the tears to come. Mussing her hair, she ran forward.
Or started to. Fengel crashed out of the jungle and grabbed her wrist. Oh, for the love of…. Natasha opened her mouth to snarl at him, then stopped. This could be good for her, actually. If someone saw them struggle, it would make her story all the more convincing.
“You horrible harpy,” he growled. “You—”
Her husband cut short as he glanced up and took in the scene before them. Then he paled. Natasha drew in a breath to scream, trying not to smile.
Fengel promptly clapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her back into the jungle. She fought him, biting and swatting with her free hand.
“Good Goddess, stop!” he cried. “You haven’t any idea what we’re running into. That’s a Perinese warship!”
Natasha bit his hand and slammed her heel down on Fengel’s toes. He fell away with a yelp.
“Help!” she cried.
Fengel cursed and grabbed her around the waist. She made to plant her knee in his jaw, then checked herself. Wait. Weak and helpless, remember. Natasha flailed ineffectively at his back.
“Oh, help me!” she cried again.
“Confound it, woman!” growled Fengel. “Stop!”
The bushes off to one side parted. Five men in the blue uniforms of Perinese Bluecoat marines appeared, muskets at the ready. Natasha noted that they were likely a watch picket; they hadn’t come from the beach.
Perfect.
“Get him off me!” she implored the men.
Fengel looked around and swore. He released her and tried to run the way they’d come, but it was too late. Two of the Bluecoats stepped in and clubbed him in the back with the stocks of their weapons. Already half-bent, he collapsed to the jungle floor.
Natasha let herself fall to her knees. Shouts came from the direction of the beach. The commotion had been noticed.
One of the Bluecoats stepped forward and held out a hand, bowing low. He was tall and fit, with a long nose and oily curls bound into a ponytail beneath his tricorn hat.
“Are you all right, good lady?” he asked.
Natasha sniffed and tried not to smile. “I am now,” she replied.
Chapter Seven
Captain Fengel wondered what he had done to deserve this fate.
That meat pie I stole from Matron Shrieveport? No, I was only seven. And besides, she’d gone round the bend and was making pasties out of all those husbands she’d axed. Hmm. I did drop Black Robin adrift in the ocean with nothing but an empty pickle barrel. Though, in my defense, the fellow did try to murder me.
A thought occurred to him.
Could it be all the piracy? Surely not. There was that missionary ship with all those nuns. We did stay on and patch things up for them again, though. And my apology was very eloquent.
The sharp tip of a bayonet poked him in the back. Fengel glared back at the man, but picked up his pace. There wasn’t any point in antagonizing the Bluecoats further.
Five of the blue-coated soldiers marched him down the beach toward their camp. All were simple privates, fresh-faced youths conscripted from the inner counties back in the Kingdom of Perinault. The sixth and last was a naval officer, a sub-lieutenant by the braid below his shoulder. He stood a little taller than Fengel, with a long nose and oily curls bound into a ponytail. The sub-lieutenant walked at the head of the group, leading the way back while Natasha simpered at his side.
She glanced back over her shoulder to wink at him. Incoherent rage boiled up inside Fengel. Natasha had done it to him again, had won out against the odds, clawing her way up over him to grasp victory. They weren’t even fighting over anything this time. Goddess knows he’d meant to avoid her as long as he could. He’d only left the beach to find out who had carved the dragon up on the mountain. Who they were, or if they were even human didn’t matter. They’d at least have fire and food, a significant improvement over the last night’s miserably rugged experience.
And now here they were,
Or started to. Fengel crashed out of the jungle and grabbed her wrist. Oh, for the love of…. Natasha opened her mouth to snarl at him, then stopped. This could be good for her, actually. If someone saw them struggle, it would make her story all the more convincing.
“You horrible harpy,” he growled. “You—”
Her husband cut short as he glanced up and took in the scene before them. Then he paled. Natasha drew in a breath to scream, trying not to smile.
Fengel promptly clapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her back into the jungle. She fought him, biting and swatting with her free hand.
“Good Goddess, stop!” he cried. “You haven’t any idea what we’re running into. That’s a Perinese warship!”
Natasha bit his hand and slammed her heel down on Fengel’s toes. He fell away with a yelp.
“Help!” she cried.
Fengel cursed and grabbed her around the waist. She made to plant her knee in his jaw, then checked herself. Wait. Weak and helpless, remember. Natasha flailed ineffectively at his back.
“Oh, help me!” she cried again.
“Confound it, woman!” growled Fengel. “Stop!”
The bushes off to one side parted. Five men in the blue uniforms of Perinese Bluecoat marines appeared, muskets at the ready. Natasha noted that they were likely a watch picket; they hadn’t come from the beach.
Perfect.
“Get him off me!” she implored the men.
Fengel looked around and swore. He released her and tried to run the way they’d come, but it was too late. Two of the Bluecoats stepped in and clubbed him in the back with the stocks of their weapons. Already half-bent, he collapsed to the jungle floor.
Natasha let herself fall to her knees. Shouts came from the direction of the beach. The commotion had been noticed.
One of the Bluecoats stepped forward and held out a hand, bowing low. He was tall and fit, with a long nose and oily curls bound into a ponytail beneath his tricorn hat.
“Are you all right, good lady?” he asked.
Natasha sniffed and tried not to smile. “I am now,” she replied.
Chapter Seven
Captain Fengel wondered what he had done to deserve this fate.
That meat pie I stole from Matron Shrieveport? No, I was only seven. And besides, she’d gone round the bend and was making pasties out of all those husbands she’d axed. Hmm. I did drop Black Robin adrift in the ocean with nothing but an empty pickle barrel. Though, in my defense, the fellow did try to murder me.
A thought occurred to him.
Could it be all the piracy? Surely not. There was that missionary ship with all those nuns. We did stay on and patch things up for them again, though. And my apology was very eloquent.
The sharp tip of a bayonet poked him in the back. Fengel glared back at the man, but picked up his pace. There wasn’t any point in antagonizing the Bluecoats further.
Five of the blue-coated soldiers marched him down the beach toward their camp. All were simple privates, fresh-faced youths conscripted from the inner counties back in the Kingdom of Perinault. The sixth and last was a naval officer, a sub-lieutenant by the braid below his shoulder. He stood a little taller than Fengel, with a long nose and oily curls bound into a ponytail. The sub-lieutenant walked at the head of the group, leading the way back while Natasha simpered at his side.
She glanced back over her shoulder to wink at him. Incoherent rage boiled up inside Fengel. Natasha had done it to him again, had won out against the odds, clawing her way up over him to grasp victory. They weren’t even fighting over anything this time. Goddess knows he’d meant to avoid her as long as he could. He’d only left the beach to find out who had carved the dragon up on the mountain. Who they were, or if they were even human didn’t matter. They’d at least have fire and food, a significant improvement over the last night’s miserably rugged experience.
And now here they were,
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