Page 5 of Ruthless, But for Her

The fog was thick, swallowing the horizon. Above them, there was nothing. The sky and the sea were just as grey as their surroundings. The Einar rocked almost imperceptibly in the swell, fifteen men holding themselves motionless on benches worn smooth by years of use. Someone exhaled. No one moved.

For all their sakes, he prayed Ryker's skills would not be needed this day.

Then he felt it. A heavy, sluggish roll against the keel, the distinct counter-swell of a laden merchantman. Ashton stared into the grey until the shroud shifted, revealing a deeper shadow. A solid mass of oak cut a silent path through the mist, a mere stone's throw ahead.

Ashton dropped his fist.

A moment later Leif's voice, low and certain, broke the silence. The oarsmen dipped in unison, the old Norse count setting the rhythm, “Einn... tveir... einn... tveir...”

The Einar thrust forward with the effortless, violent speed that still surprised him, even after so many years. A galley under oars was very different than a sailing ship. Muscled. Precise. She didn't drift toward her quarry. She chose it.

Through the fog, the merchant vessel materialized.

She was a single-masted cog, heavy with cargo, riding low in the water. Her crew had spotted them too late. Ashton could see their moment of recognition as The Einar's oars broke the surface with a relentless rhythm. There was nowhere for them to go. The wind had died with the dawn, and they had no oars to match her speed.

A man at the merchant's bow cupped his hands and shouted something Ashton couldn't hear over the distance and the water.

“Yield,” Leif called out, his voice carrying across the sea.

They did.

It was an odd escort for a merchant ship—six armed men in English livery, clearly someone's household retainers, moved to the rail and showed empty hands. Sensible. Ashton noted it without pleasure. Men who surrendered quickly were men who had something worth protecting.

He took the boarding plank himself, Ryker at his back.

The plank flexed under his weight. Ashton didn't look down.

He'd crossed enough of them to know the crossing wasn't the thing to watch. What mattered was the deck on the other side...who stood where and which man's eyes said he was still deciding. Most men, when the decision had already been made for them, showed it in their feet. They turned toward the rail, away from The Einar, before the words were even out of their mouths. Ashton had learned to read that before he learned to read anything else.

These men had turned already.

The merchant's deck was ordered, the crew pressed flat against the far rail, eyes averted the way men's eyes went when they had learned that looking directly at danger was its own provocation. Cargo was lashed tight and there was a smell of fresh-cut timber beneath the salt. Someone's belongings, not a sailor's kit but a travelling chest, leather-strapped and initialed, secured near the mainmast. Expensive. Out of place.

His gaze moved to the stern cabin. The door was ajar.

In the gap, half-sheltered by shadow, he caught a glimpse of a woman's gown.

As Leif and Ryker secured the merchant ship and its men, Ashton moved closer. The door slammed shut.

Behind him, Ryker said nothing, which was unusual enough to notice.

“Who is she?” Ashton asked the nearest sailor, not looking away from the door. At least her presence explained the escort.

The man swallowed. “Deputy Warden, sir. She's the Deputy East March Warden's wife. She's under his protection...”

Ashton stopped listening at Deputy Warden.

They hadn't planned for this, but Ashton had no time for surprise. It was a turn he hadn't weighed.

He looked toward the stern cabin, its door still closed.

She would have to be dealt with.

CHAPTER 4

Cassia

Cassia had thought the worst of the voyage to be behind them.