Lois Greiman by The Princess, Her Pirate

my favorite part.”

Chapter 7
    T atiana paced. Outside her door there was at least one guard. She gave a passing thought to the man she had hired. Where Ralph had gone was impossible to guess. Although he had already been paid a goodly portion of the sum agreed upon, he seemed the sort to continue searching for her. MacTavish’s plans, however, were more obscure. She knew she had to escape, and the hour was getting late. Though she’d never been unusually strong, she was hardly fragile. Nay, she was stout enough, but it was a bit too optimistic to think she could overwhelm an armed guard with physical strength. Therefore, she’d best think.
    The Viking called Burroun had gone with MacTavish. That left Peters at the door. She focused her thoughts on the lieutenant for a moment, reading his personality. Who was he really? Aye, he was determined to do his lord’s will, perhaps obsessively so. But what was his lord’s will? What were MacTavish’s plans for her?
    He despised her. That much was clear, for he’d had her imprisoned. But he’d also seen her released. It seemed obvious, then, that he did not want her dead, but was keeping her close at hand in an attempt to capture Wheaton. Therefore, it stood to reason that he would be careful to keep her alive. And Peters would be more careful still.
    She turned like a cornered badger to face the door. Yes, he would be careful, and she must be the same.
    She longed to pace again, but she forced herself to wait, to sit on the bed, to plan. Perhaps it did not take long before the knock sounded at her door, but it seemed like forever.
    “Who is it?” She made her tone soft, and if there was the slightest quaver to it, it was not altogether planned.
    “’Tis Lieutenant Peters.” His voice was the antithesis of hers—commanding, brash, a young soldier with much to prove.
    “Come in, Lieutenant.”
    The door snapped open, and he stepped inside. Behind him came two others, one bearing a tray, the other bringing a bottle and a mug.
    Peters stood very straight, though he didn’t look directly at her when he spoke. Perhaps he felt some shame for the debacle of the night before. After all, he had delivered her to Pikeshead, and his master had fetched her back. And although she’d heard little of the following conversation between the two of them, she could assume that MacTavish was somewhat irritated. Why then, she wondered, did he continue to put her care in his hands?
    “My lord commanded me to bring you sustenance,” he said.
    She blinked and kept her hands tightly clasped. “My thanks,” she murmured. “But I fear I am not hungry.”
    He shifted his gaze quickly to her and away. A scowl marred his freckled features. His back was perfectly straight, his brightly polished boots aligned just so. “Lord MacTavish ordered me to make certain you eat.”
    She wrung her hands. “I…” she began, then let her gaze fall to her fingers. “I’ve no wish to cause you any trouble, Lieutenant.”
    She could feel his attention shift to her again, though she did not raise her eyes to make certain. “But I…” Parting her hands, she touched her fingers to her forehead. “I fear I am not well.”
    “Not well?”
    “Dizzy,” she said. “Sick to my stomach.”
    His scowl deepened, and she forced a weak smile. “You needn’t worry. I’m not about to perish and disparage you in front of your lord.”
    “Perish!” He looked paler than ever.
    She brightened her tremulous smile a bit. “I will be fine. I only need to rest.”
    “Food will help settle your stomach,” he said, and motioned one of his men to set the tray beside her on the bed. “Eat.”
    “Perhaps you are right.”
    He stared at the wall again. “I am.”
    Tatiana retrieved the loaf of bread from the tray. It was made of well-milled flour, soft-grained and white. She broke off a piece and ate it, then finished off the wine.
    Peters watched her in some amazement. His shoulders were only slightly behind