“It’s best if they’re not allowed to board.”
Norris slid down the ropes and landed almost at Imena’s feet. “A royal cutter,” she said. “No signals flying.”
Chetri said, “They’ll have seen us by now, and it’s no secret you’re His Grace’s captain.”
Flee or bluff? Fleeing was more suspicious. The fewer suspicions about Maxime’s whereabouts, the safer he would be.
“We let them approach, and we bluff,” she said. “On no account does anyone from that cutter go below.”
“Captain,” Norris said. “I could stow His Grace more safely.”
“Where?” Imena asked. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to betray his hiding place. Very well, Norris. Do it now, then hop back up top as quickly as you can.”
Maxime waited impatiently as someone fussed with the chain and padlock on his door. When the door was flung open, he was startled to see Norris, Imena’s cabin girl. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“This way,” she said. When he didn’t move, she hesitantly reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Where are we going?”
“I have orders to hurry.”
“Whose? Captain Leung’s? I pay her salary, you know. And that means I also pay yours, Norris.”
She heaved at his arm, but he braced his weight and didn’t budge. He said, “There’s no real rush, is there? Given that she left me here for half the night.”
“Please, Your Grace.” Norris released his wrist.
Maxime didn’t think Imena would blame Norris for his lack of cooperation, but the girl seemed distressed, so he sighed and said, “All right.”
He regretted acquiescing when he saw the narrow deck cubby into which he was expected to squeeze himself. “Is this your cabin?” he asked. Little more than the size of a small wardrobe, the enclosed space held only a hammock and a large trunk. “Have you been smuggling? Does the captain know? Of course she must—”
“Just climb in!” Norris struggled with the weight of the trapdoor as she wrestled it to the side.
“Is there air?”
“Enough. It won’t be long, I promise.”
Another test? Was Imena testing his sincerity? He was willing to do a great deal more than pretend to be smuggled goods, if he could have her in the end. He managed to cram himself into the cubby, which smelled sweetly but strongly of the valuable balsam resin that had been stored within. Norris yanked the trapdoor over him and hammered it down with the heels of her hands. Maxime was left in warm, perfumed darkness.
Imena did her best to appear bored as the royal cutter’s first officer examined the papers Arionrhod, the purser, had handed over. Chetri stood at her side, chewing mastic, hands clasped behind his back. He looked casual but was ready, she knew, to draw his knife at a moment’s notice. Several of her crew handled inconsequential tasks within easy distance; she’d been careful to order most of the younger sailors to stay below on the lower cargo deck. At the first sign of trouble, the cutter’s first officer and his boat crew would become hostages. If worse came to worst, she might also claim diplomatic immunity; anything to gain time.
She might also accidentally knock the officer down for looking at her as if he’d like to pay for her services. A knife pressed to his genitals might give him more respect for women.
The officer peeled off the second sheet and returned it to her. Imena slid the page into its case. “As you can see, we’re in the employ of the duke Maxime.”
“You were scheduled to remain in port for another week. Why did you depart early? Without a full cargo?”
He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her bosom, despite its being bound into a bodice and concealed beneath a loose shirt. She was careful to show no hint of emotion as she said, “Personal matters.”
“Personal matters that caused you to recall your crew from shore leave and vanish from the docks in the wee hours of the morning?”
“I wanted to catch the tide,” she said blandly. “Are we finished here?”
“I’m curious as to the nature of these personal matters.” He glanced up at her face now, and smiled. He was a young man with bright teeth, symmetrical features and glossy hair. He wouldn’t be used to being refused.
“You will remain curious, then,” she said. “Chetri, will you escort the officer to his boat? I need to speak with Bonnevie.” She turned toward the wheelhouse.
“Oh, come now,” the officer said, looking annoyed.
“You could at least offer me a drink.”
Imena frowned. “That’s not required by law.”
The officer’s back stiffened. “I wasn’t aware you particularly cared for laws, Captain Leung.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” She felt Chetri ease closer to her.
