The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,50

asks.

“Boating.” I grin when her brow furrows.

“Boating,” she repeats. “A four-hour flight and almost two-hour drive for boating. Must be some special boats.”

Callum opens his mouth, obviously ready to defend his little corner of the world, but I catch his eye and give a quick shake of my head.

“We’ll let you see for yourself,” I tell her. “Callum, show us the way.”

We leave the car in the parking lot and follow him down a long pier to the boat launch where a few kayaks bob along the water’s smooth surface. He suits us up with lifejackets.

“Now this area is Point Reyes,” Callum says, “and this is Tomales Bay where you’ll be tonight.”

“It’s lovely,” Lennix comments, her tone polite.

I know her. She’s still thinking about Gregory Keene. Or about Middleton. Or maybe she was as affected as I was by hearing Callum call her Mrs. Cade. The hell if I know what she’s thinking, but I do know only half of her attention is on what Callum is saying.

“Part of the bay is formed along the San Andreas fault.”

“Comforting,” Lennix says dryly.

“And these waters are historically protected,” he goes on to say.

“Historically protected?” That piques her interest. “What’s their historical significance?”

“This whole area was original Coast Miwok territory. That’s a Northern Californian indigenous tribe.”

“I’ve heard about them,” she says, her smile growing warmer.

“Well, Sir Francis Drake landed in this region,” Callum says with a distinct touch of pride. “Drake’s Bay.”

“Drake?” She rolls her eyes. “Well, of course we’d want to protect his ‘discovery.’ Figures.”

“The interesting thing,” Callum goes on, oblivious to how this story might set my girlfriend off, “is that they had all these missions that came in later, and forced the Miwok people to assimilate. Settlers killed off the language, the customs, and in some cases, the people. California has a pretty brutal history with Native Americans in a lot of cases.”

Wow. This guy’s batting a thousand.

“Yes, well, California is not alone in that,” Lennix murmurs.

“But archeologists found evidence of them still being here and using elements of their culture years after the missions were gone. Some of them, at least, managed to survive and continue their practices while modernizing.”

“Ahem,” I interrupt and give him a meaningful glance. “I think we’re all set and I can take it from here.”

“Thank you, Callum,” Lennix says, offering a genuine smile, which he returns before making his way back up the pier.

“Were you afraid I would lecture poor Callum on Drake’s imperialism and probable exploitation of the Miwok tribe?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Her rich, throaty laugh that always seduces me rings out over the quiet bay. “You’re probably right. Now what’s up with the boating? Isn’t it getting too dark for that?”

She’s right. The sun has almost completely set and darkness blankets the horizon. A few other people come down the pier in groups with a guide instructing and outfitting them with life jackets.

“We don’t need a guide?” she asks, eyeing the people climbing into kayaks and paddling out onto the water.

“I’m our guide.”

“Are you sure we’ll be safe?” she asks, half-teasingly.

“I’ll always protect you.” Our gazes hold in the little light provided by the footlights along the pier, and the conversation from the car hangs between us.

“I know,” she replies softly, the tightness around her mouth loosening. I kiss her hair and take her hand.

“Let’s go.” I nod toward, not a kayak, but a small motorboat.

“Why not a kayak?”

“They’re in groups and can look out for each other if someone falls in,” I tell her. “We’re going to venture off on our own some. The motor boat is a little safer.”

“Ahhh. Your master plan to get me alone is revealed.”

“I’m never subtle about getting you alone,” I say, exchanging a quick grin with her. “Get in.”

We get settled and strike out on the water. After a few minutes, I cut the motor and allow the boat to drift and the nocturnal beauty of our surroundings to speak. The quiet takes up the small wedge of space between us, broken only by the low murmur of the guides assisting groups a few feet away.

“Tell me about this place,” she says after a few moments. “I know you know more than you’ve shared.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You’re an explorer.” She tilts a small smile at me. “An expeditioner. You don’t go to places completely unprepared.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me why you brought me here. What did you want to show me?”

“A few times a month, there are moonless nights. It’s the darkest