Princess at Sea

by Dawn Cook

Captain Rylan made a satisfied-sounding grunt, eying both my frustrated tears and Duncan’s shrug. “Get them in the boat,” he said, sounding bored with it all, and someone shoved me forward.

  It was the last boat to the island, and I was surprised we all fit. They made me sit on the floor at the feet of three men. None of them had shoes, and their feet were ugly. I sat and watched the ship shrink. Seeing it in the sun, I cursed myself for twice the fool. It was clearly not a merchant vessel. There were far too many men on it to be a merchant crew, and too many catapults for lobbing flaming tar. The woman on the bowsprit had her eyes burned out.

  Slowly the sound of surf and birds came louder. The scraping of the dinghy’s keel on the sand-and-shell shore was a shock vibrating up through my spine. Several men got out, and before I could move, one picked me up and dropped me just over the side.

  I gasped as I fell into the water. A wave sloshed over me, knocking me down. Cold water filled my ears and eyes, and I struggled to get up before I drowned. A hand grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled me upright. Sputtering, I tried to breathe.

  “Get her out of the water,” Captain Rylan said from the middle of the small boat, seemingly more upset that I had splashed sand and water on his worn coat than anything else.

  “Jest helping the lady pretty herself,” the man said. Someone snickered.

  Contessa’s eyes were narrowed, her temper starting to build. I shook my head at her to be quiet, then cried out when the sailor who had pulled me up pinched my shoulder and dragged me out of the surf. He left me there with my feet in the water so he could help unload the boat. I awkwardly rose, my hands still tied before me and more filthy than before. Skirts heavy with water, I staggered to remain upright, feeling the lack of food gnaw at me like a cur.

  I didn’t want anyone to touch me, so I followed the first of the sailors as they slogged across the narrow beach and onto a well-worn footpath. I was tired of being shoved and cuffed, and I had a faint hope that if I was cooperative, they would leave me alone. Contessa, though, had other ideas.

  “I want clean, hot water immediately.” She started in from behind me as soon as the greenery closed over our heads. “And a bottle of your strongest spirits.”

  “Planning a festival, Your Majesty?” Mr. Smitty mocked, and two sailors chuckled breathlessly from behind the empty water barrels they were rolling.

  “And a knife if I request it,” she added. “Something sharp. My husband needs attention. If he dies, nothing in this world or the next will keep you alive.”

  “You’ll have what you need to keep him alive,” Captain Rylan said from over his shoulder, pacing at the top of the line of men. “Just keep your skirts down, missy.”

  She huffed indignantly, but her voice went soft as she murmured encouragement to Alex, now awake enough to move his feet. The greenery abruptly gave way to a somewhat open area with three ramshackle huts and several community fires about which hammocks were strung. Larger trees arched overhead to block the ambient light. Sand and short, jagged-leafed scrub made a cool patch below. It was their land base, I would guess, and it was as foul as their ship.

  Most of the men who had come ashore before us were gathered around one spot, all looking into a pit about twenty feet across. One of the sailors threw a stick, and an animal screamed. A shudder went through me. It almost sounded human. As one, the men fell back, cursing when whatever they had caught tried to get out.

  I was so intent on trying to hear them that I stumbled when the man behind me shoved me away from the rest of the group.

  “Tess?” Contessa called, panic in her voice when she realized I was being led away.

  Twisting, I struggled to keep her in my sight even as my feet kept me moving forward. “It’s all right,” I called, stumbling when I was shoved again.

  “No, it isn’t,” Captain Rylan said dryly. His courtly accent was utterly gone, and the bells on his boots chimed with his steps, a harsh discord to what I now knew he was.

  Turning my gaze from him to the pit, my heart pounded. Close by was a small cutout in the surrounding forest. Limbs arched over it, and hanging from them were two lengths of chain. The metal was stained with old blood, black and crusty. Under it was clean sand marked with footprints. “God save me,” I whispered, and Captain Rylan snickered. I stopped where I was supposed to under the formidable lengths of iron, determined not to show how frightened I was.

