In fact, he could not even bring himself to take money earned by his own ship. Because the money belonged to someone else. His smuggling was, in an odd way…honorable.
She had always believed that Englishmen were incapable of honor. That their kind were ruthless brutes, merciless, heartless.
But the more she came to know Saxon, the more she realized he was not like that at all. He was a man of intelligence and strength, and he obviously cared about his family.
And he did have a heart. Allowing her to keep Nicobar was proof of that.
He kept surprising her at every turn.
At least now she understood why he wanted the sapphires: they would bring him wealth beyond his dreams, more than he could make in a lifetime of smuggling. If he could steal all nine, he would have riches that would put his brother the Duke to shame.
Ashiana let her fingers trail through Nicobar’s black stripes, feeling inexplicably disappointed, almost sad. Saxon was simply greedy. Perhaps he was not a pirate, but he was still a thief, willing to risk death for mere riches.
She realized that MacNeil was still talking. “…And then there are the expenses in building one’s own estate—”
“MacNeil,” Wyatt’s voice said, his tone warning.
Ashiana looked up to see the older man standing just behind MacNeil. He said something in English, and the Scot promptly stood up and saluted. While Ashiana could not understand the words they exchanged, she could tell that Wyatt was not happy about his officer being in any way friendly to her. Wyatt had not liked her from the start, and Nico’s arrival apparently did not improve his opinion of her.
Wyatt said something to her in clipped English as he placed a wooden bucket filled with water and a platter of meat just inside the door. Nicobar jerked from Ashiana’s grasp and bounded toward the food.
The two men jumped back, but Nicobar was more interested in the meal than in them. Wyatt called to Ashiana and motioned that she should step out.
She appealed to the young Scot. “Could I not stay with him a while longer? Just until he has finished eating?”
MacNeil translated her request to Wyatt, who looked displeased but issued a curt order, then turned and stalked off to sit on a crate a short distance away.
MacNeil, with his back to his superior, smiled down at her. “He says five minutes, miss, but I’ll see if I can keep him busy long enough to give you a little more time. We’ll wait for you out here. Mr. Wyatt says the captain has ordered that we leave the hatch open, whenever you’re in there with the beastie. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Ashiana glanced down. Saxon was being protective of her, again.
That was perhaps his most admirable quality—the way he looked after those in his care.
“You…you are very kind,” she said to MacNeil. “Thank you for the extra time with Nico.”
Flashing his easy grin, MacNeil went to take a seat beside Wyatt, and started doing what he did best: talking.
While Nicobar noisily enjoyed his meal, Ashiana settled in the straw, troubled by her complicated feelings for the complicated man who had provoked and confused and captivated her from the moment she met him. She watched the lantern’s glow sparkling on the jewels on Nico’s collar.
Suddenly an idea came to her, like a stroke of lightning from the sky.
Nicobar’s collar!
It was thick, padded, just the right size—it was the perfect hiding place for the sapphires!
All at once, she felt a rush of hope. She would no longer have to worry about Saxon accidentally discovering the jewels in his cabin. He certainly wouldn’t go near Nico again. And he had ordered that she look after her tiger once a day.
Her mind raced, her heart pounding with excitement. Tomorrow, when Wyatt brought her back to see to Nico, she would have to bring the sacred stones with her. It would be risky, but not terribly difficult—thanks to the heavy, layered English skirts Saxon had ordered her to wear.
And when they reached the Andamans, when he put her ashore…she would walk off his ship with Nicobar and the sapphires, and he would be none the wiser.
She awoke well before dawn the next morning, eager to get on with her plan. She searched through Saxon’s chest of clothing until she found something she could use as a tool to pry open the wall panel: a leather belt with a large, square piece of metal attached to one end.
Working quickly, she retrieved the silk bundle of sapphires, then tied it to her thigh with the ribbon fastenings from her stok-eengs. The multiple layers of pet-ee-koots and her heavy gray skirt concealed it perfectly.
