Marrick had been the one to finally discover means to keep the girl from wandering and establish some defense skills even if she did. He had not anticipated the pretext to grow on him though.  

Solange’s novice footing wobbled the log she balanced on. She recovered a moment, then tumbled into the lanky arms of the first mate of The Lenore. 

She hid her blush at her folly, and at being so close to the young officer, with a fuming outburst of frustration. “Zut alors!”

“You need to focus, Sol,” Marrick laughed and deposited the girl on the log to attempt the balancing act once again.  

“Arrêtez de me soulever comme je suis une poupée de chiffon.” Solange prepared her balance, moving cautiously into the stance Marrick had explained on so many occasions. 

“In English, ma chere.” The first mate mutilated the french endearment with his sailor’s english. “Don’t be forgettin’ the other bit of training you’re workin’ on.” 

“Stop placing me about, I am no doll to be lifted here and  there.” The girl’s jaw set, pressing teeth and lips to cage further unladylike retorts.  

“Poppet, if you stop fallin’ like one, I’ll stop treatin’ you like  one.” Marrick’s laugh was a short gasp accented in a sputtering snigger.

He watched as the girl regained her footing.  

Solange consigned aggravation. “Et do not name me poppet, or Sol, or any other name but mine.” 

Her brow knit as she tempered her focus, poise, and positioned her blade.“Sol sounds of some sea beast or insect.”  

“Oh, of course, Mademoiselle Solange de LeRenard,” Marrick offered an awkward gesture with a flourish of his hand. “I also suppose I cannot christen you my little fox, though you too often out fox the captain and crew in your port escapades.” 

Solange flushed and veiled embarrassment again in feigned fury. She leveled the slender blade at Marrick’s eyes. Marrick positioned with back to the beam, his feet remained firmly planted on level ground though the tilt of his blade leveled with Solange.  

At scarcely five foot even standing on the beam gave Solange little advantage to Marrick’s near two feet taller than she. 

“Cette pas lutte équitable." she sulked. “Your arms are two times mine. C’est impossible I reach to you without being struck.” 

Marrick shook his head and smirked at the girl. “There’s always a way. And, what, are you assuming pirates and thieves are runts like you?”  

Solange dropped a hand to her hip, letting down her guard. Marrick waved his fingers beckoning Solange to make the first move.  

“More likely most will be my size, or better!” He lunged before the girl made a move.  

Popping to attention, Solange caught Marrick’s blade with hers, though only just. Her feet and legs quivered on the beam, but she did not fall. Her poise had improved since the start of her instruction, yet she remained perturbed to be required to stand so uncomfortably.  

Her training was vexing, though she knew the man meant well. He had taken her as his charge almost  upon meeting, treating her as crew and little sister, and became chief of search parties when she vanished. 

“Et pour quoi must I stand on this stupide log!” She stomped the beam, her anger quickly replaced by shock as she rebalanced.  

“Stability. To train you to become as small a target as possible. Not a big deal for you though. And,” He tapped his temple with the flat of his sword, “So you might have half a chance to reach my head,”  

“I do have balance and stability. Members of court are expected to know dances, and poise. In this I am well trained.” Solange held her head high.  

“Ships ain’t stable like a dance floor, poppet. Dancin’ with a blade is far different  than prancin’ in a ballroom. And fightin’ is sure not done in pretty shoes.” Marrick gestured with the tip of his blade at the space just below the log. 

Her almost child-size leather slippers lay carefully discarded within reach. Solange glanced at her bare toes. Her feet had started to look more like those of a poor sailor than a daughter of the court.  

The shoes seemed all that was left of her old life. With her family lost, and father missing, Solange was comforted to have someone to depend on. Even if that someone was a lank giant of a man with a poor grasp of even his native tongue.  

“Why do you not teach me when aboard the ship?” She knocked his blade away and moved into the gap, nearly touching Marrick’s shoulder before forced to retreat from his return assault.  

Solange recovered her footing with more ease than prior maneuvers.  

