Siren's Song

by Trish Albright

  Someone caught her ankle.

  She stretched, determined, victory near. Her target clear.

  Paxton’s eyes met hers. She reached for his throat.

  And missed.

  Paxton turned his head away defensively as she struck. Blood spurted free as the knife opened skin down the side of his left cheek. He cried in rage as Alex fell forward to the ground, several guards instantly on her, a foot crushing her knife-wielding hand. Paxton tried to get at her in the fray, seeking revenge, but was held back.

  Someone gave him a rag. Held apart, he faced her as she was lifted to her feet, a look of pure evil burning in his eyes. “You will live to regret this, Stafford.”

  “Not,” she gasped, being pulled away, “while there is a breath left in my body!”

  Paxton’s face contorted into something monstrous. “Then start counting your days.”

  Chapter Two

  She couldn’t find anything to use as a weapon.

  Her best chance was suffocation with the ridiculous number of pillows scattered throughout the room. Somehow Alex thought that possibility was unlikely. She rubbed her sore wrists and tried to strategize. There was one window, but it was too small and too high to reach. Panicked, she circled the room and debated throwing a pillow up at a candle in the hopes of starting a fire. Footsteps beyond the entrance stopped her in her tracks. There was an abrupt discussion outside. She waited behind the door in a vain attempt to hide and run for it. There was a grunt from a guard, and then, with remarkable stealth, a man entered.

  Alex gasped in dismay. He was a giant. Much taller than she’d first gathered. She darted for the opening but was quickly grabbed by the arms, picked up, and put aside. She ran to the other side of the room, realizing her time was up. There was no such thing as knights in shining armor, or chivalry, or even gentlemen—at least not in this savage country. Not even her family could get her out of here with all the guards. But of course, no one knew where she was.

  Alex choked back tears as the sultan pulled off his long jellaba. He wore European clothes underneath, and even with her blurred vision she could see thick golden streaks of hair. She tried to refocus, thinking her eyes tricked her.

  As if sensing her fear, he spoke quickly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to rescue you.”

  He was young. From what she could see in the candlelight, somewhat handsome. And by the sound of his accent … English! Alex blinked in disbelief, but nodded. Every awful thing she was ever brought up to believe about the English she forgave. However, one critical word slipped out. “How?”

  “How?” he repeated. “Good question.”

  He grabbed the hooded robe from the floor and stood by the door. “Stand in the center and let him see you. As soon as the door is closed, start screaming.”

  She nodded that she understood.

  The round sultan entered. He didn’t seem to expect her to be waiting, docile.

  As the door closed, Alex saw her rescuer cover the sultan’s head. Immediately, she started screaming—it helped to cover the sound of the loud punches being administered to the surprised Moroccan. She ran to lock the door.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Two guards, sensing something amiss, pushed at the door, sending Alex to the floor. A knife glittered briefly in the candlelight. Her guardian turned in time to stab one man and charged the second before a sword could come down. Alex gasped as he grabbed the guard’s throat with one hand and the sword with his other. With great force the Englishman slammed the guard against the wall. The entire room shook, and Alex swore if the city hadn’t been alerted already, they were now. She swallowed her shock as the Englishman dispatched the nearly unconscious man with his own weapon.

  Alex had seen death before, but never this close, nor on her behalf. She wondered if she really would have been able to kill Paxton. Gathering her wits, she decided this was no time to question herself. She ran to the door and slammed it shut—on more guards.

  The Englishman looked at her, sword in hand. “How many?”

  “Three.”

  “And more on the way, no doubt.”

  Alex decided he was either truly courageous or truly insane. Still, she felt anything was possible. “You can take ’em. They’re small.”

  “Your confidence inspires me.”

  “But they are armed.”

  “Of course.”

  Alex plucked the dagger fiercely from the first guard’s back. “I’m ready.”

  He nodded, she thought in admiration, then pulled a burning candle from high off the wall, reaching it with ease.

  “Stay behind me.”

  Alex thought that would be the safest place as well. She sensed rather than saw his smile in the dim room. It gave her courage, and she took a deep, steadying breath.

  Patiently they tracked the sound of guards to the top of the stairs. Using the element of surprise, the Englishman burst out the door with great enthusiasm and dashed hot wax in the face of the first guard. He then kicked the blinded man with enough force to send him toppling into two guards behind him. All three tumbled down the narrow steps in a spectacle of arms and legs.

  “And let that be a lesson to you,” Alex said, before the Englishman grabbed her hand and pulled her through the corridors toward a large window. He kicked the panels open and looked around. She nudged him aside to judge the situation herself. They were on the top floor, and it was a long way down.

  He looked up. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

  Before Alex could enjoy a much-needed breath of fresh air, the Englishman lifted her onto his shoulders. Balanced against the wall, she could just reach the rooftop. He lifted higher, her feet in his palms, then with no time to waste, launched her over the side of the roof, where she landed safely in a stunned heap.

  Recovering, Alex ran back to the edge, grabbed the sword from her rescuer, and watched as he climbed the small balcony wall and pulled himself onto the roof with surprising agility. She returned the long saber to him, and was just starting to think they would make it when a guard appeared on the roof, gun in hand, and aimed at her heart.

