A Stroke of Luck

by Andrea Pickens

  Stump gave them a friendly nod. "And mighty resourceful fellows they look to be."

  "Oh, aye, we are used to doing a bit of foraging. And a good thing it is that some of us don't mind working for our breakfast," said the younger of the two, shooting a dark look at the duke as he staggered under the weight of his load "Otherwise we would all be going hungry."

  Though Zara gave an inward chuckle at the pointed jibe, aloud she voiced a gentle rebuke. "That is hardly the proper way for a young man to address his elders." Stump's haughty companion might display the manners of an ill-bred mule but she would not give either of them reason to think her own family had been raised in a barn.

  Perry ducked his head in contrition. "Sorry, Zara."

  "Your words should be directed to Mr... er, Stump."

  She was gratified to see her brother manage to murmur a handsome apology, which the valet acknowledged with a broad wink. "I can't say I blame the nipper. I always feel a bit peckish on an empty stomach."

  The mention of food drew a look of longing from Perry. "Hasn't that rabbit been roasting for an age? Any longer and it might turn to shoe leather."

  "It has been no more than ten minutes," smiled Zara, noting that the peevish peer gave a pained wince at the mention of footwear. She added a last basting of seawater, then pricked at the trussed haunch with the tip of her knife. "By the time you finish stacking that wood in a neat pile, it will be ready."

  Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the lad fell to the task.

  As she began slicing off chunks of the fragrant meat, she saw the gentleman finally raise his eyes from the perusal of his boot. The breeze had shifted, and his nostrils gave an involuntary twitch.

  It did smell mouthwatering. She had managed to forage a bit of wild thyme, and used with a judicious splash of brine, the combination had added a piquant spice to the wild game. Threading the juicy morsels onto the wooden skewers she had carved, she handed them out, one by one—first to Perry, then to Nonny, then to Stump. After an exaggerated pause, she offered a share to the duke.

  He drew back, a puckered frown on his lips. "Have you no plate or proper utensils? I have no intention of gnawing my food from a deuced stick!"

  "Suit yourself," she mumbled while taking a large bite.

  Perry stopped chewing long enough to make a face. "I guess he is used to being served with the family silver, fine china and cut crystal."

  Prestwick bit at his lip.

  Rapping his knife sharply against a stone, Nonny mimed the ringing of a bell. "I say, have the footmen bring in the next course. And decant another bottle of that fine claret."

  The other Greeleys dissolved into laughter at the uncanny imitation of the duke's clipped tones.

  Even Stump allowed a small smile though he swallowed it quickly, along with the last of his rabbit. "A most delectable repast, Miss Greeley," he remarked, seeking to deflect any further teasing of the duke. "How did you come by such finely honed culinary skills?"

  "Out of necessity." Zara deftly removed the remains of the first rabbit from the spit and slid the second one in place over the coals. Setting what was left of the cooked meat on a flat stone, she fell to dividing it up into equal portions.

  "You sure you won't try some of this, sir?" The valet offered a share to Prestwick. "It is really quite tasty. And besides, who knows when the next opportunity for a meal will present itself."

  He crossed his arms and shook his head, prompting Zara to mutter, "Oh, don't be an ass. Your man Stump is right—would you rather starve rather than put aside your precious propriety long enough to enjoy a simple repast?"

  "I assure you, it would not be enjoyable," replied Prestwick with a haughtiness that set her teeth on edge.

  Did the pompous prig have any idea of how insufferably ungrateful he sounded? she wondered. Well, his stomach could go and turn cartwheels across the strand for all she cared.

  "Kind of prissy, aren't you?" observed Perry, as if he had read her own thoughts. "Haven't you ever been on an adventure before?"

  "Oh, and I suppose you have a goodly number of them under your belt?" retorted Prestwick.

  "Aye, quite a few," answered her brother, standing up with laudable aplomb to someone more than twice his height and age. "My father was a great one for exploring, even if it meant eating meals without the proper utensils. We once had a picnic on the top of Mount Parnassus, and then there was the time we cooked squid on a beach on Delphi."

