Princess at Sea (11 page)

“Mr. Smitty,” Duncan said breathlessly. “Should I get the royals up on deck, sir?”

“What for?” It was a belligerent accusation. “They're fine where they are.”

“It's Prince Alex,” Duncan continued, undeterred. “He's in a bad way. The fresh air—”

“Won't do him any more good if he gets to it an hour later. And what the hell do you care for?”

“Money, sir.” His response was quick, and I could almost see his sideways grin, sly and contriving. I prayed it was an act. “Two ransoms are better than one. Three are better than two.”

“Greedy chull,” Mr. Smitty responded, and I could hear his booted feet shift overhead. “I only have to keep him alive for another week. He won't die of a fever for at least that. After that, I don't care.

“Hey!” Mr. Smitty shouted suddenly, and I stifled a jump. “Don't roll that sail up! It's wet, you damned fools!

“I know you got eyes for her,” he continued to Duncan. “But she killed three men, and I can't take away their want for revenge. Hell, I don't want to. It'll give them something to do.”

Three men?
I thought, appalled as I put a hand to my mouth. I hadn't meant to kill any of them. And that I had become a thing to “give them something to do” was sickening.

“I want her first,” Duncan persisted, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to believe the worst of him. “I've been almost a year trying to get under her skirts. She's a tease, promising one thing with her eyes, then turning me away with her words. I want what she promised me before she dies, and I want her all fire and spit, not weepy and slack after another man has broken her.”

I couldn't look at Contessa, though I knew from the sound of her breathing that she was listening. Mr. Smitty grunted. “You got the same chance at her as any man. Bring them over on the last boat.”

From above came the sound of him walking away, shouting orders. I didn't move on my moldy sacks, my heart aching and my hope dying to a sour lump. Duncan wasn't betraying me. I had to believe that.

Depressed, I ran a finger between me and the rusting band of metal about my ankle. I was cold and sticky from old sweat. My hair was greasy, and I was bruised and stank. I wanted to cry, but daren't. Holding my breath, I bit my lip until it hurt.

“I'm sorry, Tess,” Duncan whispered, and I wondered if he knew I could hear him. “I won't let you die like that. I promise.”

His boots slowly moved away, and my eyes grew hot. The tears pricked, and my head started to pound.

“Night crew ashore first!” came Mr. Smitty's shout. “The rest of you, lock her down!”

Good-natured catcalls rose high, giving evidence that the crew was widespread over the small vessel. Feet padded to the railing, and after a moment of confusion and thumps of bundles, the dinghy rowed away. It grew quiet, and it seemed I could feel the motion of the ship easier.

“Rosie?”

It was Alex again, and I closed my eyes.
God help me, I was going to die at the hands of men. How could a dinner party turn into this?

“I'm Contessa, Alex,” my sister said softly, the hurt clear in her voice. He was delirious again. There had been only one brief interlude of rationality this morning where he apologized for being such a bother, his dark eyes wide and unseeing and his pale fingers around hers.

I ran a hand across my eyes. It left a clean spot on the back of my hand where my tears had wiped the grime away. Duncan was trying. I would be ready when the time came.

“Rose?” Alex said, his tone gentle with a loving chastisement. “You promised me you wouldn't come.”

“Please be still, Alex,” Contessa said, a hint of desperation in her.

I cracked an eye to see them together as before, Alex with his head in Contessa's lap. Alex sent a bandaged hand up to touch her cheek, and her head drooped, her hair falling to hide her face. “Don't cry, love,” he said. “You promised me you would find a man who would love you, who would give all of himself, not the half-life and polite insults a concubine has at court. I love you too much to see you suffer like that.”

“I'm Contessa,” she pleaded. “Please stop. . . .”

I could hear the tears in her voice and see the love in his touch as he cupped her cheek with his hand. So could Contessa.

“No tears,” he whispered, his cracked lips barely moving. “You understood too well. To say you didn't would be a lie. My father needs me, and I will follow his wishes.”

“Shhhhh,” Contessa urged, pain clear in her soft pleading. “Be still.”

It was obvious the poor woman didn't want to hear any more. I didn't either. It hurt, and it would tear him up if he knew the torture he was putting his new wife through.

“But I met her, Rosie,” he said, and Contessa shook. “And as much as I didn't want to, I think I might grow to love her.”

“Please stop. . . .” she begged.

“Hush. I will always love you, Rosie. Never think I won't. But I must set aside our wants for the greater good of Misdev. I am a prince of Misdev first. You know that. It's what you loved about me from the start.”

“Please. Please don't,” she whispered, tears glistening wet upon her cheeks, and I felt my heart breaking.

“She's nothing like you,” Alex said, strength entering his voice for the first time, heavy with excitement and the thrill of discovery. “She's nothing like you, and exactly like you. When I met her, I almost sent for you despite our vow. She seemed so frail, so soft-spoken, mild and easily swayed. A woman not worth the food on her plate. But she isn't, Rosie. And no one sees it. Her fire is deep within her, hidden where it grows strong and bright.”

Contessa took a gulping gasp of air. Her hand went out and her pale fingertips covered his lips. “Alex. Stop,” she begged, barely above a whisper.

A bandaged hand crept upward, and Alex took her fingertips in his hands and kissed them. “Don't cry for me. I'll be all right. She is as wild as the wind before the rain, made more so because she can seem so soft and pliant. She fights for what she believes in, and she's not afraid of a royal title, having no regard for any but herself and her God. I think . . . I think I might love her if she can find some way to love me.”

