Dangerous

by Minerva Spencer

  “Shhhhh!”

  “Do you think I sneeze for my own pleasure?” he hissed.

  Mia ignored him, feeling the wall on her right for the small indent that heralded the opening.

  “It’s here,” she whispered, keeping her fingers on the almost unnoticeable dimple in the stone wall. She heard the sound of a hand rubbing over stone and then felt Bouchard’s large warm hand.

  “Now what?”

  “Push.”

  She pushed with him and for a moment it seemed the heavy slab of stone would not budge. When it finally did, it made the low-pitched grinding noise she remembered.

  Bouchard swore and stopped. “We’ll wake the whole damn palace!”

  “No, we won’t. This entrance is near the shared pools. Nobody will be here so late at night. Push.”

  The door swung easier once it passed over the flagstone and met the polished floor. Mia peeked around the edge into the open courtyard. Only one dim lantern glowed in the walled bathing area and there wasn’t a soul around.

  Bouchard followed her into the big open space and glanced around.

  “So this is what a harem looks like, eh? I imagined it differently.”

  Mia had a pretty good idea of what he’d imagined.

  “We need to keep going. If Jibril is in the palace, he will have gone to our old quarters. There are several excellent hiding places built into the walls.”

  “What if there is somebody else living in your old quarters?” he whispered.

  Before Mia could answer, the sound of footsteps came from the direction of the kitchens.

  Mia grabbed Bouchard and dragged him into the nearest hallway. She peered around the corner and saw silent shapes flickering into the courtyard. It wasn’t until they reached the large bathing pool, which was directly below the light, that Mia saw who it was.

  “Jibril!”

  Bouchard reached out to cover her mouth but she was already bounding across the courtyard. Jibril grunted when she slammed into his arms.

  “Mother?” He sounded stunned. And maybe a little angry. Mia kissed his cheek and his nose.

  “Where is your stepfather?” she asked before Jibril could begin scolding her.

  A voice she knew and loved came from somewhere behind her son.

  “I’m right where I’m supposed to be, darling. What about you?”

  “Perhaps we could have this family reunion later?” Bouchard whispered angrily.

  “Bouchard?” It was Adam again, and he sounded furious. “What the bloody damned blasted hell could you be thinking to bring her here?”

  Bouchard made a sound of pure, frustrated rage.

  “It’s not his fault, Adam, I—”

  “Not now, Mia,” Adam said, coming to stand beside her. “I’ll discuss this with you and Bouchard later. Right now we need to get the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  Adam was entertaining himself with thoughts of how he would thrash Bouchard when they passed out of the narrow corridor into the open air.

  “This is where I leave you, brother,” Muhammed said.

  “Where will you go?” Jibril’s voice sounded hollow, as if he were tempted to go with him.

  “We have made a most excellent deal with the Turks. They need an armed escort when they go to collect their next pay caravan.” The man’s smile faded. “Go with them, Jibril. There is no future here. Assad is master, but of a dying empire.”

  Jibril nodded with obvious reluctance and said something in Arabic before turning away.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my son,” Mia added, dropping a kiss on Muhammed’s cheek.

  He bowed low, and disappeared into the night.

  “Come,” Bouchard said, pushing past them. “I told Beauville only to wait until an hour before dusk.”

  “What?” Mia demanded, hurrying after him. “Why? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Did you think I would risk the lives of all my men for you?” The Frenchman threw the words over his shoulder. Adam could see the man was frazzled and more than a little worried. He could only imagine what Mia had been up to in his absence.

  “How far to the ship?” Adam asked, hoping to head off a squabble between the mercurial captain and his dictatorial wife.

  “It is less than an hour and most of it easy walking,” Mia assured him, sliding her hand around his waist. He winced and she jerked her hand away. “What is wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “But what happened? Should we stop so I can—”

  “Darling.”

  “All right, Adam.” She paused. “Is not Jibril wonderful?”

