The Decoy Princess (27 page)

His head bobbed in understanding as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking embarrassed. I squinted up at him, wondering what was bothering him. The splash of a stingray pulled my gaze to the waves, and I wished I had been quicker so to have seen more.

“I’ve been over my books,” he finally said, his words halting and reluctant as he drew my attention back to him. “I hope my notes weren’t too difficult.”

I coughed to cover up the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “Oh,” I hedged, “it was easier after I started using the map in your common room. I simply followed the dates and made guesses at the next harbor if I couldn’t read something. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I knew the cargo you had just picked up and where you might be going with it.”

He ran a hand over his beard in an endearing motion of chagrin. “Aye,” he muttered. “That’s what I usually do.”

The sun was bright, but now that I had stopped moving, I felt cold. The threatened rain of last night had never materialized, but I could feel the chill in the air being pulled off the water. Taking my filthy cloak from where I had dropped it, I settled it about my shoulders. My sweat was cooling rapidly, and I felt awful, sticky and cold all at the same time. “Captain,” I hedged. “Have you had a chance to talk to your first mate about the water?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quickly. “That’s why I came to talk to you. He’s not pleased, and he set a price so high I’m shamed to tell you. Haron is in charge of the stores, though, and a good man. I’d hate to drive him to another ship over this.”

A sigh slipped from me as I held my cloak closed at my neck while the wind stole what little heat I had under it. I understood too well the politics of small groups. The captain could overrule his first mate’s decision, but it might cause a rift between them. My comfort came out a distant second to that. “To be honest,” I said as I looked askance at him, “I was thinking that instead of outright purchasing the water, I might try to win it from you over a hand or two of cards? Perhaps tonight?”

The captain blinked. A slow smile curved over his face, and his attention went to the helm where the first mate stood with the wheelman, eying the ribbons trailing from the edges of the sails. “That’d work,”

he said.

I felt a thrill of anticipation. “I’d be willing to wager more of my time. Perhaps tidy your room or help Duncan organize your hold. Seeing as he’s not much good with the rigging.”

His blue eyes grew brighter in what I thought might be avarice. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “I would play a hand or two with you tonight. Why don’t you get yourself out of the wind, meantime? The crew seems right impressed by you, but I’d stay out from under the deck anyway. Your man Duncan is in the galley, though.”

“I will, thank you,” I said, chilled to the pit of my being from the wind and my exertions.

“Good,” he said shortly. “Have some tea. You look cold, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Nodding emphatically, I held my cloak to me and headed across the sloping deck.

The glow of acceptance warmed me as much as the sudden lack of the wind when I peeped round the archway and into the small kitchen. Duncan was alone, and he looked up from where he was leaning against a wall, keeping himself steady as he plucked a chicken.

“Tess.” He wiped his stubbled chin with the back of his hand, only managing to stick more feathers to him. “I saw some of that. Very nice.”

“Thank you.” I touched the familiar loops on my belt. Holding on to the archway, I moved inside and perched myself on the tiny counter space to get out of his way.

The minuscule fire in the gimbaled pan kept the small space plenty warm, and Duncan had stripped down to only a worn pair of trousers and a thin shirt despite the wind whipping just beyond the archway.

It was a shade too small for him, pulling tight to show the curve of his shoulders as he worked. Haron had put him here after he had loosened the wrong rope and brought a sail halfway down. I had a suspicion Duncan had done it intentionally. His mood had lightened considerably since he had taken over the galley and put some distance between himself and the first mate’s barked orders.

“The captain said I could have some of the crew’s tea,” I said, looking around for a pot.

Duncan flopped the messy bird onto the counter and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll get it,” he said, finding a pot from somewhere in the mess. “It should still be warm.”

He poured out a dark stream of liquid into a thick-walled mug, and I murmured a grateful “Thank you,” as I took it. The boat’s motion was rougher closer to the bow, and I tucked myself back on the counter until I was wedged into a corner. A patch of sun moved from the floor to the cabinets and back again as the
Sandpiper
took the waves. My one hand went to rub my shoulder, and I thought pride was responsible for the hurt, nothing more.

Duncan picked the chicken up, turning so he could watch me. “I won a bet with one of the crew,” he said. “I knew you’d be hitting all three feathers before you quit.”

I smiled as I took my hands from my neck and sipped my tea. It was bitter without honey, but I drank it greedily, glad for its warmth. “It took longer than I thought to find the boat’s balance,” I admitted. “I don’t know how they walk about like they do.”

His long, expressive hands worked fast against the damp bird, and the cleared patch rapidly grew larger. “I knew the moment you found the pattern of the waves,” he said. “Crack, crack, crack.”

My smile deepened. I liked being on the water, glad I hadn’t gotten seasick as Kavenlow had staunchly claimed I would. “It’s like being rocked by your mother, or the kingdom’s chancellor in my case,” I said, half-serious.

“I wouldn’t know.” Gathering a wad of feathers, he dropped them in a bucket.

Embarrassed, I eyed him over a slow sip. “Sorry.”

“About what?”

“That you don’t remember your parents.”

He laughed harshly. “I remember them all right. But as the eighth child out of nine, I was never rocked. More likely told to ‘Stop yer bellyaching and go to sleep!’” he said, shifting his voice to a harsh, low-street accent on the last word.

“Oh.” I set my cup aside and swung my hair to my front, running my fingers through my curls to get the worst of the tangles out. “Sorry. Where are they?”

A shrug shifted his shoulders. “They have a farm on the edge of the forest about a week from the capital. I left when I was twelve.” His voice was bland. “Gone before the sun set on the day they buried my grandfather. See, I was at the end of the children. Kind of scrawny. I should’ve been in the fields, but someone had to look after my grandfather, and I didn’t mind spooning soup into his toothless mouth. My sister thought he smelled. He didn’t like her either and wouldn’t eat unless I fed him. So while everyone else worked, I took care of him. He was the one who taught me cards. I left the day he died.”

“Sorry.”

His eyes were dark with irritation as he pulled them up. “Will you stop saying that?”

My fingers stilled themselves in my hair, moving instead to rub my stiff shoulder. “You must have loved him very much,” I said, my sympathy mixing with the grief of my own loss.

There was the sound of boots, and a crewman passed the open archway. “Nah. See, once he was dead, they were going to make me work the fields. That’s why I left.”

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.”