A Place For Miss Snow

by Moore, Jennifer

  Her expression of fear and betrayal had been painful to watch, but there had been something more—a courage and determination had shone through in the slight tightening of the skin around her eyes and way she’d held her chin high. He felt a surge of admiration. She’d been taken prisoner by pirates and did not plead or weep. She managed to speak firmly and somehow kept herself from falling to pieces. There was more to her than met the eye, and perhaps a journey to the Mani would reveal to Alex exactly what sort of woman Miss Diana Snow was. And he had to admit, the idea of getting to know her better did not bother him a bit.

  Chapter 4

  Diana heard a noise in the passageway outside her quarters in the ship’s hull and glanced up. But the door didn’t open. She felt relief that Themis, the stout pirate, had not returned, and if she were honest, she also felt a bit of disappointment. The small room where she was confined was extremely dull. The only furnishings were a narrow bunk that was little more than a shelf protruding from the wall and a crate that she figured was to be used as either a table or a chair. The sailors had provided her with a blanket that she folded and refolded until it was perfectly wrinkle-free, then stowed beneath the bunk. While she supposed the gesture was to ensure her comfort, the square of wool was old, full of holes, and extremely pungent. She didn’t need a blanket anyway in the heat of the stuffy closet.

  The terror that had spiked through her at being taken prisoner and remained pulsing in the nerves just below her skin had long since mellowed. She’d spent the first two days aboard the ship with her mind in a whirl: startling at every sound, thinking of plans to escape, wondering if she could get a message to Sir Campbell, and pondering on her fate. Moments of despair had almost broken down her defenses, but she’d held tightly to her emotions and not given them any slack. Doing so had, at times, taken every bit of her self-control, but she did not permit herself to weep or panic. And she especially did not allow any of the men to know how frightened she was. Now that days had passed, she felt nothing but sheer boredom. The pirates were by no means friendly, rather indifferent to her presence. But if they intended to harm her, she thought they would have done so by now.

  The most difficult moment had been on the beach when she’d realized Alexandros Metaxas was not going to help her. She’d not fully comprehended the men’s conversation, but she’d understood immediately that he was on their side. He denied even knowing her and did not spare her another glance while they casually discussed her fate as though they were deciding whether they’d prefer to play cards or billiards. His betrayal and subsequent failure to even glance her way stung so strongly she’d felt tears push against her eyes. It had taken an immense amount of discipline to force the emotion down and keep her chin up.

  Her stomach rolled over. What had come over her outside the inn? Why on earth had she behaved so rashly, following a stranger through the dark streets in the middle of the night? At first, it had seemed the proper thing to do—returning his gloves. But his path had been unfamiliar, and a few twists and turns took her away from the streets she recognized. She could not return to the inn, as she had lost her bearings. But the longer she followed Alexandros, the more ridiculous she felt about calling out to him. She’d finally decided once she discovered his destination, she’d certainly be able to ask someone for assistance or find soldiers to return her to the inn. At least that was her rationale at the time. She’d nearly convinced herself of the wisdom in her decision, but if she were to be honest—and sitting in a musty prison aboard a pirate ship was no place to sugarcoat the truth—she knew her actions had been the product of curiosity about him.

  Though it made her stomach burn, she forced herself to think of it, made herself feel the cold twist of humiliation in her chest and heat of embarrassment over her skin to ensure she’d never behave so foolishly again.

  She drew a jagged breath, remembering his sneer as she knelt on the hard rocks with a blade against her neck. Heat and cold had shaken her from the inside, and her mind had gone blank as inky fear stole her thoughts. Until that moment, she’d never known how truly vulnerable a person could feel—or how wounded. And the reason his disdain had hurt so badly was that she’d fooled herself into believing there had been a connection between the two of them, something unique that they’d shared in the short moments she and Alexandros had spoken.

