The Least Likely Bride

bed.

“I don’t suppose he’ll think anything of it.” Olivia pulled on the britches and tucked her chemise into the waistband. “Not that his opinion is of much importance,” she added a shade tartly. She put on the jacket and buttoned it. “These do feel strange.”

“They may feel strange.” Portia examined her critically. “But they certainly do suit you.”

“It’s because of her long legs,” Phoebe said somewhat gloomily. Her own shortcomings in this area were a frequent source of grievance. “You’ve both got such long ones. I could never wear britches. My legs are just stumpy little things.”

“But you don’t need to wear them,” Olivia pointed out. “My father would have a fit.”

Olivia pirouetted in front of the long glass. Portia was thinner than she was, but the britches were still a comfortable fit. She tugged at the bottom of the doublet. It reached her hips but did nothing to disguise their curves. Anthony would probably reach for pencil and paper, she thought, her eyes darting involuntarily to the book on the bedside table.

“What should I do about my hair? Should I wear a cap?”

“You’re not pretending to be a man, so I wouldn’t worry,” Portia said. “Just braid it and twist it up.”

Olivia followed the suggestion, pinning the two thick braids into a coronet on top of her head. The effect was rather austere and she decided she liked it.

“How are you going to leave the house in those clothes without being noticed?” Phoebe asked.

“Same way Anthony c-came in. Through the window and down the magnolia.”

“Oh, you’ll make a soldier yet.” Portia applauded.

“A sailor,” Olivia corrected. “I’ll leave the soldiering to you. I find navigation much more to my taste.”

“I suppose the mathematics appeal.”

“Exactly so.” She went to the window and surveyed the magnolia somewhat doubtfully. “Of course, if it’s not to be tonight, I’ll have to c-climb back this way. It might be more difficult.”

“Stay out until dark and I’ll make sure the side door is left open tonight. Even if you do go, if you get back before dawn you can come in through the door,” Phoebe said, sounding hopeful. “I mean, how long can a chess game take?”

Portia chuckled but said nothing.

Olivia glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s a quarter to six. I’m going now.”

“Be safe,” Phoebe said.

“Good luck,” Portia said.

Olivia gave them a quick smile, then took a deep breath and launched herself into the topmost branches of the magnolia.

She had to jump from the bottom branch, but the ground was soft and her landing was concealed by the overarching branches. She slipped across the lawn, darting from bush to bush, thinking with some astonishment that for someone who’d never had to practice concealment before, she was really rather adept at it.

Anthony had come and gone in darkness, but the early summer evening was still sun-bright and Olivia nearly ran into two gardeners watering the flowerbeds. She ducked behind the thick trunk of a copper beech and waited until her heart had slowed and the men had moved a little further away. They had their backs to her now, and with crossed fingers she darted across the small patch of open ground and into the concealment of a box hedge. From there it was easy. She was out of sight of the house now, and the driveway was lined with oak trees.

Keeping behind the trees, she raced for the gate. It was still open; the gatekeeper wouldn’t close it until nightfall. She could hear the gatekeeper’s children playing in the garden at the back of his cottage, but could see no one although the front door stood open to the evening air.

She was out in the lane in a heartbeat and then stood, hugging the wall, looking up and down. Would someone be there?

She didn’t hear the low whistle at first. It mingled with the whistling songs of the birds getting ready to roost. Then she heard it, low and yet penetrating, coming from behind the high hedgerow on the far side of the lane.

Olivia ran across and pushed through a gap in the hedge.

Mike was holding the bridles of two ponies. His reaction to her costume was limited to a muttered “Lord love a duck!”

Olivia greeted him with a smile. “So we’re to ride.”

“Aye, miss, just to the cove. The boat’s waitin‘ on us.” He boosted her into the saddle of the smaller of the two horses and mounted the other himself.

When they reached the clifftop, Olivia saw the narrow trail snaking down to the beach far below them. She thought it was the same path she had climbed up that miserable night when she’d left Wind Dancer. How different she felt this evening.

Mike tethered the ponies and led the way down the trail. It was steep and twice Olivia’s foot slipped, sending a shower of sand and pebbles skittering down to the undercliff. The little sailboat was drawn up on the sand, two men sitting beside it. They jumped up as Mike and Olivia reached the beach, and pushed the boat into the shallow water.

“Beggin‘ yer pardon, miss, but the master says we ’ave to cover yer eyes again.”

Olivia looked at Mike in disbelief. He was holding a strip of linen between his hands. “Why?” she demanded indignantly.

“ ‘Tis the master’s orders, miss.” Mike twisted the linen between his hands. He hesitated, remembering what he’d been told. The master had had a distinctly militant gleam in his eye. “He said that if’n ye didn’t like it, I was to say it’s the price to pay for bein’ so inquisitive, like.”

