“Stop it!” Rupert hissed. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Stefan gave him a weary look. “Why don’t you just admit that you care about her?”
Rupert took a deep breath. “I can’t marry her. But I won’t let Gunther abuse her, either. We’ll stick to the Official Plan, the one we were doing before we even knew she was still alive. We defeat the Tourinian navy, blockade the coast, and completely cut off Gunther’s supply of gold. Once he can’t pay his army, his soldiers will desert. With no gold, the economy will collapse, and the people will turn on him. Then we rally our supporters in the north—”
“That’s where the plan goes awry, and you know it,” Ansel said. “It’s been nineteen years since your father died. We can’t be sure you have any supporters left.”
Stefan nodded. “Gunther killed off any that were vocal about supporting the House of Trepurin.”
“They’re there,” Rupert insisted. “The clans were always close. And loyal. Once they know I’m alive—”
“And what if they want proof?” Stefan asked. “They’ll have only our word for it that you’re the lost prince. We have no idea where your mother hid the royal seal.”
“True.” Ansel sipped some ale. “I hate to say it, but it would be easier to use the girl.”
“No.” Rupert shook his head. “I will not use her. If I did, I would be no better than her bastard brother. The throne is rightfully mine, but I will not lose my honor in order to obtain it.”
Stefan gave him a wry smile as he lifted his goblet. “Spoken like a true king.”
“Aye.” Ansel smiled. “But if he wants to be an honest king, he should learn to admit the truth.”
Rupert groaned. “I know how to be honest.”
“Then admit you’re attracted to her.” Stefan downed his drink.
Rupert scoffed. “Are you admitting you’re lusting for a nun?”
Stefan sputtered his drink all over the table.
Rupert smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Ansel sighed. “Why is my ship so boring? You two are having all the fun.”
Chapter Eleven
Brigitta’s anger festered the more she thought about Rupert enjoying himself in the village while she was trapped on board. His prisoner.
The scoundrel had threatened her sisters with flaming arrows in order to force her compliance. How could she ever think she was attracted to him?
Yes, she was curious about him, even intrigued by him, but that was merely a side effect of the gift she’d been born with. And no doubt, any attraction she might have felt toward him had been caused by her overly dramatic imagination. This sinking feeling in her heart was nothing more than her disappointment over something that had never been real.
The truth was: She should be angry. She should be defiant. Hadn’t she vowed that she would not be a willing captive? It was time for her to take control of her own destiny. The Eberoni shore was close by, and she was an excellent swimmer.
The junior officer, Tucker, had returned with the dinghy filled with boxes of supplies. As he tied the dinghy off, other crewmen wheeled a large contraption to the portside. The machine had a series of pulleys and a rope with a giant hook on the end. When a seaman turned a crank, the rope lowered over the side of the ship. Tucker slid the hook under the ropes tied around a box, then the seamen turned the crank to lift the box into the air. Then other crewmen pivoted the contraption to the side so the box could be lowered into a cargo hold.
“Isn’t it great?” Jeffrey grinned. “Rupert designed it so it would take only one man to lift something really heavy.”
“Aye, ’tis very clever. Excuse me.” Brigitta grabbed Sister Fallyn’s arm to lead her toward a quiet spot.
“Is something wrong?” the nun asked.
“We should escape,” Brigitta whispered, then held up a hand when Sister Fallyn stiffened with shock. “Hear me out. We’re close to the shore. We could swim—”
“We’re farther away than ye think.”
“The tide is going in. As long as we stay afloat—”
“Nay,” Sister Fallyn argued. “Our gowns could drag us under.” She shuddered. “Or sharks could attack us.”
“We have to try!”
“Nay, I will not have ye risking yer life.”
“And ye—” Brigitta struggled to keep her voice a whisper. “Ye would let yer life be controlled by some pirates?”
Sister Fallyn hesitated. “I understand yer frustration, but ye’ll be safer here. Even if ye make it ashore, how will ye travel all the way to Ebton Palace? Ye could be set upon by brigands.” She grabbed Brigitta by the shoulders. “Lass, ye must stay here.”