But Wyatt did not come to fetch her.
She waited, paced, and finally pounded on the door in frustration, but no one came.
Uneasiness settled over her. Usually by now Wyatt or the steward, Nickerson, would have brought her morning meal. It was almost as if everyone had deserted the ship and left her behind.
Now that she noticed it, she did not hear the usual sounds of the crew working. She didn’t hear anyone at all.
Perhaps this all had to do with some aspect of running an English ship that she wasn’t familiar with.
By mid-day, her nerves were frayed and her stomach was growling. Ashiana was debating whether she should put the sapphires back into the wall when suddenly the door opened.
It was Wyatt, carrying a bucket of water and food for Nico.
Ashiana exhaled in relief and smiled at him. “I was afraid you were not corning.”
Obviously not understanding her Hindi, he curtly gestured for her to come with him. Ashiana followed as he led her through the ship, heading toward the cargo hold. The crew looked to be going about their normal tasks.
Ashiana felt frustrated that she and Wyatt could not understand one another. She could not ask him what had gone wrong.
Or where his captain might be. She did not see Saxon anywhere.
An unsettling thought struck her: perhaps Nico had injured him worse than she had realized. Her tiger’s claws might have cut him deeply. If Saxon had lost too much blood…
Nahin, she did not want to imagine that. Nor did she want to imagine why the thought of him being hurt made her heart beat too hard and her stomach twist with worry. He was probably fine. Busy attending to his duty.
Just as she must attend to hers.
When they reached the cargo hold, Wyatt showed her where to find fresh straw, then opened the hatch to Nico’s enclosure for her, retreating to sit on a crate a good distance away.
Her heart pounding and her mouth dry, Ashiana replaced Nico’s straw with fresh bedding and gave him the food and water—placing them well away from the entrance so she and her tiger were out of Wyatt’s sight.
Nicobar, unfortunately, was in a playful mood. As soon as he had eaten, he rolled over and batted at Ashiana’s hands, nipping at her.
“Nahin, Nico. Stop,” she whispered. “I do not wish to play.”
To placate him, she rubbed beneath his chin with one hand. He stretched out, paws in the air, and purred, a deep rumble that echoed off the walls.
She could hear Wyatt mutter something. From his tone, it sounded like he wanted to hurry her along.
Ashiana took Nico’s paw and coaxed him, carefully, into extending his claws. She managed to angle one of the sharp little talons just enough to cut the leather lacing that held his collar shut. He growled and twisted away, and she had to wrestle him a bit before he would calm down again. She quickly unlaced the collar, just a few stitches, her fingers shaking.
She tore out the padding, then reached under her skirt and unwrapped the sapphires, leaving the silk tied to her thigh. Quickly, quietly, trying to keep Nico still, she pushed the gems, one by one, through the opening in his collar.
She had almost all of them in when Wyatt apparently lost patience. He came to stand just outside Nico’s enclosure.
“Enough time,” he said in barely understandable Hindi. “Come now.”
Ashiana froze, holding Nicobar down. Looking over her sho
ulder, she could see Wyatt’s legs from where she sat. If he bent down…
She forced the last two sapphires into the collar. “I am sorry, I do not understand. What was that you said? Did you mean to say that I have spent enough time? But of course, you are right. You have been most generous in allowing me to stay this long, and I—”
“Enough time,” he repeated, bending down and scowling at her. He motioned for her to come out.
Barely breathing, Ashiana forced a smile to her lips. The stones were hidden, but she would not have the chance to re-lace Nico’s collar. Not with Wyatt glaring at her.
Still kneeling, she bent down to give her tiger one last hug. He growled and squirmed but she managed to wrap the ends of the laces twice around the collar and knot them underneath. At least they would not be left dangling. It would have to do until she could return and finish it properly tomorrow. None of the crew would get close enough to him to notice. She hoped.
“Come now,” Wyatt said impatiently.
