The Little Selkie (retail) (9 page)

Dylan decided to put herself out of her misery and loudly approached the pair.
I’m willing to sacrifice time with the ocean if it means ending this. There’s something dirty about listening in when the other party is unaware of you.

“All finished, Miss Dylan?” Lord Dooley asked, his purple robe snapping in the breeze.

Dylan nodded, feeling defeated even though no battle had taken place.

The trio turned to go back up the deserted pier and almost ran into Prince Callan.

“I thought I might catch you out here,” Prince Callan said, a smile accenting his words. “Though it is a party on the marina, almost no one walks the piers.”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Cagney said, dipping in a curtsey. “I thought Miss Dylan might be interested in the various purposes the piers serve.”

After several moments, Dylan also remembered to curtsey, slightly lifting the skirts of her plain dress.

“Good evening Cagney, Dooley, Miss Dylan. Are you enjoying the party?” Prince Callan asked, settling his glittering gaze on Dylan.

The food is mouth-watering. And the company is wonderful
, she wrote.

“It would be difficult to find more entertaining guides than Dooley and Cagney,” Prince Callan said, clasping Dooley’s hands with great familiarity.

“Miss Dylan is a fine companion in her own right,” Dooley said to the prince before turning to Dylan. “It was Callan who suggested you may be interested in our company tonight. He mentioned you are a great dancer; I thought I might seek you out for the joy of your company and a companionable dance, if you find the idea likeable.”

Dylan smiled and nodded, still feeling a little awkward over the personal conversation she had unwillingly listened in on.
I would like to try this strange new kind of dance they are performing tonight. But first, I will need more food
, she wrote.

“Excellent,” Cagney said.

“You’re happy to be rid of him?” Prince Callan guessed.

“Yes. I wish to speak to Lady Cayleen of Fowl Feather Merchants & Sons & Daughter—and she won’t brave my company as long as Dooley is dressed as he is,” Cagney said.

“I cannot help it if the lords and ladies of Ringsted fail to appreciate my superior sense of fashion and color,” Dooley declared.

“I would make my last stand on a different hilltop if I were you, my friend,” Prince Callan said, giving the young lord a friendly slap on the back. He then offered Dylan and Cagney a smile. “If I may also appeal to both of you, Miss Dylan and Cagney, for a dance,” Prince Callan said.

“Certainly, Your Highness, though I must voice my doubts that you will have the time,” Cagney said.

Prince Callan’s smile went lopsided. “Perhaps,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak further, when the blonde girl from the day before swept up to them, wrapping her hands around Prince Callan’s arm.

“Callan, they’re going to play another Loire dance. I insist you be my partner,” the girl said—Lady Aisling if Dylan remembered correctly. Lady Aisling’s sunshine blonde hair was piled on the top of her head with a few curls dripping over her shoulder. Pearl pins held her hair in place, and she wore a crimson dress trimmed with black lace. “Oh, pardon me, Lord Dooley, Cagney, miss,” she said. Her eyes lingered on Dylan’s dress and one of her eyebrows popped up, but she said nothing.

“Lady Aisling, how pleasant you look,” Dooley said, giving her a sweeping bow.

“Thank you, my lord. Will you excuse me if I pull Callan from you?” she asked.

“Of course, my lady,” Dooley said as he and Cagney exchanged cryptic looks.

Prince Callan smiled at the beautiful blonde, then nodded to the trio. “I’ll try to drop by later. Good evening.” He strolled up the pier, his arm extended for Lady Aisling to hold.

It occurred to Dylan that although the prince smiled most of the time, the gesture never seemed to reach his eyes. That was not to say his eyes were dark or suspicious; it was merely that he seemed to wear his smile the way a lady styled her hair. It was part of his costume—maybe part of his armor.
Why does he do all these things if they bring him no joy?
Dylan wondered.
I imagine it is an imbalance of humors.
It’s a wonder humans aren’t all grouches. They cannot play in the ocean and experience true freedom
, she thought.
Instead, they fret about bandits and typhoons—without explaining what they are worried about, might I add.

Dylan’s stomach growled. Cagney kept her eyes fastened on the retreating couple, but Dooley turned to grin at Dylan.

“Ready for round two of refreshments, I take it?” he asked.

Dylan nodded enthusiastically and wrote,
Always!

“Then please allow me to escort the most beautiful ladies present to the refreshments,” Dooley said, holding out both of his arms.

Dylan sighed in longsuffering and placed a hand on his arm—adjusting her grasp several times to find the least awkward position. Cagney stared at Dooley’s arm like it was a snake.

“Jewel of my soul, am I that disgraceful to you?” he asked, batting his eyes at her.

Cagney gave him a sour look before she took his arm. “Every year, I swear you lose a little of the bit of intelligence you’ve managed to hold onto,” Cagney grumbled.

Dylan looked at the way Cagney held Dooley’s arm and adjusted her own grasp.

“Cagney, my heart. You wound me!”

“You are not a butterfly, my lord. I suggest you stiffen up.”

“Only if you stand with me, my heart. And you don’t—not nearly enough, anyway,” Dooley said with a dramatized sniff.

Cagney ground her teeth, and Dylan silently laughed, thoroughly diverted by her self-appointed guides.

Although the party didn’t end until the wee hours of the morning, Prince Callan and Lord Dooley were up shortly after dawn, practicing swordsmanship on the balcony of the prince’s room. It was the perfect width and length to hold practice matches, and it afforded them a beautiful view of the ocean. And, in this case, the bronze-skinned and dark-haired beauty that stood on the beach, knee deep in water.

