Princess at Sea (6 page)

“Thank you.” I gave him an honest smile, flicking a glance at Jeck to see him drop back a step and sigh in exasperation. “When do you expect we will make harbor, Captain?” I asked, fishing to find out what they had been talking about.

The squat man curled his lips inward upon themselves to make his graying mustache stick out. His hands went into the pockets of his sun-bleached, long, blue coat, and he squinted at the top of the mast. “That's what we were just discussing, ma'am. We can make it all right, but it seems unnecessary to risk Yellow Tail's sandbars when we can hunker down in the lee of Midway Island. Because of—ah—our delay, we would hit Yellow Tail at low tide. The
Sandpiper
can handle the shallow draft. It's those damned heavy tubs we're dragging behind us. They're likely to ground at the bottom of a wave if we try it at low tide with high seas.”

Duncan gently sucked at his teeth, fidgeting. I never would have noticed it but for our frequent card games. He liked anchoring every night somewhere new, more often than not slipping over the side for a spot of carousing to come back satisfied and with his pockets heavier than when he left. Someday, his desire for money was going to get him caught, and all his pride for being a member of the palace court wouldn't be worth fish entrails. “So we'll be anchoring tonight at Midway?” I prompted.

I followed Captain Borlett's gaze past the bow and to the approaching island, a thickening presence on the horizon. “That'd be my advice,” he said.

The trace of hostility in his gravelly voice brought my attention back. Jeck's brown eyes were pinched in concern, and I arched my eyebrows, shifting a step so I could hold the boat for balance when an especially big wave lifted and dropped us. I didn't know where Jeck stashed his darts, though I knew from experience his dart pipe was tucked somewhere inside his leather jerkin. “You disagree, Captain Jeck?” I said boldly.

The man's square jaw clenched and relaxed at the tart challenge in my words. “There's a ship already at anchor there,” he said, taking a firmer stance, with his feet spaced wide and his hands laced behind his back. The wind shifted his short black bangs. It was the only thing about him that was moving, his well-made, heavy boots planted firmly on the deck.

I shifted my gaze back to the island, now seeing a pair of lights. “It looks like a small ship,” I said, imagining they put one at the bow and stern like everyone else. “We have two warships full of well-trained men, Captain. What on earth are you worried about?”

Duncan chuckled, and Jeck's eyes narrowed.

“I'm not questioning the abilities of my men,” the dark man all but growled.

“Then there should be no problem anchoring beside them.”

Captain Borlett was bobbing his head. “That's what I've been saying. The shoals are the real danger. I'm more afraid of them than of a merchant ship. Besides, I recognize her flag. That's
Kelly's Sapphire
, or I'm an innkeeper on the plains of Misdev.”

Jeck's gaze went distant and unseeing. I recognized his mien as that which he gave stupid people making stupid decisions that he had to deal with. It was annoying, and whereas I might have sided with him, I trusted Captain Borlett when it came to tides and water levels. If the big warships couldn't make it past the sandbars by the time we reached Yellow Tail, then we should anchor at Midway Island.

“Why don't we invite the ship's captain for dinner?” I said suddenly.

Duncan caught his balance with a soft hop step.

“No, really,” I protested, when Jeck gave me a blank stare of disbelief, but Captain Borlett bobbed his head eagerly. “What better way to judge a man's character than over a plate of food?” I added. “We'll all sleep better tonight for having met him.”

“Capital idea.” Captain Borlett smiled in anticipation. “I haven't seen Captain Pentem for over a season. He'd be interested to see what's become of my boat.” His pride in his new position of captaining the ambassador's boat was obvious, and I thought that it wasn't Captain Pentem's possible interest in his boat but that Captain Borlett wanted to show off.

Jeck shifted his hands. One settled atop his hilt, and I saw a flicker of surprise from the unusual feel of the new weapon. Captain Borlett was nodding, and Duncan fingered the rings on his hand, clearly eager for the chance to take the innocent captain of
Kelly's Sapphire
for all he was worth. “Dinner?” Jeck said, not a clue to his thoughts in the short utterance.

“Dinner,” I affirmed. “It will give Contessa a chance to work on her etiquette before meeting with our neighbors down coast next month.”

“Heaven save us, yes,” Jeck muttered. “I'll see to the seating arrangements.”

“Contessa will do that,” I said quickly. “She needs the practice.”

Jeck frowned, straightening to look aggressive somehow. The coming dusk made his dark complexion darker, and the military captain's insignia on the black sash about his middle seemed to glow. “It's a matter of security. I'll not leave it up to a nun,” he said.

I put my hands on my hips, too, irate that I had to look up at him. “She's not a nun,” I said tartly. “And I'll help her. She'll learn nothing if none of you let her
do
anything.” This was my playing field, and I didn't like his interfering.

His breath came from him in a tired sound, his entire chest moving as he exhaled. It was a clear conflict of interest. His captain duties demanded he obey his distant king and ensure Alex's safety until his sovereign called him home, but his player status required he minimize his influence over Alex. The prince had married into Costenopolie and was clearly my piece to manipulate and protect. “Fine,” he said, clearly peeved. “But if she puts me too far from Prince Alexander, I'm moving. The woman has as much political savvy as a duck.”

Duncan laughed, and I smacked his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Be still,” I warned. “She's trying.”

“Give it up, Tess,” the cheat said, when Jeck nodded to everyone and walked away. “The woman is hopeless, and you know it.”

