Adrian by Heather Grothaus Page A

insisted, squinting at him and then dragging a chair from the table to sit down.
    â€œWhy would I—?” he broke off and adjusted his stance to place his hands on his hips. Maisie tried not to look at him. “So that I might open the door, is why.”
    â€œThere’s naught up there,” she half-groaned, rubbing her eyes once more. “And we’re going at such a speed that ’tis unsafe to be above deck.”
    â€œI’ve sailed on many a swift ship, Lady Maisie,” Adrian insisted. “And this one cannot even claim sails. I assure you, I am more than capable of keeping my legs beneath me while we navigate a river.”
    â€œYou’ve nae been on a ship with me before,” she muttered into her hands.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said, it will be a bit before we can open the door.” She lowered her hands and looked at him at last. “It will loosen eventually.”
    â€œI need it to loosen now,” he said and turned to walk about the cabin, his head craning and swiveling, peering onto the shelves and in the corners. “Have you a thick blade or a metal wedge?”
    â€œNay.”
    â€œA sturdy spoon would do.”
    â€œWhy are you in such a hurry to get above?” she insisted as he strode toward her curtained area. “Get away from there!”
    Adrian grabbed a fistful of the curtain and yanked it open fully, peering inside the private enclosure where she’d slept.
    He turned on his heel and faced her, and Maisie at last saw the wild look in his eyes.
    â€œI can’t be contained in small areas,” he said, and she noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
    â€œYou were fine all the night while you were sleeping,” she pointed out, bewildered.
    â€œThat’s because I thought I could easily depart if I chose to,” he said as his eyes fell onto her provisions trunk.
    She realized his intent in the same moment that he had made his decision, and Maisie stood from her chair with a scrape and turned to block his access to the trunk.
    â€œThere’s naught in there,” she said, barely stopping herself from flinging her arms wide. “I’ll nae have you rifling through my things, messing up the order of them.”
    â€œThere must be a utensil of some sort,” he said as he kept advancing. Maisie saw then that his panic was authentic and he would not be denied, and so she did hold forth one palm.
    â€œI’ll look,” she said, and was grateful when he at last came to a halt only inches from her fingertips. “Just . . . just wait a moment.” She drew a deep breath. Great Gods, what an encounter to contend with first thing in the morn. “All right?”
    â€œAre you going to look or not?” he demanded.
    â€œAye!” she shouted. “Would you sit down before you cause me to leap from my skin? Have a drink!”
    â€œI’ll wait here, thank you,” he said between his teeth.
    Maisie sighed while sending him a glare, and then turned to once more squat down before the trunk. She lifted the lid only enough to slip her right arm inside and stir her hand around.
    Biscuits; oats; wine. Another meat pie? He was unlikely to be treated to another of those anytime soon, the weasel. More wine. That felt as grass—what was that doing in there? Fur?
    â€œ Ouch!” She withdrew her hand and stuck her finger in her mouth. “Little bastard bit me,” she whispered.
    â€œWhat was that?” Adrian asked from behind her.
    She withdrew her finger and glanced down at the bloody crescent at its tip. “Nothing,” she tossed over her shoulder and reached back inside the trunk. She reminded herself to be careful of her thoughts. Now she had two weasels to attend to. “Pricked myself with a knife, is all.” I’ll wring your bloody neck should you try that again, you squelchy puss.
    â€œA knife will do nicely,” he said pointedly.
    â€œFine,” she