedding to take place immediately. It wasn’t a lie, just a very large omission and a drastic understatement of Garrett’s actions.
I would say nothing to start a war. The memory of my people stoning the assassin to death in the streets eight years ago was very clear in my mind. I didn’t want them to take matters into their own hands when diplomacy and a well-placed knife could end the problem with no loss of life but Garrett’s.
“Tess!” called a voice behind me, and recognizing the captain’s bellow, I turned. Smiling, I pulled the hair from my eyes, only now realizing I hadn’t worn my topknot and darts since the first night. “Tess,” he repeated as he came close. “You’re looking . . . clean.”
“Thank you.” I squinted up at him, a hand held over my eyes. “It’s a charmer of a day.”
He nodded, his gaze going up the mast to where his flag fluttered. “Aye. We’ll be heading out of the bay from here, and then to Lovrege.”
There was a warning shout, and we both looked to where Duncan was struggling to fasten a looping harness around Tuck. The poor animal was near panic, his eyes wide and wild. Pitch had already gone over the side, winched to the water and left to swim to the shore. Jeck’s horse would be last. The rude shouts of the crewmen in the unseen dinghy floated up.
“I should go,” I said regretfully. “I don’t think the black gelding will give you much trouble. Pitch is almost to the beach. One of us should be there to make sure no one takes her.”
“My crew will keep an eye on her,” he said. “I’ve two ashore buying water and wood.”
Tuck whinnied when the straps tightened about him and his feet left the deck. I reached out, relieved when the animal went stiff, all his legs into a four-posted position.
“See?” Captain Borlett said. “I knew he’d be all right. My lads know what to do.”
Duncan shouted a nervous encouragement from the railing as Tuck was swung out over the water and three crewmen began slowly winching him down. The horse’s feet touched the water, and he exploded into helpless motion. He was frantic, and the weighted ropes tangled.
“Hey, hup!” a sailor in the dinghy called. “He’s caught! He’s gonna drowned himself!”
“Tuck!” Duncan cried, his voice cracking in fear. He watched in horror as the horse struggled. Lunging over the railing, Duncan fell into the water. I ran to the side, but the horse calmed as Duncan touched him. Talking loudly to Tuck, he untangled the rope, and the two started swimming for the nearby shore.
“I should go,” I said, halting my motion to leave as the captain cleared his throat.
“Ma’am,” he said formally, extending an envelope sealed with a drop of wax. I took it, mystified. Seeing my confusion, he added, “It’s a recommendation. A written one.” He looked embarrassed as he ran his grip over his graying beard. “You did a capital job with my books. That’s my recommendation that any captain would be lucky to trade your figuring with numbers for passage.” His eyes crinkled. “In case you find yourself in a hurry again.”
I beamed. It was the first time I had done something on my own, and I had done it well. “Thank you,” I said, tucking the valuable paper away. He had no idea how delighted I was.
“And this,” the squat man said, handing me a cloth-wrapped package. He stood ramrod straight beside me and rocked on his heels, his gaze on the forested hills before us.
I unfolded it to find a small jar of honey. But then I noticed what it was wrapped in, and my lips parted. I glanced from the square of fabric to the flag atop the highest mast. “It’s your flag!” I breathed as the standard—a gold field with three black slashes—fluttered in the breeze.
“Aye,” he said. “It’s so I can find you this winter, wherever you might be—if you like. I’ll be looking for it. And you can do my books again. I may have to go out to the southern islands. It will be a long trip. You can bring your man, there. Just not his horse.”
My throat went tight. If only I could. “Thank you,” I said, suddenly loath to leave.
“Fly it from a pole in sight of the dock,” he said, staring off into nothing. “I’ll find you.”
I wrapped the honey back in his flag, unable to say anything. Throat tight, I gathered my skirts and one-handedly levered m
yself over the railing and down the rope ladder. It was Haron who helped me make the jump to the rocking dinghy. His small hand was rough in mine, and I appreciated his grudging help. Jeck’s horse reached the water the same time as I did. The weighted ropes slipped smoothly from him, and the levelheaded horse set out for the beach.
The Sandpiper fell from me in even, rhythmic surges of motion. The lump in my throat surprised me. My hands drifted upward to bind my hair in a topknot with a bit of twine. By the time the dinghy scraped the rocky beach, my few remaining darts were in place.
Miserable, I stood to disembark. Haron stepped into the water, and with no warning, scooped me off my feet and sloshed the few steps to land. “Thank you,” I said, flustered, as he set me down. He smelled of wind and sweat. I glanced at Duncan making baby sounds at his shivering horse. The men threw our packs to land out of the surf. They were replaced with a bundle of wood and cask of water that two crewmen had rolled forward.
“I still think women on water are unlucky,” Haron said at my elbow, and I spun, surprised. “But the captain . . . He says you can hear it. The sea, I mean.” His gaze flicked away, then back to mine. “Can you?”
Vision blurring, I looked at the Sandpiper and nodded. I had felt safe there. And free.
“It don’t seem right,” he said as he touched his red cap and stepped barefoot into the surf. “Why would God let a woman hear the sea if she’s not supposed to brave the waves?”
He pushed the boat into deeper water, the scrape of the keel seeming to grate across my soul, wounding me. His question wasn’t a taunt; he was confused. I’d cracked his beliefs.
Taking a quick breath, I wiped a hand under my nose and turned my back on the sea.
Brenton lay before me, small and disorganized. I nervously checked my topknot to see that all was as it should be, and my worry about Jeck thundered down. The wind in the leaves became threatening, and the slightest twitch of the horses’ ears caught my attention. There seemed to be an animosity or cunning in the curious stares of the few passing townsfolk. They were dirty, and I had yet to see anyone with shoes. The entire town stank of fish. I had never seen anything as filthy and poor as Brenton. I pulled my cloak tighter about my shoulders, wondering what else I had missed living behind my walls.
