Releasing Henry

by Sarah Hegger

  “You listening, Harry?” Newt nudged his ankle with his toe.

  Henry dragged his attention back to Bahir and Newt. “I am now.”

  “The thing with the sailors in Genoa, we did not leave it on the docks,” Newt said.

  Now he had all of Henry’s attention. “What?”

  “Newt believes we have ambitious men at sea with us.” Bahir folded his arms. Muscle like hewn onyx bulged. Strong as a bull and just as unpredictable, as Henry knew only too well.

  Three of them against a crew of close to twelve men. Not the best odds he’d faced, but not the worst either. Bahir would be good for his four, and Newt his. Henry would rip any man asunder who went near Alya. “We will need to keep watch.”

  “Captain says six days to Lisboa,” Newt said. “A lot can happen in six days.”

  “We are warned.” The crew about them became a lingering threat. “We will watch our backs.”

  Bahir nodded. “I suggest we sleep in turns.”

  “Agreed.” Not that Henry believed he would sleep knowing that at any moment some bastard might like his chances.

  “In that case.” Newt rose and stretched. “I will grab a quick nap now.”

  “Why do you sleep first?” Bahir stepped in front of Newt.

  “Because, big man”—Newt clapped Bahir on the shoulder—“I do my best work in the dark.” He sauntered belowdecks.

  Bahir shook his head.

  “You grow accustomed to him.” Henry had felt much the same way when Newt had first come to him as squire. Determined to break Newt down and rebuild him in a manner suited to himself, Henry had barely noticed Newt making him more malleable.

  Face grave, Bahir caught his arm. “English, do not hurt her.”

  “I would rather cut my hands off.”

  “Good.” Bahir sniffed. “Because if you do, I will cut them off for you.”

  * * * *

  Henry waited for Bahir to return before he took his turn to rest. He left Bahir and Newt to keep an eye on things and went belowdecks.

  To Alya.

  He opened the cabin door as quietly as he could. The hour grew late and he did not want to wake her.

  “Henry?” She sat up from the mound of blankets Bahir had arranged on the floor for her.

  “Aye.”

  Henry found himself standing there with no clear idea of what to do next. This marriage hung fragile as a spider’s web between them. A foolish man would rush through it, destroy it and stamp it beneath his feet.

  However, his Alya lounged on her bed in a bronze, gossamer, silk shift. Her bare feet stuck out from beneath. The silk clung lover-like to the long sweep of her legs and creased at her hips. High, full breasts strained beneath their insubstantial containment.

  As long as she remained the girl on the wall he could keep his beast in check. Had kept his beast in check in both thought and deed. But here, tonight, this sensual, earthy girl had tumbled from her heights and shimmered within reach.

  The jasmine scent of her perfume filled the stuffy cabin.

  Henry bent to unfasten his boots. Staring at her wasn’t helping any. “I thought you would be sleeping.”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  Ballocks! That hadn’t made this any easier. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Why is that?” She tucked her legs up beside her. “You are my husband now.”

  “Aye.” He tugged on a cross garter too hard and it snapped in his hand. Lust was an inconvenient emotion. To think he’d once looked down his nose at Beatrice for allowing her desire for Garrett to rule her good sense. “But we…” How to put this delicately? “What I mean to say…”

  “I understand, Henry.” Alya patted the bed beside her. “I thought maybe we could speak.”

  “Speak?” By all means. That should not present a problem. He perched on the very edge of her bed.

  Alya settled back and propped her head on her elbow. Ebony hair cascaded over the brightly colored cushions. “Tell me of you family.”

  Her breasts swelled beneath the shift bodice. A full hand of silky flesh. His voice came out hoarse. “What would you like to know?”

  “You have two brothers and two sisters?”

  “Three brothers.” Jasmine twined around his senses. “I have a much younger brother named Mathew. My mother had him later in her life. He is slower than other children.”

