***
The new day opened its eyes to the brightness of the sun, promising a multitude to occupy the hours, and it fulfilled it, for eve came as quickly as the morn had. He had been at the docks since before the sun reached its zenith, and even as it was heading home, Brand lingered by the storehouse door, overseeing the removal of the final batches of loads from his docked cargo ships: The Two Flying Doves.
His stomach growled, protesting the long absence of food, but he was adamant to see to the complete storage of the Japanese linen and silk fabrics. In four days, another vessel, laden with cotton fabrics, would arrive, but by then, he would already be at sea. Edgar, his store manager, would see to the storage and the sales in his absence.
His foreman, Stephen, stood on the other side, waving and commanding the dockworkers. He had been as busy as Brand since the early hours of the day, but unlike Brand, he had eaten better. His wife had thoughtfully prepared and packed him lunch. The man relentlessly bragged of her cooking. Now, he gestured toward the storehouse as he spoke to Edgar, who nodded and walked away.
One of the dockworkers, a hired hand, hurried past with a pile of linen, and as he returned to the ship, Brand intercepted him. "Be of help, my good man," he said, "and go to the foreman. Tell him I wish to speak with him."
"Yes, sir." The worker bowed and rushed to Stephen.
Stephen, after receiving the message, raised his eyes to Brand and was waved over. He nodded, then said something to another worker before starting for him.
Brand had always liked the man, not only for his efficiency but also for his name, which carried a certain familiarity and fondness. His work ethic was an additional benefit.
"All is going good," Stephen called out as soon as he was within hearing distance, not bothering with pleasantries. "And I will allow no other information, except the postponement of our trip."
Brand found himself smiling. "Allow? You allow me?"
"I discovered that I can. After all, I am the foreman of your ship."
"My ship." he concurred, leaning against the wall. "Do not forget that. But no, there is no postponement. I have given one promise to Ramsay, and another to the king. We must depart tonight."
Stephen nodded. "You stream of promises." Then, "Lawrence already is aboard The Rescuer. He is prepared."
Brand nodded. He was prepared as well, and eager for the trip, but sadly, not as much as Stephen. He had caught sight of his movement earlier, ginger and excited. Was he pleased that his wife would accompany him?
At their last docking, he had taken a young woman to wife, but had barely spent time with her, so when he asked that she accompany him, Brand had agreed. He did not care for women or love, but he did not stand against it either. As long as this new wife did not steal him from his work, all was well. Was that his worry? After all, love was thorough uselessness and perfect foolishness.
Subconsciously, the thought of the king and the queen crossed his mind.
Alexander had, from when he first laid eyes on Lady Gwen, loved her, and with a singular determination, pursued until he won for himself her love, and daily he told of the bliss of marital life, boasting that he attained for himself the best of all women. He had claimed love to be sufficient. Yet now, more was required of him.
Even though he found it difficult to comprehend, Brand knew Alexander had meant every word he had spoken in the study. No desires for children would chase him into the arms of another woman. If Lady Gwen could not bear him heirs, then he truly did not care about having them.
A scoff.
Lady Gwen was worried, and Alexander—damn him—was worried too. Brand had seen it in his eyes, in the way his shoulders tensed when he spoke of her sadness. If Lady Gwen was ever unhappy, his brother would be devastated. For all his jokes and machismo, one truth stood firm: he was madly in love with Lady Gwen, and that love made him vulnerable. Her worry was his pain; her pain, his burden. And, good God! would he carry her burden until his back broke if it meant sparing her any suffering.
Love was a grave foolishness, he reestablished, and only fools indulged in it. It clouded judgment, gave briefest joy, made strong men weak, and turned kings into martyrs. And Alexander, his king—his lord—had from the first moment he beheld Lady Gwen, become the greatest fool of them all.
"She is very excited to come with us." Stephen said from beside him.
Brand turned, "Who?"
"My wife, Rose." The man replied, his eyes shining.
The man had been talking since, Brand realised. He eyed him and muttered, "Fools," It went unheard.
His foreman and his brother were perfect fools. Heck! All plagued by the disease were fools, for they suffer yet they call themselves fortunate.
"Congratulations to her," he said sarcastically.
"Thank you," Stephen said, bowing slightly. The joy evident in his being. "I'll remain as diligent as ever."
A small smile. "See that you do."
"And you needn't worry. Rose is a sensible woman," he added quickly. "She won't cause any trouble. But if you prefer, I'll have her remain in my quarters."
Brand paused mid step, a hard grimace overcoming his smile. "The Rescuer is not a prison ship, Stephen. She can roam about if she wishes. She is your wife, not a hostage."
"Of course," Stephen replied, straightening. "Forgive me."
Brand grunted and turned away, slightly shaking his head. Sometimes, he was left to wonder if anyone truly knew him. Why would he demand that a free woman be restricted? Why would he take the freedom of another person?
"Have Dr. O'Brien check on the crew upon arrival." He called back over his shoulder. He would not have any of them ill before departure. "And have Lawrence sound the alarm as soon as he is finished inspecting the ship."
"Yes sir!" Stephen yelled, quite enthusiastically and started back to the docks.
Good God! Was he so pleased to have permission to bring his wife? Shaking his head, he turned towards the street.
It was alive with its usual chaos: fishmongers shouting prices, workers hauling goods, and a handful of debutantes waving their handkerchiefs to bid welcome or farewell to whomever took interest.
However, it was always somewhat exciting. It was the very first entity to welcome travellers, the final to bid them away, and Brand was slowly becoming used to having it at every stop. Unlike the sea, it was chaotic and spontaneous, crowded but lively, and although he was indifferent to its spontaneity, he was not one to behave impetuously as it.
He walked about the market, aimlessly, watching the people go about their final duties for the day, until he heard the loud blare of his ship, calling for him, calling to bring him away to serenity, and he turned, obliging without a moment to lose.