  Adam snorted. “He is certainly something else.”

  Mia frowned.

  “Mia, we can’t stop to talk, my love,” he urged. “We can speak of everything when we are safe on the ship. I’d hate to go through all this and find no ship at the end of it,” he muttered almost to himself.

  * * *

  For a while, everyone walked in silence, the only sounds those of heavy breathing as they stumbled over rocks and shrubs in the near darkness.

  Ahead of her Bouchard and Jibril were engaged in a conversation that was becoming increasingly heated.

  “I’m assuming my stepfather paid you to do a job—a simple job?” Jibril’s voice sliced through the darkness.

  “Shhhh!” Mia hissed.

  Bouchard muttered something Mia couldn’t quite hear. She prayed they would make it to the boat before the arrogant young men began to fight in earnest.

  Each step became a struggle and she realized they must be close to the shore because the path had become increasingly sandy. Ahead, the men’s voices rose again. She had to take three steps to every one of theirs in order to catch up.

  “Jibril!” she whispered.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Jibril demanded, as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Just what I said, princeling. They will leave.”

  “And what other plans did you have to get my mother out of here?”

  “I had no plans!” Bouchard snapped, his voice rising.

  “And you think that—”

  “Jibril!” Mia caught her son’s arm. “You are shouting, both of you.”

  “You should have heard what your precious mother threatened to do,” Bouchard said, not bothering to lower his voice.

  “Oh, and what—”

  The sound of a lot of swords being drawn from scabbards cut off whatever else he was going to say.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Adam grabbed Mia around the waist, pushing her behind him, and away from the sound of men and weapons.

  “Hello, Jibril—what a surprise to find you here,” a voice called out in passable French.

  “Assad!” Mia gasped behind him, struggling in Adam’s grip to get around him.

  Adam grimaced at the pain in his back as he held tightly to her arm.

  “Stay behind me, Mia,” he ordered in a low voice.

  “I brought the ransom, just as you said. There is no need for more fighting, Assad,” Mia called out.

  Adam cursed.

  A light flared and a torch came to life, revealing the soldiers who had been hiding in a small clearing off to one side of the path. The man holding the torch was smiling grimly. A dozen armed men stood around him and more torches appeared, until it was almost as bright as day.

  “Hello, Stepmother, how nice to see you again,” the smiling man said in French, his coffee brown eyes flickering between the members of their small group. “And who have you brought with you? From the description, I can only imagine this is the famous whoremonger Martín Bouchard.” He gave a mocking bow. “What an honor to have you in my kingdom, Bouchard. Have you come to return my ship to me?”

  The privateer said something in Arabic that made the other man’s eyes narrow.

  “That was uncalled for, but not entirely unexpected,” Assad replied in French.

  Adam could only assume Assad was avoid
ing Arabic because he didn’t want his own men to understand what was being said. Was that because many of them might be loyal to Jibril?

  “I will deal with you shortly, Captain,” Assad said before turning to Adam. “You, I don’t know.”

  “I’m the man whose wife you threatened.” Adam shoved Mia back toward Jibril and took a step toward the wall of armed men. “It’s easy to make threats when you’ve a dozen soldiers at your back,” he said, using the most insulting tone he could find. “Won’t you fight me like a man? Or do you need your men to fight your battles for you?”

  Assad’s face shifted and his confident veneer slipped, revealing hatred mixed with fear.

  “An English duel, eh? Like English gentlemen.” He gave a shout of laughter. “I have read of such things. Unfortunately, I do not have time to play such games. I believe I will let my men kill all of you, beginning with you. Your whore of a wife can watch.” He said something in Arabic and the men began to move toward them.

  “I say!” a deep voice called from the darkness beyond Assad’s men. “Did somebody forget to invite me to the party?”

  The sound of weapons being drawn was like the crashing of waves on the beach. Ramsay stepped into the light, dozens of heads bobbing in the dimness behind him.

  Adam had never been so happy to see anyone in his life.