“Everyone knows why His Grace hired you. You’re a pirate.”
Chetri’s blade whistled from its sheath, and he spat the mastic gum at the man’s feet. Imena blocked his arm without breaking the officer’s gaze. She heard movement, then settling, as the sailors realized there would be no fighting. “I was a privateer, in the service of my government.”
“It’s all the same to us. We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”
“Have you.” She pushed on Chetri’s arm until it lowered and he stepped back to sheathe his blade. “Unless you are accusing me of piracy now, you will leave my ship.”
CHAPTER SIX
MAXIME HAD NEVER FEARED ENCLOSED SPACES, but as time passed, he felt more and more confined in his narrow cubby. The bottom wasn’t padded, and though he didn’t feel any splinters, it wasn’t comfortable, either. The trapdoor pressed entirely too close to the end of his nose, now numbed to the smell of balsam; his breath returned to him, forcing him to tell himself that he was not suffocating. It only felt as if there was no air. He could feel air: warmish, stale air, flowing across the soles of his feet. He could also feel the trapdoor against his chest if he took too deep a breath. Perhaps he was lucky he wore only trousers; if he’d been wearing his usual layers of clothing, this cubby would be considerably more stifling.
He opened his eyes. That was a little better. There was no light in the cubby, but it made him feel better anyway.
He’d heard quite a lot of noise from above: pounding feet in large numbers, a wooden thumping as of something heavy rocking into Seaflower’s hull, more feet. Then silence, until he heard more steps, closer, and the welcome sounds of someone wrenching open the trapdoor above his head.
As soon as the door was opened, he said, “I’ve had about enough of this game.”
Chetri stared down at him without answering, brown face studiously blank, light playing on his necklaces and array of silver earrings, many more than any courtier would wear. Despite all his adornments, he clearly had no fear of anyone’s branding him a dandy. He extended a hand, layered in calluses, to pull Maxime up.
Maxime was impressed there seemed to be no effort involved, despite the fact that he was considerably larger than Imena’s first mate. He eyed Chetri’s muscular chest, decorated across the pectorals with dense black tattooing. He wondered how much Imena liked looking at such a fine specimen of a man, day in and day out. “How far out to sea have we gone?”
Chetri looked him up and down slowly, without answering. “Come along,” he said. When Maxime didn’t follow, he grabbed his hand and tugged him.
Maxime soon discerned they were returning to his belowdecks cell. He said, “I shouldn’t be away for this long. Much as I’d prefer to stay, I’m expecting a royal envoy any day now.”
“I’ll fetch you out later on,” Chetri said, gently pushing him into his cell with a hand on his back.
Maxime grasped Chetri’s shoulder to stop him from closing the door. Imena would be displeased if Maxime seduced him. At the moment, he was in the mood to cause her displeasure. “You don’t need to lock me in here.”
“I suspect I do have to lock you in here,” Chetri said with a wry twist to his mouth.
Maxime tightened his hand on Chetr
i’s shoulder, squeezing gently and sensually. “Perhaps we could both be locked in here.”
Chetri turned his head and nipped at Maxime’s fingers. “I don’t trust myself, and I don’t trust you further than I could throw you, Your Grace.”
“You wouldn’t be sorry. I suspect you have no aversion to men. Wise of you.”
Chetri grinned. “And I’m sure you’d make it worth my while, is that it?” Gently, he dislodged Maxime’s hand and stepped back. “You’ll be a handful for the captain, that you will.” Easily fending off Maxime’s lunge, he slammed the door closed, calling through it, “I’ll bring you something to read later. A nice philosophical volume.” A moment later, Maxime heard the noise of the lock and chain.
It hadn’t been polite to try to seduce her second-in-command when he was hoping to convince her that she ought to marry him, but did she really expect him to play the innocent virgin and wait patiently for her attentions? Otherwise, why make him wait so long?