  Mathew would be approaching the age when other boys became squires. When last he’d seen Mathew, he had been small enough to upend over your shoulder. A game that had never failed to draw a laugh from Mathew.

  The scar deep within him throbbed. He did not wish to speak of his family. “I should rest.”

  Her face fell. “I understand.”

  Nay, she did not. Nor could she. The day drew closer when he would see his family once again. For five long years, he had thought it would never come. For his sanity, he had locked the memories and the longing deep within him. He had survived doing what he must to ensure that.

  Now life knocked on the door of his mind once again. It reminded him that when a man did more than draw his next breath, then a man felt again.

  Alya shifted to make room for him beside her. “You can sleep here.”

  Reluctant to explain, and not wanting to hurt her feelings by leaving with no explanation, Henry edged into place beside her. Her smooth arm brushed his. Warmth came from her and wrapped around him. Silk, jasmine and honey, the essence of Alya. So tempting and so near.

  Although he did not expect to sleep, Henry dreamed of Anglesea. Saw her great turrets standing proud above the lands she served. He dreamed of his beautiful, gracious mother who knew when a boy needed space and when a boy needed her love. Of his gruff, large father. The way Sir Arthur could scare the life out of a warring baron, and always had time to patiently teach his sons how to handle their weapons. He saw Beatrice, her face alive with the laughter that always lurked behind her eyes. In his dream life, he begged lovely Faye’s pardon. One of their last conversations he had told her to honor her marriage vows to a man who used his fists on her. So many times, he had lain in his tent with the pilgrim army and prayed for just one moment in time to redeem himself. His dream smelled of the sea, and cool moisture-laden air touched his face. He dreamed of home.

  Chapter 13

  Alya spent a lot of her time standing at the railing. The boat stayed close enough to land that she caught glimpses of strange places as they slid past.

  Henry knew much of the lands they passed, and he told her of them. Strange names like Marseilles, a city of great wealth governed by the Counts of Provence, and Cordoba, which in ancient times had been a place of great learning and philosophy. He scattered his speech with English words. Harsh and truncated in her mouth as she tried to form them. Sometimes she mispronounced them on purpose. Henry got such a look on his face when she did. An almost smile with his eyes warm and inviting. He did not look at anyone else like that.

  On the fourth day, they passed a great rock rising out of the sea, its face so light a gray as to be almost white. Jebel Tariq Henry called it and the captain judged it ill-advised to land there.

  The crew busied themselves for what the captain said could be a tricky crossing. From here they left the Mediterranean Sea and entered the Atlantic. Jebel Tariq sliding past marked Alya’s passing from her old life into her new and she kept her gaze on it until sunset brought a low, dense fog. Alya shivered. In the gray gloom, strange and haunting sounds rose and died again.

  Bahir joined her at the railing. “And whosoever puts his trust in Allah, then He will suffice him.”

  She drew comfort from words she had heard so many times growing up. Alya leant her head against Bahir’s shoulder. Bahir would suffice her. She sent a prayer for her father with the wind.

  The sea grew rougher in the coming days, limiting the time she could spend at the railing. As they approached the port of Lisboa, Bahir, Henry and Newt grew tenser. She wished th
ey would share their concerns with her, but in their silence, they stood united. She guessed it had something to do with the crew.

  One of the three of them stayed by her side almost constantly and they were always armed.

  For her part, she could barely wait to get off the boat and place her feet on something that didn’t constantly dip and sway.

  With the setting sun barely keeping above the sea their boat slid through the mouth of the Tagus river. Dying rays threw pink light over the great pale keep guarding the city from attack by sea. Bells tolled from the city and reached across the water, signaling the closing of the city gates for the night.

  Henry sat on deck sharpening his sword. The dull scraping merged with the raucous squabbling of gulls as they dipped in and out through the ships, falling on scraps and flotsam tossed into the water. The water smelled of waste, fish, and oil and made Alya cover her mouth with her kerchief. “I can scarcely wait to get away from this stench, and onto land.”