  “I thought you would be long gone by now, Exley,” the grinning giant said, his gaze flickering over Assad’s frozen, gaping men like a fox eyeing a henhouse.

  “Well, one thing led to another, and . . .” Adam shrugged.

  Ramsay noticed Mia and sighed. “Yes, I see the way it is.” He looked from Assad to Adam. “I also see I’ve interrupted something here.” He strode toward one of Assad’s men and removed the sword from his hand before shouting something in Arabic. The guards all clambered backward and Ramsay tossed the sword to Assad. “Best get on with it,” he said to the younger man, nodding his head toward where Adam stood.

  Assad gave Ramsay a look of pure loathing as he pulled off his heavy wool djellaba and tossed it to one of his men. He hefted the scimitar in his hand, took a few steps toward Adam, and dropped into a crouch.

  Adam unsheathed his sword and Assad lunged forward before it was even free. The younger man was fast, but his eyes gave him away before he’d even moved. Adam stepped neatly to the side and Assad charged past, stumbling into a pair of large sandstone boulders that fringed the side of the path. He turned and roared, sounding so much like an angry bull Adam almost laughed.

  This time, Assad approached more slowly, swinging his arm in broad, killing sweeps, like a man harvesting wheat. Adam’s rapier would be very little defense against such a heavy, lethal weapon, and the younger, bulkier, man had at least three stone on him. He was ponderous and predictable—but he was also uninjured.

  Adam backed away, feeling the ground behind him carefully so as not to be surprised by rocks or debris. Assad maintained the inexorable scythe-like motion. Adam’s only chance was to get in under Assad’s arm, but to do that he’d need to come within reach of the scimitar. His foot encountered something hard and he realized he must be close to the rock face that bordered the north edge of the path.

  An evil-sounding chuckle bubbled from his opponent. “Nowhere else for you to run.”

  Adam smiled. “Now you just need to come and get me.” His taunt was like a match to a fuse and the other man bolted toward him.

  If Assad had continued his sweeping motions, Adam wouldn’t have had a chance, but instead he drew his wicked blade up as if to cleave him in two. Adam dropped to his haunches and flicked the tip of his rapier up to the junction of the other man’s thighs.

  Assad made a high chirping noise and froze with the scimitar raised high over his head as the point of Adam’s sword sliced through the fabric of his loose trousers.

  “Drop it or I’ll make you a eunuch.”

  The scimitar clattered to the rocks that lined the path.

  Adam rose slowly, his back screaming with the effort and the stitches stinging like fiery nettles. But not for a second did he take his sword from the other man’s crotch. He glanced to where he’d last seen Mia. She was still there, with Bouchard and Jibril shielding her.

  Off to the other side he heard the sound of clapping.

  “Bravo!” Ramsay called, chuckling while he applauded. “Very neatly—and quickly—done.”

  Adam ignored him. “Do you have the money, Bouchard?” he called out.

  The Frenchman lifted the heavy canvas bag.

  “Throw the bag toward his men,” Adam ordered, not taking his eyes from the furious man at the point of his sword. The bag landed with a soft thud. “There is twenty-five thousand pounds of my money in that bag, Assad. That, plus your jewels”—he exerted a little pressure with his rapier and Assad winced—“should be enough to pay for the damage we caused here today. Are we agreed?”

  Assad stared at him with hate-filled eyes. “You promise to take the two of them”—Assad gestured with a toss of his head toward Mia and Jibril—“and never come back?”

  Adam smiled. “That is my plan.”

  “Then we have a deal.”

  “Take her back to the ship,” he told Bouchard. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  “No, Adam! I won’t—” Her words were cut off, most likely by her son’s hand over her mouth, and Adam watched from the corner of his eye as they disappeared down the path, through the stunted trees.