Unless she knew what he’d done with Sylvie. Maxime sighed. That had been a mistake, too. It wouldn’t do him any good to explain that it had been nothing to Sylvie, and that he’d been thinking of Imena throughout most of it. Despite knowing Sylvie, and what Sylvie was like, Imena wouldn’t be pleased with him for giving in, not at all.
Yes, that could be the reason for his current imprisonment. Imena knew about his brief encounter with Sylvie, and she planned to make him pay. But couldn’t she have chosen a more…pleasant revenge?
He refused to consider that Imena might not care at all.
Maxime grimaced, sat on the blanket and tore off a hunk of bread.
This bit of ocean was far too crowded for Imena’s liking. It made sense that every courier cutter and fishing trawler would be taking advantage of the wind, but that also meant every one of them would spot Seaflower with her distinctive imperial rigging and duchy profile. While Chetri sent the crew through a series of complex maneuvers designed to get them out of the most trafficked sea lanes, Imena sat in her cabin and labored over her charts, deliberately putting off talking to Maxime. He would be furious that she’d swept him away out of danger without telling him. She didn’t want to face that right now. She didn’t want to face him, after what they’d done in the baths, and what she’d briefly felt there.
Here, she could work in peace for a while. She had the largest cabin on Seaflower, furnished with a spacious wooden bunk projecting from one wall, two trunks to serve as seats, and her worktable and chair. One bulkhead was lined with a row of glassed-in windows, the others decorated with painted screens of historical battles. Several books and a new length of hempen rope, which Norris would use for drying clothes, were piled in a basket near the door, waiting to be stowed, distracting her from the charts spread in front of her.
The problem was, she had no idea how long Maxime would be in danger. He was safe belowdecks, but he would be wild with curiosity about the situation right now, and angry. Rightly so. Angry with her.
Sylvie would pass on the vital information about the plot to Lady Gisele, and hopefully Gisele would be able to stall any royal envoys who traveled to the castle, but Maxime himself was still in the dark.
Doubtless he’d figured out something had happened. He was no fool, and would know she only had his best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be angry for long. He could wait.
Imena returned her thoughts to navigation. Remaining on the open sea seemed the safest option, but just to be safe, she reminded herself of available ports, official or otherwise, on the heading she planned. She scribbled down her preferred course, then two options, with some side notes to Chetri, then fastened the paper firmly onto the corner of a table. Carefully, she rolled and stowed her charts in their waterproof casings. She couldn’t put off talking to Maxime for much longer. She would go and speak to him immediately after she’d been up to pass on her orders.
Chetri said, “We’re not fully provisioned. We got the extra spars loaded last night, but we’re lacking some of the supplies I’d like to have, if we’re to stay out for as long as you fear.”
“You think I’m being too cautious?” she asked.
He considered, stroking his fingers over the hilt of his dagger. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t trust royalty, especially not when money’s involved. And that’s what it’s really about—His Highness wants control of His Grace because then he’ll have control of a duchy stuffed with coin.”
“If it is King Julien.”
“If not him, then his flunky,” he said. “They’re all corrupt—well, aside from His Grace. He’s fair and honest in his dealings. Will we be getting word from that Sylvie girl? Will she really be able to uncover this plot? She puked the whole time she was aboard that one time.”
“Her Grace the Duchess Camille relies upon Sylvie,” Imena reminded him. “She’s an experienced courier and spy. She’ll know to send us news through the usual channels. We’ll just have to be careful where we dock.”
“Aye, Captain,” Chetri said. “By the way—you might want to speak to His Grace soon. He’s…anxious…to be released from durance vile.”
Chetri’s sly grin arrested her attention. “Anxious?”
“He offered me delights of the flesh if I’d set him free.”
“He did what?” She paused. “Was he joking?”
“Possibly. Possibly not.” Chetri licked his lips. “He is a fine figure of a man, your duke. Plenty to hold on to, a bitable arse, and I hear reports he’s skilled as any whore with that cock of his and otherwise. Making the tide with him would be no hardship, no, not at all. I almost took him up on it.”
