“If you’d known,” she said, raising her head, “you would have bribed me, just the same. And I would have consented, also the same. You want...” a tired pause, “...whatever it is you want, and I want the new building.”
With no warning, they were lashed with a cold wind, an icy spray of seawater pricking their skin. She raised her face into the gale and blinked, opening her eyes. She stood straighter.
“It’s less than a fortnight. I will survive.” She made a limp, dismissive motion.
“Are you always this stoic?”
“I am, in fact,” she said. “Lucky you.”
“I supposed I recognized this from the first. I would never have recruited you if you’d seemed . . . fragile.”
“Luckyme,” she mumbled, and he laughed.
But now she was on the move, her sights apparently set on the stern railing. Holding her hands out for balance, moving slowly, she began to shuffle around masts and coiled rigging to the quarter deck.
“Oy!” Jason said, and darted after her. He captured her arm, tucking it beneath his own. She did not pull away. The boat rocked and she nudged inward, allowing him to steady her. She was noticeably slighter than she’d been the last time he’d touched her. Her body beneath the cloak felt less substantial than heavy wool itself. He found her hand, small and limp, and clasped it. Again, she did not pull away.
“Are you able to take food?” he asked. “And water? Broth?”
“I’ve no wish to discuss food,” she said. “Or my condition. Trust that I am miserable but it can be borne. I’ve done it many times.”
“Right,” he said. “Stoic silence.” He guided her to the railing.
He’d wanted to ask her about what to expect when they made landfall, but obviously she was in no condition to discuss strategy.
“I wish to talk about my uncle,” she said. “Sir Jeffrey Starling.”
Jason glanced at her once, looked away, and then again. But perhaps her condition did not precludealltalk.
Another cold gust whipped across the deck, spraying them with icy water. Isobel gasped and Jason stepped up, meaning to shield her with his body.
“No.” She leaned around him, eyes closed, straining to feel the fresh air on her face. “I need it.”
Jason stood down, watching as she turned her face to the wind, eyes closed, relief loosening the tension in her expression.
He was still staring when she opened her eyes. She blinked, surprised by his attention.
“I’d put my uncle out of my mind,” she said, turning away. “Distracted by the whirlwind of preparations. But now, on this brig, in the very rare moments when I have not been indisposed, my mind has returned again and again to my aunt and uncle.”
Jason nodded. It had been a small subterfuge to approach her uncle, just like it had been a small subterfuge to invoke his aunt to entice her to Hammersmith. She would naturally be resentful of both.
“What would you like to know?” he asked.
“How long did you speak to him?”
“Oh... an hour? I called on him at home, so there was tea. The conversation came to more than Iceland. We’re in the acquaintance of many of the same people.”
“Of course you are,” she said, shrugging deeper into her cloak. She did not seem angry or betrayed, more like... resigned.
“When we spoke of you,” he said, “Sir Jeffrey’s priority was discretion on your behalf. He was careful to answer only direct questions. He was effusive in praise. He referred to you as a beloved niece. He said you were like a sister to his daughters.”
She smiled at this, her first nonmiserable look. She stared into the white foam of the churning waves.
After a long moment, she said, “My aunt and uncle took me in when I was at a very low and desperate point in my life. We were barely acquainted; I’d not lived in England for nearly a decade, and I’d hardly known them before. But when I wrote to them, my uncledid not hesitate. He arranged my passage and they welcomed me into their home. They nurtured me in every possible way—love certainly. But they also outfitted me with a new wardrobe. They saw that I enjoyed watercolors and built a studio in their attic. When they holidayed at the seaside, they included me. I was part of the family in every way. I lived with them for . . . for years. They questioned nothing about my past. They were so very kind.”
Now she leaned back, holding the railing with both hands, arms straight. She stared at the spot where the sky unrolled behind the sea.
Jason was transfixed. Of all the things he needed to learn from her—about the pirates and the locals and the Icelandic terrain—thiswas what he’d actually longed for. Her life. She spoke calmly but her voice was steeped in gravity. She was warming to the topic. Familiar impatience crept up the backs of his arms, tickling his shoulders and neck. His fingers twitched.