  The Englishman gallantly pulled her behind him, pressing her hand into his back so tightly it hurt. She thought he was being protective until she felt something hard against her hand. A small flintlock. They were good at close range, but only gave you a single shot.

  The guard motioned for her protector to put down his sword. He did so—very, very slowly, giving her time to pull out the gun.

  Dear God, Alex prayed, don’t let me miss.

  She stepped to the left, underneath the Englishman’s raised arm, and aimed with precision. The explosion vibrated up her arm and the gun’s heat burned into her palm, but she remained steady.

  She breathed again, satisfied. She’d hit the man’s hand, knocking his gun away. Her protector looked at her in surprise, then at the guard who pulled out a long dagger and gave a murderous cry before charging. “You should have killed him.”

  “Sorry.”

  He pushed her out of the way and stood fiercely before the savage-looking man now running toward him.

  Alex didn’t breathe as she watched her intrepid Englishman stand frozen against the advancing assault. The guard roared, appearing all the more dangerous, and she feared she’d made a terrible mistake in not killing the man herself.

  In the very last second the Englishman bent to the ground, as if in prayer, and tripped the attacker at his knees. Giving an animal-like cry, he stood back up, and with a great heave, rolled the guard off his back and sent him flying off the side of the roof. Just as she heard a satisfying thump, another hand reached over the side of the roof. Alex ran for the former guard’s gun, turned, cocked the pistol, and shot at the head coming up from the balcony. The head disappeared.

  “Thanks,” the Englishman acknowledged. There was a loud commotion below. He pulled out a leather bag and grabbed the pistol on the ground. “Can you load?”

  Alex nodded, abandoned the Ara
b’s gun, and took the ammunition along with the smaller weapon. He pulled a larger pistol out from his long coat and picked up the sword he had surrendered earlier.

  “What happened to your shoes?” he asked.

  “They took them so I couldn’t run away.”

  He smiled, understanding. “Guess it didn’t work.”

  “No.” She grinned, encouraged.

  “You can make it?”

  Alex didn’t think there was a choice. “I can make it.”

  Armed, they ran across the roof preparing for the worst. Her companion laid a wood plank across to the next roof. The sound of guards climbing to the roof was all the urging she needed.

  He looked dubiously at the makeshift bridge and Alex thought he was going to be gallant and lead the way. She tugged at him quickly. “Let me go first. The wood may crack under your weight.”

  “Thanks,” he said, wryly.

  Alex looked down, took a deep breath, and carefully stepped across the shaky bridge with as much false confidence as she could muster, gun in one hand, ammunition and dagger in the other. With one final leap, she landed on the other side and exhaled with relief.

  When Alex turned around, a trio of men were charging her brave rescuer on the opposite rooftop. He yelled for her to run, but she mutely shook her head, urging him to follow.

  “Go!”

  “No!” She wouldn’t let him die after he risked all to save her. What kind of woman did he think she was? Loading the gun quickly, Alex knelt at the small rooftop wall for protection and took aim. At this range she thought the spray would be only a minor irritation. Still, it worked. The sound of gunfire was threatening even if the end result was meager. The guards took cover. Alex reloaded. When she glanced up again, the Englishman was halfway across the board and leaping through the air.

  Guns fired everywhere.

  Alex ducked but knew she would never forget the image caught in the moonlight of this bold, fierce, blond avenger flying through the air, sword in hand, as if he were one of God’s own angels. Then again, maybe he was. She blessed herself quickly and took another shot.

  The Englishman rolled near her, then jumped up and pushed the wood plank to the ground. She was about to shoot again when he suddenly knocked her flat on her back, covering her completely with his huge frame. A shot took off a piece of wall where her head had been. Alex gulped as debris shattered against her face.

  “Sorry, my lady. It’d be a damned shame to lose you after all that.”

  Alex merely nodded. She saw his smile up close this time. It was a dashing, boyish smile, and she realized he was younger than she first thought. Perhaps early twenties. He was also as tall and broad as any of her brothers.

  “How did you get into this mess?” His intent gaze demanded the truth.

  “Just shopping.”

  “Well.” His smile widened. “That explains it.”

  Their brief interlude ended with an explosion of bullets nearby. He hunched over her, and his large hand tucked her face to his throat, forcing her lips to his skin. Alex fought the sudden sensation to taste him, her lips burning from his body heat. She swallowed hard. Entirely bad timing all around.

  When it was safe, he lifted his head again, giving her much needed air.

  It was too dark to tell the color of his eyes, but Alex was certain they were blue. In the moonlight she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was certainly the most courageous. She knew at least for the moment, she felt safer than she had ever felt in her life. Her heart opened to him, and her eyes locked on his as if to hold him to her forever. Unconsciously, her free hand traced his square jaw.

  He didn’t move.

  His smile vanished and his lips moved perceptibly closer. Alex inhaled as his exhale of breath caressed her mouth, awakening a shocking desire in her to lean upward and …

  He stopped her with a whisper. “I find I must take something from you.”

  Alex shivered with anticipation. “Yes.”

