His head snapped up. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.” To his credit, he hadn’t complained about back pain after he’d slept on the floor.
“Do you want a pillow?” I asked again.
A boyish smile brightened his face. He didn’t look so harsh and menacing with that smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do.” Reluctantly, I lay down and tried to relax. The dull ache that had tormented me for days was still humming in my head. Sometimes it flared up, but now it was manageable.
“Monia.” Rennie stood next to the bed, hands clenched around a document. “I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.” I sat up again, careful to keep the blanket around my body. “What is it?”
The boyish air was gone, replaced by his hard warrior face. “The man who attacked us last night. Describe him.”
“What?”
“It’s important.”
I straightened, clenching the quilt. “He was tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair cut short. He had a large, strong neck and big fists. A nightmare if you ask me. I’ve always been afraid of being attacked by a man so big and strong.”
“Bloody hell!” He tossed the papers to the floor and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s not what we thought. We were wrong. So bloody wrong. How could I have made such a mistake?”
“What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering me, he leant closer and put his hands on my shoulders, eyes ablaze with... dread? “Describe Edward.”
“Rennie, what?—”
“Please.”
“He’s blond, quite elegant, and sophisticated with blue eyes. Handsome, but rather cold.”
The colour leached out of his face. “Have you seen him again?”
“Yes.” I swallowed the hard lump of guilt in my throat. “Briefly on the deck. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Did he tell you he knows that bloody prince?”
I couldn’t suppress a gasp. “How do you know that?”
He released my shoulders, his lips forming a white slash. “Monia, we must go back to England. No, don’t ask why,” he added quickly as I opened my mouth to protest. “When we’re in Venice, we’ll leave this damn ship and go back home.”
Seething anger flamed my blood. “Why can’t you tell me the truth? Do you expect me to follow you like a devoted puppy? I don’t understand what’s happening. I refuse to do anything you ask unless you give me a good reason.”
The sinews on the back of his hands stood out when he tightened his fists. “Believe it or not, if I tell you the truth, you might die. Is that a good enough reason for you?”
“No!” I slammed a hand on the bed, not caring that the blanket was slipping down, revealing my flimsy nightgown. “How can knowing the truth be harmful? I believe it’s the opposite. How can I protect myself if I don’t know the truth?”
“Can’t you just trust me?” There was a note of hurt in his voice, which I promptly ignored.
I wasn’t going to feel guilty for wanting to know who was attacking me. “I do trust you, but we never talk. You often give me orders and never answer my questions. It’s frustrating.”
“Fine.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, causing it to dip. “Let’s talk. What do you want to know?”
I hadn’t expected that. Squirming on the spot, I wrapped the blooming blanket tighter around me and racked my brain for a question to ask. After a few moments of silence, I asked, “Do you have siblings?”
His fierce expression softened. “An older sister, one year my senior. A pain in the... neck if you ask me. She always said I should write to Mum and visit my niece more often.” It was hard to imagine Rennie playing with a little girl.
“Why don’t you do it?” I asked, curious.
