Page 3

Chapter 3

An Argument for Taking a Husband

Maggie

H er father howled when she recounted the story of the proposal.

It set off his cough, harsh and unrelenting until her mother stopped her stirring, the laundry in her tub still swirling like a seer’s bowl, and brought him a hot rag for his throat.

Maggie dumped the kitten in his lap and took up the worn-smooth stick to resume the work.

“What a fool!” Papa croaked gleefully, once he’d recovered.

The kitten made a home on his chest, needling its tiny claws into the quilt that covered him.

Just the thing to raise his spirits.

“Now, Lenn,” Mother admonished.

“Love is a foolish thing. If I remember, you begged my hand twice before I agreed to marry you.”

“More fool was I, for look what it got me: two hands full of ass and brass,” he shot back, eyes glittering with fun.

For all their banter, her parents loved one another deeply.

In some ways, their love was a curse, because Maggie could accept nothing less from a potential husband.

“Kaspar’s not in love with me,” she objected.

“He’s in love with the Wolfhunter . I wouldn’t call that foolish. I am, too.”

Papa sighed wistfully, the gusty exhale rattling in his chest. “Aren’t we all?”

Mother tucked an extra quilt around him.

“Not all of us carry a torch for a boat,” she sniped dryly, though Maggie knew she loved the Wolfhunter , too.

“A boat, ” Papa scoffed, startling the kitten who’d curled up in a fuzzy ball on his sternum.

“She’s more than a boat. She’s a beauty. A dream. Never had a better night than the ones I spent inside her.”

“Have I lost you to that dinghy’s delights?” Mother pulled her careworn face into a dramatic frown, and Maggie laughed.

Ass and brass, indeed.

“Dinghy?!” her father roared indignantly, setting off his cough again.

Mother fussed over him like a hen, clucking and tucking until he settled, sleep and illness dragging down his lids.

Then she came back to the tub to help Maggie wring out the washing.

They worked in silence, the only sounds the dull drone of the waves outside and the guttering oil lamp.

“You might consider it,” Mother finally said, once they’d finished and tied up the wet washing into a bundle to hang in the morning.

“The old coot thinks he can captain this year, but he can’t. Even if he could manage her ”—she meant the Wolfhunter —“he can’t manage a crew. Kaspar can.”

Maggie bristled.

“Papa can captain in his sleep. He can give orders from his bed, and his boatswain will do the rest.”

Mother sighed as she tucked her skirts up in her belt to keep them out of the way.

She squatted, waiting for Maggie to grasp the other handle of the wash tub.

“Another season at sea will kill him. One, two —”

They heaved the tub in tandem and carried it outside to dump the dirty water into a stone gully that carried it over the cliff’s edge.

They paused a moment to listen as it splashed down the rocks.

It was the sound of a few more pennies in her mother’s pocket, ones they desperately needed to pay for Papa’s medicine.

“Is it really that bad?” Of course, she knew it was.

But she had to believe that Papa could recover.

It was too much to consider that he might not.

“Surely we can scrimp enough to get through another year? I have a little cockle-and-mussel money saved away.”

Mother stopped on the stone doorstep to shield Papa’s sleep from the sound of their conversation.

The pale moonlight cast silver shadows across her cheeks, hollowing her eyes.

She looked tired. “We need a miracle, and when have we been able to afford miracles, Maggie? We can’t even pay the latest apothecary bill, let alone the moorage for the Wolfhunter to rot in the harbor. But Kaspar has the skills to run her. Even split with him, a good catch would settle our debts, and the ship would stay in the family.”

Maggie swallowed.

It made sense when Mother put it that way, but…

“Kaspar doesn’t like me.”

“Of course he does. He likes you enough to offer.”

“He likes the Wolfhunter .”

“Every sailor’s wife comes in second to his ship. What’s not to like about you? You’re young and pretty. Hardworking. From a good family.”

“Not that young,” Maggie pointed out.

“All the more reason to marry now. Anyway, you’re acting like marriage would be a bitter pill. There are plenty of things to enjoy about being a wife.”

Maggie grimaced, imagining it.

All the ways she’d have to alter herself to please Kaspar.

Holding her tongue, baking pies.

Staying home while he sailed her ship.

“Just what I need, another set of shirts to scrub.”

“Is that what you think marriage is?” Her mother was unable to suppress a smile.

“For all the trials of marriage, don’t discount the benefits of a warm body in your bed.”

Don’t need marriage for that , she didn’t say.

Her mother might be a salt-hardened fishwife, but she believed her daughter was innocent in certain respects.

Maggie didn’t intend to correct that particular assumption.

“Plus, a husband would protect you. Did you hear that Jenny Peck disappeared night before last? Her family says the goblins took her.”

Maggie rolled her eyes.

She knew for a fact that Jenny had eloped with the blacksmith’s apprentice.

“What do goblins want with Jenny Peck?”

