Page 32 of Mardon

“Walk with me,” said Mardon, taking her by the elbow. He made his way across the deck. When they approached the stairs to the sterncastle, she saw Peg Leg Pate nailing down the step where she hid the ring and poison.

“What are you doing?” she asked in surprise, not knowing how she’d get them back now.

“The Cap’n wants this squeaky step fixed,” said Peg Leg. “All done.” He looked up and smiled, showing his broken, rotten teeth. “If anyone sees Tristan again, be sure to tell him. He would be happy to know it’s finally fixed.”

“We’ll do that.” Mardon all but dragged her up the stairs.

“Why did he fix that step when there are more important things to repair, like the galley?” she asked.

“Why are you so concerned about it, Sister? Did it put a damper on your plans?” asked Mardon, calling her that either to bother her or just to keep up appearances in front of his men.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Looking for this?” He pulled her wedding ring out of his pocket and held it up between two fingers.

“My ring! Give me that.” She reached for it, but he quickly put it back in his pocket before she could even touch it.

“I’ll hold on to this for now. After all, a nun would never possess such a thing.”

“I’m not a nun and you know it,” she said under her breath so no one else would hear her.

“Let’s just keep that between us for now. For your own safety, of course. If the men found out, they’d be swarming around you like sharks.”

“And who is going to protect me from you?”

He chuckled, and she didn’t like that. She was being serious. After what happened between them, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to sleep in the same room with him again. Her mind flashed to her memory of his naked backside and, suddenly, she found herself imagining all kinds of things.

“Sister?” They were at the top of the stairs and she was lost in thought. Mardon leaned over and looked her in the eyes. “It’s rude not to acknowledge my navigator when he said hello to you.”

“Forgive me,” she said. “Hello . . .”

“Stitch,” the man told her.

“Stitch?” she asked, thinking it a funny name.

“Because of all the wounds he’s had through the years that needed to be stitched,” explained Mardon.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, trying to act the part of a nun. “Bless you, Stitch.” She raised her hand to make the sign of the cross, but Mardon grabbed her arm and kept her from doing so.

“Don’t even,” he said under his breath. “I’ll take the helm, Stitch, thank you.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said the older man. “Sister,” he said, nodding at Emmaline.

Mardon took his place at the helm. As soon as Stitch left, Emmaline spoke up.

“Did you really need to do that?” She rubbed her hand. “I was only trying to keep up appearances, like you told me.”

“Don’t go overboard,” he told her.

“Thank you for not boarding that French ship,” she said as Mardon steered away from it.

“You can stop that act, too.”

“What act?” she asked, confused.

“I can’t help feeling as if you wanted that ship to meet up with us. What is it? Is there a fleet of ships ready to take us out because we boarded your husband’s ship?”

“Is that what you really think? That I have a fleet at my command?”