Safe in the Earl's Arms

by Liz Tyner

  ‘I don’t wish—’ His voice softened, but he didn’t release her arm. His eyes, not true dark but reflecting the same colours as the almost leafless tree he stood near, showed compassion. ‘I can’t take you to London with us. Wait for another ship.’ His voice lowered. ‘Or stay here. The world is not kind for women away from their homes.’

  Words fled her mind and she couldn’t look away from him. He’d trapped her—not with his hand, but with his gaze. His touch warmed her skin and his gentle grasp had taken her will to move.

  ‘Come with me.’ She thrust the words out, recapturing her strength.

  He shook his head, still not releasing her arm. The grip held her firm, but she didn’t feel imprisoned. She knew a quick tug and she’d be able to slip away.

  ‘I… The ship is no place for a woman—even a…’ He tried again. ‘I’m sure you could have many times your passage back in your pocket in the time it will take us to reach London—but the men don’t need the distraction. They’d be competing for your favours instead of thinking of their duties. You’ll not go with us.’ He put his free hand in his waistcoat pocket, brought out a coin and held it to her. ‘Take it.’

  She stared and didn’t move.

  He kept his hand extended. ‘You may keep it. For getting me from the ship for a few moments and for letting me hear a woman’s voice. I want nothing more.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not bring more funds or I would give them to you.’

  She jerked her head in refusal of the coin.

  He released her, putting the gold away, and took a step back. She reached out, grasping his sleeve, stopping him.

  He turned, his mouth open, and seemed to struggle for words. ‘Miss. Truly. I do not want… And we cannot take you.’

  He could keep his words—she needed a man who’d free her from the island.

  ‘Let me show you,’ she said.

  ‘As long as you understand you’re not stepping foot on that ship. The men…’ He finished his words with a soft tone. ‘They would not be able to ignore…’

  ‘I must show you my treasure.’ She turned away and strode inside the barn, knowing he would not resist following her.

  They walked over dirt packed solid from goats’ feet, breathing dust from manure the animals kicked about. She moved towards a small stack of firewood branches. She knelt, reaching into the sticks, and pulled out the cloth-wrapped marble she’d hidden there.

  She turned back to him, pulled away the fabric and handed the work to him. Even in the dark interior, the richness of the stone glowed.

  He took the carved marble in his hands. The arm was slightly bigger than a human arm would be and the delicateness of the fingers proved the hand to be a woman’s. ‘It’s a part of some statue.’

  ‘Yes.’ Even as he touched and examined it, she rested her fingertips against the stone. ‘A learned man came here two years ago. He told us the island should have artefacts—worth coin to him—but he found nothing. I uncovered this—and more, after he left.’ She watched this one, noting his study of the arm. He looked at the hand the way a woman might look at a baby.

  ‘Take me to London,’ she said, ‘and you’ll be paid my passage once the British Museum discovers what I have—’

  ‘This is well done. When I get to England, I’ll get someone who understands art to look at it and he can send payment back if this marble is worth something.’

  She jerked the carving from his hands. ‘I have to leave now. Not next week. Not the next ship. I must go.’ Already her neighbours had warned her. The man who led the island was planning to marry her soon. She would have no choice.

  She turned, picking up the cloth she’d used to protect the arm. When she looked up, she caught his eyes on her. Her shawl had opened and her mark showed. He stopped moving. Her clothing fell open a bit more. With her free hand, she brushed the edge of the birthmark, letting her fingers rest a moment. Desire darkened his eyes.

  She took a slow breath. Neither smiled. She stopped the words of caution blowing inside herself, pummelling her with the knowledge she could never turn back if she continued her path. ‘Is that what you want for my passage?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we’ve a bargain.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. The captain will not let a woman sail with us.’

  ‘You’re not the archigos?’ She pulled the arm into her grasp, cradling it. He didn’t answer, but she could read the truth in his face. She’d just offered her body to a man who could not, or would not, say yes. Her mind hammered in rage. Controlling her desire to hit him across the face with the stone took all her strength, except for the amount she used to keep herself from shouting.

  ‘I’m the Earl of Warrington,’ he said. ‘I own part of the ship, but I don’t sail her. I’ll take you aboard the Ascalon and you may speak to the captain.’ His head moved sideways, indicating the direction of the vessel.

  ‘Very well.’ She could see his thoughts in his eyes. He believed the captain would refuse her. But if the ship’s leader had the same mind as most men, once her foot touched the deck, she would make it difficult for him to say no.

  ‘I will sail with the ship.’ She challenged him with her stare.

  He turned and walked back into the sunlight.

  Melina knew that once she stepped on deck, she’d find a way to stay, no matter what she had to do. Their father had given them enough to live on while their mother lived, but now he’d forgotten his daughters. Without funds, she could no longer escape a forced marriage to a man whose touch made her stomach roil. She could not let her sisters starve, or sell their bodies.

  The arm, and a description of the goddess, would let the museum see what she had and they would tell her what the beauty was worth. The statue was valuable. Her heart told her so. She could support her family by selling the stone woman.