“Dellis says they have a taste for virgin blood,” her mother confided, quite seriously.

Maggie laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sharp noise.

“Jenny is no more a virgin than—well, you .”

Mother cuffed her on the shoulder, and none too gently.

“My point is that a husband could keep you safe. I worry about you out and about, alone, with all this talk of goblin hordes. I would go into town with you myself if it weren’t for your father’s needs.” Her voice was worn as the laundry stick, and Maggie cursed herself for not coming home earlier to help her with the chores.

She tried to make light.

“The gargoyle will run off any goblins. You should have seen how he terrorized Kaspar and his stupid friends tonight. They were howling as they ran away. I think Kaspar wet himself,” she added, hoping to jostle a laugh out of her mother.

But of course, Corine Sparhauk saw right through the story.

Instead of laughing, she frowned.

“They were hassling you?”

“Teasing the cat. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Maggie stepped through the door frame into the stone cottage, hoping her father’s snores would protect her from a tongue-lashing.

No such luck.

She endured a good half-hour of hissed scolding on the dangers of walking alone at night, the risks of being drained dry by hungry goblins, and the necessity of accepting life’s hardships.

Hardships being husbands, apparently.

It all rolled off her like waves on the rocks until Mother’s last hoarse plea.

“If not Kaspar, choose someone else. We need the help, Maggie.”

That stuck like a blade in her heart, quivering, as she finished the evening’s chores and crawled into bed well after midnight.

For all the help she gave her parents with her cockle-and-mussel money, with her younger arms stirring the laundry tub and cooking breakfast porridge, it wouldn’t keep them all warm and fed, the roof thatched and the lamp full, clothes mended and apothecary bill paid.

It wasn’t enough.

A small ginger lump lodged itself, purring, between her breasts.

The sweet little thing was as loud as a grown man’s snores.

She’d put up with the noise for the warm, maternal feelings it brought out in her.

As sleep tugged at her eyes, she smiled, remembering the gargoyle’s momentary confusion that the fluffy little dear might be her own baby.

His wrong assumption had given her the oddest pang.

Perhaps she was still raw from Kaspar’s comments about her potential inability to throw brats.

That was the one thing she couldn’t do without a husband.

The thing she’d mourn a little if it never happened.

She’d like to set a cooing babe on Papa’s knee before he sailed off beyond the horizon of this life.

It might be worth putting up with a man to have a baby.

Especially a husband who’d often be at sea and wouldn’t trouble her when he was ashore because he didn’t enjoy her company, anyway.

Kaspar could suit after all.

Even if he didn’t love her, he loved the Wolfhunter , and that they had in common.

Plus, the match would please her parents and give Papa a chance to recover, and that was worth more than anything.

She grimaced, remembering how humiliated Kaspar had been by her flippant refusal.

She would have to humble herself to have any chance with him.

But perhaps with a heartfelt apology, she could persuade him to propose to her again.

M aggie took advantage of the morning’s low tide and filled her casks to overflowing with the best shellfish she could harvest, putting aside a special selection to thank the gargoyle for standing up for her when she needed it.

She’d rarely seen him leave his post at the gate for any reason, so his swift, fearless intervention and obvious concern had left her humbled.

Why had he chosen to help her?

He didn’t regularly rescue humans from their own trouble.

She was a little ashamed of her plan to beg the same tormenters for forgiveness when he’d done her such a favor by running them off.

What did it say about her character that she’d marry a man who’d treated a kitten so badly?

She had her reasons for overlooking it, but part of her wanted the gargoyle’s good opinion.

She needed both hands to pull her heavy cart, so the kitten rode in the pocket of her apron to town.

The gargoyle crouched, day-frozen, above the gate, his bulky shoulders bunched forward like he could launch off his perch at any moment.

His stony eyes appeared open and intently focused on her, though he likely slept.

She waved at him anyway when she passed through the gate, just in case he could see her, and somehow it seemed like a little of his strength seeped into her.

She suspected she’d need it to face what lay ahead.

“Is Kaspar here?” she asked Walther after she’d unloaded her casks at the tavern and set up her table by the bar.

He jerked his head toward the back corner, where a knot of men clustered around a table.

She spotted Kaspar’s straw-colored head among them, a stack of coins at his elbow.

Most of the others she recognized from his crew.

She untangled the unruly kitten from her hair and lifted it from her shoulder.

“Do you mind watching him for a few minutes?” she asked.

“Course not,” Walther said, tucking the tiny cat into the crook of his arm.

It immediately attacked his hairy forearms, clawing at the golden strands.

Satisfied her pet would be well-tended, she swallowed her pride and dried her hands on her apron, feeling like a gambler herself as she approached Kaspar’s card game.

The odds were against her.

His face darkened when she drew near, so she shot him her sunniest smile.

“Can we talk? In private?”

