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H ow dare Martin ignore her! He’d left Isabella and Adelaide alone for dinner the previous night, Baldwin serving them in their room.

He hadn’t bothered to so much as say “hello” as she broke her fast in the morning, standing on deck, shivering in the frigid sea breeze.

How was she supposed to convince him to stop in Norfolk if he refused to even speak to her?

Adelaide’s continued seasickness was another worry. Isabella plied her with broth and ginger biscuits, then gave her a sleeping draft when her sister’s stomach still threatened to rebel.

As Isabella paced the deck, the weight of her isolation came crashing down on her.

There was no one she could turn to as the ship journeyed onward.

If she didn’t find a solution quickly, she was going to lose her sister.

She was married to an irritating man who had no reason to release her aside from his word.

At any moment, he could decide he wanted to keep her, and there was nothing she could do about it except try to convince him that they wouldn’t suit.

Except that everything she did to try to fend him off only seemed to fan the flames.

“You seem restless, my lady.” The deep male voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned around quickly to see Martin’s first mate.

“Ulf, isn’t it?”

“Aye, it is, my lady. His lordship sent me to see if there was anything we can do to make your journey more pleasant. A ship doesn’t offer many opportunities for entertainment, but we aim to make you as comfortable as possible during our journey.”

Isabella looked the large man up and down, deeply skeptical that he was capable of offering any diversion she would enjoy. But perhaps he could be useful.

“Tell me, good man, why his lordship couldn’t come and inquire after me himself?”

It irked Isabella that he was sending an emissary rather than subjecting himself to her campaign of persuasion. But perhaps Ulf could be persuaded. What would make the first mate of a ship want to land when his captain and liege lord didn’t?

“Running a ship and managing the men requires a great deal of attention. He is preoccupied at the moment, I’m afraid, and is likely to remain so all day.” Ulf was putting on a good show, but he was clearly making excuses for his lord.

“And so he sends his first mate? Doesn’t he need you too?”

“He can spare me for the moment.” Ulf looked her in the eyes as if daring her to keep questioning him.

She was starting to rather like Ulf. He stood his ground, and clearly his loyalty to his lord ran deep. “Excellent. How long have you been his first mate?”

“Five years, my lady. It’s been an honor serving him. I couldn’t ask for a better captain. Or a better liege lord, though he’s only been baron for a year now.”

“So recent! I knew his father had passed, but the grief must be fresh.” An unwelcome sliver of sympathy wormed its way into her heart. “Were they close?”

“Oh, aye. Lord Gilbert took his son everywhere, introducing him to life at sea and to his many friends at various ports of call. He was right proud of the way Lord Martin took to it. His other son, Lord Lance, never cared for it and has always preferred to stay on shore. The two brothers couldn’t have been more different. ”

Isabella couldn’t help but be intrigued by these insights into Martin’s family, but she chided herself to focus.

She shouldn’t care what Martin’s family was like, as she was unlikely ever to meet them.

It was time to redirect the conversation.

“I’m sure that you also have many friends at various ports of call.

Which are your favorite ports along the English coast? ”

“Aside from Winchelsea?”

She nodded.

“It’s hard to choose. I do like the southern ports better than the northern ones, especially in winter. I spent my youth gadding about the Cinque Ports taking odd jobs on ships. I had an itch to explore, and what better way than at sea? But my heart belongs in Winchelsea.”

That was all fine and good but of no help to her plans. “Tell me about the ports we’re passing on our voyage. Surely some are better than others. If we were forced to stop along the way, where would you recommend?”

Ulf stroked his bread. “Hmm. It depends on why we had to stop. Different ports offer different advantages. Lord Martin knows the local lords in Scarborough, Skegness, Yarmouth, Ipswi—”

“Yarmouth! How interesting!” Yarmouth was exactly where she wanted to go. “Lord Christopher is the local baron, is he not?”

“Aye, my lady. It’s a goodly port. Plenty of trade when there isn’t a war on, and there’s an excellent shipwright who knows his business when it comes to repairs.”

That could be useful. “Is this ship in need of any repairs?” She wouldn’t go so far as to sabotage anything, but if there was some maintenance that was needed, perhaps she could argue for a stop.

“Not at present, my lady. Have no fear. Everything is ship shape aboard The Wind Song .”

How disappointing! “And what about—”

Her thought was interrupted by Martin clearing his throat behind her.

Good. Exactly the man she wanted to see.

She whipped around to find him holding a bundle of scrolls and an astrolabe.

“A thousand pardons for my interruption, but I must borrow my first mate. Ulf, I need you to take a look at these charts with me. Come.”

Curses! He wasn’t here for her.

Ulf bowed his head. “Apologies, my lady. Duty calls.”

“Will I see you later, Lord Martin?” she called after the retreating back of the bane of her existence. How was she supposed to convince him to stop in Yarmouth if he wouldn’t take the time to speak to her?

He paused and turned. “I’m afraid navigation in this part of the sea requires careful attention. I’m likely to be occupied all day. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He turned his back on her again, the scurvy knave!

“Will I see you for supper, at least?” What happened to the man who had all the time in the world to ask her about weaving and play his citole?

“Unlikely, my lady. As you can see, I am otherwise occupied. Now, if you’ll please let me go about my business…”

She pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. He was playing a game with her. She was certain of it. “If you must.”

The long-suffering smile he wore failed to hide the glint of mischief in his gaze.

Fine. If he was going to ignore her, she was going to ignore him right back, making sure he saw every moment of her complete inattention.

Catching the arm of the first passing sailor, she said, “Excuse me, my good man. Would you mind assisting me? I wish to ascend to the forecastle, but I’m afraid I may be unsteady on the ladder. Would you mind climbing up behind me to make sure I don’t fall?”

