So I Married a Sorcerer, Page 2

  Sorcha grabbed on to the table. “What was that?”

  Loud shouts and the pounding of feet sounded on the deck overhead.

  “Something is amiss,” Gwennore said as she gazed up at the ceiling. “They’re running about.”

  Maeve peered out the window. “I believe we made a sudden turn to the south.”

  “That would put us off course,” Gwennore murmured.

  The door slammed open, and they jumped in their seats.

  Mother Ginessa gave them a stern look, while behind her Sister Fallyn pressed the tips of her fingers against her thumbs, forming two small circles to represent the twin moons.

  “May the goddesses protect us,” Sister Fallyn whispered.

  “Stay here,” Mother Ginessa ordered, then shut the door.

  “What the hell was that?” Sorcha muttered.

  A pounding sound reverberated throughout the entire ship. Thump … thump … thump.

  “Drums.” Gwennore rose to her feet. “The sailors beat them to set the pace. They must be using the oars.”

  “Why?” Sorcha asked. “Is something wrong with the sails?”

  Gwennore shrugged. “I suppose we need to go faster. Perhaps we’re trying to outrun another ship, but there’s no way to know unless we go up on deck.”

  Sorcha slapped the tabletop with her hand. “Why do we have to stay here? I hate being in the dark.”

  Brigitta clenched her fists, gathering handfuls of her skirt in her hands. The prediction was coming true, she knew it. Her stomach roiled again, and her heart thudded loud in her ears, keeping time with the drums.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The drums pounded faster.

  Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and she rubbed her aching stomach as she rose shakily to her feet. “The fate of the Telling Stones has begun.”

  “Don’t say that.” Gwennore shook her head. “Ye cannot be sure.”

  “I am sure!” Brigitta cried. She’d had eight months to consider this fate. Eight months to prepare herself. “’Tis happening now. And I will not remain hidden in this room, meekly accepting a future I do not want. I’m going on deck to face this me self.”

  Sorcha jumped to her feet. “That’s the spirit!”

  “Aye.” Maeve ran to the bed where they’d left their cloaks. “And we will go with you!”

  They quickly slipped their brown cloaks over their cream-colored woolen gowns.

  Gwennore rested a hand on Brigitta’s shoulder. “Ye don’t look well. Are ye sure ye’re up to this?”

  Nay. Brigitta drew a deep breath. “I have to be…”

  “Aye.” Gwennore gave her a squeeze. “Ye’ll do fine.”

  “Come on!” Sorcha opened the door, and they filed into the narrow passageway, then climbed the steep wooden stairs to the deck. When they pushed open the door, it bumped into a dog that had been sitting in front of it.

  “Julia!” Maeve cried out when she spotted the shaggy black-and-white dog. “It is you, aye?”

  With a low growl, the dog backed away.

  “How many times do we have to tell you?” Sorcha grumbled. “That dog is a he.”

  Brigitta narrowed her eyes. The last time she’d seen this dog, he’d been guarding Luciana at the royal palace in Ebton.

  “If I remember correctly, his name is Brody.” Gwennore squatted and extended a hand to the dog. “Is that right?”

  With a soft woof, the dog placed his paw in her hand.

  She grinned. “Good boy.”

  “Nay, she’s too pretty to be a boy!” Maeve wrapped her arms around the dog, and he whimpered with a forlorn look.

  “Why is Luciana’s dog here?” Sorcha asked.

  Gwennore straightened. “I suppose she sent him to guard us.”

  Brigitta studied the dog closely. “I’m more curious about the first time we met him. How did he end up on the Isle of Moon?” A strong breeze whipped some of her hair loose from her braid, and by the time she pushed it away from her eyes, the dog had slipped away.

  At least, the cool spring breeze was making her stomach feel better. With a quick glance up, she noted the sails were full. They were mostly white, but two stripes crossed each sail diagonally in the colors of red and black, the royal colors of Eberon.

  “What are ye doing here?” Mother Ginessa grabbed her and quickly pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair. “Ye mustn’t let anyone see you.”

  Brigitta’s breath hitched as a tingling sensation crept along her nerves and blurred her vision for a few seconds. The older woman’s touch had triggered her special gift, and Brigitta was reminded once again that Mother Ginessa was hiding a great number of secrets.