Brigitta groaned inwardly. She could see the shore. Freedom. How could she give up?
Sister Fallyn patted her on the back. “Go below and rest a bit. Then ye’ll feel better.”
With a sigh, Brigitta headed down the stairs to their cabin. How could she accept defeat? How could she let the Telling Stones, or a sorcerer pirate, or even an unknown brother dictate her future?
She paused at the door, mentally reviewing all of Sister Fallyn’s objections. Her gown was definitely a problem, but she didn’t want to go ashore in nothing but her shift. If only she could wear breeches—her gaze fell on the door at the end of the passageway. Captain Landers’s room. And he was ashore right now. With his breeches off, no doubt. Just like Rupert. Blast him.
She imagined Rupert returning to the ship only to discover that she’d escaped while he’d been busy with all those women. A spark of satisfaction shot through her. Yes, she would do this!
She slipped into the captain’s cabin and found an old pair of breeches and white linen shirt. On his dresser was a small bag. She peeked inside. Gold coins! She might need them. Even so, she hesitated, her conscience objecting to her being a thief. They’re pirates, she argued with herself. The gold was already stolen.
She groaned. What choice did she have? She took the gold and clothing back to her cabin.
The woolen breeches were far too loose around her waist and felt strange and itchy against her bare legs. She stuffed the bottom of her shift into the breeches, then used her own belt to gather up the waist so they wouldn’t fall off. Before fastening the belt, she attached the bag of gold to it. The breeches were also too long, so she rolled up the hems to mid-calf. The white shirt was loose, but she was grateful the long length hid her hips and bottom. She buttoned it up to her chin, then rolled the sleeves up to her elbows.
What else would she need? She stuffed her slippers into the pockets of the breeches, along with a dinner knife Sister Fallyn had confiscated the night before.
Once she made it ashore, she would seek out the mayor of the village and beg him to contact the Eberoni army. There were always some troops patrolling the shoreline, searching for pirates. Once she was with the army, they could give her safe passage to Ebton Palace.
She eased up the stairs and peered out the doorway. The crewmen had their backs to her as they used Rupert’s pulley machine to unload supplies. She darted behind the barrels and took a look over the portside railing.
Tucker was climbing up the rope ladder as the last box was being lifted. Once he landed on deck, he ordered some of the crew to put the machine away and others to follow him belowdecks. Brigitta assumed they were going to be stashing away the supplies. The only other seamen were far to the front of the ship, where they were busily repairing some sails, so focused on their task that they never looked her way.
Her gaze drifted back to the empty dinghy. Did she dare? She’d never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be? It was definitely a better option than swimming.
As Sister Fallyn headed toward the stairs, Brigitta slipped out and grabbed her.
“What—” The nun’s eyes widened as she looked Brigitta over. “What are ye doing?”
Brigitta put a finger to her lips to signal quiet, then whispered, “We’re leaving now.”
“What? Why are ye dresse
d like that?”
Brigitta dragged her toward the railing. “If we hurry, we can take the dinghy.” She hefted herself over the railing onto the wooden ladder. Goodness, this was so much easier without a long skirt!
Sister Fallyn gasped. “Have ye lost yer mind?”
Brigitta descended a few steps on the ladder. “Quickly! Afore someone sees us.”
The nun glanced frantically about. “We can’t—”
“Aye, we can. Hurry!”
Sister Fallyn eyed the ladder, and tears filled her eyes. “I-I don’t think I can do it.”
Brigitta paused. “I can’t leave without you.”
A tear rolled down the nun’s face, then she nodded. “Aye, ye can. Ye must.”
“Sister—?” Tucker’s voice sounded on deck. “Who are you talking to?”
Sister Fallyn quickly wiped her face and turned toward him. “Oh, those pesky seagulls. They’re always begging for food. Could ye show me where the galley is? Perhaps I could find some stale bread for them.”
