Lois Greiman by The Princess, Her Pirate Page A

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    “Shall I bring up a tub, Lieutenant?” asked the second-closest man. He was short and stout and dark of hair. But his eyes were very blue.
    “There is no need, Cormick,” said Peters. “There is a bathing area in the adjoining chamber.”
    “Right there?” The young man sounded awed. Peters kept his expression stoic.
    “Shall we fetch water for it then?”
    “It is piped up.”
    “Piped up, sir?”
    Peters scowled. “You are not an oarsman on some wave-tossed frigate any longer, Cormick. Try to remember that.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Go now and fill the vessel.”
    “Aye, Lieutenant,” Cormick said, and hurried across the room to the far door. He opened it, stepped through, and whistled low.
    An expression of perturbation crossed Peters’s face but he said nothing. Indeed, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t turn toward the other chamber, though the sound of splashing and chuckles echoed in the place.
    Tatiana nibbled on her bread and tasted her pie. It was pigeon, mixed in a savory broth and baked to bubbled perfection. Regardless of MacTavish’s host of faults, he kept a good kitchen, but perhaps a night in prison would heighten anyone’s appreciation for cuisine.
    She said nothing as the tub was filled, but concentrated on her meal.
    “How do you feel now, madam?” Peters asked. His tone was stiff.
    She smiled, employing her most girlish expression, but if truth be told, she was not one for maidenly glances and girlish giggles. Being in line for the helm of the country, even when the possibilities were remote, tended to eliminate flippancy. Being her mother’s daughter negated flirtations. Nevertheless, her life depended on her ability to do just those things, so she glanced up through her lashes and fiddled with her mug.
    “I am much improved, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
    “The water…” said Cormick, entering the room and grinning like a prankster. “It’s warm.” Tatiana noticed that his sleeves were wet well past the elbows and his trousers damp about the knees.
    Peters gave him a disdainful glance and turned his attention back to Tatiana. “I will leave you to your bath then.” She would not have been the least surprised if had clicked his heels together.
    “My thanks,” she said, and stood, but as she did so, she wobbled slightly and lifted her hand to her brow as if she were about to swoon.
    Peters grabbed her elbow in a steely grasp. “Are you unwell?”
    She took a moment to answer, then, “Nay,” she said, and straightened with a brave effort. “Nay, I am well. Do not concern yourself.”
    His scowl deepened. She almost smiled.
    “You needn’t worry,” she said as she made her way into the adjoining chamber. It was small and close, almost filled by the round copper tub that stood near the wall. Steam curled like silvery fronds into the air. But it was the window that captured her attention. It was long and narrow, but surely broad enough for her to squeeze through. Her heart leapt to her throat, but she planned carefully. Long ago she had learned her capabilities…and her weaknesses. She skimmed the room again. It was not so cluttered as the bedchamber, but it was far from empty. A tall, brightly woven basket with an hourglass shape stood beneath the window, its cover slightly askew. Wooden shoes with curled toes were nestled against an earthenware pot, where a miniature pine tree grew at odd angles. “I am not about to drown,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder at Peters. “Or escape through yonder window.”
    The lieutenant paled visibly. “Perhaps you should wait before entering your bath.”
    She smiled. “Your lord may return at any moment, and despite what you think of me, I have no wish to disrobe in front of him.”
    Peters’s paleness was gone, immediately replaced by a rush of color. “I did not mean to imply—”
    “I will be fine,” she assured him, and closed the door behind her.
    There was a rap on the other side in less than