  A loud whistle sounded, and the drums abruptly stopped. The oarsmen were belowdecks, so Brigitta couldn’t see them, but she felt the ship slowing down. After another whistle, crewmen began lowering the sails.

  “Goddesses, protect us!” Sister Fallyn cried as she made the sign of the moons. “We’ll be dead in the water!”

  “Nay!” Mother Ginessa scrambled up the stairs to the quarterdeck where Captain Shaw was standing with the first mate and helmsman. “We cannot slow down! We must evade them!”

  Them? Brigitta turned toward the bow of the ship, and her heart lurched. With the sails furled, she now had a clearer view. Three large ships were fanned out before them, blocking their passage to Eberon, and each ship had sails bordered with blue and gold.

  “The royal colors of Tourin,” Sorcha breathed.

  Holy goddesses. Here was clear proof that the fate of the Telling Stones had begun. A sharp twinge shot through Brigitta’s stomach, but she ignored the pain and stumbled up the stairs onto the quarterdeck.

  “We tried evasion,” Captain Shaw was explaining to Mother Ginessa. “But with three ships, they can continue to block our every move.” He crossed his arms as he studied the ships. “They haven’t gone to battle stations, so I believe they mean us no harm. I can only conclude that they want something.”

  “Please, Captain.” Mother Ginessa latched on to his sleeve. “Ye cannot let them catch us!”

  The captain gave her a curious look. “Do you know why the Tourinian Royal Navy has stopped us?”

  Mother Ginessa quickly released him. “Of course not. But if we cannot move forward, then we must go back.” She glanced at Brigitta. “We should go back to the convent. We’ll be safe there.”

  “Not necessarily.” Captain Shaw frowned. “If we return to the Isle of Moon, they could simply follow us.”

  “We have cannons.” Sister Fallyn clambered up onto the quarterdeck. “Why don’t we shoot at them?”

  Captain Shaw gave her an incredulous look. “That would be suicidal. They have us outnumbered and outgunned.”

  “Holy goddesses!” Sister Fallyn made the sign of the moons. “We’re doomed!”

  “Calm yerself, Sister!” Mother Ginessa fussed.

  “There is no need for you to worry,” Captain Shaw assured them. “If they meant to attack, they would have already done so. And I seriously doubt the Tourinian king wants to start a war with Eberon. King Gunther’s hands are full right now. Norveshka has been attacking him from the east, and on the west along his coastline, he’s constantly plagued with pirates.”

  “Sir.” The first mate handed him a spyglass. “The middle ship is waving a flag.”

  Captain Shaw peered through the spyglass. “Ah. White flag with a sun. I was expecting that.”

  “What does it mean?” Brigitta asked.

  The captain lowered the spyglass. “Even though the mainland kingdoms are often at war, we have one thing in common—the worship of the sun god. That flag means they come in peace and merely wish to parley.”

  “Peace?” Sister Fallyn scoffed. “Tourinians don’t know the meaning of peace. They are violent, vicious, and cruel! A bunch of murderers and thieves! Nothing good has ever come from Tourin!”

  Brigitta gave the nun a surprised look. “I thought ye came from Tourin.”

  Sister F
allyn huffed. “Well, aye, but I escaped as soon as I could.”

  Brigitta wondered what had happened to the nun, but the ship suddenly tilted to the left, causing her to stumble toward the side railing. One look at the churning water below made her stomach lurch. Quickly she looked away, but even the sound of the ocean slapping against the sides of the ship nauseated her.

  Mother Ginessa grabbed her by the shoulders. “Ye must go below. We cannot let the Tourinians see you.”

  Brigitta swallowed hard at the bile rising up her throat. “Why me?”

  “Aye, why her?” Sorcha demanded as she and the other sisters scurried up the steps to the quarterdeck.

  Captain Shaw winced. “Begging your pardon, ladies, but you’re not supposed to be on my deck without my permiss—”

  “Look!” Gwennore pointed at the middle Tourinian ship. “They’ve launched a dinghy.”

