Page 11

T he man ran a tight ship, Isabella thought to herself as she stood in the shelter of the forecastle watching the sailors go about their business.

The wind was vicious, but she couldn’t bring herself to go below where there was nothing to do but wait.

She sent Adelaide back down to the cabin to keep warm.

It wouldn’t do for her to risk her health, despite her obvious curiosity about everything happening around her.

But there was a great deal Isabella needed to think through, and it was easier to keep a clear head out in the open than down in the dim cabin with her sister where the walls seemed to close in around them.

But as she tried to focus her mind on her future and how she would keep Adelaide out of Lady Eleanor’s clutches, she couldn’t help watching as everyone on the ship went about their business.

They moved with the ease and familiarity of an experienced crew, and she could swear it made Martin’s effortless air of command make him seem several inches taller.

He was in his element, and she couldn’t help but be impressed by his skill and authority.

It was a very different side of him than she had seen to date.

But she couldn’t let herself get distracted from the task ahead.

She had one husband to get rid of and another husband to convince to marry her.

Perhaps she could get Martin to stop at Yarmouth on the way south.

That was part of the Earl of Norfolk’s territory, and she was certain she could find a way to make contact.

She’d met Lord Christopher, the local baron, on several occasions, and she was certain he would pass along a message to his liege lord.

Maybe she could even aggravate Martin so much that he would leave her behind in Yarmouth.

But what was the best way to irritate her husband?

He seemed to be so much better at irritating her than the other way around.

She fixed her gaze on the horizon and opened her ears, listening for any tidbit from his men that might help her.

Listening without appearing to do so was a longtime habit, honed over years with her mother, followed by years at court.

She had an instinct for picking out the most useful pieces of information from an ocean of irrelevant blather.

It was like fishing with a net. Irrelevant words streamed through, but the important ones were trapped until she could examine their meaning at length.

That was the true art—crafting conclusions from the flotsam and jetsam.

Focusing in on two men swabbing the deck of the forecastle, she overheard, “Thank God we’re headed home.

It’s colder than a witch’s titty up here.

I can’t wait to get home to my Flora and sit in front of a roaring fire with a tankard of ale.

She’ll warm me up good and proper, if you know what I mean. ”

“Aye,” said the other man. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of female companionship myself. I tried to find a willing wench up at the castle, but they were all gave me the cold shoulder.”

“It’s because you stink like week-old fish, you manky bilge rat.”

Nothing useful to be learned there. Isabella turned her attention to three men gathered on the forecastle, looking over a chart, glancing at them only briefly before directing her gaze out to sea once again.

“I still think we should sail straight to Winchelsea without stopping,” said the first man.

“But his lordship wants fresh food for the ladies,” said a second man. “You know how picky females can be. Can’t exactly feed them salt pork and hard biscuits.”

Now, that was promising. Perhaps she could get him to stop at Yarmouth by demanding particular foodstuffs.

“I’m with Ned,” said the third man. “The sooner we get to Winchelsea, the better. It’s bad luck having women on board a ship.”

Even better. She could definitely make something of their superstition about women and ships.

Unfortunately, at that moment, it began to drizzle, forcing Isabella belowdecks. As she entered the cabin, she saw her sister sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Her face was pale and sweaty.

“I don’t feel so good,” Adelaide said, then clamped her hand over her mouth and convulsed.

“Come,” Isabella said, holding out her hand. “You need some fresh air, even if it is raining up there.”

She pulled her sister briskly out the door and up the stairs to the deck, getting her to the rail just in time for Adelaide to vomit over the side.

Oh dear. This was going to be a very long journey if Adelaide couldn’t tolerate being on a ship.

Isabella rubbed her lower back and made soothing sounds as her sister retched again.

Martin came running over. “Seasickness?” he asked Isabella. Adelaide wasn’t in any state to answer for herself.

Isabella nodded.

“I have ginger biscuits that will help calm her belly, and I have a sleeping draught that can help her sleep off the worst of it.”

Did she dare entrust her sister’s health to this man?

But then, what choice did she have?

“I appreciate anything you can do to ease her suffering.”