  But the truth was painfully obvious. Any feelings had been hers alone. Frustration tightened her fingers into fists. She knew better than to allow silly romantic nonsense to shape her actions. Diana’s fate was decided nearly at the moment of her birth, and if she had only remembered her place in society, she would at this very moment be listening to Molly sigh over her handsome marine. But instead she was a prisoner of Mediterranean pirates, aboard a filthy ship, with no idea of her destination.

  She planted her feet on the boards of the deck, wishing she could pace, but the room did not have space for more than two tiny steps in any direction. Even if the floor were larger, her bruised knees would not be pleased with the exertion. So she stood in the murky evening light that filtered between the boards of the bulkhead, shaking her head, wishing there was something to straighten or to tidy, absolutely disgusted that her life’s path had been altered by a pair of men’s gloves.

  Diana brushed her hands over her skirts. In the heat, her gown had become damp with sweat. She longed to remove it when she slept, but the thought of one of those men coming in while she wore only her chemise was enough to banish that idea.

  As it was evening, she expected the door to open at any moment. So far on the voyage, her only visitor to the tiny room had been Themis, and he only came twice a day to give her a plate of hard biscuits and salted fish, then escort her to the privy.

  It was beyond dreadful that the highpoint of her day involved taking care of her personal business in a horrid little chamber with no roof, where the necessary consisted of a rough wooden bench with a hole through which she could see the blue ocean.

  She thought of the sea voyage merely a few weeks earlier. She and Molly had considered their cabin upon the passenger ship to be a ridiculously diminutive size for two adults, but now Diana thought the space had been downright luxurious.

  A noise sounded again, and the door opened to reveal Themis.

  Out of habit, Diana took a step back. Though she had expected him, she still felt uncomfortable in such a small space with the man. “Geia sas.” She spoke the greeting carefully, enunciating each syllable.

  “Sas,” Themis muttered as he set the wooden plate, spoon, and a mug of water on the crate. His heavily lidded eyes gave him the appearance of a person perpetually bored. Which he probably was, she thought. Delivering food and accompanying a woman as she tended to private matters could not be a very entertaining duty for a pirate. He held open the door and motioned with a jerk of his head for her to set off toward the upper deck.

  Diana could not help but feel a bit offended at his brusque manner. She had not spoken to another person for days, and even though he was hardly a person she wanted to converse with at length, exchanging a few pleasantries would not be entirely unwelcome.

  She centered the plate on the crate, moving the mug to a better position—with the handle facing outward and the wooden spoon lined up between—then walked past him, along the passageway and up the companionway stairs, clinging to the hand ropes.

  The blast of crisp sea air that greeted her as she stepped onto the deck was fresh and cool. The sun was low on the starboard side, indicating a southern course. She’d rarely stepped outside without a bonnet and gloves since she was a small girl, and she felt strangely exposed. The warmth of the sun on her hair was a sensation she did not know if she’d ever get used to, and would she develop freckles on her cheeks?

  A few men were engaged in various duties around the deck. She recognized Constandinos speaking to a man at the helm, but she was relieved that Alexandros was nowhere to be seen. Diana breathed a deep breath of fresh air as she followed the usual path toward the bow of t
he deck, savoring the salty smell of the sea since she’d soon return to the stale air of her quarters. A shabby screen made from worn boards gave a small amount of concealment to anyone using the privy.

  She completed her business quickly, but when she returned, Themis was not waiting in his regular position. She spotted him speaking with Constandinos and a few other men, and she decided she would enjoy the moment of freedom. She walked to the bulkhead and leaned her arms on the rail.

  The sea was a deep turquoise. Varying depths of ocean floor gave a dappled blue effect with new shades of color everywhere she looked. On the voyage from England, she’d often thought it would be impossible to tire of the changing sight of the Mediterranean waters. The sea seemed to have a life of its own.

  The setting sun made yellow and pink glimmers on the tips of the rolling waves. The breeze left salty moisture on her skin. Diana closed her eyes and listened to the whisper of the surf and, for just a moment, almost forgot her circumstance didn’t particularly lend itself to appreciating the beauty around her.

  The sound of a clearing throat pulled her back to the present. Themis tipped his head toward the companionway, and Diana’s shoulders sagged as she blew out a breath.