  "Oh, I remember that," mused Nonny. "We had been chased by Corsican pirates from the harbor at Mykonos, and it took some tricky maneuvering between the islands to lose them."

  An animated recounting of some of their more harrowing travel experiences followed, along with fond remembrances of the more peaceful moments.

  "Papa and his adventures." A smile ghosted over Zara's lips at the mention of camping out in an ancient temple on Delphi. "It was never dull, was it? And despite the dangers and discomforts, many of them were quite fun."

  "Fun? Only a complete Bedlamite would consider being cast up upon these ghastly rocks fun," snapped Prestwick.

  "And only a complete Bedlamite would think that I am enjoying the present predicament," she shot back. "However, when you are tossed into deep water, sometimes the only way to keep your head above the churning waves is to maintain a sense of humor. I must be able to laugh, for the alternative is simply not an option. Not if I wish to survive."

  "I see." His tone had a stiff formality that only provoked her to greater indignation.

  "No, I doubt that you do. I doubt you have ever had to cope with a problem more distressing than salt water stains on your fancy Hessians." It was not a smile playing on her lips, but rather a quivering she was finding difficult to control. "Contrary to your supercilious sarcasm, sir, we did not embark on this journey as a lark. My parents perished in an epidemic of typhus that swept through Crete, leaving the three of us high and dry on distant shores. For the last six months, I have spent a goodly amount of effort and every last farthing in seeing to it that my brothers and I arrived safely back to England. Only to find that our relatives are trying to cheat us out of—"

  Zara bit off her words in mid sentence, angry that she had allowed his snide comment to goad her into revealing such personal details. "Not that it is any of your concern."

  He had the grace to color under the heat of her retort.

  "Do you mean to say, you sailed that small boat all the way from the depths of the Mediterranean?" asked Stump.

  "Good Lord, no. We only, er, acquired it recently."

  At the rather halting explanation, the duke's brow shot up in sardonic skepticism. "A rather odd choice of terms. Do you, perchance, mean to say you neglected to pay for it?"

  "Zara earned every penny's worth of that boat!" exclaimed Nonny hotly, his hands curling into tight fists. "And I'll punch the deadlights out of any man who implies otherwise."

  The youngest Greeley was also quick to pipe up in defense of his sister. "That's naught but the truth. The smarmy tavern keeper in Falmouth saw his patronage double for the month that she cooked for him, and then refused to pay her the wages that were due."

  "Aye. So Zara came up with the idea to take the boat instead," explained Nonny. "It was a corking good plan, too. It gave us a means of transportation north, and once we reached Lytham, we planned to sell it in order to have the funds to travel inland to our final destination."

  Zara knew the prudent course of action was to quiet her siblings and leave it at that, yet the dratted man and his condescending attitude had stirred her to such indignation, she found it impossible to stay silent herself.

  "So you see, while my personal travails may not be any of your concern, the loss of my boat is!" she snapped. "I have lost my last tangible asset, and all because of you!"

  "Because of me?" The duke looked rather stunned.

  "It's all your fault that we came to grief on the rocks!"

  "It was my fault?"

  "Stop sounding like a parrot!" she c
ried. "Yes, your fault! If you had not been so jugbitten as to fall overboard, I would not have been forced to veer off course in order to pluck your pickled carcass out of the seas. If you had not been so rude as to swear, I would not have been distracted from the shoaling reefs. If you had not—"

  "Er, begging your pardon, Miss." Stump cleared his throat. "If you wish to ring a peal over someone's head, it ought to be mine. I was the clumsy fool who slipped over the gunwales. Prestwick felt beholden to dive in after me, not on account of a surfeit of spirits but because of some misguided notion that my scarred old hide was worth the risk of his own neck."

  Zara found it was her turn to blush. In the heat of her anger, it appeared she was guilty of misjudging the dratted man—at least on that account. He might be arrogant and ill-mannered but if what his companion said was true, then underneath the foppish clothes and stiff speech he possessed a good deal more character than she had given him credit for. Her accusations had been unfair, and much as it pained her to admit it, she owed him an apology.

