Gregor nodded. “She is the daughter of Justin Sanders, Jordan’s close friend, who was killed in this terrible land a few weeks ago. Poor child. What trials and tribulations she has endured to escape death and dishonor. When we heard of Justin’s death, we searched ceaselessly until we found her and her small brother.”
Marianna stared at him in astonishment.
Gregor’s eyes were misting. “Do you know where we found them? In a church, praying for rescue. I cannot tell you how… touched and full of pain Jordan was when he found this poor girl.”
Touched. Pain. She remembered Jordan doubled over when she had struck him between the legs with the candelabra. Gregor slanted her a look from beneath his lashes, but his mournful expression didn’t change. “What could he do?” he continued. “The only thing any Christian soul would do. Take her back to England where she can be educated and given the chance to marry a man who will make her forget these tragic woes.”
“I believe not a tenth of this balderdash,” the captain said bluntly. “I’ve heard your tales before, Gregor.” He turned to Marianna. “What is your name, girl?”
“Marianna Sanders.” She met his gaze. “And my father
He studied her and then nodded slowly. “I believe you.” He turned and walked toward the gangplank. “In future let the girl tell the tale. She knows the value of brevity.”
Gregor looked after him, outraged. “It was a very good story. One of my best. Just enough truth to make it sound true.” He took her arm and propelled her along the deck. “And on the spur of the moment too.”
“Did you have to lie to him?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t let him insult you. He has a mind as narrow as his body, but he’s a good seaman. England rules the Mediterranean, but when we reach the Atlantic, we’ll need a good captain to avoid Napoleon’s navy. I thought it was better than crushing his head.”
She found herself smiling. “Much better.”
“But I should know more about you the next time. What was your father’s given name?”
“Certainly not Justin. His name was Lawrence.”
“We’ll make that his middle name. Justin Lawrence Sanders. It goes well together. What was his occupation?”
“He was a poet.”
“Jordan does not run with the literary set.” He frowned. “We will say they knew each other as boys at Oxford.”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why is all this necessary?”
“Things in England are not as they are here. There are many people who are like the captain. It would not be… pleasant for you.” He smiled. “So we will make sure that there is nothing at which they can raise their brows or sneer.”
She felt a surge of warmth toward him even as she shook her head. “I’m not concerned with these English or what they think. I intend to work. Nothing else matters to me.”
“Then we will make sure you work in comfort and not be disturbed when the world brushes by you,” he said soberly. “But it will brush Alex more than you. You would not want him to be distressed by name-calling. It is clear you want only what is best for him.”
“He’s an innocent child,” she protested. “What names could they possibly call him?”
“If they cover you with their tar, then he will also be smeared. You do not wish this.”
“No.” She was beginning to dislike the thought of this England more each passing minute. She made an impatient gesture. “Very well, tell whatever story you wish.”
He smiled. “I promise you I will make it most interesting. There are many possibilities. Would you like to be the daughter of a princess?”
“I just want to be left alone.”
“Unfortunately, Jordan’s position makes that unlikely. There are always people at Cambaron.”
Jordan’s position. She suddenly remembered how the captain had referred to him. His Grace. She asked warily, “And what is his position?”
“Did he not tell you?” he asked, surprised. “Jordan is the Duke of Cambaron.”
“No, he didn’t tell me.”
Power. Jordan Draken might hold as much power in his country as the Duke of Nebrov did in Montavia. The thought sent fear through her and made this journey to England appear even more threatening. “None of the men addressed him as Your Grace.”
“That’s because no one in Kazan recognizes any title but the ones granted by our own ravin.”
“Ravin?”
“Our leader. Our ravin is like your king Josef.”
She wasn’t interested in the intricacies of the Kazan monarchy. “What was an English duke doing in Kazan?”
For the first time he hesitated. “I cannot tell you.”
“It has something to do with the Window to Heaven.”
“Not entirely,” he said evasively. “Jordan has visited us many times.”
“Why does Kazan want-”
His big paw of a hand gently covered her lips. “Do not ask me. I know you feel uneasy and afraid and think knowledge will help you. I cannot tell you about Kazan. It is not my right.”
His expression was sympathetic, but she could see he would not be moved. She moved her head to escape his hand. “Then tell me about Cambaron.”
“Ah, it is a fine place. One of the richest estates in all England.” He again began to stroll down the deck. “You will like it.”
“Rich?” Bad fortune if Draken was not only titled but wealthy as well. His arsenal of weapons was growing by leaps and bounds.
“Very rich.” He beamed. “His father died when Jordan was only a lad of twelve, and he inherited vast mining and shipping interests.”
“How pleasant for him,” she said faintly.
“Pleasant but not good. Too much money tends to lead to debauchery, and Jordan was ever one to do things with more intensity than others. We became most concerned about him.”
“You knew him as a child?”
“Not exactly.” He paused before a polished oak door. “This is your cabin. Alex will be next door. Are you hungry?”
She was starved, she realized ruefully, just as Jordan had predicted. “Yes.”
“I will go to the galley and see if I can find something for you and Alex.” His gaze went over her. “You are very thin…”
She smiled. “You intend to fatten me up?”
He chuckled. “No, after I bring you food, I intend to go ashore and purchase you clothing to cover that skinny body. Jordan said you and Alex must have something to wear on the journey besides those rags.”
“I wouldn’t want to offend His Grace,” she said ironically.
“You would not.” He opened the door for her. “I’ve seen him more ragged than you on occasion. He only wants your comfort.”
“That’s not all he wants.”
His smile faded. “No, that is true. He wants the Window. Can you give it to him?”
“I will
“Can and will are different words. You’re saying it is possible.” He shook his head. “I was hoping you would say no.”
“I don’t lie.”
“It would be safer for you if you did. Jordan will not stop until he gets it, you know.” He moved his big shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. “But we need not think about that now. We will enjoy what we have and worry tomorrow.”
“I do not intend to worry about it at all.” She suddenly smiled and said gently, “But I thank you for your concern, Gregor.”