  The captain groaned as it became clear that his quarterdeck would remain overcrowded. “They’re sending an envoy over to talk to us.” He gave Mother Ginessa a pointed look. “I will ask you once again, madam. Do you know why they are so interested in us?”

  “Aye!” Sorcha aimed a frustrated look at her. “What do ye know that ye’re not telling us?”

  Mother Ginessa heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well. I’ll tell Brigitta after she comes belowdecks with me. We cannot risk the Tourinians seeing her.”

  “This is my ship,” Captain Shaw growled. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  A whistle sounded from the crow’s nest above them. “Incoming from the south!” the sailor yelled.

  Captain Shaw lifted his spyglass to study a new group of ships coming straight toward them. “Damn,” he whispered.

  Brigitta swallowed hard. There were nine ships on the horizon, the middle one leading the pack. The sails seemed mostly white with some sort of black markings, but they were too far away for her to see clearly.

  “Are they Tourinians?” Mother Ginessa asked.

  “Aye. But not the royal navy.” The captain turned toward the first mate. “Sound the alarm.”

  As a horn blasted, Brigitta’s stomach twisted with a sharp pain. “What’s wrong, Captain? Who are they?”

  “Pirates.”

  Brigitta gasped. A strong wind knocked her back a step and blew the hood off her head.

  “We’re doomed!” Sister Fallyn cried. “Doomed!”

  “The wind is behind them, so they’re coming in fast.” Captain Shaw gave Mother Ginessa a stern look. “And the dinghy from the Tourinian navy will arrive in a few minutes. You need to talk now. What do we have that is so valuable?” He glanced at Brigitta. “Or is it whom?”

  A wave of light-headedness struck Brigitta, and she grabbed on to the back railing to steady herself.

  Mother Ginessa’s eyes glistened with tears as she turned to Brigitta. “I am so sorry, child. I have tried to protect you all these years, but I fear I have failed.”

  “Nay, ye’ve always been good to me,” Brigitta whispered. “Please tell me what I need to know.”

  “Very well.” Mother Ginessa pulled Brigitta’s hood up to cover her hair. “Ye’re the princess of Tourin.”

  Brigitta’s thoughts swirled. “Nay, I—” Her stomach heaved. She leaned over the railing as she lost her battle with nausea.

  Chapter Two

  Rupert stood in the crow’s nest of the lead pirate ship, using his spyglass to study the vessels in the distance. His own design, the spyglass was better than any other he’d seen on Aerthlan. Not only did it give him a strategic advantage, but it provided some entertainment as well. For he could actually see people’s reactions when they realized a fleet of pirate ships was headed their way.

  Some captains and crew scrambled frantically about like a bunch of ants that had just had their ant bed kicked in. Those were usually the Tourinian naval ships, loaded with so much gold they became overly heavy and cumbersome.

  King Gunther was too paranoid to have anyone but the royal navy transport his precious gold from the mountainous region of northern Tourin to his capital of Lourdon in the south. He’d equipped each of his naval ships with a dozen or more cannons, figuring that would keep anyone from attempting to steal his gold.

  Rupert had been proving him wrong for seven years.

  Now, as he watched the three Tourinian naval ships, he noted how easily they maneuvered around the lone Eberoni vessel. Obviously, they were not burdened with gold. No, they were on a different sort of transport mission—abscond with the Tourinian princess and deliver her to her older brother, Gunther. Already, they had launched a dinghy that was headed for the Eberoni ship.

  Fortunately for Rupert, he had a spy who worked with the carrier pigeons at the Tourinian royal court. Whenever Gunther had a message sent, Rupert received a copy of it.

  Unfortunately for Rupert, he and his fleet had been farther south, so it had taken longer for the message to reach him. But with a strong wind at their backs, Rupert’s fleet had managed to arrive just in time.

  Why? he wondered once again. Why was Gunther reclaiming a sister who had been declared dead years ago?

  Was she truly alive? Rupert had read the message at least ten times before daring to believe it. She must have spent the last nineteen years in hiding. Just like him. The prospect that she’d also survived was more exciting than he cared to admit. He’d immediately headed north to see if she was, indeed, alive. And to capture her for himself.