  Rising, Henry sheathed his sword. “My lady.” He clasped the railing. “We will not be leaving the boat.”

  What nonsense was this? Henry must be teasing her. “Why leave this pleasant scent?”

  “Lady.” Henry grimaced. “It is not safe for you to leave the boat.”

  Still waiting for him to tell her he jested, Alya stared. She had spent more time on the sea than she had ever wanted to. They had gone ashore in Genoa. She saw no reason for Lisboa to be any different. “Henry?”

  “I cannot take the chance that someone will try to get rid of us while we are ashore.” He stared at the city. “Or see this as an opportunity to make off with your father’s boat, and all it contains.”

  Lowering her voice because of the sailors preparing the boat to dock around them, Alya said, “Surely if they meant us any harm, they would have used our passage here to rid themselves of us.”

  “We have been watching them closely,” Henry said. “But time grows short now, and desperate men may act.”

  The sails dropped limp to the deck.

  Alya jumped and moved closer to Henry. She did not like to think of any of the men who had come with her from Alexandria wishing her harm.

  Still, Bahir stood at the far side of the boat, gaze keen and alert on the sailors.

  Close to the stern, Newt sprawled on a pile of coiled ropes. He wore his sword, and his hooded gaze moved constantly about the deck.

  “You’ve been on guard since we left Genoa.” She saw it now. The times Henry got up in the middle of the night to join Bahir or Newt on deck. These six nights he had slept beside her for a short time and then left, she had thought he did not enjoy being confined belowdecks.

  He twined his fingers with hers and raised her hand to his lips. “There is no need for undue concern,” he said. “But we also do not think it wise to court trouble.”

  Alya nodded.

  A sailor passed her and nodded a greeting.

  Could he covet her father’s wealth? Did he smile even as he reached for his dagger?

  She tightened her grip on Henry’s hand, drawing comfort from his large, still presence at her side. “How long will we dock here?”

  “Not long,” Henry said. “We will refill our water barrels and provisions. If the wind favors us, we will reach Anglesea in four days.”

  “Four days?” Her belly fluttered. In four days, she would meet her new family. Henry assured her they would welcome her, but then her father had told her Ugo would open his arms and his home to her. She didn’t know whether to pray for favorable winds or not.

  The captain shouted and the men dropped anchor.

  Night stole across the sky, chasing the last orange smears of the passing day. The wind changed direction and provided relief from the awful stink. Lights flickered like stars on the city walls. Laughter from a nearby boat drifted over the water.

  Henry draped his cloak about her. “You should sleep. We leave as soon as the tide turns.”

  “You do not sleep?” She turned in his arms.

  Shadows caressed the clean planes of his face. “Not this night.” He slid his arms about her waist. “But once I have you safe behind the walls of Anglesea, then there will be time for sleep. And other things.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest.

  Beneath her palms, his heart beat sure and steady. His gaze strayed to her mouth.

  Alya grew hot beneath the wool of Henry’s cloak and she swayed toward him.

  Henry growled and stepped away from her. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “Sleep well, my lady.”

  Alya dragged her feet away from him. Suddenly four days seemed way too long to reach Anglesea.

  Gaze hungry, Henry watched her go.

  In her cabin, she slid his cloak from her shoulders and pressed it to her nose. Cardamom and oranges in a heady combination that clenched through her belly.

  A hand covered her mouth. A sharp sting on her neck. “No noise,” a man said in Arabic.

  The knife at her neck was one of the wicked, curved blades the sailors used to slice rope.

  “Slow and careful, woman.” The sailor prodded her forward. “We don’t want any trouble from the eunuch or the knight.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice shook.

  The sailor shoved again. “Up.”

  Alya tripped over her gown.

  The knife nicked her neck.

  “Watch yourself.” The sailor jerked her arm. “Maybe your pretty English won’t want you when I cut up your face.”

