The Hawk and the Jewel (Kensington Chronicles 1) (6 page)

"And she is dead?"

"Yes, about seven years ago now.**

Sunny turned back so Brandon could finish her hair. His sister would certainly laugh at the job he was doing, but it looked better than before.

Brandon was lost in thought for the next few minutes. His mind raced from how hard it could sometimes be to read Sunny's face to the feet that he could no longer tolerate watching her eat with her hands.

He hated to invite a battle, and he was learning fast that with Sunny a battle was easy to come by, but it was time she learned to eat with a fork. Lunch was less than an hour away, and Brandon had determined to talk with her before the meal. He knew the customs in the East were vastly different from those in England, but England was where they were headed, and Sunny was going to need to learn to conform.

*Put it in my left bfmM*

Brandon was again telling himself not to laugh. "Sunny," he spoke with the utmost patience, "in order to cut your meat, you put your fork in your left hand and the knife in your right. When the meat is cut, the knife goes at the edge of your plate and the fork goes back into your right hand, so you can continue eating.**

It was the second time he had explained all of this, and he told himself if it took the rest of the day, she would do it correctly. Sunny scowled fiercely at him, but Brandon's voice and face remained calm.

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"Give it a try now," he ordered softly.

"To eat with my left hand is barbaric." The words were said with lofty disdain, but Sunny's eyes belied her words. Not haughty, they were following Brandon's progress through his meal. Throughout the verbal explanation, he'd calmly eaten, using his knife and fork in perfect form to show his young charge how it was done. He told her she could no longer use her hands and fingers, and it was understandable that she was growing hungry. He kept up the scheme until she at last gave it a try.

The meat was very tasty, but Brandon watched a look of loathing cross her face after she had painstakingly cut the meat and placed it in her mouth. He watched as Sunny held the fork out in front of her and stared at it.

"I do not like the taste of steel in my mouth."

"I guess that will take a little getting used to. In no time at all, you won't even notice it."

Sunny put the fork and knife down. "I will starve."

"Not on my ship, you won't." Brandon put another forkful of food in his mouth and chewed imperturbably. "If I have to truss you up and feed you like a baby, I will."

"Why do you treat me as a child?" Sunny's voice was high-pitched with frustration.

"Sunny," Brandon's voice was totally logical, "you are a child."

She had no argument for that. "What is 'truss'?" she asked suddenly.

"It means to tie," Brandon said briefly and concentrated on his food. He didn't look her way again, but did say a prayer of thanks when she picked up her fork and made a valiant attempt at her meal.

* * *

"Everything is so strange," Sunny whispered when she climbed into bed that night. "My clothes, the food, the eating-all so strange. I will never understand. I will never be truly English."

Sunny was on her way toward depression, but then she realized something inside her had changed. Some of the restlessness had abated. For over a year now there had been an unsettled feeling within her. Every day she had felt the discontent rise up, and on most days she learned to fight the feeling by doing something she was not allowed, certain this would drive the feeling away. Whether

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went to the tower, the kitchens, the stables, or across the court,

the restlessness stayed with her.

When she'd had special times with Indira or Ahmad, there was Little or no restlessness. But Sunny found that whenever she was left with her own thoughts, her mind would stray and become unsettled. Her attitude would result in a certain type of fidgeting, and Sunny would act on impluse, even though she knew better.

Just thinking of it made her feel fidgety. She rustled about in the bedcovers for some time before sleep came to claim her. Brandon, waiting for just that, sat at his desk and listened to the sound of her silence when it finally came.

After the 6rst day when she had jumped ship, he had not let her out of his sight. Any 13-year-old who would jump from the deck of a fast-sailing ship, intent on swimming home, was not to be trusted. She had shown no other signs of running, but Brandon was not convinced that she was as settled as she appeared. This was the reason he was getting ready to take his bath at 10:00 at night.

Each evening he waited for her to sleep before climbing into the tub. Although the tub was too small for his 6'3" frame, he enjoyed these evening baths. They allowed him to relax and dwell on all of the things for which he was thankful.

When he completed his studies at Oxford three years ago, at the age of 20, and was commissioned onto his first ship, his mother warned him that at times his duties and responsibilities would threaten to overwhelm him. Her advice after this had been simple.

"Stay in God's Word, Brandon. Read your Bible every day and enjoy God. You may not enjoy all you see going on around you, especially when there is hurt and suffering, but you can enjoy God. Dwell on Him, His promises, and His love for all people. He will see you beyond every sunset."

-Her words and those of the psalmist came to him now as steam rose around him, clearing his mind of the day's events. He meditated on Psalm 147: "He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power; his understanding is infinite. The Lord lifteth up the meek; he eastern the wicked down to the ground. Sing unto the Lord with thanksgiving; sing praise upon the harp unto our God."

"I know, Lord," Brandon prayed quietly then, "that in Your

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love You have brought Sunny back into our lives with a purpose. Thank You for Your power and infinite understanding. Use me especially now, and the family once we're in England, to bring Sunny to Your Son, Jesus Christ."

sunny stared at the hairbrush in brandon's hand and then at the man himself" He was smiling at her, but those dark, raised brows
told
her he was waiting with his usual persistence for her response.

It didn't bother her all that much to take care of her hair; it was just that she could never remember to brush it. Being reminded made her feel like a child. She was one, of course, but didn't care to admit it, even to herself.

