17. Jonto #4
“Ah, but if I were to participate in the act of assisting a stallion to court a mare?”
“Absolutely not!” Robert reddened at the very idea of his wife witnessing such a vulgar act.
Jonto moved sideways so she could look back and forth between the Fitzgeralds and Isla, whom she knew had held a mare for a stallion not three days prior.
She’d been astonished to witness the breeding as she was crossing in front of Isla’s stables on her way to Kraken’s Rest. The slight blush rising into Isla’s cheeks at Robert’s reaction warned Jonto to remain silent even though the lady had impressed her with the skill and bravery needed to assist with such a task.
It had been apparent at the time that without either her steward or her shepherd to step in to help with the process, Isla hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter.
She’d heard rumors that several of the staff at Windsong Hall had left with the steward, including several men working in her stables.
Broodmares were bred on a strict schedule for reasons other than a mare’s coming into heat.
Foaling seasons, resource management, and the maximization of productivity all dictated when a mare would be presented to a stallion.
Jonto privately thought she’d offer the services of her hostlers, Ruben and Will, to assist Isla’s stablemaster until she could replace the men who had left without having the courtesy to give more than a day’s notice.
It belatedly occurred to her that Isla’s neighbor, Lord Montfort, had probably had a hand in that as well.
As Jonto was contemplating all the things she’d like to do to that greedy bastard, Lily, Sandy, and Jasper, a swabbie who rivaled Nico in size but not intelligence, strode past Isla’s door on the way to the Fitzgerald’s cabin.
Jasper carried two large trunks—one balanced on either shoulder—while Sandy toted a valise in each hand.
With no hand free to pull his forelock, Jasper paused and inclined his head respectfully to Robert. “Believe these be yourn, Soir, leastwise that’s what Nico said. Where would ya be wantin’ em?”
“This way.” Very much the aristocrat, Robert would never deign to greet a servant. He strode to the door with the two sailors fast on his heels.
Nico came next carrying Isla’s trunk on one shoulder. He held the leather handle of one valise in his other hand and had the second tucked under his arm. Alpia trotted behind with Lily’s brightly embroidered carryall while a third man stepped into the wardroom with Celie’s two valises.
While Isla’s cabin was well-appointed, it was decidedly crowded with Jonto, Isla, and Pris all standing in the middle of the room.
Jonto slipped out, followed by Pris, who stepped into the wardroom at the same time as Sandy and Jasper exited the Fitzgerald’s cabin.
Since their hands were now empty, both sailors stopped before Pris and respectfully tugged their forelocks. “Milady.”
With a curt nod, Pris called into their room.
“Robert, I assume you tipped them for their service?” There was no mistaking the posh, upper-class elocution for anything other than the aristocratic accent of someone born and raised in the highest echelons of society.
Her precise, clear enunciation, elongated vowels, and flowing, musical quality of her sentences were quite telling.
Robert stuck his head out of the doorway and blinked at his wife. “This is a ship of war, darling, not a hotel. I hardly think it appropriate to tip the servants every time they do us a service.”
No one except the Fitzgeralds missed the fire that lit behind Sandy’s expressive eyes. Her shoulders stiffened, and her hands, which had been hanging loosely at her side, clenched into fists as she fought to control her anger at this nobleman who dared name her a servant.
Well acquainted with her usually amiable gunner’s volatile temper, Jonto hurriedly stepped in.
Seeing that Lily was standing next to the door to her room listening to their conversation, Jonto needed to phrase her instructions without insulting the one person in the wardroom who was, in fact, a servant.
“Lord Fitzgerald… Robert, Sandy isn’t a servant.
She’s a master gunner who consented to help you, as our guests, to acclimate yourself to life on board the Jest. Likewise, Jasper is one of our ship’s carpenters.
As such, Lady Pris, it would, indeed, be inappropriate to tip them as you might a servant.
I’d ask that you refrain from tipping anyone while onboard the ship, as they are all paid well and will neither expect nor want that from you.
” She caught Sandy’s eye and gave her a pointed look. “Dismissed.”
With a rebellious glare directed pointedly at the Fitzgeralds, Sandy rudely brushed Pris’s puffed sleeve with her shoulder as she stalked past.