  He didn’t seem at all apologetic at her disappointment at having to return below.

  She glanced around the deck once more, and her stomach lurched when she saw Alexandros leaning against the far rail. His gaze locked on hers, then moved on as if he were simply looking about, watching the activity on the deck.

  Anger rushed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. Even the rudest pirate nodded his head when their paths crossed. Alexandros Metaxas did not show the most meager bit of courtesy. How could she have ever thought him interesting—or handsome? Arrogance surrounded him like an odorous cloud. The man was a liar, involved with illegal activities, consorting with pirates, and he was surely an absolute scoundrel. Diana wished he would turn back toward her so she could fix him with the glare he deserved, but he appeared to be inspecting his fingernails.

  The angry flames grew inside her as Themis closed the door to her chamber, leaving her in near darkness with her supper. She blew out a very unladylike breath through her nose, rather like a charging bull at a matador fight, she thought, though she had never actually seen such a thing. An hour later, as she squirmed around on the wooden bunk and tried to make a pillow out of her arm, she drifted into a fitful sleep where she dreamed of Alexandros waving a red cape while she glowered at him with fire in her eyes.

  [

  Diana woke to the sounds of activity on the deck above. She could tell by the noise of rushing feet and voices calling out that something had changed. Had they reached their destination? Where were they? She peered through the cracks between the bulkhead boards but saw only blue sky. The creaks and bumps of heavy items being moved around above her led her to assume cargo was being unloaded. The fear that had been eased by boredom and a predictable routine returned full force, and Diana’s chest felt tight as she wondered what her fate would be. It was no secret that the slave trade was alive and well in the Mediterranean. Turks, Venetians, Greeks, North Africans—all captured and traded human cargo with little regard. She hoped her small understanding of Greek and the fact that she was British would work in her favor. She smoothed back her hair and wished for a hairbrush. What sort of impression would she make in an evening gown she’d sweated and slept in for three days?

  The hours moved past, and her anxiety grew when Themis did not fetch her. Had she been forgotten? Her stomach made a noise, and her mouth felt sticky and dry.

  Just as she started to fantasize about the taste of salted fish and dried biscuits, the door opened.

  Themis’s face was more animated than she’d seen before. He spoke rapidly, motioning toward the passageway with a sweep of his hand.

  Diana tried to concentrate on his words. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

  He gave an impatient snort, pointed at her then the passageway, speaking another stream of foreign sounds.

  Diana could not believe he spoke the same language she had been studying for the past months. Whether it was his muffled way of speaking or his accent or the speed at which he spoke, she did not know. The only word she understood was “Petrobey,” the same name Alexandros and Constandinos had spoken.

  “Petrobey? Is that who I am to speak with?”

  Themis’s expression looked as though Diana’s confusion made his life that much more difficult to endure. He spoke again, then reached for her arm with his meaty hand. But she twisted, pulling it away.

  “I am quite capable, sir.” She walked past him with quick steps, hoping he would not try to grab her again.

  When she reached the main deck, she saw that her supposition had been correct. The ship was docked in a small harbor with rocky hills all around. A village of rectangular stone houses with small windows and towers clustered at the water’s edge. Men were hard at work carrying crates and barrels from the hull down the gangway and stacking them on the dock. She saw Alexandros and a gathering of men inspecting firearms, but he did not notice her.

  A group stood on the deck, supervising the unloading of the ship’s cargo. Constandinos was speaking to an older man she hadn’t seen before. She estimated the man to be near fifty. His clothing was clean, and she decided he must have just come aboard. He wore a black vest embellished with colorful embroidery over a loose shirt and wide-legged trousers. A red hat that looked like a Turkish fez sat atop his graying hair. He had a long, stiff moustache that stretched out to the sides and drooped down at the ends. Fists on his hips, he scrutinized the proceedings around him with a shrewd eye. As his gaze wandered, watching men unload the cargo from the ship’s hull, he nodded, occasionally saying something to Constandinos.