  The sand was cooler here, and my begrimed toes sank into the rough smoothness of it. My mouth went dry as a second man took my bound hands and reached for the hanging shackles. Feeling weak and nauseous, I sent my gaze up the twin lengths of chain, seeing that they had grown into the trunk they had been there so long. It was a deceptively cruel position. If I stood, my arms would hang naturally at my sides. If I sat or knelt, my arms would stretch above my head. Lying down would be impossible. But I’d probably be dead before I needed to sleep again.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Captain Rylan mocked, his attention half on the pit and the jeering men surrounding it. “I’ve got a little job for you before you meet my crew nice and personal-like. You’re going to read back to me the queen’s letter to be sure it’s just what I told her to put down. And I know you were raised a princess, so you can read.”

  And you can’t, I mocked in my thoughts, but pain had taught me how easy it was to hold my tongue.

  Seeing my sullen capitulation, he lifted his brow in a cruel amusement. “If you read back to me exactly what I told her to write, you get to wear your dress when we decide what to do with you.”

  I swallowed, trying to stay upright when the skinny crewman jerked me, fumbling with the shackles he was trying to fasten about my wrists. They were rusty and scratched my skin, but that wasn’t the problem.

  “Captain Rylan,” the man said, bringing his attention from the men about the pit. “The irons are too big for her. She’ll just slip right out of them.”

  It was true, and I cursed the man for being so attentive.

  “Then use a rope,” he said, going to the pit and leaving him to work it out. His eyes went wide, his expression going slack in amazement as he stood at the edge and peered down. Hands on his hips, he exclaimed, “My God. It’s magnificent.”

  “Use a rope,” the crewman muttered, letting go of the shackles, and they swung from their momentum. “Of course I’m going to use a rope.” He jerked my wrists, and a cry of pain slipped from me, unremarked upon as if I was worth no consideration. “Damn fool man.” He gave another tug, and I bit my lip when pain flamed up my arms. “I’m so tired of listening to that white-gloved sucker fish I could slit his throat,” he said, taking the loose end of my tether and flinging it expertly over a limb above me. “Use a damned rope. What else would I use? My mother’s apron strings?”

  Backing up with the tail end of the rope in hand, he squinted, his narrow gaze running up the length of rope and back down to me. Apparently deeming that I couldn’t reach, he tied it off against a nearby tree, pulling my hands up over my head so I couldn’t see to work the knots about my wrists loose. He gave a final yank on the rope, jerking me forward a step. The distasteful man ran his eyes down me, and back up.

  “You ain’t got much for a man to grab on to, but I’ve got a little sumtin put away. I was saving it for the whores at Long Beach, but you’d do. If Jake and I go together, we might have enough to buy you first. I’d be gentle with you, if you don’t bite. Would you like that?”

  “Go to hell,” I whispered, feeling my face go white.

  He laughed, and his foul breath slid over me. “Someday,” he said, not bothered at all. “But not tonight, and not with you.” He gave me another ugly look, then reached for me.

  Frightened, I fell back, taking a wide-footed stance, my arms still over my head. “Touch me, and I kick you between your legs,” I threatened, heart pounding.

  The sailor hesitated then, thinking better of it, gathered up the hanging chains and looped them around a tree and out of my reach. “Women sho
uldn’t be on the waves anyway,” he said. “You deserve whatever you get.”

  I made a face, and he spat on me. It hit my jaw, and I jerked, saying nothing as he walked away. I waited until he was gone before reaching up with my shoulder and wiping his warm spit from me. Miserable, I looked for Contessa and Alex, but they were gone. Duncan was watching me from over the pit. I could see his hidden tension in how his thumb was rubbing his second finger. Seeing my gaze on him, he dropped his attention to the pit.

  “What is it?” he asked Mr. Smitty, loud enough for me to hear him.

  Mr. Smitty stood beside him, his hands in his pockets, as proud as if he had given birth to whatever it was. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “We caught it ’bout a month back. Been feeding it goats. It probably came ashore with the last hurricane. Whatever it is, it can kill a man. We found two dead last month in the interior. And Gilly. He got drunk and fell in.” The man put a thick-knuckled hand to his upper chest in salute. “That thing down there outright killed him afore we could lasso him and pull him out.”

