This time, the cat drew nearer and allowed Rory to scratch his head. His fur was bunny soft.
“He likes you,” Gabriel observed. “Malek said that his menagerie animals like you, too.”
“Because I like them.” She smiled as The Spook wound around her ankles, a pale, ghostly shape in the darkness. She might not be able to touch the ship’s captain, but she could caress the ship’s cat. That was something.
She straightened and covered a yawn. “I should return to my bunk. It’s been a long day. Is there any chance that The Spook will join me?”
“Probably not.” Gabriel smiled. “But it never hurts to ask.”
Chapter 10
Gabriel watched the sea for a long time after Rory left. Strange to feel such attraction to a young woman he’d only just met and barely knew. Yet there was an undeniable understanding between them. He’d never met a woman who attracted him so, and not only because of her beauty. She had intelligence, imagination, and warmth.
But she was as far out of his reach as the crescent moon in the sky above. He hoped to God he could free her from captivity, but even so, the gulf between them was unimaginably wide. If he hadn’t been disowned and had stayed in the Royal Navy and survived all the battles, he might be a captain by now, and not wholly ineligible for an earl’s daughter. But that hadn’t happened.
Realizing he was sliding toward self-pity, he pushed away from the taffrail and did a last circuit of the ship. The Zephyr was on course, the sailors on watch were alert, Malek’s guardsmen were not causing trouble, and the Mediterranean was cooperating with excellent weather. If these winds held and nothing went wrong, they might be in Constantinople a day or two before his estimate of three weeks.
Then what? Like Rory, he could think of many possible outcomes, most of them alarming.
Since all was shipshape, he headed down to his cabin, weary but unsure how well he’d be able to sleep.
As soon as he descended into the captain’s quarters, he smelled the smoke. An instant of a sailor’s fear of fire at sea was followed by his recognition of the scent of tobacco. In the darkness of the cabin, he saw the small flare of light that came from inhaling a pipe.
Malek, of course. Now he could see the outline of the other man sitting on a bench seat under the windows in the common area between their private cabins.
The aft windows were directly below where he and Rory had been talking. Keeping his voice casual, he remarked, “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“No.” Another small flare of burning tobacco before Malek said menacingly, “If you despoil my prize captive, I’ll take the loss of her value out of your swinish English hide.”
“There was no despoiling going on,” Gabriel said dryly. “If you heard me talking with Lady Aurora, surely you know that.”
“I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was intimate. Like lovers whispering in the night.”
“We talked of our pasts and her fears of what the future held. Lady Aurora met the ship’s cat and decided he should be called Spook. It was not the conversation of lovers.” Which was less than the truth. Though the words were not lover-like, under the surface there had been something more.
“She might find that she likes life in a harem. My English mother did.”
“Yes, but Lady Aurora loves her freedom. Any man who buys her and brings her to his bed had best take care not to leave any knives around her.”
“I should give her to Gürkan as a special gift and make sure that she has a knife on her when she’s delivered,” Malek mused.
Uneasily, Gabriel realized that Malek might actually do something like that. “It wouldn’t work. Unless one is a trained soldier, stabbing a man to death in cold blood is almost impossible. Particularly for a woman, I think.”
Malek sighed. “Sadly true. I cannot imagine my Damla committing murder except perhaps to save our children.”
“Let us hope that Gürkan will be satisfied to bankrupt you and start his own menagerie with the beasts you’re bringing.”
“That would be the best solution,” Malek agreed. But he didn’t sound as if he thought it was likely.
* * *
Constance smiled as she awoke to the gentle rocking of a ship. She’d been having a horrid dream about being captured by Barbary pirates and locked in a harem.
Then she came to full wakefulness and realized it wasn’t a dream. Every muscle in her body tensed at the knowledge that she and Rory were sailing to Constantinople, where they might live out the rest of their lives in captivity. She forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle, one of the useful tricks for calming that she’d learned in India.
When her nerves were under control again, she sat up carefully, since there was barely headroom for her below the upper bunk. When she stood, she saw that Rory looked half awake. “Did you have a nice walk about the ship last night? It’s not like having open countryside, but it’s certainly more space than we had in Malek’s harem.”
“Sorry, I hoped not to disturb you.” Rory awoke fully, looking tousled and tired in the morning light. “I was having trouble sleeping so I went exploring.”
“I didn’t hear you leave, but the door squeaked a bit when you came in.” Constance frowned as she started to dress. Given the cabin size, only one of them could change clothes at a time. “Was it wise to go wandering about at night on a ship full of strangers, more than half of whom look at women very differently from the way the British do?”
Covering a yawn, Rory swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, though she didn’t descend since Constance was dressing. “It was very quiet. The crew on deck just waved, and the only person I talked to was Captain Hawkins, who was watching the sea from the stern of the ship. We talked for a bit, then I returned to our cabin.”
Her tone was carefully neutral, but Constance saw deep sadness in her cousin’s eyes. Softly, she said, “You like him a great deal, don’t you?”
Rory bit her lip. “Too much, under the circumstances. When I’m with him, I feel . . . understood. Accepted. Not just admired for the good looks I inherited from my mother, and which I can’t take any credit for.”