Keeping her smile firmly in place, Ashiana turned and moved in a slow crouch to the entrance, scattering the white cotton stuffing into Nicobar’s bedding with her toes.
When she was out, Wyatt put the hatch back in place. As he slid it shut, Ashiana bent down to look at her pet. She could see nothing different about his collar from here.
Relieved, she offered up a little prayer of thanks and gave her pet a genuine smile. “I will see you tomorrow, my Nico.”
She turned to follow Wyatt back to the cabin, feeling better and happier than she had in days.
MacNeil made sure he had a knife in his belt, a sword at his side, and a pistol in his hand before he decided it was safe enough to take a closer look at the lass’s pet. The beastie had been making distressed noises all evening, but MacNeil wanted to check for himself before bothering the captain about it.
Slipping the hatch to one side, just a few inches, he held his lantern close and peered inside.
“What be the trouble, ye demon beastie? The lassie will be back t’ tend ye tomorrow.”
The tiger snarled and a razor-edged paw darted through the opening. MacNeil jumped back, almost dropping the lantern, and quickly replaced the hatch. “Well, if that be your humor, ye can just wait, then.”
He turned and started to walk away, but stopped. He would swear he had seen something, just for a second, in the lantern light.
A flash reflecting from the animal’s straw—a brilliant blue flash.
Turning back toward the hatch, MacNeil pursed his lips and considered taking a closer look. He just as quickly shook his head and discarded the daft notion. It had probably only been a trick of the light, shining off the animal’s jewel-studded collar.
Still, it was odd, he decided as he went back to his account books. And anything odd aboard the Valor was worth mentioning to the captain.
He would do so as soon as he saw him in the morning.
The unmoving sea reflected pinpricks of starlight along its glassy surface. The wind barely teased the limp sails, a puff of air that wouldn’t move a leaf on a tree, much less a five-hundred-ton ship on the ocean. Frustration coiled in Saxon’s gut. It seemed the closer he got to finding the sapphires and saving his brother Max’s life, the more India’s winds and seas conspired to keep him from it.
The Hindu gods apparently liked to hold a grudge.
He prowled the quarterdeck, staring down at the mirror-smooth waters that he could hear gently lapping around the hull in the darkness. His only consolation was that Greyslake, wherever the bastard was out here, would be equally becalmed aboard his Royal Navy man-of-war. The race to the Andamans was moving forward by inches instead of miles, but it was still a race.
“Evening, Captain.”
“Crowley.” Saxon nodded in acknowledgment of the helmsman’s salute. His crew was getting used to seeing their captain on deck during the night watches. They no longer acted nervous in his presence, afraid he was checking up on them. After three nights, they seemed to understand that he was there for his own reasons.
He followed the steps down to the main deck, jarring his bandaged right arm. Muttering an oath, he continued his slow walk along the rail, hooking his thumb in the waistband of his breeches to try and keep the arm still. It stung as if the devil himself were stabbing him with a pitchfork. Working on the damaged keelson all day had only made the pain worse.
The keelson had started leaking again, and he had joined his men in shoring it up, unable to just stand by and give orders and pray the blasted thing would hold. Finally, about an hour ago, all appeared secure, but Saxon was still concerned that it had given way in such calm seas.
Never in nine years of voyages had the Valor failed him, but the season of varsha was drawing near, the time of the summer monsoons. If they chanced to be caught in an early storm before reaching the islands—
“Good evenin’ t’ ye Cap’n.”
Saxon nodded in response to the port watchman’s salute, but didn’t stop to discuss the ship’s progress with the older man as he sometimes did.
The pain in his arm kept drawing his mind back to his last heated exchange with Ashiana down in the hold. The ice-blue loathing in her eyes when she’d called him a pirate had struck him harder than a slap, and he still felt the sting. He had spared the life of her tiger, had stood there bleeding, and all she could show him was anger and animosity.