Their gazes connected for a moment, and all she saw was kindness and concern.

Gone was the pompous coxcomb who had sparred with her nearly every time they spoke.

Who was Lord Martin really, underneath all the bluster?

Most men she’d known did not improve on acquaintance, but perhaps this one was different.

She shook herself and looked up at the dismal sky, not wanting to pursue that line of thought. He was still sent by Lady Eleanor and therefore not to be trusted.

Martin followed her gaze. “Yes, I wish I could do something about the weather, but alas, that is not within my control. Blue skies are rare as rubies this far north at this time of the year. I’m afraid we’re in for rough weather and choppy seas these next few days.”

He turned back to look at her as Adelaide retched once again. “I’ll go get those biscuits and the sleeping draught and meet you in the cabin.”

As soon as Adelaide’s stomach was empty, Isabella helped her back down belowdecks.

She didn’t like how cold and clammy Adelaide’s hand felt on hers, or the way her sister was shivering.

Isabella could only pray that their brief foray into the elements didn’t bring on something far worse than a little seasickness.

In the cabin, Isabella helped her sister onto the bed. Martin returned and knocked on the door, then opened it, holding out a carved, wooden cup with a dram of the sleeping draught.

“Thank you,” Adelaide murmured before swallowing it down.

Martin handed her a small, hard biscuit, and she took it with a tenuous smile.

“You are too kind, my lord.” Adelaide took a few tentative nibbles. “ Mmm . You’re right. That does help.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “That’s good, my lady.”

Isabella’s heart melted a bit at the sight of Martin’s kindness to her beloved sister. She couldn’t afford to like this man, but she had to admit, grudgingly, that sometimes he wasn’t terrible.

“I’ll leave you two alone to dry off and rest,” he said, bowing. And then he was gone.

Adelaide took off her shoes and slid beneath the thick wool covers on the bed after finishing off the last of the biscuit, and Isabella sat down beside her.

“I like Lord Martin,” Adelaide said, peering up with her big brown eyes. “He’s kind. I’m glad you married someone with a good heart.”

Clearing her throat, Isabella tucked her sister in. “Well, don’t get too attached.” She smoothed stray hairs out of Adelaide’s face.

“What do you mean?” Adelaide started to sit up, brow furrowed and face full of concern.

Isabella pressed her gently back down. Should she tell her sister of her plans? It would be hard to hide in such close quarters. Perhaps it was time to be honest. “I don’t plan to stay married to him.”

She explained about the deal she’d struck with Martin, and her sister’s frown grew deeper.

“But why would you leave a good man? I don’t understand.” Adelaide reached out for Isabella’s hand with an imploring look.

“He’s not a good man. His head is as swollen as an overfilled wineskin. Besides, I need to marry someone who is willing and able to defy Lady Eleanor so that I can keep you with me. There is no way I’m letting that harpy have you.”

“But maybe Lord Martin can—”

“He won’t,” Isabella said firmly. “Lady Eleanor sent him, remember? We can’t trust him. And you should hear the way he talks to me. Please believe me when I say that the baron is not the solution to our problems.”

Adelaide frowned and retreated beneath the covers. “If you’re certain you’ve thought this through—”

“I have.” Well, maybe not entirely. Certain details were still fuzzy. Isabella needed time to think.

Adelaide covered her mouth as an enormous yawn overtook her. At least the sleeping draught was working quickly. Perhaps then Isabella might have some time to truly plot out her future.

As her sister dozed off, Isabella kicked off her shoes and settled back against the headboard.

At last, she had some peace and quiet to consider her options.

She began a mental list of possible ways to approach Lord James of Norfolk.

For hours, she was absorbed in her planning, so it startled her when there was a knock on the door.

With a silent curse, she got up and went to the door. She didn’t want to wake her sister.

Opening it, she saw Martin. Of course.

“How was your day, my lady? It looks like I interrupted you in the midst of deep thought.”

She slipped out the door and let it close behind her to leave Adelaide in peace.

“I was planning. I think I’ll marry the Earl of Norfolk once our marriage is annulled. He always liked me.” There was no reason to keep her intentions a secret. It wasn’t as if Martin was truly her husband.