“Because, poppet, if the captain saw how badly you fight, hed have you off at the next port for sure.” Marrick thrust. “A woman aboard is bad luck enough.” 

The blades hissed against one another. 

“Je peux tirer.” Solange back-stepped and countered. 

She curled her fingers as if to hold a pistol. 

Marrick could not contradict that the young woman had proficiency with a musketoon. He had snickered at her first lifting the firearm a fortnight ago until the ball whispered passed his ear to strike her intended target and shattered the rum bottle in his hand. Since that argument he focused his training with a blade and staying clear of her quiet temper if cannons or pistols were about.  

“Blades don’t run out of bullets,” Marrick parried. “Nor are they affected by a little water.”  

Solange slapped the blade aside with the back of her wrist of her open hand. The sting was palpable but better than a strike to the ear.

“Oui, mais j’aime the noise.” She kicked a leg off the log and sliced crossways with the blade, halting her revolution with blade poised at Marrick’s ear instead.  

The man’s eyes went wide. “I heard that.” 

He pushed the blade away with a lazy sweep of his own.  

“Blades do rust and weaken after some time in salt water.” Solange restrained the smirk forcing its way to her lips. “Nothing is infallible, monsieur.”

She allowed herself a grin at the triumph.  

Marrick returned a ready stance. “Dance moves don’t count.  And, you talk too much. You ought to be letting your sword speak for you.”  

“You are the one who said there is always a way.” Solange prepared to clash again. “This is my way.”

“That little trick won’t work twice.” Marrick’s gaze narrowed.  

Solange shrugged. “Peut-être pas sur toi, peut-être pas aujourd'hui, mais ça peut encore.” 

“Is there anything you are not trying to be a master at?” Marrick tapped the girl’s blade away and positioned to begin again. 

“I do not have to be master at anything, but I do enjoy many things now that I am able.” Solange tapped her opponent’s blade with her own.

She leveled her blade over his shoulder and nodded for him to look to the flag in the distance alerting the close of their practice session.  

“Enough for today.” He stated as if the close of session were his idea, and not the call to the ship.  

He offered a hand to assist her down from the beam. The handle of the sword met his presented hand instead. Solange smirked and hopped from her perch. Marrick shook his head. 

The lady was fast becoming something more to contend with. “You can behave like a lady now and then. You’ll hurt a man’s feelings or elsewise make yourself impossible to wed.”  

“I am not fool enough to think I am still worth anything without land or title.” A wan smile crossed her lips. “Besides, il n'y a pas de règles pour une femme sans valeur.”  

Marrick read the sorrow behind the words. “Aye, you’re right. No man wants a whelp like you.”  

Marrick danced beyond the girl’s reach to sprint in the direction of the harbor.  

Solange gave chase, but with three of her steps worth one of Marrick’s, she knew there would be no expectation to catch the man. Marrick kept the chase on, always laughing, just a bit shy of the girl falling from exhaustion. He paused a moment and Solange swung a diminutive fist to connect with Marrick’s rib. He stared down at her. 

“Oh, ow, the pain!” He feigned, gripping the side opposite her strike. “I will give you that I deserved that, but next time try aiming for my face. If you can reach.”  

Solange lingered only long enough to recover her breath before storming away leaving Marrick laughing. 

“Are you going to forget everything I taught you by the next  port?” He inquired once he caught up. 

Solange jogged, struggling to remain in advance of Marrick as they drew near the ship. “Évidement non.” 

Solange’s mood altered as Lenore came into sight. No matter how many times she witnessed the ship, it struck her with wonder.  The caravel towered in the slips, and though the sails were drawn up and gunwales closed, Lenore’s full splendor lingered in her imaginings. Solange and Marrick said naught until the gangway, she admiring Lenore and he admiring her appreciation for the ship he called home. 

Marrick seized her arm as they reached the foot of the plank. “You are getting pretty good, though I tease you. I almost think you can save your own arse if trouble arises.”  