So he’d upped the stakes, had he? A case of two can play at that game? Should she concede this one for the moment or drop the whole business? Leave the beach and the damned master of Wind Dancer to play all his games solo?

“Give me the blindfold.” She took the linen from Mike. “I’ll tie it in the boat.”

Mike’s relief was palpable. “If you’d let me carry you a few paces, miss, ye’ll not get yer feet wet.” He lifted her easily and deposited her in the boat, where the two men prepared to hoist sail. They nodded amiably to Olivia.

Mike pushed the boat further off the beach and jumped in himself. He looked expectantly at Olivia, who with a grimace tied the linen over her eyes.

She sat quietly in the darkness, listening to the soft plash of water against the bow. One of the men began to hum, and the others joined in, a soft musical undertone to the gentle skipping motion of the dinghy. Curiously she found her blindness rather sensuous… she seemed to be experiencing smells and sounds and motion much more acutely.

As before, it was hard to tell how long they sailed. It had seemed a long time that other night, and it certainly seemed no shorter this time. They must be going west, because she could feel the rays of the setting sun on her face. And then she felt the change in direction and the sun was gone. The air was close and warm and she guessed that they had entered the chine. Now they were using oars and the sound was almost muffled.

Then one of her companions produced the low hoot of an owl, and immediately there was an answering whistle, soft as rain.

“We made good time,” Mike said, receiving a grunt of agreement in response. “It’d be all right for ye to take off the blindfold now, I reckon, miss.”

Olivia reached up to untie the strip of linen. Despite the softness of the light, she was dazzled for a minute. Then she made out the elegant shape of Wind Dancer just ahead, rocking gently at anchor in the middle of the narrow, cliff-lined chine. Of course, there must be a deep channel in the middle. Deep enough for the frigate’s draft. The anchorage was utterly secluded, the cliffs rising to either side, just a sliver of sky visible at the top. The chine continued beyond the ship, but growing ever narrower.

The oarsmen brought the boat up against the ship’s side, and Mike tied her up at a ring in the stern. Olivia looked up and saw Anthony leaning over the rail at the head of the rope ladder. He called down, “Stay where you are, Olivia.”

“I’m coming up,” she returned. Holding the blindfold, she accepted Mike’s proffered hand onto the ladder and clambered up. It swung out alarmingly from the side of the ship as she climbed, and she had to remind herself that she’d once jumped across a boarding net with the open sea yawning many feet below her. The britches made the climb easier, though.

Anthony offered her his hand but she scorned his assistance and swung herself over the rail, followed by Mike and the oarsmen. With a gesture of disdain, she flicked the linen blindfold at him. It snapped against his cheek.

Anthony twitched it out of her hands. “Annoyed you, did it?” He sounded somewhat satisfied.

“Tit for tat?” she demanded.

“Precisely.” His eyes gleamed.

“Are we going to play chess?”

“Why else did you go to such trouble to get me a message?” he mocked. “If you’d like to return to the dinghy, we’ll be on our way.”

“On our way where?” Olivia to her annoyance was startled and heard herself express it.

“Wait and see, my flower.” He regarded her still with that gleam in his eye.

Without a word, Olivia swung herself back over the rail, climbed down the ladder, and deposited herself in the boat.

“I’d tread cautious if I was you,” Adam muttered as Anthony leaned over the rail beside him.

Anthony regarded the boat’s occupant rather in the manner of one assessing the temper of an unpredictable feline. “You may have a point. But I think I’m a match.”

“Are you coming or not?” Olivia shouted up at him.

Anthony shot Adam a grin. “Then again, maybe not.” He swung himself over the rail and climbed down to the dinghy.

Whistling softly, he reached up and loosed the painter from its ring. He sat down and took up the oars, using one to push the boat away from the side of the ship. He pulled strongly, still whistling, heading further down the chine.

“Where are we going?” Olivia stared over his shoulder as he rowed. It seemed as if they were going to disappear into the cliffs at the narrowest point.

“Wait and see” was the infuriating response.

At the moment when it really seemed they were about to run up against the wall of cliff at the furthest point of the chine, Anthony rested on his oars, regarding Olivia thoughtfully.

“So, how did you discover the secret of the oratory?”

“A question for a question,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

“Go on.”

“Are you intending to rescue the king?”

He said nothing immediately, whistling between his teeth in customary fashion, frowning at the anchored ship behind her.

“And if I am?” he asked eventually.

Olivia shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “But I’m not a fool, and I won’t be taken for one.”

“Oh, believe me, I have never done that,” he said definitely.

“So are you? Is that why you’re pretending to be a nitwit hanger-on at the court, so no one will take any notice of you? So no one will ever think you’re capable of planning so much as a walk along the clifftop?”

Anthony laughed softly. “I trust no one else can see through my little game.”

“Well, of course they won’t. I can see through it because I know you.”

“Do you?” He leaned on his oars, watching her closely in the dim light of the chine.