  Diana could see a resemblance between the two. They were certainly related—perhaps father and son? Where she’d thought Constandinos carried himself with an air of command, his manner was nothing to the man standing next to him. Absolute authority exuded from every movement and expression. She was certain he must be the owner of the ship, if not the town. Perhaps he was the governor. Though his gaze appeared cunning and intelligent, he did not look unkind.

  When Themis led her closer, both men turned their attention to Diana. Constandinos stopped speaking as the older man studied her.

  “Anglicá?” he asked, lifting his chin in her direction. Is she English?

  “Naí.” Constandinos nodded.

  The older man took a step toward her and bowed, then placed a hand on his chest. “Petrobey Mavromichalis.”

  Diana was surprised at his gallantry and, out of habit, curtseyed. “Diana Snow. Pleased to meet you.”

  Petrobey asked her a question that she did not understand.

  “I am sorry. I only speak a bit of Greek. Lígo.” She held up her finger and thumb, slightly apart to illustrate. “Perhaps if you spoke slower. Vradýs.”

  He spoke to Constandinos, who shook his head.

  Themis said something, then walked toward the group with the firearms. He returned with Alexandros.

  “Milás angliká?” Do you speak English? Petrobey asked Alexandros.

  “Naí.”Alexandros replied with a nod.

  Neither of the younger men looked at Diana, but Petrobey continued to watch her. She felt as if he were studying her through a quizzing glass. He spoke to Alexandros but kept his gaze on Diana.

  She twisted her fingers together, counting the boards of the deck in an attempt to calm herself.

  “Petrobey asks if you have been treated well,” Alexandros said.

  “Yes. I mean naí.” She spoke directly to Petrobey, doing her best to ignore his traitorous translator.

  Petrobey nodded once. He spoke again to Alexandros.

  “He asks if you can write.”

  “Of course I can write.” Diana shot a furious glare toward Alexandros, but he was not looking at her.

  Petrobey continued to speak, but his words were directed to the other m
en. Themis left them and walked down the gangway toward the town. Constandinos answered once. Alexandros simply listened.

  Diana kept her face turned firmly away from him. Though she did notice from the corner of her eye that he did not once glance in her direction. What a horrible man. If only someone else spoke English, or I had studied Greek more thoroughly, he would not be involved in my affairs.

  After a moment, Petrobey stopped talking and turned toward Alexandros as if he were waiting.

  Alexandros spoke to Diana. “You are to write a letter which will be taken by the next ship and delivered to a British settlement. Tell your people you have been treated well and that you are under the care of Petrobey Mavromichalis in Limeni, who will return you unharmed when a British ship arrives.”

  Diana’s heart pounded. Write a letter? Would anyone come for her? She didn’t think Sir Campbell would be bothered to set sail to rescue a finishing school instructor. She was no one of consequence, an orphan. Not a lady whose capture would be of sufficient concern to launch a military ship. And what did it mean to be under the care of Petrobey Mavromichalis?

  When she didn’t answer, Alexandros cleared his throat, and though his expression did not change, the tone of his voice lowered and increased in intensity. “The Maniots are not known for bestowing favors. You should acknowledge his kindness.”

  She certainly did not need an etiquette lesson from Alexandros. “Thank you, Mr. Mavromichalis. Efcharistó.”

  Petrobey’s mustache lifted a bit. “Parakaló.” He nodded with a blink of his eyes.

  Rushed footsteps hurried up the gangplank as a young woman ran toward them followed by Themis. Petrobey’s entire countenance changed. His eyes softened, and the small lift of his mustache Diana had seen earlier grew into a smile. “Elena.” He held out his arm toward her, then turned her by the shoulders toward Diana, speaking in a gentle voice and motioning with a curl of his fingers for Alexandros to listen also.

  Elena was about seventeen years old. Her hair and eye color were dark, and her skin was the warm golden color of one native to the Mediterranean. The young woman was absolutely beautiful. She nodded as she listened to Petrobey and looked at Diana with wide, curious eyes.