Every destination brought enchantment and welcome reprieve from the doldrums of ship life and separation from her family. Unaccustomed to life beyond the walls of her father’s vast estate, naïve of spirit, and insatiable in curiosity, Solange never gave pause before wandering port town streets alone, at any hour. She rarely recognized how far she traveled in her roving and too often found herself mislaid. A step down a wrong alley and a ruthless run-in more than once failed to keep her feet from straying. Ill-fated cabin boys and deck hands sent to shadow or locate the habitually lost adolescent mercifully returned Solange to the ship, even if it cost them the few coins and trinkets.  

Solange beamed, “Pretty good. Hmmm. Je peux l’accepter. Not that I ever expect your assistance. Maybe it is you who will need  saving instead.”  

She shook his hand from her arm, abandoning Marrick ae the dock as she scuttled up the gangplank. He trailed, glancing the way they had come to check for stragglers.  

Marrick surveyed the deck of Lenore, noting any slack or slackers.  

“Marrick!” The captain called from the access to his cabin. 

“Aye captain.” Marrick dispensed the swords to a passing crewman and met the captain halfway.  

“You have been teaching the girl and I am obliged as you are the best swordsman I have.” He held a hand up before Marrick could protest the compliment. “Skills aside, there are pressing duties aboard ship for a man of your rank. Have another teach in your place.” 

The older man  put a hand on his first mate's shoulder. “I did not choose a man so young to be at my side to have a skirt-chasing doe-eyed fool as my second in  command. You’ll speak to the daughter of the late Monsieur de LeRenard no more than any other passenger or crew, or you’ll speak to her not at all.”  

“She needs a proper instructor.” Marrick sought to explain. 

The captain’s hand rose again to silence him. 

Though taller than the captain by half a head, Marrick still looked at the man with  respect. He would not contravene the order, though it pained him.  

“She’ll wander if she’s bored,” Marrick reasoned.  

“Pass her to your most trusted. I’ll allow the choice to be yours, but you’ll not waste time on her, that should be mine.” His tone was firm. “I agree giving her lessons is less trouble than searching every port city for her foolish hide. Bless my dear late friend, but he did leave us the most willful of his heirs.”  

Marrick concurred. 

He turned to witness Solang  bounding up from the deck below. She had changed her attire to more ladylike skirts, blouse, and vest, her long chestnut hair pulled  into a neat twist at the nape of her neck. 

Aboard ship she was under captain’s orders to behave as her former station mandated. In particular when other passengers were with them. If she appeared as a member of the crew it could mean ruin for the captain’s business. She was to keep her surname from the ears of any other traveler as well, in case the church still sought to eradicate the offspring of Ile de Roi aristocracy.  

“Bonjour, captain.” Solange curtsied. “Mate Marrick.”

Her salutation lingered longer on Marrick than the captain.  

Marrick smiled, but a glance from the captain advised that the latest order commence immediately.  

“Good day, Mademoiselle.” Marrick tipped his brow to Solange and saluted the captain as he straightened. “I have your leave, to attend to more pressing duties.”  

Solange stared quizzically as Marrick strode without so much as a second glance.  

“How are you fairing, Solange.” The captain drew her attention. 

Solange smiled though her gaze again followed Marrick in speculation of  whether she had done something wrong since their return. 

“Solange?” The captain’s comforting expression concealed something Solange could not place. “Have you thought much about my advice? A name to be called while aboard ship, should any passengers ask it of you.”  

“Evidemment.” Solange nodded though she glanced again in search of Marrick.  

“Young men are fickle, child.” The captain caught the girl’s chin in his hand. “You will learn this with age. Come along. If you are to earn your space on my ship we must teach you some things.”  

Solange looked at the captain’s arm as he offered it. The man’s eyes smiled down at her. She allowed him to escort her to the helm.  

“Our heading is here, Solange.” The captain offered her a map as they approached.  

Taking the slip of paper, she unrolled it onto the table at the helm. Beyond the words in French, it was all scribbles to her. She noted markings on the chart, in an effort to decipher the scrawling.  

“Je suis desole, captain, much of this is English, which I struggle to read.” 

His broad hat shadowed his expression. “You will have more time without others to distract you.”