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The other man draws himself up, but he doesn’t fight back. He’s talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. There’s a fish knife clutched in one of his fists.
Lochlan shoves him again. Brock’s teeth are clenched, and his fingers adjust on that knife.
My heart leaps into my throat. All I can think about is Rian asking Corrick if his people are going to cause trouble, and we haven’t even been on the ship for a fullday. “Hey!” I call, striding across the deck, praying I’m not going to lose my footing. “Silas!”
But Silas has seen the impending brawl and is starting forward himself. I’m distantly aware of booted feet behind me, but I don’t realize it’s Captain Blakemore until he puts a hand on my arm, drawing me to a stop.
“Slow,” he says. “Don’t make it bigger than it is.”
“They’re going to fight—”
“No one fights on my ship. Not like this.” He lets out a whistle, and half the men startle, then exchange glances. Many of them take a step back from where Brock and Lochlan are glaring at each other. Even Silas hesitates, his hand on a weapon.
“Brock,” Tor hisses. “Brock, it’s the captain.”
It’s like Rian’s presence is magical, because Brock blinks slowly, then looks up. The tense readiness eases out of his frame. “Sorry, Cap.” He jerks his head at Lochlan. “We were just fooling around. I didn’t know he’d be so sensitive.”
Lochlan inhales, his fists primed like he’s ready to surge forward. I expect Brock to retaliate, but he doesn’t. He takes a step back, out of the way, and I see the rebel preparing to go after him.
“Lochlan.” Rian’s voice is low and lacking in force, but there’s something in his tone that demands attention. A confidence. A sureness.
It’s effective, because Lochlan sets his jaw and looks up. I don’t know if he expects a rebuke or a punishment, but his eyes are belligerent, the way he looks at Corrick. “What?”
“I saw you hauling lines with the crew.” He pauses, looking at Lochlan’s wrist, which is still bandaged from when it was broken. “Your arm doesn’t give you any trouble?”
The question must be unexpected, because Lochlan blinks. “I do all right. I don’t mind the work.”
“Well, I appreciate the extra hands. I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time.” Rian looks at the others. “The rest of you better finish with the fish or you’ll have Dabriel up here next.”
I only met the cook for a minute this morning, but the threat of her temper must be unifying, because the men grunt and edge around Lochlan and return to their positions, even Brock. Their tension seems forgotten.
Lochlan stands in their midst, but the belligerence has slid out of his expression. He glances from the men to the captain like he’s not sure how to proceed.
Tor looks up at him. “Come on, man. I’ll tell you about the time Brock was trying to convince a pretty girl to dance, and he nearly shat himself. Right there on the dance floor. Cleared the whole place out.”
Brock picks up a knife and sighs with the weariness of someone who’s heard an embarrassing story one too many times. “You’re in front of a lady, Tor.”
“It was your own fault. I told you it weren’t safe to drink that spiced rum on Iris.” Tor glances at me and grimaces. “Sorry, Miss Cade.”
Lochlan sits down next to Tor a little uncertainly, but he picks up a fish and takes a knife when another crewman hands one over.
He looks up at Rian. “Thank you, Captain.” He hesitates. “Sorry for the trouble.”
I freeze. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a genuine apology out of Lochlan’s mouth.
But Rian just says, “No trouble.” His voice is easy. Genuinely appreciative.
I almost want to stare at him. I think Iamstaring at him.
He finally turns away from his crew. “Miss Cade. I’m glad to find you still on the deck. I was wondering if you would—” He must catch my expression, because he breaks off. “What?”
“I—that—just—” I can’t form a coherent question. “I thought they were going to start stabbing each other. How did you stop that?”
He shrugs it off. “That was just a little bit of pride.”
I study him, considering the times I’ve seen Corrick and Lochlan face off. The prince is the one who first broke his wrist, but now doesn’t seem the time to volunteer that information.
I lower my voice. “I’ve never seen Lochlan back down. I thought you’d have to …” I rack my brains for a punishment I’ve heard of on a ship. “I don’t know. Chain him to the bow.”
