Should Monarchs Stumble (Bonnie Isles #3)

One

(unedited)

Ruth had never been happier to see land. For all that she lived on a tiny island, she was not much of a sailor, and this voyage was more than her land-lubbing soul was meant to take.

The April storm overtook them midway between Fair Haven and Torbridge, the port they'd sailed from. The captain of the trading vessel chose to sail with the storm rather than turn into its teeth to go back, resulting in four hours of misery for Ruth until the Sea Sprite fought her way around a headland into the calmer waters of Fair Haven Harbor.

Now, standing on a dock that still heaved beneath her like the ship's deck, Ruth wished she could get wholly on solid ground, but she couldn't find Sean anywhere. Her little brother had not minded the storm at all. For much of the voyage he stayed at the porthole, watching the waves and smiling down to where Ruth lay huddled on the bunk. But as soon as they reached the harbor Sean had run off, leaving Ruth to collect her stomach and their one bag of worldly possessions so she could disembark.

"Sean!" she called weakly. His towhead popped up beneath a lantern on the ship's quarterdeck, and she waved at him. "Come along! I want to get out of this storm!"

Sean saluted, and his head disappeared from view. Ruth hoped that meant he was coming. Another figure on the quarterdeck looked down at her, bundled against the weather but still a recognizable shadow.

The odds that her half-brother would be on the same ship through two legs of the voyage, yet fail to openly travel with them were slim indeed, and she knew they were being watched. She hoped Clancy would lose track of them in the darkness and storm.

A sailor passing by with his duffel over his shoulder laughed at her. "Never seen a sorrier soul on the sea," he said gruffly, shoving past one of his mates. "Just like a girl."

"What?" she said, mustering up a deeper voice. "Didja look in the mirror then?"

The sailor's mates all laughed at her wit, but she didn't have the fortitude to appreciate it. "Sean!" she called again, only to find the boy at her elbow. She resisted the urge to grab him by the ear. "Let's get off this dock," she whispered roughly, "before they find out I'm not your brother."

Sean looked up at her with sad blue eyes, and Ruth was instantly contrite. She ruffled his hair. "Sorry Sean. This boat ride has taken the fun outta me." She held her stomach, clowning a sensation she still felt.

But Sean smiled, making it worth the discomfort, and together they headed down the dock toward a cluster of buildings, the lights of which they could see through the slanting rain.

The cheery lights belied the warmth of hospitality, though. When Ruth pushed open the door of the Queen's Arms, she was greeted with the smell of stinking, wet men, mixed with the more familiar scent of stale beer and smoke--both tobacco and fireplace--common to every public house she'd ever set foot in.

Sean clutched at her belt as she approached the bar.

"Good e'en, and blessings on this fine establishment," she said to the man at the far end of the bar, who poured ale for the sailors gathered there, waiting to take their tumblers off to a table.

The barkeep barely spared her a glance, and chose to ignore her greeting.

"Excuse me," she said, louder.

This time the man turned to glare at her. "I don't serve tinkers in here, boy."

Ruth felt her anger stir at his words, but she held her tongue on the matter. "Not looking for service, master barman. Just a place to dry off and wait out the storm."