“Why did Mikhail have theAurorabring us back here then?” She took a sip of tea, but it tasted bitter in her mouth. “Surely we could have waited in Wrangell for another ship.”
“I’m not sure he knew. The most recent developments happened after he left to search for you.” Rosalind tilted her head to the side, her teacup hovering halfway between her lap and her mouth. “Do you know Mikhail Amos well?”
Well enough to remember how his lips feel against mine.Bryony pressed her lips together, trying to resist the sudden urge to squirm. “I suppose. I mean, I haven’t known Mikhail long, but in some ways, it feels like we’re the best of friends. Maybe that’s bound to happen after a person saves your life not just once but twice.”
Rosalind’s teacup clattered in a rather unladylike manner. “He saved you twice?”
She told Rosalind the story. Her friend was quiet the entire time, daintily sipping her tea, though her eyes widened when she explained how she’d almost been taken captive by Indians, and then how she’d fallen into the river the very next day and almost drowned.
“I know it seems wild to say such things, but I still can’t help but think that if not for Mikhail, I might be the bride of a Tlingit warrior. He bartered two hundred blankets and a pail of beads so they would release me.”
“No. It doesn’t seem wild.” Rosalind dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin. “The Tlingit will take captives if they’ve been wronged. Sometimes they kill the captives, but other times they keep them as slaves, or in the case of women—wives. Last year a Tlingit man from Hoonah was killed on one of my father’s ships. The clan asked for four hundred blankets in return, but my father refused to pay it. It turned into quite the event.”
Bryony reached for one of the sandwiches cut into small triangles. “What happened? Did the clan kidnap someone? Or worse, kill them?”
“No. Mr. Amos—I mean Alexei, Mikhail’s oldest brother—gave the village of Hoonah four hundred blankets to keep peace.”
“So this wasn’t the first time the Amos family stepped in to barter peace with the Indians?”
“Not hardly. The Amoses are always working to keep peace. Sometimes I feel like no one else even tries.”
She slanted a glance at her friend. “You seem to know the Amoses well.”
A faint blush crept into Rosalind’s cheeks, and she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the embroidered edge of her gown. “Yuri Amos and I have crossed paths a few times. He’s... kind. And sometimes it seems like there aren’t too many men who treat women with kindness.”
For a moment, she thought Rosalind would say more about Yuri, but then Rosalind picked up the teapot and poured another stream of tea into her cup.
“That’s why you don’t need to be worried about my uncle and the RCS searching theAurora. They won’t find anything. The Amoses are good people.”
“I hope you’re right. I would hate to see Mikhail or anyone else charged for something they didn’t do.” Bryony shoved her hand in the direction of the window, where theAurorawas still visible.
The sudden motion caused Rosalind to flinch. No, not a flinch. More like a jerk, her whole body tensing. Then she pulled back so sharply that her sleeve slid up to her elbow.
Was that a bruise?
Rosalind set her teacup down with another clatter, causing her sleeve to fall back to her wrist, but Bryony reached out and gripped her friend’s forearm.
Rosalind winced, as though merely touching her caused pain, then tried to pull her arm away. “Don’t.”
But it was too late to stop. Bryony had already slid the sleeve partway up Rosalind’s arm. Bruises of all shades marred her skin, some in the healing stages of green and yellow, and others a fresh purple-and-blue color.
Rosalind’s eyes flew up to hers, and she yanked her arm away, then tugged her sleeve back down. “I said don’t.”
Bryony couldn’t look away from her friend’s arm, even though it was now covered with light pink satin. Was her other arm just as bruised? “Don’t what?”
“Say anything, ask any questions. Whatever you’re thinking, just stop and pretend you never saw it.”
“Is someone hurting you?”
Rosalind tucked her arm against her side, as though that could somehow make the bruises disappear. “No.”
“Are you hurting yourself?”
“Please just do as I asked and forget you saw anything.”
The door to the library opened.
“Ah, Miss Wetherby, you look quite refreshed.” Rosalind’s father took a few steps inside, his sharp gaze taking in everything about the room. “I came to see if you were finished with your tea, but it looks like you’re still enjoying it.”