It didn’t matter, he told himself with a scowl. Let her believe what she wanted. He hadn’t relented about shooting the animal because he expected gratitude from her. He had done it because…
He stopped to lean on the starboard rail, on his good arm. It annoyed him to realize he couldn’t think of a single rational, sensible reason.
He had done it because of the way he’d felt when he’d seen her crying.
Damnation, when had he acquired this unpleasant tendency to give in to emotion where Ashiana was concerned? Just days ago, he’d been ready to toss her off his ship or lock her in the brig, convinced she was dangerous, a thief and a liar. But now…
Now he was no longer convinced.
She was clever and daring, yes, with her fondness for a menacing feline and her love of outlandish yoga poses and her teasing jokes. But beneath all her boldness…she had a soft heart. Ashiana couldn’t bear to see a half-grown tiger harmed, never mind a full-grown man.
It was impossible to imagine her as some cold-blooded female mercenary working in league with his enemies.
The only explanation that made any sense was that she’d been telling him the truth: she’d been forced into thievery at gunpoint—probably by Greyslake or one of his hired thugs. She was a sheltered harem girl, inexperienced in the violent ways of the world, who’d been dropped into the middle of a dangerous situation through no fault of her own.
After everything she’d endured, she deserved better than to be locked up in his cabin like a criminal the entire voyage.
A muscle flexed in Saxon’s jaw. He had the annoying suspicion that he was about to do something for emotional reasons again.
The worst part was, he didn’t even try to talk himself out of it this time.
He called the starboard watchman. “Elliott.”
Lantern in hand, the man appeared out of the darkness. “Sir?”
“The ship won’t move until the wind picks up, so there’s no point in you and Stoddard and Crowley being out here for another two hours. Get them and go below. You can all have an early supper and an extra pint of ale in the crew mess.” After a moment, he added, “And see that no one else comes abovedecks until I personally summon the next watch.”
The sailor looked at him with a curious expression but clearly knew better than to question his captain’s orders. “Aye, sir.”
A short time later, after seeing to a few preparations, Saxon opened the door to his cabin. He’d expected to find Ashiana spending her evening tangled up in some complicated yoga pose or reading an inappropriate book.
Instead, the lantern was turned low and
she was curled up in his bed, under the covers…asleep.
He shut the door quietly behind him, curious that she had retired so early. As he approached the bed, she didn’t stir, slumbering deeply, as if she had been exhausted. He wondered what had caused her distress.
The toe of his boot ran into something soft and he glanced down to find her English clothes discarded in a heap on the floor—gown, petticoats, corset. He was puzzled to see the cuff of a white sleeve peeking out from under the blankets, almost engulfing one of her hands. It took him a moment to recognize what she was wearing.
She had helped herself to one of his shirts from his sea chest.
With a soft chuckle, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep for a moment. Rebellious little tiger-tamer. A phrase in Hindi ran through his mind, one that seemed to fit Ashiana perfectly: mahila veer. Daring lady.
She looked so beautiful, so sweet, her hand resting on the pillow, her glossy black hair tangled around her face, her lashes dark on her pale cheeks. A mix of protectiveness and desire stole through him.
He hated to wake her…especially when she was exactly where he had wanted her from the moment they’d first met, when she had danced for him in the emperor’s palace.
But the two of them had somewhere else they needed to be at the moment, and no time to spare.
Ashiana woke to the gentlest touch on her cheek. Blinking sleepily in the glow of the lantern, she was startled to find Saxon sitting beside her on the bed. At first, all she felt was a rush of relief that he hadn’t been badly hurt after all. A day of worrying about him had left her exhausted, unable to sort through her tangled emotions. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He looked at her curiously. “You were worried about me?”
“I…no, I…that is…” Sighing, she gave in and admitted it. “Yes, I was worried about you.” She reached out and touched his right arm, feeling a bandage beneath his sleeve. “I thought Nicobar might have injured you worse than I realized.”
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 14