Captain Borlett touched the brim of his salt-grimed hat and started to the wheel, probably to tell Haron we would be anchoring off the island. Duncan started to hum in anticipation, his hands moving in what I recognized as his traditional warm-up preparation for a game of cards. Trying to ignore him, I watched Jeck make his confident way across the moving deck. The tall man moved with a balance and confidence I envied, his pace measured and slow. Duncan's humming stopped, and I looked to see him eying me in question.

“You're going to get caught,” I said, and a devilish grin came over him. Frowning, I headed for the galley hatch, not nearly as graceful as Jeck though I tried. Contessa would need some coaching, and I wanted everything to be perfect if Jeck would be there, evaluating my growing skills at being a player.

The yellow light from the lamp overhanging the narrow table
made short arcs, sending beams across the cramped officers' common room to mix with the pleasant talk and warmth instilled by food and the close quarters. Candles supplemented the usual light, glinting off the china that Contessa and Alex dined upon. Above came the sound of the crew enjoying their ale now that the threatened rain had failed to appear. The approaching storm had broken upon us with little more than wind and high seas and was likely to stay that way.

I pushed my plate of nearly untouched food away, finding the motion of the
Sandpiper
uncomfortable now that the smooth rolling of waves had been replaced with short awkward bobs at the end of a tether. The warmth of perfumed bodies was cloying, and I couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the stench of the unwashed crew.

A soft laugh brought my attention up from the glass in my hand, and I smiled as if I had heard the jest. Good Lovrege wine had loosened the tongues of our visiting captain, but Contessa had become depressed and silent. Most of her evening had been spent trying to meet Alex's eyes at the opposite end of the table. The proud young man would have none of it. His windburned and suntanned hand was ever on his wineglass though he had drunk little, and he looked every bit the noble as he sat with a casual grace in his best coat of Costenopolie gold and green, gold glittering in a subdued show of wealth at his collar and cuffs. Alex had a good heart, and that Jeck had hardened it to Contessa infuriated me.

I turned my accusing gaze to the captain of the Misdev guards. The dark man's glass was almost full since he had sipped only what was polite. He was sitting between me and Alex, as if protecting his efforts at turning the man against Contessa. His uniform made him look refined and respectable despite my knowing otherwise, and his low voice rose and fell with a mesmerizing cadence. I liked it, even as I thought myself a foolish woman for finding something as simple as the sound of a man's voice attractive. The man was a skilled player. If I found him attractive, it was because he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security.

Contessa was at the far end of the table, Captain Borlett to her right and the visiting captain—a Captain Rylan, not Pentem—on her left. Apparently,
Kelly's Sapphire
had been drydocked last spring to undergo repairs only to have the company that owned her fall on hard times and be forced to sell her for taxes.

Captain Borlett didn't know Captain Rylan, and I wasn't happy about having an unknown sitting that close to Contessa, but I couldn't say much, seeing as the entire dinner was my idea. I had made sure that Contessa put me on his other side to help ease my faint jitters, a precaution I now felt silly for after having spent a good three hours beside the man.

Captain Rylan had a kind voice with a familiar, though perhaps affected, noble accent. Quick with his jests and motions, he entertained us with stories of customers who tried to take advantage of him and lost. His occasional outburst of an infectious laugh had set Jeck visibly on edge, and I was smug about it. The smallish man was well dressed if somewhat flamboyant for a merchant, with a long-tailed green coat that was all the fashion last year. It might have once rivaled Prince Alex's more subdued attire with its gilded trim and flamboyant cut, but now the vibrant reds, golds, and greens were muted with age and showed wear.

The man actually had bells on his boots, bells that chimed softly with every shift of feet. I had found it charming at first, but after a good three hours of it, it was annoying. He had a habit of touching his small mustache and trim beard. The original black was heavily silvered with gray, and I think it bothered him as he kept looking at Jeck's very black beard and mustache. The gray made him look just within his fourth decade, but his clean, unmarked hands put him younger.

Captain Rylan's first mate had come with him. He sat across from Jeck and me, eating quickly and with little regard for manners. His gaze was perpetually distant, as if more interested in the noise from atop the deck than our conversation. A frown crossed my face when I realized I didn't remember his name, then eased.
Smitty
, I thought.
That's what it was.

Bothered I had forgotten, I pushed my plate away, trying not to get involved in Captain Rylan's latest story. They had lost their appeal a good half hour ago, as they all revolved around sums of money and how he had gained it. Jeck leaned close as if for a private word, and I stiffened when our shoulders touched. Immediately he pulled back, bother showing in his brown eyes. “I was only going to ask if you were all right,” he said, and I stared stupidly at him.

All right? Why? Do I have soup on my dress?
I looked to see, and he prompted in exasperation, “Your swim?”

“Oh. Ah, yes. Thank you,” I stammered, thinking that the only good thing to come of it was that I had gotten a bath. Wanting to avoid the visiting captain's conversation, I turned to give Jeck my full attention.

Jeck gave me a raised-eyebrow look, and my gaze dropped to his strong fingers manipulating the tarnished silver fork, twirling it with a surprising dexterity. “That was quick thinking with your horse,” he said, and Alex flushed, focusing on Captain Rylan's conversation instead. “How did you get him in the water? Did you jump him over the side?”

I hesitated, wondering if he was asking from a professional interest, and if so would it matter. “No. I went in first. I've trained him to follow my whistle,” I admitted, spearing a potato chunk and placing it delicately in my mouth. I wasn't hungry, but I had to do something.

His vacant focus sharpened. “You were lucky he didn't jump atop you, then.”

Swallowing, I gave him a dark look. “Jy is smarter than that,” I said, thinking smart or not, I had been lucky not to have four hooves and several hundred pounds land on me.