Acceptance and understanding were gifts beyond price, especially for a woman who was considered eccentric and far too independent. Constance was less eccentric and independent, but enough so that she understood the appeal. “He’s very good looking as well, which never hurts.”
Rory perked up. “Isn’t he? So strong and solid and reliable.”
“And handsome.”
“I suppose he is, but that matters less than the rest.”
It was a sure sign of liking when a woman noticed a man’s character more than his good looks. Constance turned her gaze away, thinking the grief in her cousin’s eyes was too private for anyone else to see, and perched on the edge of her bunk to pull on stockings and shoes. “I’m going below for a quick look at the menagerie before breakfast. I was never allowed out to visit the animals, and I was always envious that you got to see them.”
“Remember that having to display myself indecently in front of lecherous strangers went along with seeing the menagerie,” Rory said dryly.
Constance shivered. “I know that you loathed having to do that, but you managed it far better than I would have. I’d have collapsed in shrieking humiliation.”
Rory sighed. “One can endure a great deal when there is no choice. I found it useful to pretend that I was one of my fictional characters, not myself. When I’m dressed, I’m heading straight to the officers’ mess for breakfast. I’ll see you there. Later today, we can go down into the hold and spend more time with the animals.”
Topside, Constance heard Malek’s muezzin calling the faithful to prayer, so she waited for the rumbling footsteps of men climbing to the main deck to end. She guessed that they’d pray, then eat their breakfast, so this would be a good quiet time to visit the menagerie. “I’ll see you soon then. Now I leave the dressing room to you.”
“A good thing neither of us is v
ery large!” Rory said as she slid down from the upper bunk to land in the crowded space beside her cousin.
Constance heard shuffling and footsteps overhead. Captain Hawkins had attached a large covered cabinet on the main deck to store the prayer rugs used for the five-times-daily ritual. When she heard the soft slapping sounds of rugs being laid down on the planking, she left the cabin.
With so many men above, the passage amidships was deserted. The large hatch on the main deck was open, admitting light to illuminate the companionways, the steep stairways connecting the decks all the way down to the hold. Outside, the weather was sunny and pleasant, and from what she could see of the sails, there was a brisk breeze. The Zephyr must be making good time.
Turning her back to the sunshine, she descended the ladders to the menagerie, making use of the railings since the water was choppy and the ship was rolling more than the day before. The steps ended just a few feet from a sizable structure in the center of the ship. It was the hippo home, with a small pool and a lounging ledge at the aft end.
Splashing could be heard, and the light of the carefully shielded lanterns polished the dark, glistening hides of the two pigmy hippos. One hippo was mostly submerged in water only eyes and ears visible, while the other dozed on the ledge like a dark, smooth rock.
As Constance rounded the hippo enclosure, the one on the ledge suddenly plunged into the pool, splashing water in all directions. Laughing, she dodged backwards and avoided most of the flying water. She had seen the hippos lowered aboard in vast, heavy-duty slings the morning before. They hadn’t been happy about it, but they seemed to have recovered nicely.
The familiar aromas of horses and donkeys mingled with the scents of other, more exotic creatures. An aisle ran down the center of the ship with pens for the different species, and each pen was enclosed with grids of solid wooden bars that went all the way to the ceiling so that no agile inhabitant could leap out.
Four silvery-gray miniature horses trotted up eagerly when she stopped by their pen. “Oh, my beautiful darlings!” she crooned as she reached between the bars to stroke the velvety muzzles. “Next time I’ll bring sugar for you.”
The pigmy goats were adorable, as were the little donkeys. The ostriches eyed her with disdain, and the male’s head almost touched the ceiling. It was strange to see them gracefully maintaining their balance as the ship rolled. She’d love to see them running wild across the African plains.
The lion was all the way back in the stern of the hold. In order to put space between the predator and the other animals, food and hay and other supplies were stacked in storage areas on both sides of the ship. Some of the keepers had made up beds among the hay bundles, she noticed.
She caught her breath when she reached the cage of the lion. He was beautiful and wild as he paced restlessly back and forth, muscles rippling beneath his tawny hide. His mane was magnificently full, and he eyed her with an intensity that suggested he was sizing her up as a possible meal.
His cage was secure so she didn’t feel threatened, but it was easy to see why the lion was called the king of the beasts. Rory had told her that the females of a family group did the actual hunting while the males lounged about and looked decorative, but no matter. This one still looked like a king.
Lost in admiration, she was unaware that a man had emerged from the storage area or that he was approaching, his footsteps obscured by the sound of splashing hippos and bleating goats.
She didn’t notice until arms encircled her and calloused hands clamped onto her breasts.
Chapter 11
For a moment, Constance was paralyzed by the unexpected assault. Then she jerked away and whirled around to see a wiry little man with a gap-toothed smile. From his dress, she guessed he was one of the animal keepers. She tried to dart away, but he had her cornered against the lion’s cage.
She flattened her back against the bars and tried to remember the Arabic words for “Go away!”
