The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Six

Bash

Bash had been sittingat his desk for the past two hours, patiently listening while Adrian, his commander and oldest friend, argued with one of his top soldiers. Atlas, young and stubborn, refused to back down, even before her superior.

“All I’m saying is we should’ve tried to hunt him down.” She sat back in her chair and swung her golden, braided hair over her shoulder. Blood from the attack still speckled her face, though she wore it proudly. “His daughter was never our mission. We only chose this day because we assumed his guard would be down, but the bastard got away.”

“I’ve told you, Atlas,” Adrian began, “it was a last-second call.” He glanced at Bash. “Even with all our men, we lost sight of Wood. We were lucky enough to get his daughter.”

“I still don’t understand how he got away,” she grumbled. “We had all eyes on him, and then he was just...gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

The two began to argue, but Bash was silently thinking of everything they had done wrong. All of his warriors had been directed to capture Captain Wood, and they were familiar with the exit points of the keep. The few spies he’d smuggled into the city weeks ago managed to create blueprints so that nothing was left to chance. Even still, the bastard had slipped between his fingers. When he’d seen Margrete fleeing with her groom, she became an opportunity.

One he hoped he didn’t regret taking.

“We stick to the new plan,” Bash said, interrupting their squabbling. Atlas instantly shut her mouth. “We use his daughter. Trade her. It was decided the second she was taken aboard this ship.”

Atlas muttered something under her breath. Adrian shot her a look of warning.

“If that’s all, then we’re finished here.” Bash pushed off from his desk, the top of which was covered with maps of Prias and the surrounding islands. “You should both get some rest.” It was well past the time for sleep, and he could see the exhaustion weighing their eyes.

Adrian nodded in agreement. He was a man of few words, but his loyalty and devotion to their cause surpassed any other.

“Goodnight.” Atlas bowed her head before retreating, leaving Adrian and Bash alone.

“Everything all right?” Adrian asked, taking a step closer to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Yes,” Bash lied. “Though I’m not a fan of this change of plans.” He sidled away from his friend’s affection, choosing instead the solitude that often cleared his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by foolish emotions. People relied on him, and if he unraveled, then he wouldn’t be of any use to them.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Adrian murmured after a moment’s hesitation. “Goodnight, old friend.” He shut the door softly on his way out.

Bash sighed and turned to the porthole, where the moon’s light glinted on the waves. He prayed to all the gods that his plan would work. That he was right to take Wood’s daughter.

Knowing he should attempt to sleep, he settled on the thin cot in the corner of the office and rested his head on his folded arms. The ship rocked and swayed; the waves crashing against the hull should’ve been enough to calm his thoughts.

But they weren’t.

His mind was restless with all the things that could go wrong. With the consequences that would ensue should they fail. If Captain Wood didn’t make the trade, then he would all but condemn the world to needless bloodshed. Bash suspected that even if he did know of the danger, the man would hardly care. That was why the bastard deserved to be gutted. By Bash’s hand, preferably. If anyone had earned the honor of ending Captain Wood, it was Bash.

But images of slicing the captain’s throat weren’t lulling him to sleep tonight. Bash itched to move, to do anything but lay there and wait.

He sat up with a groan, resting his elbows on his knees. Today wasn’t a complete loss. He should be happy enough for now, but there was a sense of dread that wouldn’t leave him, like something dire was transpiring right under his nose.

Instantly, he thought of her—the woman currently aboard his ship, the daughter of his greatest enemy. She certainly wasn’t what he expected. Not that he’d spent all that much time thinking about her in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t stop.

Before he could think better of it, Bash was on his feet, opening his door, and striding down the narrow corridor. He didn’t knock before he unlocked her door and slid inside, his feet silent as he took in her slumbering form lying in the dim moonlight.

Margrete Wood. Age twenty-three. Oldest daughter of Captain Wood. Known to spend her days within the keep doing gods knew what.

He dared another step, his pulse racing.

She appeared so soft in her sleep, so unlike the fiery woman who challenged him hours before. He almost laughed at the memory of her kneeing him in the groin, her small hands encircling his sword as if she’d drive it through him.

Maybe she would have.

Seeming to sense the eyes upon her, Margrete shifted, a faint sigh escaping her full lips. Lips he’d washed blood from when he first brought her to this room. He let his gaze travel down her petite body to where the coverlet lay bunched around her narrow waist, her fingers fisted in the fabric as though she were fighting something even now.

She’d changed out of the red gown into his day tunic, a garment of thin, white linen. He imagined that if she knew it belonged to him, she’d throw the shirt overboard. The neck remained untied. Spread wide, the opening revealed the delicate lines of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast. She was beautiful. Alluring.

That was without question.

Bash hovered over her bed, feeling both intrigued and furious with himself. He didn’t know why her room was the first place he’d gone. Maybe the need to check on his prisoner drove him to such madness. She was invaluable, after all. Yes, that was why he was looming over her like death’s shadow.

He was about to turn around and leave—go back to tossing and turning in his own bed—when her voice pierced the silence.

“No,” she murmured, eyes still closed tight. Her brow furrowed, and her lips grew pinched as her head lolled from side to side. “Not again.”

Bash flinched. She was having a nightmare; her breathing came out in anguished gasps. He was familiar with the affliction, and often spent his nights pacing instead of sleeping, avoiding the demons that haunted his dreams.

Bash muttered a curse before he sat on the bed next to her, his hand trembling as he brought it to her brow. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to soothe her or why the pain twisting her features upset him, but he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to rub soothing circles on skin that felt like pure silk.

“Shhh,” he whispered, watching as his touch instantly calmed her thrashing. Bash preferred the anger in her eyes to…this. He would recognize fear anywhere, and for some reason, he decided he despised the look of it on her face.

Bash’s hand lingered even after she relaxed, her chest rising and falling evenly. It was then that he realized his own pulse had settled, his mind beautifully blank.

He snatched his hand back as though she’d burned him.

Rising from the bed, careful not to disturb her, he slipped through her door and locked it behind him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his back pressed against the thin wood.

He had to squash whatever this was churning inside him every time he looked at her. He didn’t know her, and he couldn’t try to change that. What kind of king would he be if he trusted the enemy’s spawn? If he were so easily blinded by a stunning face?

Bash spent the rest of the night in bed, thinking of all the ways he would end the captain’s life.

His dreams were ones of blood.