  “Is this about the cargo?” Henry, Bahir and Newt were only three against what could be the entire crew.

  “Move.” He twisted his hand into her hair and yanked. “No talking.”

  * * * *

  Henry froze with his gaze fixed on the knife at Alya’s neck.

  He had known fear. Any man going into battle made it his companion. The day he’d been pulled from his horse in that fateful last battle, he had seen the men surrounding him, known he would not escape and felt the fear for his life. That was nothing compared to the terror that stuck his feet to the deck now.

  Bahir hissed.

  Newt’s hand went to his sword.

  “Do not.” The sailor pressed the blade into Alya’s neck, denting the skin.

  “What do you want?”

  Thank the Lord Bahir had the presence of mind to speak. Henry’s brain rolled like thickening mud.

  The captain stepped forward. “We don’t want any blood spilled,” he said. “Just leave the boat, you three, and we’ll let the lady go.”

  “Then you plan to sail off with the boat and its contents.” Newt held his hands up for them to see. “Is that it?”

  “No fighting needed.” The rest of the crew flanked the captain. “I sailed for her father my whole life. I do not want to hurt her.”

  Duplicitous sod! Had the captain planned this all along or had they somehow persuaded him to join them? Henry counted heads. Thirteen, including the captain and the whoreson with his knife at Alya’s neck. That one died first.

  Alya’s gaze met his. So much trust it almost brought him to his knees. She believed he would save her.

  “How about this plan?” Newt took a careful step forward. “You leave the boat and we don’t kill you.”

  The captain grimaced and then laughed. “I like you, young one. I like one who can make me laugh.”

  A couple of crew members joined his laughter. Including the one threatening Alya.

  “I enjoy a good laugh myself.” Newt grinned. “But see, we’re at an impasse here.” He tucked his hands into his belt. “You could slit Alya’s throat, but then where would you be?”

  “Eh?” The captain blinked.

  Alya went parchment pale, her hazel eyes imploring first him and then Bahir.

  “Mind me well, Captain.” Newt shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

  Henry braced. Here it came.

  Bahir frowned. The man was
quick witted. He would follow Newt’s lead.

  “The only reason you’re not dead right now is that knife at her throat. Once you’ve killed her, you’re a dead man. And anyone who stands with you.” Newt’s hand inched across his belt, almost imperceptible unless you knew what to look for.

  Jesu, Henry would kill him if he missed.

  “We are not pretending.” The captain scowled. “We will kill her.”

  “I believe you,” Newt said. “But you should have killed us first.”

  The knife whistled through the air and found its mark in the sailor’s eye.

  Alya screamed and dropped to the deck.

  Pulling both scimitars from his waist, Bahir charged, bellowing his challenge.

  One sailor leaped over the side into the water. Two met Bahir’s blade.

  Henry sprang for Alya.

  Kicking her dead attacker aside, he stood between her and the crew.

  Three men shuffled forward. One had an old short-sword, the other two hefted daggers.

  Newt hurled two more daggers across the deck.

  One pinned the captain through his thick neck. Another embedded in the shoulder of an oncoming sailor.

  Henry’s sword took the first man at the throat. Blood bloomed over his tunic as he dropped to the floor.

  The second came in low, stabbing.

  Henry knocked his knife aside and thrust.

  Grabbing his gut, the man dropped to the deck.

  The third man slipped on the blood pool.

  Henry lunged.

  He scrambled out of the way of Henry’s descending sword.

  Not fast enough, and Henry thrust into his chest.

  Bracing his leg, he yanked his sword free of the man’s breastbone.

  Bahir had dispatched one of his opponents.

  The other retreated across the deck, reached the railing and vaulted into the sea.

  Gazes darting between him, Bahir, and Newt, two more sailors drew back.

  They bumped into each other in their haste to clear the railing.

  It was over. Blood stained the deck. Moans rose from the two injured men. The one Henry had stabbed wouldn’t last the night with that belly wound.