Adrian by Heather Grothaus Page B

muttered, thinking to herself that, in other circumstances, she might be tempted to use a knife on Adrian Hailsworth. A rather large one. In the next instant her fingers curled around a smooth wooden handle. “A knife it is.” She pulled out the requested item and was as surprised as Adrian Hailsworth seemed to be at the foot-long blade she held forth.
    â€œHere you are,” she said as calmly as she could manage as her cheeks flamed.
    The Englishman’s eyebrows rose as he took possession of the weapon. “I thought you said you didn’t have anything of the sort.” He turned away at once.
    â€œI didna know for certain,” she reasoned. “What use would I have for a knife of such a length?”
    â€œIndeed,” he muttered, climbing the short ladder. “I thought as much myself.”
    Maisie heard a scrabbling from inside the trunk, and so turned and delivered a swift kick to the side of the wood. She hoped Adrian Hailsworth could not hear the replying squeak. She glanced toward the hatch to make certain he was not looking at her before she patted the top of the trunk twice.
    The scrabbling noises ceased, and Maisie wondered briefly if weasels could swim before she turned to give her full attention to the Englishman currently hacking at the latch of her door. “I wouldna do that if I were you . . . er, I’m nae exactly certain what to call you.”
    â€œMy name is Adrian.” He glanced back at her. “If I damage the ship, I shall repair it. I’m quite good with mechanics.”
    â€œObviously, since you are clearly adept at operating a sliding door.”
    â€œStrange sense of humor you have for a lady-in-waiting.”
    â€œDo what you will. But doona say I didna warn you.” She had little choice but to help him, unless she wanted the hatch reduced to splinters. It would never yield to him, any matter.
    Maisie took her place at the table once more, and calmly picked up her cup. She held it toward Adrian Hailsworth’s back in silent salute. “ Fosgail ,” she whispered and then took a drink.
    Â 
    Adrian wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the ridiculously long blade between the pin and the hasp to provide a suitable fulcrum without breaking off the knife tip and further incurring Maisie Lindsey’s wrath, but no sooner had he managed to wedge a sliver of the metal against the wood than it slid open as if oiled. The knife slipped free, surprising him into giving a huff of breath.
    â€œThere we are,” he said, hearing the smug satisfaction in his own voice as his panic began to lift like a fog. In another moment he would be free.
    He backed down one rung of the ladder, the knife still held in his left hand, and released the latch with his right. Then he gripped the hasp and slid the hatch open.
    He was nearly knocked from the ladder by the gale of icy rain and seawater that blasted through the opening, the wind screaming into the cabin like a banshee, sucking the warmth from the air and drenching him at once. Adrian threw up his right forearm to shield his eyes while he coughed and gasped, mindful of the miniature sword he still held in his other hand. He squinted through the punishing onslaught at the ice-crusted deck of the crawler ship as it seemed to rise up before him on the crest of a massive wave. He clutched at the ladder as he was thrown backward, and heard Maisie Lindsey cursing in quite an unladylike manner behind him as the sounds of furnishings sliding about the cabin reached his ears.
    But Adrian braved the storm in disbelief, regaining his forfeited step and squinting through the tempest, attempting to make sense of what he was seeing: the ice and sleet of a full-on winter storm, sheeting the twenty-foot gray waves of the open sea. Try as he might, he could discern nothing beyond the ship’s oars, waving in the air like insect legs, as they came upon another mountainous crest. No land at all.
    They were on