The voice that answered was gravel-filtered and deep. “They think they are seeing their homeland.”
Eddie and Anne Cathrine turned. Ove Gjedde was behind them, his eyes invisible in the squinting-folds of his weathered face. Neither had heard him approach.
“Their homeland?” Anne Cathrine repeated.
“Yes, my lady. Because the last week’s wind has been fair, there has been some loose talk that we might sight the north Irish coast late today.” He sucked at yellowed teeth. “That will not happen until tomorrow, sometime. But I am told that the Irish got word of these rumors. And as you may know, most of them have never seen Ireland, but were born in the Lowlands. Their eagerness is understandable.” Gjedde made to move off once again.
Eddie offered a smart salute. “Thank you, Captain.”
Gjedde returned a slight nod that was the down-time equivalent of a salute between officers of comparable rank, made a slightly deeper nod in Anne Cathrine’s direction, and began slowly pacing forward along the starboard railing, hands behind his back.
Anne Cathrine stared after him. “He did not return the new naval salute, as per your admiral’s regulations.”
“But he does follow the rest of the regs. To the letter.”
Anne Cathrine watched the spare man move away. “Captain Gjedde seems to grow more somber every time I meet him.”
Eddie shifted his eyes sideways to his wife. “While we’re on the topic of ‘more somber’ . . .”
Anne Cathrine glanced at him quickly, fiddled with her kerchief and tucked a stray strand of gold-red hair back under it. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” If they had been alone, he would have put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “C’mon, Anne Cathrine, what gives? You’re acting . . . oddly.”
“I am not.” At that particular moment she did not sound like her usual sixteen going on thirty-six. She just sounded like she was six.
Eddie smiled. “Uh, yes, you are. And what’s with the head covering?”
Her hands flew up to her kerchief and she stepped away from him quickly. “Why? Has it come undone?” Satisfied that it was still firmly in place, she raised her chin and looked away. “There is nothing wrong. Nothing.”
Huh. So there was a connection between his wife’s hinky behavior and the kerchief. “Anne Cathrine, honey, don’t worry. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”
She looked at him, her eyes suddenly glassy and bright, then glanced away quickly.
What? Has she lost most of her hair? Fallen victim to some strange depilatory disease particular to the high seas of the northern latitudes? “Anne Cathrine, whatever it is, it’s going to be all right. Just tell me and—”
“Oh, Eddie—” She turned back to him and, oblivious to on-lookers, cast herself into his arms. “I’m sorry—so sorry.”
“Sorry? About what?” He tried to ignore the fact that even through his deck coat and her garments, he could still feel his wife’s very voluptuous and strong body along the length of his own. And in accordance with the orders given by the supreme authority of his ancient mammalian hindbrain, certain parts of him were taking notice and coming to general quarters. Well, more like standing at attention . . .
“Oh, Eddie, my hair! I should have seen to my packing, my preparations, myself. But in the rush to get everything aboard, and with all the last-minute changes—”
“What? Have you lost your hair? That’s okay; we can—”
She pulled away from him. “Lost my hair?” She pulled herself erect. She might not have the title of a full princess, but she could sure put on a convincing show of being one. “Certainly not. But I—I neglected to oversee my servant’s preparations. And now I, I . . .” She looked down at the deck, then reached up and tugged her kerchief sharply.
Eddie was prepared for anything: baldness, scrofulous patches, running sores, dandruff the size of postage stamps, medusan snakes—anything. Except for what was revealed.
Anne Cathrine’s red hair came uncoiling from the bulky kerchief in a long, silk-shining wave that came down to the middle of her back. Eddie couldn’t help himself: he gasped.
Seeing his expression, Anne Cathrine pouted. Her lower lip even quivered slightly. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Eddie heard himself say. He was still busy staring at his wife’s hair and trying to tell his lower jaw to raise and lock in place.
“Knew that you would be aghast to see my hair like this, without the curls. Oh, I tried, Eddie, I did. My servant forgot to pack the heating combs, and neither I nor Leonora—nor Sophie—know how to do our hair any other way. Commoners can make curls with wet rags, I’m told, so we tried that, but none of us did our own hair often.” Or at all, Eddie added silently, now quite familiar with coiffuring dependencies of noble ladies. “I have been trying since we left to keep some curl in it, or at least a wave, but this morning, we all agreed there was nothing left to try.”