  “But what is it?” Duncan asked again, getting no answer.

  Someone kicked sand into the pit and the creature screamed. A shudder rippled its way along my spine and goose bumps covered me, made worse by the sudden gust of wind. The men had all taken a step back at the sound, and a murmur of awe broke over them. I felt an odd kinship with whatever was down there. I wondered if either of us would escape.

  Captain Rylan gave it a final look and started back to the huts, his steps jaunty despite the loose sand. Duncan jiggled on his feet. Glancing from me, to the animal in the pit, then to the captain, he nodded as if making up his mind and jogged to catch up.

  “Captain Rylan,” he called as he ran. “You know what you should do?”

  “No, Duncan,” the spry man said without turning around. “What should I do?”

  “You should drop the ambassador down there with it.”

  My lips parted, and the captain halted with an almost comical quickness, his attention falling on me. “What a grand idea,” he said. “If she is still alive after everyone is done with her, that’s just what I’ll do.”

  “No,” Duncan insisted, his eyes wide and bright as if eager for it. “Now. If you sell her off, you’ll only get the money from one, maybe two men. But if you drop her down there and take bets on how long she’ll last, you’ll get a portion of all of it.”

  My stomach grew light, and I thought I would have vomited if I had anything in it. Why is he doing this? Why? I had to believe he had a plan.

  Captain Rylan’s smile widened. “Duncan, my lad!” he said, clapping him companionably about the shoulders. “For a moment, I was wondering if you had gone native, but this? This I like. And you, knowing her the best, will tell me how long she’s likely to stay alive, hummm?”

  Duncan nodded, never looking back as he accompanied Captain Rylan to the huts. I had to believe this was Duncan’s idea to give me the chance I needed, but fear still slid between my skin and my soul.

  As if sensing my fear, the animal screamed, sounding like a wounded child bent on revenge. I had no idea what it was, and tonight, I would be fighting it.

  Eight

  The sand had quickly gone cold under my feet after the sun vanished behind the thick overgrowth. I was cold through my torn dress, and my arms ached with every involuntary shiver. They had let me hang, ignored while they roasted the goat they had slaughtered earlier, and the air of a drunken festival was thick and depressing. Fatigue had pulled my head down, and though I tried to doze, the pull on my back was enough to keep me awake—the pain was a throbbing ache radiating from my shoulders with every breath.

  That the warships would find us was a thin, impossible hope. We could be anywhere, and the warships had been trapped behind the shoals until the tide rose anew, giving our abductors hours of sailing to hide themselves.

  All of the crew but the few minding the ship and the three sullen men with Contessa and Alex were carousing at the largest bonfire. They had lit torches, putting one in the holder tied to a tree next to me so they could watch my reactions as they tried to outdo each other’s boasts of their plans with me and how they would extract their revenge for the killed crewmen. The smoke from the torch kept the early insects from biting me too badly, and for that, I was grateful.

  I must have fallen into a doze as a spray of sand against me jerked my head up. Captain Rylan stood at the edge of my circle where the rough grass grew, the bells on his boots chiming. His hand was on my rope tied to a nearby tree, and a black bottle was in his grip.

  His coat was undone despite the cold, and his eyes were red-rimmed and sharp. With his stubbled face and slumped posture, his faded finery made him look twice as repulsive as if he had been in rags. My gaze lingered on the new gold glinting in the torchlight upon his collar and cuffs. It was Alex’s, and I prayed he was still alive.

  The ship’s captain had been to bother me once earlier just after sunset, tense and fidgety when he made me read Contessa’s note. In my sister’s careful script was my past and my future, telling Kavenlow that we had been taken and if he sought us out or attempted a rescue, the royal couple would die. A second letter would be following to tell Kavenlow where they would meet to exchange money for the royals. My name hadn’t been mentioned.

  Now, as Captain Rylan stood before me taking a long swig of his bottle, he seemed much more relaxed, but he was clearly a good distance toward being drunk. The source of his mood was obvious. If the warships hadn’t found us by now, they wouldn’t.

