Page 18 of A Prince Among Pirates
“Oh, aye.”
Whether he’s bluffing or not, I’m scared shitless now. I glance over the rail into the fathomless, rippling tide and audibly swallow whatever’s left of my pride. “I’ll keep my head down.”
“That’s a good lad. Now get back ta work.”
“The captain kicked me out of his cabin for a meeting.”
Renard snorts at that and glances towards the stained-glassdoor. “Then stay by the door an’ wait till he calls ye back in. An’ gain his trust if ye dinnae wanna be kicked out every time Tydes goes in fer a chat.”
“How am I to do that, exactly?”
“Do somethin’ ’bout yer…” He waves a hand at me vaguely. “This.”
“What? What is ‘this’?” I ask, glancing down at myself, then lift my gaze to his once more. “You meanme?”
“Aye,” Renard confirms with a sharp laugh. “Do somethin’ ’bout that.”
I understand now the urge to throttle another man for insulting you. “How d—”
“Kitten!”
I jump and turn to look down at Captain Sharpe where he stands in the open door, staring at me. “Y-yes, Captain?” I ask, flustered at the interruption and his public use of that absurd little nickname.
I’m sure I don’t imagine the way Captain Sharpe’s eyes narrow when he looks at Renard as the man scurries off. The captain doesn’t answer me, just turns to go back inside his cabin, leaving the door open. I duck my head and move unsteadily down the stairs, gripping the rail just a bit harder than necessary, before following him through the open door.
I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim light, closing the door behind me. “Am I to have my work disrupted every time Mr. Tydes comes in for a chat?” I ask.
He turns to me, brows raised. “Want to try that again?”
I blink at him. “Shall I repeat myself?”
He is silent for a moment, before he blows out a puff of air and chuckles. “You’ve got a mouth on you, but you haven’t the claws to back it up. Get back to your ledgers, Kitten. And stop causing a ruckus on my ship.”
“I’m not causing a ruckus,” I say as I return to the settee.
“Youarea ruckus.”
I smile a little as I take my seat and lift the ledger to find where I left off. Well, he’s not wrong there.
I never realized howexhaustingwork can be. By the time I return to my hammock, I am sore and irritable from bending over my ledgers all morning and afternoon. I slide out of my jacket and hang it carefully on the top hammock of my bunk. No one ever took the space below mine, so I have moved myself into the lower hammock—less risk of falling and breaking my nose—and taken to draping my clothes in the upper hammock to keep them fairly wrinkle-free.
I am working open my cravat when a bowl of something akin to stew appears before my eyes. I turn to see Tristan beaming as he holds it out to me. Trevor helps himself to a seat on my hammock, but I don’t complain. I let my cravat slide free and drop it onto the upper hammock, then take the bowl with a wide smile.
“Thank you, Tristan.”
Though they are twins, it’s easy to tell Tristan and Trevor apart. They both have reddish-brown hair—Tristan’s long,Trevor’s cropped short—and sad puppy-dog eyes, but Trevor has been working very hard on growing a beard. (It’s patchy but still commendable for a lad his age.) Tristan either prefers his face clean shaven, like me, or can’t grow whiskers at all. It gives him a boyish charm that I find irresistibly endearing.
I daresay Tristan may very well be my favorite person on the crew—though it’s early days yet and his adorable earnestness may prove to be more irritating than I anticipate. For now, however, I enjoy his company. And Trevor’s as well, though he’s a bit more standoffish.
“Yer welcome, Mr. Kit. I knew you’d forget to get dinner again.”
I do rather like that he has taken to calling me Mr. Kit, instead of Mortimer, and encourages the crew to do the same. I’m surprised by the way it makes me feel somehow protective over him, which is silly because I am fairly certain Tristan could knock me on my ass in ten seconds flat, like every other man on this ship. But something about him feels so very tender. It’s been barely a week, and yet with the twins, I feel like I’ve known them my entire life.
I’ve never had that before. I don’t really know what to do with it either, so I try not to think on it too much and just enjoy their company when I can.
“He doesn’t forget,” Trevor mumbles with his mouth full of bread. “He skips the line ’cause he knows you’ll bring him dinner.”
“That’s not true,” Tristan insists.
