Page 50 of Under Arthur’s Protection

Despite it all—the silence, the rain, the fish that was probably far tastier than her mood would allow her to admit—my chest warmed. “Hettie’s tartar sauce would have rescued it. She made it from scratch with capers, fresh dill, and tiny gherkins she grew and pickled herself. That woman went so far as to hand-make her own mayo.”

“She sounds like someone I’d want cooking for me.”

“She would have barged into the kitchen and convinced them to let her cook for us.” I leaned back against the bench, picturing the little woman with the big personality. “She used to say bad food was a character flaw. Not in the person eating it—in the person who made it. Cooking for someone was an act of respect, and if you couldn’t be bothered to do it right, you were showing them exactly how much they mattered.”

Gwen set her fork down. “Is that why you cook for people?”

“I don’t—” Don’t what, Penn? I stress-cooked. I didn’t cook for people.

“The pasta at the cottage was delicious.” She paused. “The waffles were some of the best I’ve ever had. Even the soup and sandwiches were… I don’t know, different?”

“It’s just cooking.”

“You put a lot of love into your cooking, Arthur.”

Her words settled deep in my chest, right alongside the memories of Hettie. Instead of trying to figure out what any of it meant, I asked, “Do you want dessert?”

“I’m kind of full.” She’d barely eaten half her meal. Her brain might have thought it was done eating, but her body needed more.

“I’ll grab some for the room.”

We disposed of our dishes and walked to the café counter. She stood beside me, scanning the display case. She didn’t pick anything, but her gaze lingered on a slice of chocolate cake and a custard pastry. I grabbed those, a fruit tart, and a lemon square.

“That’s a lot of dessert,” she said.

“Galahad’s girlfriend has this saying: ‘Life’s too short.’”

Gwen furrowed her brow. “Too short for what?”

“Everything, apparently.” I set the plates on a tray with two forks and two bottles of water. “At least, everything we deny ourselves.”

Gwen smiled. “Wise woman.”

After I paid, Gwen took the sword case from me, while I carried the food to our cabin. The room was just as we’d left it after we came up from parking the car down below—our bags rested by the bunk on the left that acted as a couch, the two bunks on the right were folded down with their thin white sheets pulled tight, and a table with two chairs sat in the middle of the room.

It was a small cabin, but large enough we could walk around without bumping into each other. I’d momentarily considered driving to London and taking the train to Paris, rather than the overnight ferry from Plymouth, but the ferry had a few advantages. We were able to keep the car, we didn’t risk security demanding we stow the sword somewhere outside our room, and we’d each have our own space.

Although we’d be sleeping in the same room. I could have bought two cabins, but I had to be close to protect her and the sword.

Lance would have commented on that, too.

Once we were inside, Gwen dropped into one of the chairs at the round table and opened her laptop. She was working before I’d taken my shoes off.

I put the desserts in the mini fridge near the door and stretched out on the couch. The engine vibrated through the frame. I’d always slept well on ships—the gentle rumble and constant motion put my body under deeper than solid ground ever had.

That was another reason I’d selected the ferry over the train. I needed some real sleep.

I pulled out my phone to check my email. Four messages from Merlin, including an update on the now-stable Buchanan account. Another from Caine-Ferraro confirming the next phase of the authentication schedule. An industry newsletter. Three promotions I deleted without reading.

Gwen tapped incessantly as she did whatever she was doing on her laptop.

“Do you mind if I turn on the television?” I pointed to the small screen above the mini fridge. “It’s too quiet in here.”

She didn’t glance up. “Go ahead.”

I found the remote and flipped through channels, passing a French news broadcast, a soccer recap, and a cooking competition. I settled on a nature documentary about the North Atlantic and turned the volume down for background noise.

My phone buzzed. Lance.