Page 16 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
He did not go to luncheon.
By the time he realized that one o'clock had come and gone, it was far too late for him to appear without having to perform some hangdog penance for the ladies, and he was not in the mood.
Almost directly after breakfast, it had been apparent that they were in for an afternoon squall. It was common enough for springtime, but they were so early in their journey that Mathias had not yet had time to set up the rain catchers on the decks, and so he and his men had been at a scramble to get them in place in time. It would mean fresh water for drinking and bathing for the next several days, if not the rest of the trip.
If there was one thing that was always in demand, it was fresh water.
They hadn't quite finished in time, but they got enough set up for Mathias to feel satisfied with the effort, and almost immediately after, one of the sodden sails caught on its mast in a swirl of wind and tore a clean slit into its center.
So here he was, still damp with rain, sitting on the floor of the bunk room with a lantern, a needle, and a sodden bit of canvas, attempting to repair the sail before it could pull apart any farther, which it absolutely would as it dried.
He didn't know precisely what the hour was, but it certainly had passed one o'clock some time ago.
Isabelle, in her tender mercy, did find him in the end, with a smuggled heel of bread and a jar of fruit preserves from the pantry. She stood curiously at his shoulder as he worked, told him with certainty that he was far better with a needle than she, and admired the evenness of his row of repair stitches.
"Of course I am," he replied with a raise of his eyebrows. "I actually use one now and then."
"That is fair," she said with a shrug. "The whole business makes my eyes go fuzzy. Peter is better at it anyhow."
He set aside his work to tear into the bread, only aware upon the first swallow of how hungry he had become. If Peter were with them, he'd have done the repair on this damn sail and Mathias wouldn't have missed lunch.
"Has the rain stopped?" he asked, dipping a bit of crust into jam, a dull golden concoction which tasted of apricots and peaches. He wished he had a cup of wine to accompany it.
"Mostly," Isabelle said, seating herself on the floor with her back to one of the support planks. "Quite good luck, wasn't it? A gentle storm on the first day out."
Mathias made a noise through his bread and jam. It might have been good luck, if he'd prepared properly for the possibility. He examined his friend as she plucked at the strings of her skirt, which was still somehow dry.
"What have you been occupying yourself with?" he asked. "Have you been with...her?"
"Her?"Isabelle mimicked with a grin.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "The girl."
"Jade? Yes, I have." She was laughing at him. "She unsettles you, doesn't she?"
"I wouldn't say unsettles, no," he said with a little lift of his chin.
Isabelle laughed. "It is all right. I will not tell her. Though I think she will be rather put out if you miss another meal today. Don't worry. I will come retrieve you this time."
"Thank you," he muttered, with only the sticky crumbs left on his fingers to lick clean.
Would Jade Ferris be put out by his absence? Had she missed him at lunch? Was her pique about principle, he wondered, or because she actually wished to share his company?
Surely not the latter.
In all truth, he had expected her to cower in the cabin for the remainder of the journey after he had embarrassed her on that first day. Now he was nervously anticipating what she might decide to set to her schedules next, once the kitchens were to her satisfaction.
"She asked what your favorite dish is," Isabelle continued, oblivious to his buzzing mind. "So we are havingcoq au vin,which I am rather looking forward to. I haven't had proper French food in months. I smelled the bread baking on my way here. Just delicious."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but did not immediately respond. What was there to say? What sort of woman plots mutiny with a man's favorite dinner? What sort of mutineer was disappointed without the captain's company?
An assassin,his mind suggested rationally, which only served to amuse him.
"Neither have I," he said to Isabelle. "So you had better not forget to retrieve me."
* * *
He was temptedto dally just a bit before entering the galley that night, just for the sake of pettiness, but decided not to. If he was in some strange power struggle with Miss Ferris, petulance was not the way to gain the upper hand.
