Free Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall Page A

if you please, Mr. Alers.”
    He smiled and handed her the tray as the men resumed their feast, rudely grabbing platters and bowls without discretion and shoveling food onto overstuffed plates, reminding Grace of pigs before their slop.
    She took a bite of the meat and though it was tough, the spicy, rich taste burst in her mouth and was welcomed gladly by her stomach. Having consumed three meals yesterday, she found her strength returning in full force. “Did you prepare this feast, Father?”
    Captain Dubois chuckled and poured amber liquid into his glass from a flagon.
    â€œAddress me as Monsieur Alers, s’il vous plaît,” Father Alers said. “Mais oui, mademoiselle. I did.”
    â€œIt is quite good.” Grace grabbed a biscuit from a platter in front of her. “Thank you for all your hard work.”
    Again the men stared her way, and Father Alers smiled. “Finally I receive some recognition for my hard work.” He glanced across the table. “You could all learn manners from this lady.”
    The man to Grace’s left belched in reply and poured himself another mug of what Grace assumed was ale. The bitter, grainy smell rose to join the fruity scent of wine, overpowering the savory aromas that filled the cabin. Grace lifted her own cup and found Mr. Alers had provided her with lemon-flavored water to drink.
    Spyglass leapt onto the captain’s lap, but instead of pushing her aside, Captain Dubois set down his glass and offered the feline a morsel of his food. His expression softened as he coddled the animal, and Grace found his affection for the cat curious. She scanned her other dinner companions, who were too busy scooping pork and peas into their mouths to converse with one another. Captain Dubois took a bite of a biscuit and leaned back in his chair.
    Grace shifted in her seat. “Captain, would you introduce me to your men, please?”
    He narrowed his eyes and lifted his lips in pretense of a smile that seemed to hurt his face. “Mais oui.” He flung out his arm and beginning with the man seated to her left, he introduced each sailor in turn: the ship’s bosun, the carpenter, Mr. Thorn, then to her right, the helmsman, the second mate, and finally Father Alers.
    Grace nodded at each man, her stomach tightening when her gaze landed upon the second mate, Mr. Weylan. She recognized him as the foppish man she’d seen on deck with two other sailors—the ones who had gawked at her with such alarming bawdiness. Even now, in front of his captain, Mr. Weylan took such brazen liberties with his gaze that Grace felt soiled by proximity.
    She looked to the captain for assistance, but he busied himself refilling his glass. Why should she assume the captain could control his men’s passions any more than he could his own?
    ***
    Heat stormed through Rafe, and he poured himself another drink. Why was Mademoiselle Grace being so courteous? One would assume she was attending a soirée at a friend’s estate rather than eating alongside dissolute, reckless sailors who held her captive. And now, those green eyes bored into him, condemning, slicing through him like emerald ice. He wouldn’t have invited her at all, save to answer Father Alers’s challenge that Rafe was somehow uneasy in the girl’s presence. But in truth, his gut had been in a knot since she entered the room.
    â€œPleased to meet you, gentlemen.” Mademoiselle Grace smiled, but the slight tremor in her bottom lip gave her unease away. She wasn’t at all pleased to meet them. Then why ask for introductions?
    She took a bite of cheese then washed it down with the lemon juice Father Alers had provided. Her rosy lips puckered, and Rafe had trouble keeping his eyes off them. Setting down her glass, she met his gaze briefly, then she gripped a chain that hung around her neck and glanced over the men. “May I inquire, gentlemen, what brings you into the