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“I will leave you, then. I wish you a safe journey, miss.”
    “I wish the same for you.”
    Politely, he touched his hat—and stood, waiting…for her to climb safely aboard, she realized, and felt silly of a sudden. All this way, he had only been helpful. It had been kind of him to stay withher until he’d made certain that she’d arrived at her destination unharmed. It had been kind of him to offer a meal.
    Still, Annika sensed his gaze on her as she climbed the ladder—and could not shake the feeling that the stranger hadn’t gotten what he wanted, and that he wasn’t done with her. That she would see him again, that he would be waiting for her in Bergen…or somewhere else.
    But perhaps that was only her imagination.

Chapter Two
    For twenty years, David Kentewess had searched for his mother’s people. He’d finally found one of them.
    The small woman ascending
Phatéon
’s ladder didn’t physically resemble his willowy mother in any way, but her unusual, burred accent had been the closest he’d come to hearing Inga Helgasdottor’s voice since she’d lain beneath a burning pile of rubble and whispered a final, agonized plea.
    David would be damned before he failed her. But for years, he’d despaired of being able to keep his promise.
    Until he’d heard this woman’s desperate words—first in French, then English, then Norse.
Norse,
for Christ’s sake. Who spoke that anymore? Only scholars—and few of them at that.
    Certainly no one in Bergen. David had been to that Norwegian port several times, and he’d never heard anyone with an accent like hers. Perhaps the language was still spoken in some remote village—but not in any of the villages he’d visited. He’d almost given up hope of ever knowing his mother’s origins.
    Perhaps this woman didn’t hold the answer. Perhaps he imaginedthe similarities to his mother’s voice. Perhaps he was mistaken.
    David didn’t think so. And—
    Hell.
He’d forgotten to ask her name.
    With a sudden grin, he watched her climb. The shock of hearing her peculiar accent near the gates had stolen his brains. Before he realized that they would be traveling on the same airship, he’d been so determined to keep her in his sight that he hadn’t even thought to ask that simple question. He’d find out soon, though—and everything else he wanted to know.
    What incredible luck. If he’d left the inn a few minutes later, or if she’d been on any other vessel but
Phatéon
…
    But she wasn’t on another ship—and instead of a bird shitting in his eye at the port gates, an answer to an old prayer had landed in his lap in the form of a vibrant woman. Such
mad
luck. Wild elation lifted through him, rising with every step he watched her take, but he quelled the shout of laughter swelling within his chest. Perhaps she wouldn’t hear his laugh over the noise of the docks, but he wouldn’t give her reason to look down and see him cackling like a drunken rotbrain.
    His grin would likely scare her, anyway.
    That thought erased his smile. He’d have to be careful about how he approached her. She hadn’t seemed disturbed by his mechanical hand or mangled face, but he hadn’t given her the opportunity to take a close look yet. While walking with her, he’d deliberately positioned himself so that only his unscarred profile was on display.
    When was the last time he’d made such an effort to present his good side to a woman? Hell, when was the last time he’d thought about
having
a good side? Too long. He’d have to be certain not to forget, and try not to scare her away…again.
    Though she’d been polite about it, he had no doubt that she’d run from him. Only crew members climbed the rope ladders; passengerswaited for the cargo platform, particularly if they wore skirts. And she
must
be a passenger—no aviator dressed in silk from head to toe.
    So he’d unsettled her…but not because of his scars or his nanoagent infection. She hadn’t fled until he began