Free Corsair by Chris Bunch Page A

him thoughtfully.
    “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could at least attempt something like that, instead of sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”
    “I didn’t mean to be critical.”
    “Why not?” Cosyra said. “Everybody else seems like they know how to live my life better than I do.”
    Gareth, uncomfortable, stood, reaching for his cloak.
    “I’m sorry,” Cosyra said. “That was an unwarrantedly bitchy thing to say.
    “Gareth, I’m very glad that you’re doing so well with your uncle, and glad that your voyages have been successful. Believe me, I’ve kept track.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’m just tired,” Cosyra said. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Cosyra shrugged.
    “It was a long, deadly dull night to begin with. Too much of it spent with someone who, by the way, is not your friend.”
    Gareth waited.
    “Anthon, Lord Quindolphin’s youngest son, fancies himself a great one for courting.” Cosyra hid a yawn. “I’ve not told him, of course, that the highest I think of him and his family is what we did to his sister’s wedding. Which, naturally, I’ve made no mention of.”
    Gareth slowly shook his head. This damned Quindolphin family seemed hells-bent to weasel into his life from every direction.
    Cosyra seemed to read his thoughts.
    “I’d rather marry that sister — or, for that matter, one of those pigs — than him.”
    “I’m truly glad of that,” Gareth said, and put his cloak on. “I really must go. But may I see you again?”
    “Any time you wish,” Cosyra said, leading him to the door and opening it. The night wind … no, early morning now … whipped around her. Gareth went past her to the steps.
    “Gareth.”
    He turned, thought for an instant her green eyes were glowing in the night.
    “It is
very
nice to see you again.”
    He started to smile, and she leaned toward him. On a step higher, she was just at eye-level.
    “Very nice, indeed,” she said softly, and her lips brushed across his.
    Then the door closed, and the gate stood open. He went through it, and as he did, the lamps guttered down into darkness.
    Gareth Radnor went down the cobbled streets, not feeling the wind, or the chill.
    He knew there could be nothing, of course, between a merchant’s nephew — a seagoing clerk — and someone like Cosyra. And of course, as young as he was, he hardly wanted complications and ties.
    But he slept well that night, and woke with a smile on his lips.
    • • •
    “Have you considered your next undertaking?” Pol Radnor asked politely over breakfast.
    “No, Uncle,” Gareth said, buttering a roll over a yawn. He’d been late again at Cosyra’s — talking, no more. She’d kissed him that first night, but not again in the three times they’d seen each other.
    Occasionally he caught her looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression, which vanished when he turned to her.
    He took a bite of the roll, added relish to the slice of ham, cut a fragment.
    “I suppose I’ll go to sea again in the next few weeks, after I’ve finished eating your larder bare.”
    “You’ll never manage that,” his aunt said.
    “Any ideas on what ships, or what ports you’d prefer?”
    “Something warm, I think,” Gareth said. “That one trip buying furs still freezes my blood. But nothing more specific’s occurred to me.”
    He didn’t say that he was thinking of Knoll and Thom, wondering if they’d be interested in going out, wondering how he’d manage to find a berth for them on the same ship, since he still wasn’t exactly a hero of the seas, someone a captain would make any concession to sign aboard his ship.
    “I find this discussion interesting,” Pol said, his face as bland as if he were negotiating for a cargo. “Perhaps we should continue in my study.”
    • • •
    “Let me suggest an alternative to returning to the sea,” Pol said, without preamble.
    “Your aunt is concerned that we’ve been unsuccessful thus far in