A hot ball of anger settled in Jonto’s stomach.
Hadn’t she expressly warned her crew that respect was the word of the day when dealing with her guests?
Not rendering a polite nod or tug on her bangs as she passed was one thing, but not stepping to the side when passing a noblewoman of Lady Fitzgerald’s standing was quite another altogether.
Jonto wanted to wring Sandy’s neck, but instead, she halted her with a single finger pressed into her chest. This time, the tables had turned, and no one, especially the gunner, missed the black scowl as Jonto narrowed her eyes and pinned Sandy with “the look” that unfailingly put bowel-loosening fear into the sailors in Jonto’s fleet.
Sandy froze as fear replaced anger, and guilt made her lower her gaze to the wooden floorboards. After swallowing hard, she returned and bowed to the Fitzgeralds. “Beg pardon, Milady. Milord. The rollin’ of th’ ship sent me into ya. Won’t happen again.”
Pris acknowledged the belated respect with a nod. Meanwhile, Robert, who had stiffened at the audacity of a mere commoner—a peasant for all intents and purposes—brushing past and touching his wife’s clothing, angrily glared at the woman.
Taking his cue from Sandy, the carpenter, Jasper, who had pulled his forelock, added a low bow for good measure.
He wasn’t known for his keen powers of observation, but he’d seen Jonto’s scowl and knew what it meant.
When he straightened, his worried gaze found Nico, who dipped his chin once and then tilted it toward the door, silently telling the big man he could leave.
Sandy politely said, “Excuse me, Milady,” and edged around Pris on her way out. She kept her gaze on the floor, not daring to look at her captain, who once again stopped her with a finger to her chest.
Jonto leaned in and whispered, “We’ll speak later.”
Any color remaining in the gunner’s face drained until she was a pale imitation of the cheerful woman who had greeted them from the top of the ladder. When Jonto removed her finger, Sandy murmured, “Aye, Cap’n,” and followed Jasper out.
Nico bent and spoke quietly to Jonto. “All the bags are stowed, and we’ll have the Embrace on board soon.”
“Thank you.”
The first mate hurried out to see to the many details involved in taking such a large ship out to sea.
Jonto happened to catch a wary look passing between Isla and Celie.
She pursed her lips, wishing the ladies hadn’t seen a side she rarely showed to anyone except her crew.
Schooling her features into those of the relaxed, friendly host they’d come to know, she decided her best course of action would be to divert their attention elsewhere.
“I didn’t have a chance to show you around the wardroom.
I reserve this space for me and my guests.
Quite often, captains allow their officers to relax in their wardroom, and some even have bunks set up so they can come in to rest if needed.
I chose to keep this area for myself and provided them with another space below deck, reserved specifically for the officers to have a private area where they could socialize among themselves. ”
She strode to two armchairs bracketing a chess table. A brass latch held matching drawers closed on either side of the table. She flipped one up, opened the drawer, and withdrew an ivory queen. “We keep the pieces stowed until needed so they don’t fly about the room during inclement weather.”
Turning to ask Isla if she played, Jonto was once again struck by her beauty.
From those bewitching emerald eyes to those lightly freckled cheeks, her delicate features belied the strength of personality she’d discovered hiding just below the fa?ade of a prickly yet, in many ways, insecure young woman.
She imagined herself running her lips up that slender neck, stopping to kiss the rhythm of life found there, knowing that it was her touches, her tongue, that sped up her lover’s heart and teased groans from those perfect lips.
Shaking her head, Jonto turned back to the chess table, hoping no one had seen her staring.
She’d known from the instant Lady Pierpont had suggested this trip that it wasn’t a good idea.
The more she was in Isla’s presence, the sharper her feelings became.
They pricked her, constantly reminding her she wanted this woman as she’d not wanted any other.
Even knowing they could never be together, her mind teased her with visions of them lying in one another’s arms on her puffy duvet, their bodies fitting like two flowering vines wrapped in a passionate embrace.
“Is this a George Stubbs?” Isla had discovered a painting holding pride of place in a shallow alcove, and Jonto turned to watch as she bent to study the musculature of a handsome sorrel stallion.