A Kiss in the Wind by Jennifer Bray-Weber Page B

soon as she returns what she took from me,” he replied.
    The man sighed heavily and looked away. “On your word, Captain Tyburn?”
    Blade tilted his head at the man’s recognition of him.
    “Aye. I know you. Any sailor worth his salt knows of the legendary Captain Blade Tyburn and the brigantine Rissa. And I know I cannot fight you for my sister and win. Not this time.”
    Not so stupid after all. Blade especially liked the way the young cunning shaver subtly predicted a future confrontation with him. Strong will and courage, another family trait. “On my word, son.”
    “When?”
    Blade shrugged. “’Tis up to her how soon I will release her.” He lowered his pistol. “The sooner, the better,” he said as he turned and walked away.
    * * *
    Marisol watched from the deck of Tyburn’s ship as Luc grabbed his loot and ran off into the midst of the pandemonium. So, this was why Luc wanted her in her cabin. For her safety. Bah. Rioting—his important business. Damn it. Oh, she hoped Alain wouldn’t find out. He would not tolerate it. Her brother would be lucky to survive their captain’s wrath for violating his command. She lowered her head with a weighty realization.
    “What ye got there, Sam?”
    She turned to the sound of the gruff voice behind her, but nobody was there. Crewmen milled about the ship deck, checking lines and climbing up the masts to the crosstrees, preparing to sail.
    “Capt’n ain’t got time for a lass t’night.”
    Marisol lowered her gaze to a stocky stump of a man. He wore his gray beard decorated with tiny red bows that framed a viciously foul scowl. His trousers were bright green and his red beaded vest reminded her of the crowded streets of India. She found the man a ridiculous parody of a play actor in women’s fashion on the losing side of a drunken bet. She stifled a grin.
    Beady eyes upon his weathered face scanned her suspiciously. “And he don’t tend to want ’em on board, no how.”
    “Followin’ me orders, Henri.” Sam shadowed the little man. They were like a mountain and a molehill.
    “Criminy, tar. What the bloody hell happened to ya?” Henri’s missing teeth notched his nasty grin. “Ya git the color scared outta ya?”
    “Careful, squatty. Ye may find yerself scrapin’ t’e bottom of me shoe.”
    “Whaddya call me?” Henri came forward, his chest puffed outward.
    Sam stared directly down at Henri. “Squatty.”
    Marisol took a step back. She didn’t think there would be much of a fight between a giant and a tiny troll, but she didn’t want to find out firsthand by standing too close.
    “Name callin’, eh?” She didn’t think it possible for Henri’s jowls to frown any lower. “That makes me mad.” He wagged his finger. “Why, I oughta ration ya rum.”
    “No, sir. M’ apologies, to ya, Henri.” One corner of Sam’s mouth curled up as if he enjoyed the scold.
    Henri reached up and patted Sam on his forearm. “Let that be a lesson to ya, mate.”
    What just happened? Where’s the fighting? They just insulted each other. If that happened on her ship, there would be an obnoxious scuffle to break up and Luc would have to carry on with lashings. But these two men acted as if they were… friends. How very strange.
    “Miss Castellan.” Captain Tyburn called out to her.
    He took the gangway in long hurried strides. As he approached, she noticed the determination etched across his austere face. His bearing, his movements, they were powerful and fluid, but precise. He carried the posture of a man who commanded the world around him. Confident, fearless. And most maddening—arrogant. It was no wonder she felt the pull of his allure.
    Accustomed to men snarling at her, Marisol expected his disappointment when she did not shrink under his harsh tone. But none came.
    “This is your last chance. Hand over the cameo and you will be free to go.”
    She was in no hurry to leave his brig. She knew well enough he would not steer his ship out of port