“Hungry then?” He smiled, noting the hunger in my eyes. “We’ll get you a good meal and return you to your quarters,” the captain said in a smooth directive. He was used to giving orders.
“Where will you dine?” I asked.
“With my crew. As I always do.”
“Is that not a little beneath a captain?” I mocked, pushing against the strange feelings this man inflicted upon me.
“Some may say so, and few captains do. But it’s time well spent eating and speaking with the men who keep my ship afloat.”
A good answer that I unfortunately respected.
I slipped out of his grip and marched into a dining room bathed in half-light, where two young men in aprons were setting a long table with care.
“Then I shall dine with them too.”
The captain never refused me. Either he didn’t want me to cause another scene or attempted to call my bluff, thinking I’d neveractuallywant to dine with sailors.
He was rigid and on guard as the room filled with men, each serving one another and eyeing the head of the table where the captain and I sat.
As did my mute chaperone, the drucia, from her quiet corner on the other side of the room.
But eventually the captain settled into his chair as the sun nestled into the waves. The conversation hummed over our empty bowls of stew, the dripping candles gilding the sailors’ faces.
A toothless man, Chumly, the captain’s right hand, slipped two full tankards of ale into our palms.
“The captain’s a good man, me lady, kindest captain I know. One time he paid to have this tooth pulled.” Chumly reached into his mouth and pointed to his glistening gums. “Cost two whole gold and he didn’t bat an eye.”
The captain reached across the table and pulled his sailor’s hand from his mouth.
“It’s not polite to speak with your mouth full, Chumly. Especially not in front of ladies,” the captain said with a chuckle that warmed me through.
“Sorry captain.” Chumly answered shyly. “Will you finally tell us, Lady, why are you on this ship?” He leaned in. “We have a runnin’ bet.”
“I said you’re a merchant’s wife,” the young man next to Chumly shouted, bits of stew flying with the words.
“I said a mayor’s betrothed,” Chumly offered.
I looked to the captain.
“You haven’t told them?”
“I don’t know either.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders.
“Tell us, Lady,” a man cheered, then another bellowed, “Yes, tell us!”
Shaking my head no, I answered, “Better to keep you on your toes, otherwise the ale may stop flowing.” That was easier than the truth. That I was headed to marry a man who looked at me with disgust. A man who lied, staining my name, because he wanted to use me.
I smiled and raised my cup, an uproar of cheers following.
“I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long,” the captain said, those ardent eyes peering over his tankard.
“And why is that?” I asked in a murmur.
“It’s a rough crowd. They’re on their best behavior, but surely a far cry from the nobles you must dine with.”
How little he knew. I had played cards with cooks and laughed with gardeners over meals my whole life. Here, I felt far more comfortable than the court of misery I was just banished from,again.
“And you believe nobles are more pleasant company?” I asked.