When he grinned and continued pawing her, she pushed violently at him. He jerked back from her. She hadn’t thought she’d pushed him hard enough to knock him so far, but then she recognized the rangy figure of the first mate, Mr. Landers, behind her attacker. Half a head taller than the keeper and furious, he snarled some words that sounded like curses and made a throat-cutting gesture.
Looking confused and babbling defensively, the keeper scuttled away along the aisle until he disappeared from sight around the hippo enclosure. Ignoring him, Landers turned to Constance, who was pressing her hands to her mouth and trying to avoid strong hysterics.
“Miss Hollings, are you all right?” he asked, concern on his face.
“I . . . I think so,” she stammered as she lowered her hands, struggling for calm. “Just . . . shocked.”
Since she was shaking, he steadied her with a light, firm grip on her upper arm. He was so wonderfully tall and kind and English. Except he wasn’t English, but American. Close enough. She wanted to lean into him and cling while she wept out her misery and fears for the future, but of course she couldn’t.
“Why did he assault me?” she choked out. “I did nothing to invite that!”
“Forgive me for saying this, but when he saw you with a bare head and face, he must have thought you were a . . . a comfort woman brought on the voyage for the convenience of Malek’s men,” Landers said, his voice soothing. “A misunderstanding, and a very upsetting one.”
She blushed violently and squeezed her eyes shut. “I should have realized. Just this morning, I warned Rory about wandering the ship alone at night, particularly since so many of the men are from a different culture. Then I did exactly the same thing here. But I never thought I’d be attacked in broad daylight!” She pulled herself together and stepped away from Mr. Landers.
“Men can be unruly brutes, and as you said, many of the ones on this ship are from a different culture and have different expectations.” His expression was serious. “Do you want to report him to the captain?”
She hesitated. “Since he’s one of Malek’s men, that would cause complications, wouldn’t it?”
“I believe Malek Reis would want to see him punished, perhaps violently, for offering such insult to one of his prized prisoners.”
The mate’s voice was neutral, but she heard the unspoken implications. “So that man might be flogged or worse. That seems too great a punishment for what was a misunderstanding. You did a good job of terrorizing him, so best not to report the incident, I think.”
“That’s a good decision, Miss Hollings.” He offered Constance his arm. “Allow me to escort you up to the officers’ mess. I’ll speak to the captain unofficially and he can ask Malek to warn his men how to behave around European women.”
She took his arm gratefully since her legs were still unsteady and the rolling of the ship didn’t help. The aisle was barely wide enough for the two of them, but she didn’t want to let go. “You seemed to know Arabic curses.”
He chuckled. “They’re the first words a sailor learns when he arrives in a new port. Very useful they are, too.”
She smiled and gave Landers a sideways glance as they walked to the companionway that led up to the next deck. He really was a very fine-looking man, as well as a calming one. She liked the rich, warm shade of his auburn hair. That, along with his brown eyes, meant that he tanned rather than burned in the sun like lighter redheads. His lean, fit body was also worthy of further study.
Which she shouldn’t be doing. On this ship of different nationalities and goals, she was beginning to realize that having two youngish females aboard only stirred the volatile mix. “Would the ship’s stores have fabric suitable for making a pair of long scarves that Rory and I can use to conceal most of our faces when we go about the ship? Those would be more comfortable than the wrappings we wore when we boarded, while making it easier to avoid confusing any more animal keepers.”
Landers gave an approving nod as they climbed the companionway side by side. “That’s an excellent idea. In A
lgiers, I bought a number of long scarves as gifts for my mother and sisters and female cousins, so I can give you a pair. They’re long enough for local standards of modesty and light enough to be comfortable in a hot climate.”
“That will be perfect. Thank you.”
They reached the top of the first set of steps and crossed the short distance to the next set. Landers said as they ascended, “It would be wise always to have a companion when you go down into the hold to the menagerie. Just in case.”
Constance frowned. “I hate being so constrained because men can be such brutes, but that’s good advice.”
“I apologize for my gender,” Landers said regretfully.
“I should have said present company was excepted!” she exclaimed.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry—I’ve been called a brute by my sisters any number of times.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Two, plus a younger brother. I’m the oldest.” He shook his head. “I’ve been away from home too long. I wanted to see the world, and now I have. After this voyage, I’m returning home for good.”
“Where is home? Is it like England?”
“St. Michaels is in Maryland on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay. It’s a fishing and seafaring town. There are several shipbuilders, including my father, and the bay has some of the best fishing in the world.” His voice turned mischievous. “We’ve also built fine privateers for capturing British merchant ships in the war. I’ve not lived in England so I’m not sure how alike the countries are, but I expect it’s similar since so many of us in the town are of British stock.”
She could hear the yearning for home in his voice. She had no real home, except for Rory, who had taken her in and made her a friend when she had nothing else. “What about the war between our countries? From what I’ve read in the newspapers, there have been dreadful battles.”
“Yes, but they say the peace negotiations in Ghent are close to finished with no great changes to the borders or anything else, so the war should be over soon. Stopping the Royal Navy at Baltimore in September evened the balance, I think.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve never understood what this war is about so I’m glad to see the end of it.”
Once a Scoundrel (Rogues Redeemed #3) Page 9
