Page 55 of A Prince Among Pirates
Still, the thought sends a chill rippling up my spine, despite the heat of the day.
“And these?” I ask, pointing to another row of dangling art. These are made of bits of cut glass, stained in an array of bright colors, and do not sway as easily in the wind. They remind me a bit of church windows, but they feel buoyant and cheerful. As they spin slowly, some catch the sun and sparkle. Others cast a rainbow of light in their reflections against the ground and on people walking by.
“Suncatchers, for luck,” he says.
I smile back at him, utterly charmed by the simple beauty of these items. I want to ask him more about them, but someone takes me by the arm, and I whirl to see Trevor. “Thought we’d lost ye,” he says. “We’re hungry.”
I nod and turn back to the man in the grey smock, but he has directed his attention to another sailor, so I allow Trevor to guide me to the next booth. He motions to a table full of smoked meat on small wooden spears, so I buy three, and we step aside to enjoy them. They are dripping with a golden sauce that bursts with flavor on my tongue. Never have I tasted anything quite like it.
“What is this?” I ask the twins.
Tristan shrugs and continues chewing, but Trevor has already finished and is licking sauce from his fingers. “I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s some chicken dish from China.”
I lick some of the sweet, sticky sauce from the corner of my mouth. “It’s delicious.” We don’t have food like this at home. “Think Cook would be offended if we asked him to make this?” I ask.
Trevor smirks. “I want to be there when ye ask.”
I grin at the challenge and approach the woman at the booth again. “Excuse me,” I say, once she’s no longer engaged with a customer. She wears a simple blue frock with red trimmings along the collar. The garment seems to button at a diagonal across the front of her shoulder and down the side seam. It hangs loose around her body, but the sleeves are wide and bare her forearms. It is so unlike anything I have ever known a woman to wear. Icannot see beyond the height of the booth, and though I am terribly curious, I dare not stare too long or ask any questions for fear of seeming rude.
She blinks at me, then offers me a noticeably forced smile and motions towards the meat skewers. “Another?” she asks.
I consider, glancing towards the twins, who are both staring at me with raised brows and wide eyes. “Yes,” I decide. “Three, please.” I hand her some coin and gesture for the twins to come and retrieve their second helping. “I’ve never tried something so delicious,” I say as she hands me my second skewer.
She gives me an odd look, and then her smile grows genuine. “You have good taste,” she says. “Rare for an Englishman.”
I laugh, charmed by her brutal honesty. “I’m sure my father would simply perish if he had to eat anything quite so flavorful,” I say—and now it’s her turn to laugh. “I wonder, would you be willing to tell me how it’s made? Our ship leaves tonight, and I can’t bear the thought of never eating this again.”
She narrows her eyes, but her smile remains. “You cook?” she asks, an incredulous note in her voice.
“Dear God—no,” I say.
“He’d poison us all,” Trevor puts in helpfully, his mouth full of chicken. “We got a cook on the ship.”
She nods knowingly and gives me another assessing once-over. I can see she’s considering telling me no, so I hold up my purse and smile. “I’m perfectly willing to compensate you.”
With a nod, she motions to the skewers on her booth. “It is too complicated to teach,” she explains in her careful English.“But I will make for you. The sauce,” she clarifies. “Send someone strong to carry it. Tonight, after sunset.Notyou.”
Tristan and Trevor both laugh, and I feign offense for a moment before I place a generous pile of coin into her hand. “You have yourself a deal, madam.”
She pockets the coin, then clasps her hands together and bows neatly at the knee, tilting her head down slightly. I watch her for a moment, unsure of how to respond to such a gesture. All I can think to do is bow to her as I would any lady, so I cross my arm over my belly and bend at the waist, before I allow Tristan and Trevor to usher me farther into the market, with one last glance back at the woman behind the booth.
As we continue on our way, the twins in front and me lagging behind as I drink in the beautiful array of colors and culture, a sliver of royal blue in my periphery stops me dead in my tracks.
I turn to scan the crowd and find what I am looking for. The sight of a man in a French naval uniform sends my heart galloping. There are three of them, standing a mere twenty paces away. Their attention, for the moment, is drawn to something on a table; one of them seems to be flirting with the young woman selling wares behind it. I can tell by her expression that she’s not impressed but is trying to be polite to make a sale.
The dark hair under his hat reminds me of another French sailor… one with a bolt sticking out of his left eye.
All at once I cannot breathe. They’ve found us. They’ll arrest us all, and we’ll be hanged. Christ, I cannotbreathe. I don’t wantto hang. I’m too pretty to hang. What kind of death is that for a young gentleman?
A hand on my arm sends me reeling about with a gasp that stings my burning lungs, and Tristan jumps back, alarmed. “Mr. Kit?”
I release a trembling puff of air and manage to inhale just a bit as I turn to look at the sailors once more.
Tristan must follow my gaze, for he speaks up from behind me. “It’s not them, Mr. Kit. It’s all right.”
I face him and shake my head. “You can’t know that.”
Tristan nods. “I do,” he says. “There is only one French ship in the port today. It’s not them.”