  “Duncan is intent on saving your life,” he said by way of greeting, his voice soft and precise, showing none of the rough street accent it had earlier.

  A stab of hope followed by fear kept my mouth shut. I liked him better when he wasn’t pretending to be anything but what he was—street filth.

  He lifted the bottle again, and I licked my lips, eying it. No one had seen fit to give me water or food all day. Beyond him at the fire, the men became noisy. That Captain Rylan was talking to me had been noted, and they were turning to watch, shouting encouragement to bring me over and start the bidding.

  “He says,” Captain Rylan continued when I dropped my head so my hair hid my face, “that he’s only out for revenge, but even our good Mr. Smitty can see he wants you.”

  Hungry, cold, and miserable, I shivered, and with that betraying me, I brought my head up and stared at him. Duncan was a good man. I wished I had trusted him with my secret. I wished I had said something so he would know it was my choice but not my desire to keep so much from him.

  Captain Rylan pushed himself off the tree, and I twitched, a surge of fear bringing me out of my numb state. Pain radiated through me at the quick motion, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out. The bottle under his arm, he untied the rope from the tree and hauled on it.

  My arms jerked straight over my head. The rush of pain made me gasp. Grunting, he pulled again. My heels went up, and my shoulders flamed. Panting, I refused to make a sound. I hung with my toes dragging in the sand, trying to get a good breath of air into my lungs. My sight darkened, then steadied. God, please make him stop.

  Captain Rylan tied the rope off with a firm tug. “You wouldn’t let him touch you,” he said, bells jingling as he came closer. “Maybe it’s the want of what he hasn’t had.”

  My jaw clenched, and I tried not to twist as I hung. My shoulders were in agony, making tears start in my eyes. He stood before me, his ale-tainted breath reminding me of festivals at the palace. His beard was coming in white, and his tired eyes made him look old.

  “It certainly isn’t your looks,” he said, his gaze traveling over me.

  “Your breath stinks like a chu pit,” I panted, breathing through the pain.

  His expression never registered I’d spoken. “Oh, you’re pretty enough,” he said. “But you aren’t soft, and you don’t have enough for a man to hold on to properly.” His eyes lingered on places that made a cold spot start in my middle. “O
r maybe he likes ’em looking like boys.”

  I said nothing, fear warring with insult and winning.

  He tossed his bottle to land upright in the sand. Reaching behind him, he pulled on the rope running from the tree to over my head. I rose another inch, gasping as I swung into him. Pain went through my shoulders, but I brought my knees up, trying to force him away from me.

  With a silent, aggressive intent, he sent his free arm about my waist, pulling me too close to fight. Shocked, I did nothing in the instant that he forced his lips against mine. Rough and ugly, his beard scraped me.

  Panic broke through, and I fought to get free. His lips muffled my shout as I wiggled and twisted at the end of my rope, pushing away and kicking. Immediately he let go, falling back out of my reach. He had released the rope, and my toes were again on the sand. I stared at him, knowing I was helpless.

  “Must be the thrill of the hunt,” he said, calm and unruffled. “It sure isn’t you.”

  I spat the hair from my mouth, hating him. Hating feeling helpless. Glad I was going to die from an animal rather than at the hands of a man.

  He bent to get his bottle, drinking it to make his Adam’s apple bob. Finished, he threw the bottle into the scrub behind me and pulled on the tail of the rope. The knot slipped free, and I fell to the sand with a small groan. Pain spread through me so thick and heavy I didn’t even know from where it stemmed. The sand was cold, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down on it.

  “Make a good showing, girl,” he said, jerking at my rope as if I was a dog until I wedged my knees under me and got up, trying to find my breath around the agony. “I’ve got half a year’s money wagered on you,” he finished, pulling me stumbling to the bonfire.

  A ragged cheer went up when the men realized I was being brought forward. Most were staggering drunk or halfway to it. Slowly my muscles remembered how to move, the pained stretching almost bringing me to my knees. I found Duncan at the edge of the gathering, deep in the shadows from the moon and fire with a full bottle in his grip. It was clear the crew didn’t yet accept him. He looked worried, and he tensed as if to say something, held back by his deception.