“I’m telling you, Dooley. It’s her,” Callan said, pointing at Miss Dylan’s back with his practice rapier.

“My prince. Cagney would tell you that I am the most poetic, foggy-brained, romantic sop in all of Ringsted, but even I have a hard time believing you can recognize her,” Dooley said, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “You were half-drowned, and it was the middle of the night.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m positive she was the girl who dragged me onto shore. She isn’t the kind of person you would forget,” Prince Callan said, tilting his head as he watched the young lady splash in the ocean—getting her dress soaked.

“I will give you that,” Dooley grunted. “That ocean flower is…distinctive. She is impressively tall. Perhaps even a touch taller than you.”

Callan didn’t reply. Instead, he watched Miss Dylan as she plunged neck deep into the ocean for a swim.

“Are you certain she is your shipwreck-savior? You don’t even remember being pulled from the ruin of your boat, and I thought it was her singing voice that haunted you. In case you’ve forgotten, Miss Dylan can’t speak,” Dooley said, moving into position at one end of the balcony.

“Maybe not now,” Callan admitted also taking sparring stance. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t two years ago,” he said.

“If you insist it is she, I shall endeavor to believe you,” Dooley said. They crossed swords.

The young men fell silent as they moved forwards and backwards, parrying, lunging, and landing counterstrikes.

Dooley was the better dueler, but Callan had more stamina, and it showed as Dooley barely lodged the winning blow at Callan’s chest in time to keep Callan from his own winning strike.

“She has an aura of mystery—though I must confess I enjoy her frankness. Cagney’s jaw almost fell off several times last night,” Dooley chuckled before he groaned and stretched his arms above his head. “Can we be done? I wish to return to Cagney’s gentle ministrations.”

Callan snorted. “We can be done fighting, but I’m still anxious to hear your thoughts about Miss Dylan.”

“What more is there to say? I will not argue with you, considering the months you’ve pondered over her and searched for her like a scent hound. You could do worse based on my observations last night. I mean, Cagney likes her. And Cagney only likes merchants,” Dooley said, flopping to the ground and placing his towel over his head.

“That’s just the thing. Miss Dylan seems to be good and honorable—and she is truly delightful—but she’s
Jarlath’s
ward,” Callan said, cleaning his practice rapier with practiced and efficient motions.

“Ahhhh.”

“Ahhhh, indeed,” Callan frowned, taking a cloth to his sword. “I want her to be innocent and oblivious of Jarlath’s ways. She is…” he trailed off, unable to put the upheaval his heart was going through into words. She was unknown, and his position required discernment. Too much was at stake. “I need better control,” Callan said, his frown sharpening into a scowl.

“Well, she can’t have been his ward when you were shipwrecked. That was near Glenglassera, and Jarlath lives on the opposite side of Ringsted.”

“Correct,” Callan’s frown deepened.

“And that worries you even more?” Dooley guessed.

Callan polished his rapier for a few more moments before he nodded. “She may be a part of his scheme.”

“Have you received any intelligence about whatever scam he’s running?” Dooley asked.

“No. My best agents are still stranded outside of Ringsted thanks to these blasted storms. I should have called some of them in before winter, but I wanted to learn more about Erlauf and Loire’s new princesses.”

“That will teach you for being nosey,” Dooley said, picking his towel off his face to show a good natured, sunny grin. After a few moments, his smile dimmed. “Although I feel your pain. Some of White Sands’ best men are stranded outside of Ringsted, too. Cagney and my parents are struggling to find a way to communicate with them. But can’t any of your spies and agents here in Ringsted find information on Jarlath’s activities? You
know
he’s up to something—he has to be connected with the bandits somehow.”

“But to what end? And how did he get such a ring of thievery in place? He can’t have known the storms would worsen and cut us off,” Callan said, putting his practice rapier in its stand just inside the room.

“What I’m curious to know is how did he find enough men to play the part of brigand? Our Ringsted sailors are struggling, but I’m certain only a few of them have taken up thievery to supplement their income,” Dooley said.

“With so many unanswered questions, I find it hard to believe Miss Dylan’s arrival is a coincidence,” Callan said, leaning against the doorframe.

“That’s what’s bothering you,” Dooley declared. “You are worried Dylan is his ally in all of this.”

“She is his ward.”

“You said that already. I take it you assume that means she’s not trustworthy,” Dooley said.

Callan shrugged.

“Then give her a chance. Observe her and judge for yourself. I don’t think that girl has it in her. She doesn’t mask herself as you do. She’s more like me; she is neither a part of nor a victim of court antics and games,” Dooley said. “I suspect she is not with Jarlath by choice.”

Callan’s watched the mysterious girl as her mountain-men guards fished her out of the ocean. “I can’t make a decision based on my gut. I’m a prince. If she’s under Jarlath, I cannot risk that she will spy on his behalf. I must make myself simply observe her—for the sake of my country.”

“Whatever makes you happy. As I mentioned before, Cagney likes her, so I am inclined to allow her into our company,” Dooley grunted.

As if she was being summoned, Cagney threw open the door of the prince’s sitting room.

“Lord Dooley!” she said, her voice shrill when she spotted the big lord splayed out on the stone balcony like a drunkard. “You have a breakfast meeting at the next bell! You cannot attend it looking like a sweaty pig!”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I guess you’ll have to go in my place, jewel of my soul,” Dooley said, blinking his mournful eyes.