  For the ransom, he thought, correcting himself. She was nothing more than a tool that would allow him to torment her bastard brother and steal more of his gold.

  “Have you spotted her yet?” Stefan yelled from below. “Will you even recognize her?”

  Rupert winced inwardly. “I will.” Somehow.

  Stefan’s dubious snort was his only answer.

  With a groan, Rupert shifted his gaze back to the Eberoni naval vessel. How would he recognize a woman he hadn’t seen since she was a babe? Hopefully, she’d be the only female on board. That would make it easy.

  Holy crap. There were five—no, six females crowded on the quarterdeck with the Eberoni captain and two of his crew. Even worse, the women were all dressed exactly alike. Cream-colored woolen gowns topped with plain brown cloaks, the sort of clothes worn by nuns. Had the so-called princess been hiding in a convent all these years? If so, she’d brought half the damned convent with her. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Stefan asked.

  “Nothing.” Rupert quickly studied the lineup. The women wore their hair plaited in a single braid down their backs. The first one had black hair speckled with gray. Another one had the white-blond hair and pointed ears of an elf. The next one looked like a Norveshki with her wild red hair slipping free from her braid. Three down.

  The fourth woman was making the sign of the moons and appeared ready to faint at any moment. She looked Tourinian with her blond hair and pale skin, but she seemed a bit too old to be nineteen. The girl next to her looked a little too young. Black hair.

  Dammit, what color hair did the so-called princess have? The last time he’d seen her, she’d been bald. And about two feet tall.

  “Well?” Stefan called. “Do you see her?”

  “I’m working on it.” The sixth woman stood by the railing with her hood pulled up over her head. Suddenly everyone on the quarterdeck turned toward Rupert’s fleet, and the captain lifted his spyglass.

  “They’ve spotted us,” Rupert warned his old friend.

  “Is the princess there or not?” Stefan asked.

  Indeed, that was the question. For if she wasn’t, Rupert would turn his fleet back south. He focused once more on the woman by the railing. She had to be the one.

  He tapped into his power. It swirled inside him, gathering energy as he inhaled deeply. Then he released his breath slowly, aimed straight at the sixth woman. As the air traveled, it became a wind, growing stronger and stronger till it buffeted against her, knocking her back a step and whisking the hood off her he
ad.

  Holy Light. It was her. Brigitta.

  “Well?” Stefan asked.

  “She’s there.” She’d grown up well. Extremely well. “Holy crap.”

  “Why the foul language?” Stefan chuckled. “Is she still bald?”

  Rupert forgot to answer as he studied her through the spyglass. He forgot to think. Or even breathe. A few tendrils had escaped her long blond braid to curl about her heart-shaped face. Pale, creamy skin, high cheekbones, rosy cheeks and lips. Her eyes, they were as beautiful as he remembered.

  With a quick intake of breath, he closed his eyes. Dammit. He didn’t want to remember anything from that horrific day. It was the stuff of nightmares that had haunted him for the past nineteen years. Even so, for the few seconds that he had gazed upon the baby girl, life had seemed … perfect.

  At the age of three months, she’d lain in a fancy white crib, festooned with ribbons and lace, and when she’d peered up at him, he’d been surprised by her eyes. Not only big, but a brilliant shade of turquoise. Were they the same color now? He opened his eyes and readjusted his spyglass.

  “Why aren’t you answering?” Stefan called, then lowered his voice. “Is she that ugly?”

  She was more beautiful than ever. “She’s … tolerable.”

  Brigitta. Rupert had been almost seven years old when he’d first met her, but he’d thought she was the most angelic baby he’d ever seen. A sense of peace had enveloped him, an odd but certain feeling that he’d found the one who would share his destiny. So he’d leaned over the crib to give her a smile.

  Unfortunately, she’d reacted by spitting up milk all over herself. He’d been surprised that a baby’s stomach could hold that much milk. It had kept coming and coming.

  Back on the ship, the oldest nun said something to Brigitta as she raised the hood back over her blond hair.

  “What is she doing?” Stefan asked.

  Rupert winced as the princess of Tourin leaned over the bulwark and lost her last meal. “The usual.” Don’t feel sorry for her. She’s the enemy.