  His eyes never left hers as calloused fingers slid down her arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Reaching their mark, a large hand gently covered her own—before taking hold of the gun she clutched.

  “I think there’s one more,” he informed. “Get ready to run.”

  Lightning fast, Joshua sprang to his knees and shot both the guns at his disposal. He couldn’t believe his luck when the man went down. He couldn’t believe his luck again when he heard shouts below. A crowd of soldiers were approaching, led by the sultan, his face swollen and disfigured. For the second time that night, Joshua did what any self-respecting hero would do: He grabbed the girl and ran.

  The next twenty minutes left them both breathless as they ran furtively rooftop to rooftop across a maze of square buildings, moving in a direction certain to confuse the best tracker.

  Finally, they stopped, both panting for breath. Joshua caught the girl as she reached out to steady herself. They had lost their pursuers for the moment but that didn’t mean they weren’t near. He tried to make out any movement in the dark night, listening intently for a sound that did not belong. It was silent. Eerily so.

  They weren’t far from where Raja said to meet. He was certain his friend would be there. Unless Raja had been detained by the sultan’s troops. If so, he needed to find a hiding place where the girl could rest for a few hours.

  Joshua looked down at her thoughtfully. Her cheek rested against his chest. Long, tangled hair streamed around her shoulders and over his arm in thick waves. He lifted her face gently and his breath caught. She was so lovely. Whether it was the dangerous escape or the worshipping expression on her face, Joshua couldn’t say, but he felt rather cocky and dashing at that moment. Damned if it wasn’t a miracle they were both alive. Still, if he listened carefully, he could hear the sound of soldiers searching, perhaps closing in. He took hold of the blade she clutched defensively and tucked it safely in his belt.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Alex’s eyes widened at the question. The man had just taken on one of the most powerful men in the country and half his army, saved her from a fate worse than death, protected her from getting her head shot off, and all for someone he didn’t even know. She could only guess this was an example of that English sense of honor and chivalry of which she had heard, but never seen until now. Damn, those Brits were strange.

  She stared straight into his eyes. “Yes. I trust you with my life.”

  “Good,” he stated, but with a tone that said he didn’t think her trust would last long. Hastily, he lifted her into the cradle of his arms. “Please don’t scream.”

  He squeezed her to him briefly, and before she had a chance to enjoy the moment or wonder at his words, Alex was lifted over the side of the building. Her eyes met his in complete panic. Followed by shock.

  He let go.

  Her last thought as she flailed for purchase was that her hero was a damned, bloody Brit after all.

  Chapter Three

  Alex immediately forgot his warning. A choked howl escaped her throat involuntarily as she sailed through the air. Before she had a chance to think she would die, Alex landed on her bottom, atop a heap of very hard hay. She was still stunned when the blond brute landed next to her with a pained curse.

  “Next time, kindly warn me when you plan on tossing me like a sack of potatoes,” she flashed indignantly. Alex continued to glare at the man, but he just sat there, grinning helplessly, straw poking out of his head. “Well? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I surely have. And I do believe I may have injured my delicate backside as well.”

  Alex quickly smothered a burst of laughter, remembering they were not yet safe. She gingerly moved to the edge of the cart.

  “You’re American,” he said.

  “Yes.” Alex reached out to him and he grasped her waist, easily lifting and sliding her to the ground. She shivered at the contact of her body brushing against his warmth.

  “What were you shopping for that is so imp
ortant to the colonists?”

  “We’re a country, so that would be citizens,” she corrected. “And carpets,” she continued, answering his question.

  “Did you steal them?”

  “Of course not! I’m a merchant. I paid for them. And got a very good price, I might add.”

  “I believe you.” He lifted a hand in surrender, while quickly scanning the streets for signs of danger.

  “But …” she hesitated.

  “Ah. The truth at last,” he teased, pulling her along the edge of a narrow road.

  “Well, there was this very, very old woman … and …”

  “And?”

  “And she kept insisting she knew me, but I know that’s impossible.”

  There was a scuttle in the dark ahead of them. Alex was instantly pressed into a shallow doorway and obscured by the giant. She felt his sigh of relief before he freed her.

  “Just a rat, scavenging for food,” he informed.

  “I’ve encountered a few of those this past day.”

  “Indeed,” he said, studying her.

  His hand came to her cheek in a caress before quickly falling away, leaving Alex wondering if he had meant to comfort her, or something else. He checked a street as they prepared to turn, and pulled her along. “Quick. This way.”

  After a moment he spoke again. “Was she welcoming or threatening?”

  “The old lady?”

  He nodded, and she continued, “Welcoming. Except for the part about the deadly prophecy, a monster rising from the sea, and the end of days …”

  He laughed softly, “That doesn’t sound entirely hospitable.”

  Alex sighed, convinced he would not believe the rest of it. She certainly didn’t. “I must get back to my family and warn them about Paxton—that filthy bastard.”

  “Reginald Paxton?”

  “You know him?” She froze in panic, wondering if she was in danger.

  “Only by reputation. He is the most successful slave trader in South America—if ruthlessly trading in human flesh makes one successful.”

  “It doesn’t. I must stop him.”