So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)(7)

Dammit, what color hair did the so-called princess have? The last time he’d seen her, she’d been bald. And about two feet tall.

“Well?” Stefan called. “Do you see her?”

“I’m working on it.” The sixth woman stood by the railing with her hood pulled up over her head. Suddenly everyone on the quarterdeck turned toward Rupert’s fleet, and the captain lifted his spyglass.

“They’ve spotted us,” Rupert warned his old friend.

“Is the princess there or not?” Stefan asked.

Indeed, that was the question. For if she wasn’t, Rupert would turn his fleet back south. He focused once more on the woman by the railing. She had to be the one.

He tapped into his power. It swirled inside him, gathering energy as he inhaled deeply. Then he released his breath slowly, aimed straight at the sixth woman. As the air traveled, it became a wind, growing stronger and stronger till it buffeted against her, knocking her back a step and whisking the hood off her head.

Holy Light. It was her. Brigitta.

“Well?” Stefan asked.

“She’s there.” She’d grown up well. Extremely well. “Holy crap.”

“Why the foul language?” Stefan chuckled. “Is she still bald?”

Rupert forgot to answer as he studied her through the spyglass. He forgot to think. Or even breathe. A few tendrils had escaped her long blond braid to curl about her heart-shaped face. Pale, creamy skin, high cheekbones, rosy cheeks and lips. Her eyes, they were as beautiful as he remembered.

With a quick intake of breath, he closed his eyes. Dammit. He didn’t want to remember anything from that horrific day. It was the stuff of nightmares that had haunted him for the past nineteen years. Even so, for the few seconds that he had gazed upon the baby girl, life had seemed … perfect.

At the age of three months, she’d lain in a fancy white crib, festooned with ribbons and lace, and when she’d peered up at him, he’d been surprised by her eyes. Not only big, but a brilliant shade of turquoise. Were they the same color now? He opened his eyes and readjusted his spyglass.

“Why aren’t you answering?” Stefan called, then lowered his voice. “Is she that ugly?”

She was more beautiful than ever. “She’s … tolerable.”

Brigitta. Rupert had been almost seven years old when he’d first met her, but he’d thought she was the most angelic baby he’d ever seen. A sense of peace had enveloped him, an odd but certain feeling that he’d found the one who would share his destiny. So he’d leaned over the crib to give her a smile.

Unfortunately, she’d reacted by spitting up milk all over herself. He’d been surprised that a baby’s stomach could hold that much milk. It had kept coming and coming.

Back on the ship, the oldest nun said something to Brigitta as she raised the hood back over her blond hair.

“What is she doing?” Stefan asked.

Rupert winced as the princess of Tourin leaned over the bulwark and lost her last meal. “The usual.” Don’t feel sorry for her. She’s the enemy.

The other women fussed over her. The oldest one led her to a trunk where she could sit, while two others rushed off and quickly returned with a bowl of water, a towel, and something to drink. They care about her. And if she cared equally for them, it might be something he could use against her.

He tucked the spyglass under his belt, then positioned his black mask over his eyes. His forehead and most of his hair were already covered with a dark-red scarf tied in a knot over his right ear. He plopped a large hat on his head and adjusted the black, shoulder-length, horsehair plaits that were glued to its inside brim. With this hat on, everyone assumed he had black hair.

With this hat on, he became the most infamous pirate that the world had ever known. And after nineteen years, he would finally have his revenge.

*

“Are ye feeling better, child?” Mother Ginessa asked.

“A little.” Brigitta passed the goblet of wine back to Gwennore, then rubbed her still-aching stomach. “How can I be a … a princess?” She certainly didn’t feel like one.

Mother Ginessa sat beside her. “Yer father was King Garold. He sent ye to the convent when ye were barely four months old.”

“Why?” Brigitta asked.

“I suppose he meant to keep ye safe.” Mother Ginessa glanced away with a guilty look.

She’s still hiding something. Brigitta’s mind raced as she tried to recall everything she’d learned about Tourin from her studies at the convent. Civil war had plagued the kingdom for centuries. A long line of dukes from the south had rebelled against the northern kings from the House of Trepurin. Nineteen years ago, Duke Garold from the House of Grian had finally defeated the northern king and taken over the country.

I was a baby then, Brigitta thought. Had the Tourinian Royal Navy come here because of her? Did her father want her back? But no, King Garold had died five years ago in a battle against the Norveshki.

A pang of grief struck her, not just because her father was dead, but because she had no memories of him to mourn. He’d never sent for her. Were her fears correct and he’d rejected her? What about the rest of her family? “Is my mother still alive?”

Mother Ginessa shook her head. “I’m sorry, child.”

Brigitta’s shoulders slumped. She would never know either of her parents.