Princess at Sea by Dawn Cook Read Free Book Online

them at some point or other. I had even overheard Haron grumble, “Our first mistake was goin’ back for ’em.”
    My fingers upon the railing tensed when the wind gusted and the light boat slowly heeled. Hair blowing into my face, I turned to look behind me to Haron at the wheel, his feet spread wide so his short stature could better control the boat. His bearded features were lost in the gathering dusk, but his stance said he was glad to be moving again. Near to him were Captain Borlett, Duncan, and Jeck.
    A frown pinched my brow. They looked deep in discussion, and immediately I headed over. My stomach clenched as I snuck glances at Jeck. He stood a head above everyone else and looked trim and elegant in his tidy Misdev uniform of black and green. The wind tugged his severely black, gently curling hair about his small ears. He had taken recently to shaving, and his cheeks had tanned to the same dark, well-oiled wood sheen the rest of him had.
    The black-silk sash about his waist was the only sign of his higher rank since the official, overdone hat with the drooping feather had gone over the side the first day out. I knew Jeck had lost it on purpose, rightly thinking it looked ridiculous on him. He was not much older than I, his hidden status of player having pulled him higher in rank faster than was customary. But with his square jaw and muscular arms, it was obvious it wasn’t just his status of player that had gotten him his captain’s appointment. The man had enough muscles to force what he wanted when his magic failed him. It was this last I didn’t trust.
    The sword hanging from his belt was different, and I imagined Alex had Jeck’s best blade, now. Jeck saw my eyes on the new hilt as I approached, and he moved his powerful shoulders in a small shrug. There was a wisp of amusement in his brown eyes directed at me even while he discussed something with Captain Borlett. He thought it had been funny. Contessa’s almost death had been funny to him. What a chu slinger.
    â€œGood evening, gentlemen,” I said, boldly interrupting them by forcing myself between Captain Borlett and Duncan. I touched my still-damp topknot to reassure myself my darts were there where they would stay as long as Jeck was on board.
    â€œMa’am,” the squat captain of the Sandpiper said, accepting my presence as an equal. It was refreshing, and my bother eased.
    â€œHey, Tess. You look good,” Duncan said, making a show of taking in the dress I wore when we were in harbor, where impressions were important. I knew I was embarrassingly overdressed, but it was the only clean, dry thing I had to put on.
    â€œThank you.” I gave him an honest smile, flicking a glance at Jeck to see him drop back a step and sigh in exasperation. “When do you expect we will make harbor, Captain?” I asked, fishing to find out what they had been talking about.
    The squat man curled his lips inward upon themselves to make his graying mustache stick out. His hands went into the pockets of his sun-bleached, long, blue coat, and he squinted at the top of the mast. “That’s what we were just discussing, ma’am. We can make it all right, but it seems unnecessary to risk Yellow Tail’s sandbars when we can hunker down in the lee of Midway Island. Because of—ah—our delay, we would hit Yellow Tail at low tide. The Sandpiper can handle the shallow draft. It’s those damned heavy tubs we’re dragging behind us. They’re likely to ground at the bottom of a wave if we try it at low tide with high seas.”
    Duncan gently sucked at his teeth, fidgeting. I never would have noticed it but for our frequent card games. He liked anchoring every night somewhere new, more often than not slipping over the side for a spot of carousing to come back satisfied and with his pockets heavier than when he left. Someday, his desire for money was going to get him caught, and all his pride for