Page 23 of The Wager and the Wedding

Osric grumbled as others joined the chorus.

It was a bit dangerous to attract the interest of so many of the crew’s men this way but so was staying married to Lord Martin.

“All right, all right. You can stay,” the big man said, cutting them off and turning to her. “I would ask that you stay silent and don’t interfere, my lady.” It clearly cost him to make the request politely.

“I wouldn’t dream of interfering, my good man,” she said with a triumphant smile.

As she settled back against the rail, every eye was on her and not a one on Osric. She ignored the rapid beating of her heart at being the center of their collective attention, and she beamed at them all.

“Pay attention, you limey boneheads. Eyes forward.”

They all snapped to attention, guilty looks on more than one face. Her plan was working.

“Now raise your swords.”

As one, they raised their wooden practice blades and began to drill. Only half of their attention was on their efforts, though.They kept stealing covert glances at her as they tried to show off.Good.That was exactly what she wanted.

When she was certain she had the attention of at least three of them, she drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and faked a violent, high-pitched sneeze. Scraggly-beard and Skinny-no-teeth tripped over each other and landed in a heap on the deck.

“Oh, dear me, what bad luck! Are you all right?” she asked, all innocent concern as she rushed to them.

Osric glared down at the scene, looking like a cauldron about to boil over.

“Are you hurt?” she asked the two men, bending down over them. “Such a shame I only have one handkerchief to bind your injuries. How ever shall I choose between you?”

Both men’s eyes widened, and they began scrambling over each other. “It hurts here, my lady,” said the youth, pointing to his knee.

“I can barely move my arm, my lady,” said the other, eyes brimming with hope.

“What terrible luck that you should both be hurt while I’m looking on,” she exclaimed, determined to rub it in and play her part to the hilt. Half-measures would not get her and her sister thrown off the ship. She tried to channel the manipulative, flirtatious energy of one of the ladies of the French court. They were masters at this sort of thing. “You were both so valiant with those big, heavy swords. I don’t know how to decide, but I must.”

“I’m suffering so! Please help me, my lady,” the youth pleaded with an exaggerated moan.

“I pick…” She closed her eyes and moved her finger back and forth between them. “You.”

She pointed to Skinny-no-teeth. Scraggly-beard turned bright red and looked like he planned to knock a few more teeth out of his crewmate’s mouth at the earliest opportunity.Kneeling down, she made a production of tying her handkerchief around the skinny man’s arm.

The men all around were looking daggers at the man she was fussing over.

“Get up, you lazy—” Osric clamped his mouth shut to prevent whatever foul curse he was about to utter from leaving his mouth. “Up. All of you. Get back to work. Especially you,” he ordered, pointing a thick, calloused finger at Skinny-no-teeth. “And, my lady, I will ask you once again to please leave us in peace.”

Despite being delighted with the upset she’d caused, she was slightly worried about the edge in Osric’s voice. But her ploy was working all too beautifully. Martin was sure to throw her off the ship in no time.

Indeed, the man himself came striding over. An unwanted sense of relief crept over her at his presence. He would keep his men in line in case any took this game a bit too seriously. It was a delicate line to walk—trying to get sent away but not putting herself in danger. But given the risks in every direction, she had to gamble on getting it right.

“What’s going on here?” Martin demanded, staring down Osric despite the fact that he was at least a foot shorter than his crewmember.

The giant ham hock of a man quailed before Martin’s disapproving gaze.

“She’s stirring up trouble, my lord,” Osric grumbled. “Tell her to go below and keep to herself. It’s bad luck to have her mixing with the men.”

Martin turned his gaze on her and cocked his head, a knowing smile curling his lips.Damn the man.“Were you stirring up trouble, Isabella?”

Steeling herself, she looked him in the eyes with no remorse. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Her husband looked her up and down, taking in the red dress and the way it clung to her form. Anyone with eyes would know she had dressed for trouble, and her husband was no fool.

“Walk with me,” he said, offering an arm, in a genteel voice that nonetheless brooked no dissent.

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