“Oh, all right,” Tucker replied. “This way.”
Sister Fallyn waved a hand at Brigitta, a shooing gesture, before she followed the young officer.
Brigitta closed her eyes briefly as tears threatened. Would Sister Fallyn be in trouble for aiding her escape? How could she leave her behind?
But if she did escape, there was a chance that the pirates would simply let Sister Fallyn go. After all, they couldn’t earn a ransom with a nun. And if they didn’t release the sister, Brigitta would do her best to rescue her.
Aye, she had to do this. She hurried down the ladder to the dinghy and untied the ropes. As the small boat drifted away from the ship, she spent a few awkward moments figuring out how to slip the oars through the rings. Then she realized she was facing the wrong way. It would be easier to row with her back to the shore. As she pivoted around on the bench, she lost her grip on an oar, and it started to slide into the water.
She lurched to the side to grab it and gasped as the boat nearly tipped over. Good goddesses, she needed to be more careful or she would be swimming ashore. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then started to row.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She was doing it! She was making her escape.
* * *
After another few minutes of discussion, Rupert had finally convinced Stefan and Ansel to stick to the Official Plan and leave Brigitta out of it. She would be allowed to decide her own fate.
Now, with all their decisions made and a few additional supplies bought, they were walking toward the pier. While Stefan and Ansel talked about some needed ship repairs, Rupert’s mind wandered back to Brigitta. How was he going to tell her about Gunther’s plans? No doubt it would upset her. Perhaps even make her cry, and he hated to see her cry.
Dammit, he did care. A little. Shouldn’t any decent man hate to make a woman cry? That was all it was. His sympathy was a natural by-product of his own sense of honor and decency.
And lust, a nagging inner voice reminded him. So what? he countered. Any normal man occasionally felt some lust. It was healthy, dammit.
But he hadn’t lusted for the women on the pier.
So what? That just proved he had good taste. Not only was Brigitta beautiful, but she was much more clever than any of those other women. She’d seen through his hat of fake hair. And she’d been bold enough to rip it off. Bold, beautiful, and clever.
Dammit. He would never admit to caring about her. No matter how much Ansel and Stefan might try to badger him into a confession. He could never say it. Not out loud. How could he care for the daughter of the man who had destroyed his family?
He would champion her right to control her own destiny because it was the honorable thing to do. Nothing more.
His grip tightened on the package he was carrying. If she decided to side with her brother, Gunther, then she would go down with the bastard. For nothing would stop him from getting his revenge.
The sudden shrill of a whistle jerked him out of his thoughts. One of the ships had sounded an alarm. He broke into a run with Stefan and Ansel right behind him. As he dashed onto the pier, he quickly scanned the horizon. All ten ships were anchored in the bay, their sails furled. Dinghies were traveling back and forth transporting supplies. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The whistle blared once again. One long blast, then one short burst. That meant the Golden Star. But he couldn’t spot anything wrong with the ship, other than Tucker and some crewmen yelling at something. The dinghy?
His eyes narrowed. Whoever was rowing, his handling of the oars was awkward. He’d passed the bow of the ship and seemed headed for the shore instead of the pier. Was that a long blond braid down his back?
“Holy crap!” Rupert dropped his package on the pier and leaped into the nearest dinghy. “It’s Brigitta!” What the hell did she think she was doing?
Stefan tossed him the tether line. “Hurry.”
“I will.” Rupert pushed off from the pier and grabbed hold of the oars.
“It looks like we argued over nothing.” Ansel shaded his eyes as he watched her progress. “You wanted her to decide her own destiny. She’s doing it.”
“She can’t travel alone.” Rupert pulled hard on the oars. Dammit, why was she doing something so dangerous? Was she that desperate to get away from him?
As he continued to row, he inhaled deeply and blew air in her direction. The breeze increased in power as it crossed the water till it finally hit her boat and stopped her progress. She didn’t give up. Bending over the oars, she heaved hard and once again moved toward the shore.
