So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)

So two women were coming. They hadn’t dared send the princess alone. From his position high in the crow’s nest, Rupert watched the two women through his spyglass. The older blonde was making the sign of the moons while she prayed. She was probably a nun.

The younger one was scanning the water as if she was searching for something. Had she taken the vows of a nun, too? If she had, she wouldn’t be allowed to keep them for long. Most probably, Gunther was planning to marry her off in order to gain a powerful ally. Whatever Gunther’s reason was for suddenly wanting his sister back, one thing was clear: The bastard would use her to his advantage.

You could protect her. Rupert pushed aside that thought. He wasn’t absconding with the girl to help her. His purpose, the sole purpose for everything he did, was revenge.

Using the power of wind, he eased his ship closer to the Eberoni vessel, so the dinghy would not have far to travel. As the rowboat came along the starboard side, his crewmen tossed over two long ropes so the rowers could tie the dinghy off at bow and stern.

While his crewmen lowered a rope ladder, Stefan leaned over the railing and greeted the women in the Eberoni language. “Welcome aboard the Golden Star. I am Captain Landers.”

A lie, but then most pirates avoided using their real names. Rupert included. He tucked his spyglass under his belt and waited for Brigitta to come into view.

And waited.

The longer he waited, the more tense he became. For one emotion after another was bombarding his senses. Nervousness? No, stronger than that. Dread. Part of him dreaded seeing her again. After all, the first time they’d met had proven to be the worst day of his life, a day that had condemned him to nineteen years of grief, heartache, rage, and an endless supply of nightmares.

At the same time, he was also eager, eager for the revenge that was now one step closer. His failure to kill Garold still rubbed at him. A Norveshki dragon had beaten him to the task. He’d also failed to kill Garold’s legitimate heir, for the bastard, Gunther, had conveniently done away with his younger half brother. But Gunther was still left, and Rupert was determined to kill him. The House of Grian would be utterly and completely destroyed for all time.

The fact that Brigitta was also a member of the House of Grian was … unfortunate. It made another part of him, a tiny part, feel guilty. For he fully realized he was using her as a pawn. Just like Gunther would do. Dammit. How could he sink as low as that bastard?

Frustration buzzed around him like an annoying insect, but he swatted it away. He’d come too far, suffered too much to back off now.

As he chased away the guilt and frustration, another emotion bubbled up to fill the vacuum. Curiosity. What would she be like? If she’d been raised in a convent, would she be nothing like the wretched men in her family? What if she was totally innocent, as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside?

His heart thumped, quickening its pace and pissing him off. What the hell did it matter if she was beautiful? She was the enemy, spawn of the rat Garold who had stolen the throne of Tourin through deception and murder. She would be his prisoner, dammit, and her brother would have to pay handsomely if he wanted her back.

Where the hell was she? Were the women refusing to board? Shit. By now the Tourinian naval ships might be trying to tack their way back.

Rupert slipped on his leather gloves, vaulted over the railing of the crow’s nest, then slid down a rope to the main deck. As he approached the starboard railing, he asked Stefan in Tourinian, “What’s taking so long?”

With a sigh, Stefan turned toward him. “Apparently it’s difficult to climb a ladder in a long skirt. Not to mention the poor woman is trembling with fright.”

Brigitta was afraid? Guilt pricked at Rupert once again as he glanced over the bulwark.

It was the older woman who was trembling as she ascended the ladder. Brigitta was standing on the rowboat, clinging to the rope ladder with one hand while she used the other to keep her companion’s skirt from getting caught underfoot.

The older woman slowly climbed, pausing on each narrow wooden slat as if she needed a moment to rally her courage. She wasn’t that old, Rupert realized. Perhaps four or five years older than himself. But she was definitely frightened. The princess smiled at her as she murmured encouraging words.

She’s brave, Rupert thought. And caring. No doubt the older woman had come along to watch over the younger one, but it was Brigitta who was doing the comforting.

A barking sound broke Brigitta’s concentration, and she whipped her head toward the sea.

A seal? Rupert was surprised to see a large black seal swimming next to the dinghy. Seals normally stayed much closer to shore where it was easier to catch fish.

Brigitta’s shoulders slumped as if she was disappointed; then she turned back to help her companion. By now the older woman was halfway up, and soon she would be out of the princess’s reach.

“Let’s get on with this.” Rupert motioned to two of his most muscular crewmen. “Pull the ladder up.”

“Hang on, madam,” Stefan yelled over the bulwark.

The older woman yelped as the two men hauled her up the side of the ship.

“We have you,” Stefan said while the two muscular crewmen hefted her over the railing.

The woman took one look at the bare-chested, tattooed seamen who had manhandled her and shrieked, pulling away from them with enough force that she barreled into Stefan and nearly knocked him over.

Stefan regained his balance as he steadied her. “Don’t worry, madam. You’re—” His speech halted when she gazed up at his face.

For a moment they froze, then the woman apparently realized she was clinging to his coat.

“Oh! I beg yer pardon.” She released him and jumped back, her cheeks blushing.

Stefan continued to stare at her in a daze.

Rupert snorted. But his amusement quickly soured into a pang of regret. For it was his fault that Stefan had taken on a life of deception and thievery. At the age of thirty-eight, Stefan should have been long married with half a dozen children by now.

“Your name, madam?” Rupert asked softly in Eberoni.

The woman spun around and gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of a masked man. “Goddesses protect—” She stopped herself with a gulp and clenched her hands to keep from making the sign of the moons.

“You may worship as you please while on board, madam,” Rupert told her. “As seamen, we are indebted to the moons and stars for navigation.”

“Oh, thank you.” She eyed him warily. “And ye are—?”

“Rupert.”

With a look of horror, she stumbled back. Stefan caught her, and she jerked away from him. “I’m quite fine, thank you.” She wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as her gaze flitted nervously about the deck. “I am Sister Fallyn from the Convent of the Two Moons.”

Stefan winced. “Dammit to hell.”

The nun shot a disapproving look his way. “I would appreciate it if ye refrain from using such foul language in front of my charge—oh, Brigitta!” She ran to the railing and looked over. “Are ye all right?”