Honour

1

June 26, early A.M.

“Quickly now.” The voice behind Emmett was breathless and tense. “We must keep moving.” The sounds of every foot and pant echoed over dripping stone walls and the treacherous cobbles beneath them. Only a single lamp lent lighting to the space, casting great shadows and ominous, twisting silhouettes everywhere. Six men? Eight? Emmett couldn’t recall the count—suddenly could recall very little, in fact, with respect to plan or purpose. His heart pounded, his mouth was dry and the question as to why he was there at all would not stop haunting him.

Emmett reached out blindly, grabbing for the man to his right, assuming, hopingit was Thomas. Thomas would know; Thomas had to. “But where is the prince?” Emmett hissed.

“Never mind the prince,” Thomas’ voice came from in front of him and Emmett’s hand was slapped away from the unknown doublet he had grabbed. “Stick to the plan.”

Emmett grunted and lurched forward, attempting to close the space between him and Thomas. “The prince was partof the plan!”

“Lights!” a whisper from the back of their group, quivering with barely-contained panic, sounded far too loudly as it found hard surfaces and came back at them not once, but a dozen times.

“We’re being followed.” As Thomas stated the obvious, he grasped the elaborate cuff of Emmett’s sleeve. “There is no time for discussion. Move!”

Emmett dug his heels and fought against the pressure when he was tugged forward. “This is the only time,” he growled back. “Where is my prince?” Bodies rushed past and Emmett didn’t bother to count them even though his mind sought solace in the process. Numbers…When had he given up on simple numbers? Why? What had ever convinced him this new life would somehow be more fulfilling than his father’s ships—

“Now!” Thomas’ fingers wound tightly over Emmett’s wrist and allowed no room for argument. Emmett stumbled after him, slick soles sliding over moss and slime.

Oh, Andrewe, he thought. What have I done?2

February 3, four months earlier

The cold hung heavy in the air, leeching past every attempt to layer in body heat. Not even the fur that trimmed Emmett’s neck and lined his black military jacket did much to offset the ever-searching fingers of winter. His tailored breeches, slimmed without respect to fashion, as he found it far easier to move with them close to his legs than the bouffant styles of late, nor the tights underneath them, did much to protect against the bite. While it had been a warmer than usual season, the last three days had seen the return of bitter temperatures and icy passages that frustrated souls and destroyed fingers and toes. Certainly not weather favourable for ship travel. It had been the unseasonable fairness that had spurred Emmett’s father into an early voyage; the promise of reward too great a seduction for his father to forego. The potential for poor weather had been a point Emmett had belaboured, and easily lost, before they left. The cold turn had left their crew feeble, beaten, and ill tempered—and Emmett didn’t blame them for their dispositions in the least. Perhaps it made Emmett an evil man to silently thrill in his father’s loss of the smallest toe on his right foot. Yet every man onboard had suffered to no end; his father would not have deserved to go unscathed. Fate had been just at least.

“Emmett!” the high voice of their youngest crewmember called for Emmett’s attention and he turned with a smile.

“Aleyn?”

Cheeks reddened, even on the darker skin, showed the boy’s chill but Aleyn’s vibrant smile was warm. “May I go ashore with you?” Aleyn opened his palm to display a single silver coin. “I have funds. And the Captain said it would be all right so long as I was in your care.”

Emmett reached for the coin and a flash of panic crossed Aleyn’s face. Emmett ignored the expression and cocked an eyebrow, “One wonders the circumstances that proffered such a coin.” The blush brought by weather was heightened and Aleyn looked up with wide-eyed silence. “No,” Emmett waved the requested reply away. “Better still for my heart that you don’t say. I will be a happier man to assume you found it whilst you scrubbed the deck.” He pressed the silver back into Aleyn’s palm. “Aye?”

Aleyn nodded and dropped his eyes. “Aye.” Emmett’s turn to the left to survey the shore was immediately mistaken and Emmett felt a clutch on his sleeve. “Please, Emmett. I’ve never seen England. And the Captain said we’d be docked for at least a week. The ship is so cold.”

The fingers that gripped Emmett’s jacket were already losing their tan and Emmett took a moment to grieve its loss. The boy had come from Greece—a gift, an exchange, a perk—the semantics of the trade unknown to Emmett and he was grateful for the lack of knowing it. Too young, too small, too unaccustomed to the weather and the hardships of a cabin boy’s life; they always were. But Emmett’s place was not Captain. Not yet. His father still bore that title and until circumstances changed it, Emmett had no say in the details of the crew but for the little he might be able sway here and there. All he could do was what he always did—the best he could manage at any given instance.