My throat tightened, and I held my breath lest they know I was awake and listening. I clutched a fold of a sack to me, desperate to be silent. It wasn't fair, what royalty was forced to endure. To live a life without love, forever to set aside passion or mix it with the fear of being found and shamed. I had escaped it, only to find myself snared in it again with Duncan.

Contessa gave up all pretense of restraint and openly began to weep. “What if she doesn't love you, Alex,” she said between heaves for breath. “Will you send for me then?”

“No.”

Her sobs grew harder, and I looked to find her thin shoulders shaking, her head bowed over him and her hands imprisoned in his. “I can't, dearest,” he said, “though I'd give almost anything to. It would destroy her. For all her strength, her heart is as fragile as new ice. I vowed to be true to her, and I will whether she believes it or not.”

“But what of you?” she asked, her voice harsh with pain. “Will you live without love because she remains true to her heart? Should she leave her man just to make you happy?”

It was a bitter accusation, and Alex smiled softly in his delirium. He reached up again to touch her face. Eyes closing, Contessa tilted her head so that his hand fit her perfectly. “As a prince of Misdev,” he whispered lovingly, “I will wait until I know she won't be swayed.”

“How long?” she asked, barely audible. “How long will you wait?”

“I don't know.” His voice had gone wispy. He was growing tired, and his voice was starting to slur. “But you must leave, Rosie. I don't want her to see you. I don't want word of your being here to mar any trust she might have in me.”

“I want to stay,” Contessa said faintly, “to hear your voice gentled in love.”

My focus sharpened, thinking this was a dangerous game she played.

“Shhhh,” Alex whispered. “Come here.”

His bandaged hand pulled her down to him, and she settled against him, crying softly.

“Don't cry,” he murmured, his hand moving atop her hair. “I want you to promise me you'll go back to Misdev and find a man who loves you for your fire, not your beauty or how many shops your father has. Marry for love, Rosie. Live it for me in case I don't find it.”

“How?” she mumbled into his shirt. “How will I know if his words are only pretty words? I've only loved one man. I've nothing to gauge another's words against.”

“His kiss.” Alex's words, though soft, were clear over the gentle slap of water. “You can feel it when he holds you.”

“But I don't know what love feels like. . . .” she stammered as she sat up into the beam of sun. It glowed around her, making her a downtrodden angel.

My cracked eyes saw him smile, and as I clenched into myself, I felt the tears start at the love he held for his Rosie. “Then one last kiss, Rosie. Look tight. Remember it. And when you kiss another, measure it against this one to know if his words are true or just words.”

Contessa was silently crying, the tears slipping from her. Slowly, hesitantly, she bent to him. A sheet of her hair fell between us, and my head pounded as I wanted to sob right along with her. It was beautiful and tragic. An honorable man saying good-bye to the woman he loved so that he might be true to a woman who might never love him.

And I knew why Contessa had given in and played the part of Rosie. She had stolen a piece of Alex's love for herself. In her words to Alex, she admitted she had found herself able to love him, though her loyalty to Thadd held her back. If Alex ever kissed Contessa again with that same passion, she would know that he loved her, too.

I closed my eyes and turned away, thinking it had been wrong to have overheard such a private moment. It had filled me with a bitter envy. No man would ever love me with that depth, that purity. And if one ever did, I would somehow have to find the strength to walk away to keep him safe and alive. The game had taken that away from me. I could not afford to love anyone, or a rival player would use it against me.

I took a shaky breath as they broke apart.

“I'm sorry,” Alex said, his voice a thin ribbon. “I don't feel well. I think I'm going to go to sleep. I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm so tired.”

“Go back to sleep, love,” Contessa whispered, and I heard a gentleness to it that had never been there before. “I'll watch over you until your Contessa comes.”

“Be nice to her, Rosie?” Alex asked, his words hardly more than a breath. “She's frightened, despite all her bluster and fire.”

“I will. Shhhhh, go to sleep.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Contessa said, her words choking.

I waited, listening until his breath went slow and deep. Under me, the ship rose and fell. The remaining crew readied to leave, unaware and uncaring of us. Past the soft sounds of them was Contessa silently weeping, and I huddled into myself, trying not to do the same.

The sailor coming up the stairway behind me gave me a
shove, and I stumbled over the last step. I fell sprawling onto the deck amid rude catcalls and jeers. From belowdecks came Contessa's cry of protest. My knees had taken most of my weight, the dull ache shocking me out of my numb stupor. A chill wind from the coming sunset shifted my lank hair about my face, and I looked past it, squinting. I took a grateful breath of fresh air, then fell to coughing.

I was faint from hunger, but with the threat of someone helping me, urging me on, I got up. It was harder than usual as my hands were tied before me with a cruel tightness, and I was stiff from having not moved much the last few days. The salt-laden ropes burned, adding to my misery. The thought of the fickle nature of men flashed through me. They were afraid of me, so I was a subject of ridicule and persecution.

“At least the air is fresher,” I breathed, and someone cuffed me. I staggered, almost going down again, the unexpected pain bringing a gasp from me. From the railing, Duncan tensed, watching, though it seemed he was more interested in the dinghy rope he was coiling up. I took my eyes from him lest I give his interest away. It seemed unlikely he had planned an escape from here, surrounded by half a dozen men.

Before me was a subtropical island, like hundreds that dotted the southernmost reaches of Costenopolie. We were anchored in a small bay, the water dark and gray from the coming dusk. A thin ribbon of smoke trailed up through the trees. There was a small beach between the trees that grew right down to the high-tide mark, and I could see the scrapes from where the dinghy had landed earlier. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it was cold, the wind cutting through my tattered finery as if it weren't there.