Swashbuckling on the Edge

Chapter Twenty-One

Tallera lifted her head when the cabin door groaned open, taking her eyes off her needle and pricking the tip of her index finger. She growled, popping the injured digit into her mouth as Sykes forced the old door shut again.

He nodded at her hand. "A'right, lass?"

She shrugged, lifting the half-mended shirt she was working on for inspection. "No blood," she said, giving the garment a shake. "Almost done."

Sykes set the full pitcher on the sturdy table, splashing some fresh water into a bowl. From his pocket he retrieved a short, sharp blade, setting it aside while he wet his face. Tallera guided the needle through the shirt on her lap, legs crossed as she sat on the bed. As Sykes began to trim his beard short, she snuck a peek, thinking how domestic they must look.

He caught her glance from the corner of his eye. "What is it?"

"Just thinking how insufferably homey we are," she replied, tipping her voice up airily. Tallera bit through the spare thread, pulling the shirt on over her head.

Sykes chuckled, scraping the blade carefully over his skin. "Perhaps it will help us make a better impression when we arrive."

"One can hope."

Kent's plan wasn't brilliant, but it was the best they had been able to come up with. He'd sent word to his older brother, who lived on an estate in Santa Clara with his wife, and set a scheme in motion. Kent's brother had graciously extended his own invitation to the governor's party to his younger sibling and guest. The elder Kent brother had gone so far as to offer them housing for as long as they needed.

A select few of the crew would pass themselves as hired servants while the rest remained with the ship in case things went awry. Access to the party would be tricky, so the plan to put one of their own inside was their best shot at finding out more of what their quarry was up to. But Tallera was wise enough to know things usually went wrong. She also knew enough of her friends to know things that could go wrong, most likely would.

Still, it was worth a chance. If only to bring them a step closer to their goal.

Watching Sykes shave with the help of a dim overhead lantern and a foggy looking glass, she took pity on him and stood up.

"Give it here," she said, hand held out.

Sykes obliged, pulling out the stool to sit on so she could reach. "Take it all off," he instructed when she lifted the blade to swipe it over his cheek.

"You're to be clean shaven?" she asked, surprised. He grunted. "I've just never seen you without at least a hint of a beard," she teased.

"I promise ye will not prefer it," he said, a smile curling his lips.

"Hm, no?"

"Least I hope. It's no' easy to shave often at sea, ye know."

"I promise to love your face, no matter how much hair is on it," Tallera said, taking another pass with the blade.

Sykes was quiet for a moment, letting Tallera work. She shifted to stand in front of him, tilting his head back, her cool fingers brushing his hair.

"The men have been insufferable," he told her. "Keith damn near glued himself to my side today."

She snorted. "Is it really a surprise that they missed you?"

He shook his head and she tsked reproachfully. Sykes kept still for the next swipe of the knife across his jaw.

"It's strange," he continued.

"What is?"

"I've never been so close to finally catching Captain Grimm," Sykes muttered. "Yet I don't feel anything."