Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds

you hoping for?”
    This was a question Clare hadn’t thought much of until now. She knew there was an answer more complex and truthful but instead replied, “I hope my journey brings me home soon. Back to family. Isn’t that your desire as well?”
    Pierce gazed at her deeply, then laughed quietly, looking into his mug for strength.
    â€œIt’s dusk,” Clare spurted. “Where’s my brother?”
    â€œYou remember the day. You know. Little Kevan.”
    A flush spread across her body, the one she experienced every time she thought of her brother’s drowning.
    â€œSeamus—”
    She broke in. “That’s not kind remembering.”
    â€œWait,” Pierce said, with eyes watering. “It’s been years for me to mention. To tell you this.”
    Clare nodded.
    Pierce ran his finger around the lid of his glass. “The way you covered for Seamus. I’ll never forget that day.”
    â€œI wish you would. It was no favor to Seamus. My father would have killed him had he known Seamus was supposed to be minding Kevan for me.” Clare felt the turgid emotions of her past surfacing. “I knew my father would merely hate me for it.”
    Pierce handed her a handkerchief, and she snatched it and wiped her tears away.
    â€œOnly you know this, Pierce Brady, and if you care for me, for Seamus, you won’t mention this again.”
    â€œYes,” Pierce breathed. “I was there.” He took a drink of his stout, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which was shaking. “I saw courage in you that day. A kindness. Far beyond your beauty. That’s when I knew.”
    A sinking came over Clare’s stomach and she felt trapped at the table. What was it about Pierce that made her feel so uncomfortable? He was strong and kind enough in spirit and wasn’t the only one who fancied her. Was she destined to be a spinster due to her own obstinacy?
    â€œI have strong feelings for you, Clare, that I can’t deny. I don’t wish to deny any longer.”
    Some commotion and a braying of laughter emanated from the front of the tavern and Clare was grateful for the distraction. She strained her neck to see above the thickening crowd.
    Above the tangled fray of arms heavy in conversations, a man leapt onto the bar and waved and clamored for attention. He was short enough to stand erect without hitting his graying head on the ceiling, but when he spoke, his voice bellowed through the cacophony.
    â€œHere ye, ladies and kind sirs.” When few minded him, he raised the sound a level and slapped his palm on the ceiling. “Your attention for a wee moment. May we converse? I’ll keep it ever so brief.”
    A shout came from the back of the room. “Sit down, you old beggar.”
    Unmoved, the man continued. “A few tender words and I’ll be gone. I am here to present to you the great Captain James Starkey . . .”
    Feral laughter splattered the room as fingers pointed at the captain, an ancient man who stood beside his presenter, dressed sharply in all of Her Majesty’s full naval regalia.
    â€œSkipper. Has the sea given you back your wits?”
    Eruptions of heckling ensued.
    Clare’s heart sank for the old man, who looked like a character pulled from the pages of so many perilous books she devoured. In his stoicism, with the medals on his jacket preening, he appeared undamaged by the insults. Either he was shielded by the kindness of senility or perhaps had fought too many greater battles against tempests, whales, and pirates.
    The barker pounded on the ceiling again. The crowd silenced itself, possibly seeking more fodder for their cruel mockery. “We are most pleased to announce the fortuitous availability of nearly a dozen places on the Sea Mist , leaving dock for open waters in the morning. She’s a sound brigantine, this one, with a proud history as a once-esteemed member of the royal