“Try it, if only for the novelty.”
She sniffed. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Raven manfully resisted looking any lower than her neck. “You’ll attract less notice as a boy. People will assume you’re my servant.”
“Another dream come true.”
He ignored the sarcasm and pinned her with a challenging glare. “There are plenty of historical precedents, you know. The French general Masséna had his mistress dress as one of his staff officers so she could accompany him on campaign.” He went in for the kill. “You always wanted to be treated like one of the boys. Now’s your chance.”
“All right,” she growled. She turned and navigated her way unsteadily toward the hatch.
Raven’s weathered deckhand Hardy, who’d accompanied him on countless hair-raising adventures, sidled up and shot him a gap-toothed grin. “Problems wi’ the lady, Cap’n?”
Raven watched Heloise’s shapely derriere disappear down the ladder and exhaled loudly through his teeth. “I swear, that woman could make a bishop put his fist through a stained glass window.”
Hardy chuckled and gave him a commiserating slap on the back.
Raven scowled. The next few days were going to be absolute hell.
Chapter 13
Santander was chaos. The curving harbor teemed with life, so fascinatingly foreign that Heloise hardly knew where to look. Fishermen and fishwives decked in straw hats and striped shawls shouted as they hawked their wares on the dockside. Barks of laughter and arguments over baskets of pungent fish clashed with the shouts of men unloading wooden crates onto the jetties and two men cursing as they tried to restrain a rearing horse that objected to disembarking. Colors seemed more intense, the light harsher, and the sun warmer than in England.
She made no demur when Raven steered her down the gangplank and they plunged into the dockside crowds. Her stomach knotted in excitement as she tried to absorb every nuance of this strange, bustling city. She only understood snatches of conversation but gleaned much from the expressions and accompanying gestures. These people were no different from those in any street in England; they gossiped about food prices, naughty children, fashions, errant husbands, prizefights, and livestock.
As Raven had predicted, no one spared her a second glance. She hadn’t worn breeches for years and these seemed indecently tight. They clung to her legs and rubbed between her thighs in a most disconcerting manner. The shirt was a little less revealing, but the leather boots Raven provided were at least a size too small.
Raven purchased a large, floppy straw hat from a street vendor and Heloise scowled as she realized he was having no difficulty communicating. She poked his arm.
“You speak Spanish!”
He gave her a condescending smile. “It’s a good thingoneof us can. If you’re nice I might teach you a few useful phrases. Repeat after me.Me gustarísa una aguatinto del puerto.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’d like a colored aquatint of the harbor.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very useful.”
“He roto mis dentaduras.I’ve broken my dentures.”
“Idiot.”
“Actually, there’s only one phrase you’ll ever need.Sí, Cuervo, que siempre tiene la razón.”
The words spilled from his tongue like love poetry. Heloise suppressed a sigh. Spanish really was a beautiful language. She raised her brows and waited.
“Yes, Raven, you are always right,” he translated solemnly.
The boots were good for one thing. She kicked him in the shin.
He sidestepped with a chuckle and slapped the hat on her head. “Can’t have those freckles joining up now, can we? A laborer’s tan is extremely unfashionable this season. Come on.”
He bought two horses from a trader: a handsome Arab for himself and a chestnut mare for her. Neither, she noted, had a sidesaddle. He placed her satchel in one of the panniers strapped to the side of his horse and beckoned her to step onto his linked fingers to mount.
“We’re not staying in Santander?”
“Afraid not.”