  "Forgive me," she said through gritted teeth. "It seems I was wrong in assuming you were three sheets to the wind."

  In response to the rather ungracious admission, he inclined his head a barely civil nod.

  "But I was not wrong on the other accounts. You are at least partly to blame for us being stranded upon these shores."

  "And you, Miss Admiral of the Amazons?" The sarcasm had returned, and was fairly dripping from his words." I trust you are also going to bear some responsibility for running us up on the rocks—"

  "That's quite enough." Stump punctuated his gruff order with a slap of his one remaining palm upon one of the rocks. "Hell's Bells, you should both be ashamed of yourselves. We have enough obstacles to overcome without the two of you brangling like children." After a quick glance at Perry and Nonny, who were following the heated exchange with great interest while polishing off the rest of the rabbit, he amended his analogy. "Not that the present company of young people have exhibited any such behavior."

  Zara suddenly felt all the fight leak out of her. She did not often give way to doubt, but like the smashed hull of her sailboat, her confidence had sunk to rock bottom. Good Lord, had she made a terrible mistake in setting out on this voyage? She had known that the elements were unpredictable, and that it would take a great deal of skill to navigate through all the dangers, but the risks had seemed worth it.

  Now, she was not so sure.

  However, it was too late to turn back. Ducking her head to hide the tears she felt welling up in her eyes, she began to stuff her few meager possession back into the small canvas sack.

  "Oh, what does it matter whose fault it is?" The words, hardly more than a whisper, were meant more for herself than anyone else. "What is done is done, and we shall just have to make the best of it." Squaring her shoulders, she turned to her brothers. "Finish your breakfast, and then let us pack up our bags and pick a direction to start walking."

  Nonny scrambled to his feet. "Don't worry, Zara. We have been in far worse places than this and have always found our way clear."

  "That's right," piped up his brother. "Remember that inn in Genoa—"

  "Actually, I would rather not." However their plucky attempts at keeping her spirits afloat did manage to buoy her sense of humor. She managed a wan smile. "That was an awfully close shave."

  "As I recall, you had to remove a bit more than just whiskers from the chin of that drunken Venetian merchant." Nonny's eyes narrowed as he cleaned off the blade of his knife. "You should have let me help you fend off the son of a—"

  "I only resort to violence when absolutely necessary."

  "You should not have to fight off such louts by yourself." Assuming a twisted scowl, he set his hands on his hips and thrust his chest out. "Not when you have Perry and me to protect you."

  His adolescent limbs were still as gangly as those of a growing puppy, so the effect was not quite as menacing as he intended. Still, she took great care to repress any quirk of amusement. "And I could not wish for two more stalwart defenders," she assured him. But as she spoke, Zara could not help wondering what it might be like to have a man's shoulder to lean on. Such girlish fantasies were then ruthlessly shoved aside. She had learned quickly over the course of her journey that it was not a shoulder that most men sought to offer a lone female.

  "However, our main concern at present is not fending off a lecherous Lothario, but in finding some way out of these wilds. So let's be off."

  Stump levered somewhat awkwardly from his seat on the sand. "Mind if we come along with you?"

  Zara noted that his companion looked about to argue, then clamped his jaw shut. "Oh, why not?" she answered with a wry grimace. "Like it or not, it looks as if we are stuck with each other for the time being."

  Chapter 3

  The young lady was right. Her problems were not any of his concern, Prestwick assured himself. And she was wrong. It was hardly his fault that some submerged hunk of rock had sabotaged her plans. Still, he could not help feeling a tad guilty for having contributed, however unwittingly, to the burden upon those slim shoulders. He tried to imagine Lady Catherine—or any young lady of his acquaintance—left on her own in a foreign land, with two younger siblings to look after and naught but her own pluck and resourcefulness to fall back on.

  To no avail, save for grim images of shattering vinaigrettes and fainting females. The confounded chit may be as abrasive as a pebble between his toes, but he couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration for the flintiness of her courage.

  Not to speak of a debt of thanks for saving his life.

