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Life beyond this ship had never once entered her mind in the past two weeks.
Entirely foolish.
Her mouth tight, she gave a slight nod and stepped away from the railing. “I should get some more sleep if I’m to be traveling later today, please excuse me.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned from Roe to disappear into the confines of his cabin.
~~~
“In here.” Roe pushed open the heavy red door, its paint peeling along the outer edges.
Torrie’s eyebrows lifted. “Here?”
“Yes. I know it’s not up to your standards, but it has the most edible food in this part of town.” He set his fingers on her lower back, ushering her into the tavern.
He was starving, so he knew Torrie had to be famished. She’d eaten very little earlier in the day when he’d brought food to his cabin for her.
It had become the highlight of his days, breaking work late in the morning and stopping by his cabin with pork and biscuits and cheese. He’d sit and eat with Torrie, transfixed at her liveliness. They would trade stories about the scrapes they were in as children—his all through fault of his own, hers all through fault of her cousins. But she’d always been mired in the thick of the trouble. For all she painted herself an innocent party in her cousins’ mischief, she was a more than willing participant.
But when he’d brought Torrie food just before noon that day, she’d quietly picked at the bread on her plate, not truly eating, her mouth clamped shut and her gaze almost exclusively on the windows in his cabin.
It had taken longer than he’d hoped to get to Plymouth Dock, and the sun had been dipping below the buildings lining the port as they’d climbed up onto the dock from the longboat they’d taken in from where theFirehawkwas moored.
They’d walked with the rest of the crew along the waterfront, man after man dropping out from the group as the call of whisky or women caught their fancy as they passed the establishments lining the streets. Darkness had settled onto the walkways as they arrived at the red door of the Lion’s Tap.
With Roe holding the door, Weston and Des followed Torrie into the common room, stepping in front of her to make an impenetrable barrier between her and the many eyes trailing their way.
It was still early enough that the patrons in the room weren’t too deep in their cups, but Roe wasn’t about to risk the chance that an early drunkard thought it wise to approach Torrie.
He let the door close behind him as he scanned the men and a few women at the roughhewn tables. Torrie deserved better than this. Better than the stench of sailors and crooked boards beneath their feet. But it was the best he had to offer her at the moment, as they had to eat and he wouldn’t be able to hire a coach until morning.
Des led the group of them to a table flanked by high-backed benches on the far end of the common room and he ushered Torrie into the inside of the bench, hiding her from sight of most of the patrons. Des sat opposite her, while Roe moved in on the bench alongside her. Weston stepped away from the table, going to the bar that ran along the back length of the wide room.
Roe shook his head, his look still scanning the men in the common room. Early, but still boisterous in joviality. A ship must have just come in with lucrative cargo. Extra coins meant extra volatility. He looked down at Torrie. “I don’t like this. Your safety is questionable here.”
“I’ve been to the docks before, Roe.”
“Yes, and we all know how that turned out last time.”
She scoffed, looking from him to Des. “You, Des and Weston, and I’m not safe?” Her gaze shifted back to him. “I could be locked in the tower with the crown jewels and not be as safe as I am with the three of you.”
Des chuckled. “I doubt anyone even saw you in between Weston and me—you’re a wee one, Torrie. Or now that we’re back on solid ground, Lady Apton.”
Her nose scrunched, mirth on her lips. “I’m still Torrie, Des. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re a lord and I have to start calling you Lord Des or some other such silliness.”
The smile melted off Des’s face and he gave Torrie a slight nod. “Of course, Torrie. “ He looked to Roe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll help Weston with the drinks and food.”
Roe flicked his hand to his friend. Des wanted out of this conversation and Roe had to respect that. Des scooted his way out of the booth and joined Weston at the bar, an easy smile back on his face.
“My legs don’t feel right.” Torrie leaned forward, her hands running along the tops of her thighs through her skirts.
Roe looked to her, concern instant on his face. “Your scars?”
“No…no…” She shook her head. “It’s as though my muscles have turned to jelly—like they don’t want to quite do what I’m telling them to.”
“You looked like you walked here well enough.”
“Well, I’m accustomed to forcing my legs into submission.” She gave a weak smile.