The poor man turned bright red and made noncommittal noises.

“Excellent. Thank you so much for your assistance. What is your name?”

“Oh… er … um …Fergus, my lady.” He looked a bit like her brother, Crispin. They had the same dark hair and similar muscular build. He seemed exactly the sort of man who might make her temporary husband jealous.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to help me.”

“I… um …I didn’t—”

“Wonderful.”

She headed over to the ladder to the forecastle, making a production of climbing up and then slipping intentionally so that Fergus had to catch her. He released her as soon as she was righted, as if she was made of hot coals.

“My lady, I don’t think you should—”

“Nonsense. I’ll be just fine.”

She winked at him and started up the ladder again, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Martin was watching. He was. At least for a moment. He quickly turned away and started speaking to Ulf, but she’d caught him. Good. This was working.

On the forecastle, she twirled around and breathed deeply. “I simply love it up here! Don’t you?”

“I…if…if you’ll excuse me, my lady.”

Fergus fled. She’d pushed him too far. Ah well. There were other ways to irritate her pompous little baron.

She looked around and found a weapons chest. Smiling, she drew forth the smallest sword she could find and began going through the basic drills Crispin had taught her when they were children.

Before her mother had caught her when she was ten and put an end to her secret sparring with Crispin, she had been rather good with a sword.

Hopefully, the sight of her swinging a weapon about would catch his lordship’s attention.

Sure enough, it did. Martin took several steps in her direction, then stopped and waylaid one of his men. Much to her disappointment, it was a minion and not the man himself who climbed the ladder.

“Excuse me, my lady, but I must insist you leave the weapons in the weapons chest.”

Martin’s emissary was a middle-aged man, this time with a balding pate. He looked at her like a wayward child up to mischief. Which, she supposed, she was, at the moment.

“I assure you that I’m being perfectly safe. I merely need some exercise after being cooped up below decks for so long.”

The man shook his head. “You may walk about the deck if you need to stretch your legs, but leave the weapons alone please, my lady.” It clearly cost him to be polite about it.

“I’ll stop if Lord Martin asks me to himself.”

Let her so-called husband come up here to try to stop her. She’d had enough of the silent treatment and was growing desperate.

“Lord Martin is otherwise occupied, my lady. Please hand over the sword.”

“I answer to my husband, not to you.” She knew she wasn’t making any friends amongst the crew with her behavior, but perhaps that would work in her favor. If they all wanted to get rid of her, perhaps they wouldn’t mind dropping her off at Yarmouth.

The sailor stormed off and spoke to Martin.

With a smirk, she took a few more experimental swings with the blade. It felt rather good in her hands. Perhaps she should learn swordsmanship in truth. It was a rare skill for a lady but not unheard of. After all, hadn’t Lady Eleanor herself been armed when she went on crusade?

“Give me the sword, Isabella.” Martin had climbed onto the forecastle and now held out his hand.

Triumph! She had his attention, at last.

She narrowed her eyes. “Ask nicely.”

He raised his eyebrows at the challenge. “No. You wished to gain my attention, and now you have it. Hand over the sword before I take it from you.”

At his words, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like to see you try.” She shouldn’t goad him like this, but having carried this farce thus far, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

He gritted his teeth. “Very well.”

In a blur of motion, he twisted the sword from her hand with ease, despite her attempt to evade him, and it clattered to the deck. Somehow, she ended up with her arm pinned behind her back and his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place, her back against his front.

His breath tickled her ear as he said, “Well played, Isabella, but this particular game is over, both for your safety and my crew’s.”

“I assure you, my lord, I am perfectly safe with a blade.” Oh dear. She liked being this close to him far too much.

“You’ll notice that none of my crew practices with steel. If you wish to do sword drills, you must use a wooden sword like the rest of them.”

She should demand to be released, but instead she leaned back into him and said, “I’d like a word with you.”

“You have my undivided attention. What will you do with it?”

His breath tickled her neck, and her treacherous body went up in flames. She had to fight this. Somehow, she had to get to Yarmouth so that she could save Adelaide. Exhilaration and heat warred with her fear of the consequences of her actions.

“I’ll…I’ll…” Why was it so hard to think? She found herself shifting against him, craving more contact. This was no good at all.

“You’ll what?”

She hardly trusted herself to answer.

“I’m rather enjoying having you at my mercy, you know. If I was feeling wicked, I might nibble on your ear and kiss my way down your neck. Would you stop me?”

“No.” No? Had she lost her mind?

“Would you welcome it?”

“Yes.” Even worse! Her self-control hung by a thread. Or perhaps the thread had already snapped.

His teeth grazed her earlobe, and her breath caught. A hunger unlike any she had ever experienced consumed her, and a tiny whimper escaped her lips.

“Oh, Isabella.” He nuzzled her neck, and his lips brushed her skin.

It was unfair the things he made her feel. This was far too dangerous. She couldn’t afford to give in, no matter how strong her yearning. “No!”

She pulled away, and he let her go. “I have to go check on Adelaide,” she said hastily and fled below decks to the cabin where her sister dozed.

What a disaster! She absolutely couldn’t afford to give in to the mad impulses she had around her husband. It would only lead to woe, and the consequences for her and Adelaide would be dire. She couldn’t afford any further lapses.

Fanning herself in the dim light, she couldn’t help but think that her plan to marry the Earl of Norfolk was getting more difficult by the hour.

For a moment there, she’d lost her mind and wondered what would happen if she surrendered to Martin.

Would it truly be worse than surrendering to Lord James?

But there was still Adelaide to consider. With difficulty, Isabella hardened her heart once again. She could not surrender, no matter what.