Kaspar’s eyebrows rose, and his fellow card players whooped.

Maggie felt her cheeks burn.

“It will only be a minute.”

“ So said I to the farmer’s daughter, but our roll in the hay weren’t half as long ,” one of them recited in a sing-song voice.

“ Hey, hey, the farmer’s daughter, fair as a calf and twice as strong ,” a few of the other, drunker men sang back, toasting their tankards and drinking deeply.

They carried on with the call and response song, their recall of the lyrics getting worse and worse with each verse.

She should have waited to approach Kaspar until he wasn’t surrounded by a bunch of drunken, randy sailors.

“I’ll come back later,” Maggie said apologetically, turning to go.

He caught her elbow.

“Wait. What is this about?” He seemed genuinely curious, and at least marginally more sober than his crew.

“What do you think?” she asked miserably.

His jaw tensed. “I assumed you came to gloat.”

“About what?” She didn’t miss his swift glance down at his lap.

She hid her smile. He thought she was going to tease him about wetting himself.

“Never mind,” he said crossly.

“What were you going to say?”

She took a deep breath.

“Your offer yesterday. I may have been too hasty—”

“So was I!” one of the loudest louts broke in, leering at her.

“ Hey, hey, hasty pudding ,” he sang to the tune of their stupid song.

Kaspar elbowed him, and he shut up.

“Too hasty in my answer,” Maggie finished.

“I should have considered it more seriously and replied with more respect. If you were to ask again…” She trailed off, humiliated by the smug expression growing over his face.

“Apologize.”

“Sorry, Cap’n,” the drunk man slurred.

Kaspar elbowed him again.

“Not you. Her.”

“Sorry, Cap’n,” she parroted.

From the way his jaw set, it was clear Kaspar didn’t like her joke, so she tried to salvage the wreck of the conversation.

“I am. Sorry. Truly.”

“Try again,” he said softly.

Dangerously. Even his tablemates sensed it, quieting around them.

His eyes flicked from her face to the floor and back up again.

Was he really indicating what she thought he was?

! He smirked at the disbelieving look on her face and gave a slow nod.

“On your knees, if you please.”

Damn him.

“Fine.” She picked up her skirts and kneeled in front of him on the grimy tavern floorboards, keeping her fury knotted in her fists so it wouldn’t show on her face.

“I am sorry for my sharp tongue yesterday. Your offer was earnest, and my reply was not. If you would care to make your proposal again, it would be received with more…enthusiasm.”

“And why is that?” Kaspar prompted, looking gleeful at the prospect of her spelling out his charms.

“Because you’re a fair sailor and have a head for business. You’d sire strong children and you’re not bad to look at,” she gritted out, ignoring the hoots that followed every grudging bit of praise.

“Because you would make anyone a fine husband.”

“One might say a better husband than a sharp-tongued spinster deserves.” Kaspar leaned back in his chair, hands laced behind his neck.

He was enjoying this too much.

“One might, but one might also be consoled by the very large ship that comes with her,” she answered tartly, unable to restrain said tongue.

“And I have tits enough to share, or so you claimed last night.”

That drew a few laughs from the table, and for once, Kaspar joined in.

He seemed to be softening now that his pride had been coddled by her compliments.

Her knees were sore and so was her heart.

“Can I get up now?”

“I don’t know, I like you like this, Mags. Begging for me and all.” He gave her a lazy leer.

She rolled her eyes and struggled to her feet, brushing the dust off her wrinkled skirts.

“Sorry to ruin the view, but I have work to do.”

He jerked a nod and rose from his seat, pocketing his stack of coins before stepping away from the table.

“I’ll visit your father to discuss the details.”

So that’s what they were calling the Wolfhunter now.

The details.

She gave him a bemused look.

“You can discuss them with me.”

“Fine. I will pay your father’s debts and keep a roof over his head, and in return, I expect a half-share of the ship,” he rejoined bluntly.

“He will keep the other half. Should be plenty to support your parents until the end of their days, especially since I’ll be feeding you. That’s more than fair.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What about my share?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you fine,” he grumbled, rubbing his jaw as he glanced over at his crew.

They’d lost interest in the discussion and had resumed their card game.

“Is my share included in my parents’ half or your half?”

He stared at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Why does it matter? Either way, you’re eating well.”

“Because they’re two vastly different deals, that’s why. I can pencil the numbers for you if you can’t work it out in your head.”

Kaspar’s nostrils flared.

“I can work it out.”

“Then you understand why I’m asking. How much of the Wolfhunter will be mine?”

“You won’t own any of it,” he burst out harshly.

“Your father owns all of it today, and I’ll own half of it tomorrow. This isn’t a negotiation. You’d better learn to hold your tongue, or you’ll talk yourself out of a husband again.”

She snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d pushed him too far.

She’d done her duty, and now she’d do her best not to spoil it.

But it took every bit of her strength to smile.