Page 17 of A Prince Among Pirates
Rodriguez drops the rope and grabs the front of my jacket, hauling me up onto my toes. I’ve never been roughed around like this before. I am genuinely shocked as my heels leave the deck, and I grasp at his wrist with both hands. “Sir!” I exclaim, more indignant than afraid.
He blinks. “Sir,” he repeats, then drops me and starts to laugh.
Is he laughing at me or the situation? I can’t tell. I glance around for assistance, but half the men on deck are ignoring us entirely, and the other half look disappointed that I am still in one piece.
I decide to roll with it and make a show of dusting off and smoothing out my jacket. “This isItaliansilk!”
He laughs harder. And fine, let him laugh, so long as my face survives this interaction. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he grunts through his laughter, and I detect more than a hint of malicious intent behind his words.
“I’m not a prince,” I insist—which is a stupid thing to say. He clearlyknowsI’m not a prince.
“Ah, then forgive me,” he says again, bowing, to the amusement of the ten or so men who’ve gathered around us, “lordling.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re going to insult me, you could at least get my title correct.”
“Oh?” he asks, stepping closer, so that I am forced to step back. “And what title would that be?”
Shit. I clear my throat and give a humiliating, pitchy sort of laugh.
“Rodriguez, get back ta work!” Renard calls from somewhere in the crowd. The men part to let him through, and I couldkisshim—but that reaction seems even more likely to get me a black eye. So I remain where I am and let him come to my rescue. The glare Rodriguez shoots at Renard before reluctantly returning to his task is alarmingly hostile. He may have given me a hard time, but at least he’s never looked at me with so much vitriol.
Renard rounds on me with a frown. “Kit, where’re ye s’posed ta be?” he asks.
“I beg your—”
“Where?” he demands—and as the men begin to clear the area to get back to their assigned tasks, I think he must be having a go at me.
I frown and shrug, and then he’s got me by the arm and is dragging me towards the stairs over Captain Sharpe’s cabin door. I’m too startled to say anything. In all my years of living, I’ve never been touched so freely and frequently as I have today. Renard spins me around and pushes me against the railing. “Keep yer head down,” he says. “What’re ye wearin’ those fancy britches fer?”
I blink at him. “I beg—these are simply myclothes.”
“Oh, aye, I’ve noticed. If ye want the men ta like ye, stop bein’ such a priss.”
“A what?”
“I dinnae ken what yer fancy title is off this ship, but as long as yer on my crew, yer the same as every man here.”
I sigh and nod. “I understand.”
“Do ye?”
Well.
“Kit.”
“Yes,” I sigh. “I didn’t start anything, I was merely—”
“Causin’ trouble. Keep yer head down an’ check yer pride.”
I see his point, and though I am pouting, I can’t disagree with him. I cross my arms and give another dramatic little sigh. “I’m trying.”
“Try. Harder,” Renard growls through gritted teeth. I hate the way he reminds me of my father in this moment.
“Why are you picking onme?” I ask. “He’sthe one who got all handsy!”
Renard blows out a puff of air in a sigh that feels a tad dramatic, even to me, and rolls his eyes. “I’m no’ pickin’ on ye, lad. I’m givin’ ye advice. I suggest ye take it, b’fore ye wind up bloodied er thrown overboard.”
I freeze. I never considered I might piss someone off enough to bethrown overboard. That seems unfathomably cruel to me. “Would theydothat?”