Through a red haze, Imena said, “You will not bite his arse nor hold on to any part of him.”
Chetri laughed. “Of course not. I know he’s yours.”
“He is not—”
He patted her shoulder. “Of course not, Captain, sir. That’s why you scooped him up, naked as the day he was born, and tossed him into your hold.”
“I was in a hurry.” She was aware she sounded surly, but could not help herself. Sometimes, Chetri considered himself entirely too much like her father. Only worse.
Chetri continued, “You had time to let him put his trousers on before you rolled him up in a carpet. Nice cock like that, you ought to wrap it up safe.” He lifted his eyebrow, the silver ring through it glinting in the sun.
“Enough.” She thrust the orders into his hand. “Get us out of here. Every scrap of canvas we have. Spring a topmast if you have to. I’m going below.”
Imena had intended to invite Maxime up to her cabin, now that the chance of discovery was so much less, but that was before he’d tried to seduce Chetri. As she unlocked the door to his refuge, she considered simply leaving him in the hold. The accommodations might not be to his liking. She was no longer in a mood to please him. However, if she left him down here, who knew how many more of her crew he would try to subvert? Or seduce? Or both? Who would be next? No doubt Maxime would like a challenge. Seretse? Leggy Roxanne, the second mate?
It was a pity they needed to shift the cargo, poorly stowed thanks to their precipitous departure. Maxime would be in the way belowdecks. The needs of her ship were more important than a small act of revenge.
She shouldn’t have expected better of him, anyway. She knew what he was like. She knew far too much about what he liked.
But he’d made a fool of her on her own ship. It would serve him right if she treated him as a prisoner for a little while. Did she dare? She thought she might be angry enough to dare. And perhaps jealous enough, even though she had no right to be jealous.
She swung the door open a bit too hard, and it slammed against the temporary bulkhead. Maxime sat cross-legged on the deck, eating an orange. The tart scent perfumed the cabin. His lips and fingers were shiny with the sticky juice, forcibly reminding her of how he’d looked, smiling at her with her juices on his mouth.
“Keep your hands off my crew,” she said.
“Even if they ask nicely?�
�� He rose slowly, effortlessly, and held out a crescent of fruit. “Orange?”
“Chetri didn’t ask.”
“He was certainly looking. I know that’s mostly frowned upon in the empire, but surely you—”
“I should leave you locked in here.”
“That won’t be much fun,” Maxime said, and popped the slice of orange into his mouth. Hypnotized, she watched him chew and swallow.
She said, “I would leave you down here, but we need to shift the cargo. We stowed it hastily, and— Never mind. Get your things. I’ll put you in my cabin.”
Maxime smiled and bowed. “Thank you. I’m at your command.” Nearly naked and smeared all over with sweaty streaks of grime from the smuggling cubby, he nevertheless made her want to straighten her spine. Belatedly, she realized he had that in common with her mother, and winced.
“Hurry up, I have things to do.”
As they ascended the stairs, Imena first, Maxime said, “You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble. I was willing to fuck you yesterday. But if you enjoy games—”
Outraged, she exclaimed, “Is that what you think?” She’d left port with her ship barely provisioned and still bristling with barnacles, for his sake, to save him from potential murder, and all he could think about was making the tide. She bit back a longer retort.
“I must admit, the carpet was novel. Being carried off by two muscular young men—I assume they must have been muscular—the solitary confinement to think it over—”
She whirled on him. “I never realized you could be so utterly infuriating.” She would not fight with him now. She would not.
“It’s a talent I spent my entire childhood honing. If I had to live with Camille’s father after he’d killed my parents, I wasn’t about to make it easy for him.” He paused.
“So, did I make you jealous? With Chetri? I’d be willing to go further with him, if he’d consent, if that would make you jealous. Or if you’d like it.”
If he didn’t shut his mouth, she was going to have to kill him. Perhaps she’d better shut it for him. “In,” she said, swinging wide her cabin door.
The Duke & the Pirate Queen Page 6