A muscle in Martin’s jaw bulged momentarily before he schooled his face into nonchalance. Was he bothered by this news? If so, it served him right for thinking this marriage was anything other than a pretense.

“That oaf?” Martin asked lightly. “He knows how to handle a lance on the tourney grounds. I’ll give him that.

But don’t expect him to be a good and faithful husband to you.

From what I’ve seen, he dips his wick in any passing strumpet that shows him a bit of leg.

And he has a reputation for being cruel and ambitious. Is that truly what you want?”

Isabella was well aware of the earl’s reputation and habits.

“Why would I care what he does and with whom if I’m the countess of all of Norfolk?

” It wasn’t entirely true that she didn’t care, but her life with her mother and Lady Eleanor had taught her to prize practicality above sentiment under all circumstances.

The earl served her purposes, and that was all that mattered.

Martin looked at her long and hard, unnerving her completely. Then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. How is Lady Adelaide?”

“Mercifully asleep. The sleeping draught was quite effective.” She gritted her teeth, then mumbled, “You have my thanks.”

He beamed and winked, the scoundrel.

“I am very glad to hear she is resting peacefully. The seasickness should only last a day or two, and then she’ll adjust. In the meantime, there are plenty of ginger biscuits. Might I trouble you to bring me my citole?” He gestured at the door. “It’s in my cabin, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

Isabella ducked into the cabin, found the instrument, came back out, and handed it to him gingerly.

“Here’s your little lute,” she said, hoping to annoy him.

He grimaced for a moment before composing himself. Good, she’d scored a hit. It wouldn’t do for him to think she was softening toward him. The sooner he concluded she had no heart to give, the better off everyone would be. She was on a mission and didn’t want the distraction of his courtship.

“I was hoping you would join me for dinner and let me play you a few more tunes from Aquitaine,” he said, strumming the instrument a few times and tuning the strings.

His proposal sounded rather tempting, which was dangerous. “I would rather hear a dog howl at the moon than listen to another one of your love songs.”

Chuckling, he leaned close, his lips nearly brushing against her ear and whispered, “Woof.”

Her breath caught and her pulse spiked, as tingles ran through her body. “Don’t taunt me, you cur.”

“Then don’t bait me, you temptress. If I’m a dog, you’d best beware my bite.

” His teeth clicked shut right next to her ear, and she gasped.

Why was she wondering what it might be like to have his teeth graze her earlobe?

Worse yet, why did she want his lips to trail down her neck, for him to nibble on her shoulder and perhaps on places lower down?

He took a step back and gave her a look that was pure sin as his gaze lovingly caressed every curve, his lips twisted in wicked amusement. “Give in, Isabella. You know you want to.”

“Give in to what?” Her voice was altogether too breathy.

“Everything. Let me worship you, my queen. Let me give you pleasure you’ve never dreamt of. Let me love every inch of you, goddess of my heart. Just say you’ll be my wife in truth, and I’m yours.”

All she could do was stare into those chestnut eyes flecked with amber and onyx. She was transfixed. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest if this went on much longer. Could he see what he was doing to her? Did he know?

“Or, if that’s too much,” he said, holding out a hand, “you could simply agree to join me for dinner.”

“I suppose dinner would be acceptable,” she said, resting her hand in his as if in a trance, but then she shook herself, forcing her mind back to reality. “The rest is never going to happen.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the regret in her voice.

This was no good. She had a plan, and she had to stick to it. Martin was a rogue who was under Eleanor’s thumb, and she couldn’t let herself forget that, not for one moment. There was too much at stake.

Martin only smiled. “Good. I’ve prepared a place for us to dine in the hold. I’ll go ask Baldwin to set the table and bring the food, and I’ll return for you in a trice, if you’ll excuse me, my lady.”

“You are excused.” She wiggled her fingers dismissively, and he walked away chuckling, the bothersome lout. Ducking into the cabin to check on Adelaide one last time, she mentally braced herself for battle. By the time he knocked, she was ready for war, and come what may, she intended to win.