He’d have to use a stronger wind. With his hands, he gathered up some air and blasted it toward the Golden Star, taking his dinghy with it. As he skipped across the surface headed toward her, the wind shoved her boat back toward the ship. Using an oar, she jabbed at the side of the ship, trying to push away.
“Brigitta, stop!”
She twisted around, half standing, to see who was calling her. Waves, caused by his wind, rocked her boat hard.
“No!” He cut the wind off, but there was no way to stop the waves. Her boat tipped, dumping her into the sea.
“Brigitta!” Dammit. Did she know how to swim? Even if she did, the waves could slam her against the side of the ship or cause the dinghy to crash on top of her.
He yanked off his jacket, hat, and boots, then dove into the water. The impact shoved his mask askew, and he tore it off. Swimming furiously, he reached her in a matter of seconds, although each second that ticked by seemed an eternity.
He spotted her blond head breaking the surface a second time. She reached for the dinghy but couldn’t get a good hold on it.
“Brigitta.” He reached for her and managed to grab an arm.
She stiffened with a gasp, her eyes wide with shock, then she went limp and sank underwater.
“Brigitta!” He pulled her up. Dammit. Why did she always react like this? He held her close and patted her face. “Brigitta.” Her eyes were closed, her face pale.
He stroked her cheek, then eased a finger between her lips. With her mouth slightly open, he leaned close. “Don’t leave me.” His lips grazed hers as he blew gently into her mouth.
Her eyes flickered open.
“Are you all right?” He skimmed a hand over her wet hair. “Did you hit your head?”
“Nay, I.…” She still looked stunned.
“No injuries?” He ran his hand down her back.
With a small gasp, she reacted, arching against him. “Y-ye can let me go.” She started to tread water, but when her legs brushed against his, she grew still.
He tightened his hold on her. “You scared me. I thought I’d lost you.”
A pained look crossed her face. “Ye’ve lost before. Everyone ye loved.”
He stiffened. “How would you—” He stopped when she touched his face.
“Yer mask is gone.”
“Hard to swim with it.”
Her hand skimmed up his cheek
to his temple, where she slipped a thumb beneath the sodden scarf tied around his head. “Ye might as well take this off, too.”
He stopped her and pressed her hand against his chest. “Sweetheart, are you eager to undress me?”
Her mouth fell open, and he thought about kissing her again. Properly, this time. But just as he leaned forward, she shoved him back. “Haven’t enough women undressed you today?”
“What? What women?”
“I saw you. With all yer … admirers.” She pulled away from him and swam toward the ladder.
“Wait.” He followed her. “You think I…” Water splashed into his mouth, and he spit it out. “Dammit to hell, woman. You think I bedded them all?”
She grabbed on to the rope ladder and glared at him. “Isn’t that what pirates do?”
He grasped the rung closest to her. “Have you forgotten that I’ve been keeping my identity secret? How could I bed a woman without risking the loss of my disguise?”
She blinked. After nervously tucking some wet strands of hair behind her ear, she gave him a shy glance. “Then ye didn’t…”
“No. I didn’t bed anyone.” As her cheeks grew pink, he eased closer. “Were you worried about that?”
“Nay, of course not.” Her cheeks bloomed brighter. “I just keep hearing about all this ravishing ye supposedly do. Seducing women and stealing passionate kisses. ’Tis all Sister Fallyn can talk about. I’ve grown quite tired of hearing about it.”
“Then would you prefer to do something about it?”
She gasped. “I have no idea what ye…”
“Were you jealous?”
“Nay!” She looked aghast, then lifted her chin. “If I cared, would I be trying so hard to escape?”
Damn. That hit home. He scowled at her. “How could you risk your life like this? I told you I’d never harm you.”
“Ye’re holding me against my will. That is harm.”
His chest tightened as a stab of guilt struck him hard. How could he explain without revealing too much? The urge to confide in her was starting to overwhelm him, but he had to ignore it. He could never trust her.