  And the lads themselves appeared to have redoubtable spirit, despite their tender years. They had faced the uncertainties of the raging storm without a whine or whimper, and had shown a gritty self-reliance that would have put many a grown man to shame. That their tongues were impertinent and their manners disrespectful was irritating in the extreme, yet he had to admit that the fierce loyalty and obvious affection the siblings had shown for each other was impossible to find fault with.

  Ignoring the sting of his blisters, he picked up his pace a bit, so as not to fall too far behind the others.

  Stump had lingered at the crest of the high dune and now fell in step beside him. "Good news. We have spotted a number of sheep up ahead. It is a sure sign that someone is living close by."

  "Good news, indeed," growled the duke. "Even better news would be the sighting of a leg of mutton, garnished with roast carrots, baby peas and mint sauce."

  "You should have sampled the rabbit. It rivaled any of the specialties that your fancy Frog chef whips up."

  "Hmmph! I suppose you, too, are going to roast me for being a pampered prig."

  "I've already done that," replied the valet dryly. "But perhaps it bears repeating." The snort from his employer caused the corners of his mouth to turn upward. "Come, this ain't so bad, is it. Fresh air, a brisk walk, stimulating company—"

  "Another damn platitude from your lips and I swear, I shall throttle you on the spot," muttered the duke.

  A bark of laughter slipped from his valet's lips instead. "I'm pleased to see your sense of humor ain't quite so waterlogged as before." Seeing his gentle teasing had coaxed a loosening of his employer's rigid features, he added, "Wouldn't want Miss Greeley and her siblings to think you naught but a peevish, pompous peer."

  The duke's jaw quickly tightened. "I don't give a fig what the impertinent Greeley clan thinks."

  "Well then, go ahead and keep snapping and growling like a bear with a thorn stuck in his paw."

  Prestwick marched on in injured silence. Heaving a sigh, Stump followed with a heavy step. They continued on for a bit.

  "I just might keep snapping," grumbled Prestwick. "Seeing as I am a duke with a cursed stone lodged in his toe."

  "Perhaps you need a new bootmaker."

  "No, what I need is my high perch phaeton and team of matched bays."

  Stump's good-humored grin had returned. "Aw
, as young Master Perry said, this is an adventure. You don't mean to say you are anxious for it to come to an end so soon?"

  "It may be a moot point, as my demise from starvation may occur at any moment."

  As they crested yet another tufted mound of sand, their bantering was interrupted by the sight of the young lady and her brothers waving wildly at a lone cart wending its way along a narrow path between the dunes. The commotion must have caught the attention of the driver, for the shaggy pony drew to a halt.

  Slipping and sliding through the loose sand, the Greeleys hurried toward the waiting conveyance.

  Urged on by the prospect of food and a ride, the duke broke into a shambling run as well. He reached the cart just as the bearded figure perched on the rough plank seat responded to Zara's question of where in the world they were.

  "Eyeaaah"

  At least that was what the burred roll of vowels sounded like to Prestwick's ears.

  The answer must have been equally incomprehensible to the young lady, for she cleared her throat and asked him to repeat it.

  "Eyeaaah."

  She exchanged puzzled looks with Nonny and Perry, then turned to the duke and his valet. "Have you any idea what he is saying?"

  "Eyeaaah," said Prestwick dryly.

  "Very funny." She did not appear overly amused.

  "Well, you did say one was supposed to maintain a sense of humor about these things."

  "Hmmph!" was her only response. And yet, as she shot a warning look at the boys to leave off their giggling, he thought he detected a faint twinkle in her eyes. For some odd some reason, he found himself feeling rather pleased that he had made her expression lighten, if only for an instant.

  Her attention was now focused back on the driver. "Forgive me, sir, but I seem to be having a spot of trouble in understanding what you are saying."

  After a tug at his grimy tweed cap, the fellow removed the briarwood pipe from his mouth and tried again.

  The results were marginally better—the duke was able to make out two distinct syllables and a hint of a consonant. "Eye-la?" he repeated, looking to the driver for confirmation.