She finally took the brush and plopped down on Brandon's bed as though she'd lived in this cabin all her life. Six weeks had passed since they had set sail, and Sunny was feeling as much at ease with Captain Brandon Hawkesbury as she had with Rashad or Indira. He was overbearing at times, but family ties and traditions in her land were taken very seriously, and the tact that his sister was married to her brother afforded the captain a tremendous amount of respect.

While Sunny brushed her hair, Brandon worked over the ship's log at the desk. She noticed he wrote something every day.

"What are you writing in, Brandon?" Already she was losing some of her accent.

"It's the ship's log. I record where we've been, the weather conditions, and anything outstanding that happened on board."

"Do the pages have dates?"

WI date them."

"What's today's date?" Sunny's voice had dropped, and Brandon turned to look at her.

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"It's October 19. Why do you ask?"

"My birthday was yesterday," she whispered. "I had forgotten how the days were passing." She looked absolutely bereft, and Brandon came away from the desk and joined her on the edge of the bunk.

"Sunny, look at me," he commanded softly, and spoke again when she brought her eyes to his. "You're forgetting how you came to be at the palace."

Sunny looked completely confused, so Brandon explained.

"As with most things, Ahmad Khan did not know your birth date either. You were born on November 11, 1830, which is still over three weeks away."

Bewildered, Sunny blinked at him. Would the surprises ever stop? Would she ever really know who she was and where she belonged? After just a few short weeks at sea, Sunny already found her mind to be a confused mixture of Darhabar and England. The wind on the deck was always cool, and she was thankful for the heavy cloth used for her clothing. But there were never mounds of pillows for her to lounge upon, and though she tried sitting cross-legged on her bunk, it was not the same.

She had finally grown accustomed to sitting in a chair and eating with silverware and using both hands in the process, but some of the food was so tasteless Sunny wondered at times why she even bothered.

"Are you all right?" Brandon asked when she just sat staring at him.

"I do not know myself," she admitted softly. "You do not like who I am, and you want me to change. I do not know what /want."

Brandon's heart turned over. "I love you, Sunny," he told her sincerely, "just the way you are, but you're going to live in England, and even if Darhabar and England were exactly alike, that would mean adjustment. The feet that they're not at all alike is going to make things even more difficult for you.

"You will not be waited on constantly at your sister's home, nor do I really believe you would care to be. There may be someone to help you with your hair, but you also need to know how to care for it on your own.

"My pushing you to make your bunk, do your hair, eat with a fork, and put on the proper clothing is not my way of saying I dislike who you are. I love you," Brandon repeated, "and I want your adjustment in going home to be as smooth as possible."

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Brandon slipped his arm around her, and Sunny let her head fell against his shoulder.

"Did I tell you about the first time I ever saw you?" Brandon asked, knowing he was the only real thing in her life right now. He wanted her to understand just how English she really was, and to see that she was going home to a family who waited eagerly to see her.

"You've never told me," Sunny replied, her fece turned with interest.

"Our homes are dose together, and word was sent to my mother that Katherine, your mother, had safely delivered you," Brandon began. "I was ten years old at the time and thought that babies were rather bothersome creatures, but I was curious too.

"When mother went, she allowed me to accompany her. You were so tiny," Brandon smiled. "While my mother held you, I put my finger in your hand. You clutched onto it with a surprising grip. I had a new appreciation for babies after that. I couldn't see enough of you. It was awfully fun to watch you grow that first year. I missed you terribly when you went away; we all did."

Sunny smiled at him, loving the mental pictures he painted. Brandon gave her a little squeeze, kissed her brow, and went back to his desk, leaving Sunny to finish her hair. He did so hoping she felt a little easier about who she was and where she was headed.

Brandon noticed that Sunny regained more control of her emotions with the passing of each new day. He knew that the family would love her no matter what she was like, but Brandon still wondered if any of them would ever see her eyes pool with tears, or if anyone would see the frightened, vulnerable fece he'd seen when Sunny realized she had been underhandedly sent away by the only father she'd ever known.

Brandon had a sense that by the time they came into port, these feelings and many more would be well hidden from any and all seeking eyes. He had seen them all and praised God for this feet. They had given him a love and tenderness for this girl that he couldn't have put into words if he had tried.

"Sometimes I hate him all day, and sometimes I wish I could wake up in my bed in the palace," Sunny said softly one night.

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"Did it help to reread his letter?" Brandon asked, having seen her doing so just that morning.

"No,** she told him flatly. "He said I am loved, but then I am sent away." Sunny, who was sitting across the cabin from Brandon, looked into his eyes. "This is not love."

"I don't know about that," Brandon told her thoughtfully. "When I think of the loving family that awaits you in England, and how hard it must have been to send you away, I think he might love you deeply."

Not having considered this, Sunny frowned, but a moment later the hardness returned to her eyes. She was not ready to be so understanding. Brandon sighed mentally. If she was not careful, the bitterness would eat her alive.

Brandon believed that
if
anyone had reason to be bitter, it was the family who had been lied to and robbed of her company for so many years. As it was, no one felt that way. They certainly didn't condone the emir's actions, but they praised God for the return of Sunny, and were determined not to let bitterness ruin that praise.

Sunny, now able to spend time away from Brandon, left the cabin just after breakfast the next morning. As had become her routine in the past week, she headed for the galley. Connie, the ship's cook, was standing over a large pot, and Sunny knew that lunch was on the stove.