  “One last thing, Assad. My wife told me this, and I believe her. You have been led astray by lies. It wasn’t Mia who informed on your mother and demanded her death of the sultan. Take the money and forget about Mia and her son. Don’t be foolish and dog our heels all the way back to England.” Adam lowered his sword from the other man’s genitals and took a step back.

  Assad’s eyes flashed in the light from the torch and his face twisted into a sneer. “If you are not gone by the time I’ve finished counting the money in the bag, I will kill you. I don’t care how many men Ramsay has behind him.” He turned his back before he’d even finished speaking.

  * * *

  Mia fought Jibril with all the strength in her body, but her son held her almost immobile as Bouchard pushed the small boat off the sand and into the water.

  “Why can’t we wait for Adam?” she demanded. “What are they doing back there?”

  “I don’t know what my stepfather is doing, Mother. But I agree with his decision to get you out of there. Now, stop squirming or you will hurt yourself,” Jibril said, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding her. Mia could feel his chest heaving and her heart hurt at how skinny he’d become. But his arms were like unbreakable chains around her.

  “I will never forgive you if you put me in that boat and leave him, Jibril. Never!”

  “We are not leaving him. Besides, he would kill me if I didn’t follow his orders, and believe it or not, Mother, I’m far more afraid of him than you.” Jibril lifted her easily but Mia extended her feet and kicked, ensuring that putting her into the small craft would take considerably more effort.

  “Dammit! Will you help me, Bouchard?” Jibril cursed as one of Mia’s flailing feet caught him somewhere soft.

  “What? Can’t you handle one small woman?” Bouchard taunted, wading through knee-deep water as he spoke and plucking her bodily from her son. His hand came close enough to Mia’s mouth for her to catch it between her teeth.

  The Frenchman screamed.

  A cool voice cut through Bouchard’s cursing. “I do wish you’d stop manhandling my wife, Bouchard.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Neither Ramsay nor Bouchard wanted to linger in the waters around Oran and they set a grueling pace to reach the British-controlled city of Gibraltar.

  The atmosphere on the Scythe was tense and alert and not conducive to rest. It was clear there would be no relaxing until they were well out of Assad’s reach.

  Adam was more than a little concerned for Mia, who looked ready to collapse from
the stress and strain of the prior weeks.

  “Won’t you get some sleep, darling?” They’d just eaten a hot meal and were alone in Bouchard’s cabin. Jibril had shuffled off to the small medical bay, where he’d collapsed in his cot and commenced to snore. Adam had finally convinced Mia to rest on the bed and he was sitting beside her.

  She looked up, dark smudges beneath her green eyes. “I can’t, Adam. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream. You and Jibril will still be gone, and I’ll be trapped in this cabin.”

  He brushed a stray curl off her brow. “I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m so sorry for the horrid things I said.”

  “Shhhh, darling.”

  She grabbed his hand and brought it to her mouth. “No, it was dreadful. I was dreadful.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  She gave a tired gurgle of laughter and closed her eyes.

  “Adam?” she said a few minutes later, just when he’d hoped she’d fallen asleep.

  “Mmm?”

  “Why did you let Assad live?”

  He’d wondered the same thing himself. Should he have killed the man? It would certainly have opened the way to leaving Jibril in charge. But in charge of what? Adam could not believe it would make either Mia or Jibril happy if the boy had stayed in Oran.

  “For two reasons,” he finally said. “One, whatever he has done, Assad is Jibril’s brother.”

  Mia squeezed his hand and smiled. “What is the other reason?”

  He shrugged. “If I killed him, Jibril would have stayed. You would have hated that.”

  “Oh, Adam.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  He leaned down to kiss them away. “Why are you crying now, you little termagant?”

  “You are so good to me.”

  “I know,” he agreed.

  She chuckled. “How can I ever repay you for all you’ve done for me and my son?”

  “He is our son now, Mia.”

  Her smile illuminated the cabin and her grip tightened on his hands. “Just like your daughters are also mine. I grieve for what you’ve suffered, Adam, but I am here to help shoulder your worries now.”