  She ran to the steps of her house and grabbed the small satchel she’d stuffed together after talking with the other sailor. She’d told her sisters her plans. They now watched from the window. Melina waved and then took a step to the path.

  The first footstep was easy. But then she couldn’t move. A hollowness in her heart told her she was leaving her home for ever. She squeezed her eyes tight and planted one foot forward, then the other.

  Chapter Two

  Melina rushed to keep up with Warrington’s long strides. As she reached the first bend in the path, her satchel strap slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. The weight pulled at her arm, but she kept the stone cradled. The bag bumped against her leg, slowing her pace.

  She paused and he immediately stopped and turned to her. He’d been as aware of her footsteps as his own.

  Warrington reached a hand out to her, gesturing for the bag, and she met his eyes. Reassured, she hefted the rock in one hand and let the errant strap slip into her grasp. He took the weight from her, tossing the leather sling over his shoulder.

  Muffled tones reached her ears. She focused on the sounds. Two men talked as they moved towards the path. Her heart thudded when she recognised the voice of Stephanos, the man who planned to wed her. He was moving in their direction. A few more steps and he would see them. She’d be trapped.

  ‘Skase,’ she whispered, and then remembered her English. ‘Quiet.’

  Warrington studied her, but gave a small lift of his chin in agreement.

  She brushed past him, nodding for him to follow her. Snaking through the gnarled trees, she ran towards a knoll that rose just enough that they couldn’t be seen from the path.

  She reached the hiding place and pulled him beside her, hoping they would not be seen. Listening, she realised the men no longer talked. Stephanos and the other man were silent—unmoving.

  Fear crept into her body, clutching at her insides. If Stephanos saw her with Warrington, the Greek would not ask any questions, but would find his own answers. Stephanos and his friends always carried knives and they were skilled with them.

  After a few moments of nothing, she heard the
word, gida, and relaxed. Goat.

  The men continued on. She heard their voices fading away and her breathing returned to normal. Warrington put a hand on her shoulder, the warm grasp somehow reassuring. He tugged her around to him and put his face so near hers that the breath of his whisper touched her cheek. He didn’t release her, but his grip was soft.

  ‘Have you stolen the stone?’ he asked, words quiet, creating a haven around her.

  She would have confessed all if she’d done wrong. ‘No. The man who owns the land where I found the treasure knows what I have planned. We are in agreement and he has said he’ll keep my secret. I trust him.’

  Just the gentlest touch of his hand again, moving over the crest of her shoulder and the merest bit down her back, and the waiting look in his eyes, trapped her in an intriguing web and she could not stop her words. ‘When they are sure I am safely gone a long distance, my sisters are to say I’ve been forced away by a man from a ship.’

  His eyes widened and he stepped back as if she’d prodded him away with a burning stick.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed the distance between them, stopping almost against him. She could not risk him raising his voice.

  ‘You must understand our reasons,’ she said quietly. ‘No one will know who you are. My sisters will not describe the true person.’

  He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and she could tell he meant to leave her there and go on his way.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, closing her fingers over his roughened hand, preventing him from giving her the bag. His knuckles were large in her grasp, startling her, and she knew she didn’t keep them closed by her strength any more than she caused the tides. Confusion flashed behind his eyes and something whispered in her that she had trapped his hand—that he could no more move his fingers than if their grasps had been reversed and his strength held her.

  She could not lose her advantage. ‘I am not a thief. I merely wish to get to the British Museum and find out what my treasure is worth. Then I will be able to sell it.’

  ‘But kidnapped?’ He remained with his face almost at hers. ‘That’s a bit much.’

  She closed her lips and let her breath out through her nose before she answered, ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘I do.’ He kept his words tight and lines appeared at the sides of his eyes and mouth. ‘I am not at ease with purchasing a woman and I certainly wouldn’t steal one.’

  The words pleased her, yet they were not what she wanted to hear.

  She had to convince him. She held his gaze with her own. ‘It is necessary. My sisters can’t be hurt by my actions. The man who rules the island would be enraged at them if he thought they had helped me leave and did not search him out to keep me. They would suffer. They could be starved, or beaten, or forced into marriage or worse. I cannot escape and leave them behind to face torture.’

  She felt his movement and looked down to her hand. She’d tightened her grip on his fingers. He slowly slid his hand from hers.

  ‘You’re leaving behind a man.’ His words were thoughtful.

  She had to make him understand. ‘Our land doesn’t support my sisters. The rocks only grow more rocks. I care nothing for the man who wishes to marry me, yet his mother often sees that we have food. If I stay, I will have no choice but to wed him. She wishes for it. So does he. He is powerful.’

  Stephanos controlled the island and did so easily. But he had other secrets. He often left the island and returned with goods. One of his shirts was mottled with faded brown stains. Blood.

  She could barely keep the kindness in her words when Stephanos called on her and she had to speak to him. Perhaps, as the others whispered, she truly had been tainted by her English heritage.

  ‘I have promised myself to no one,’ she said.

  Warrington shut his eyes.

  She put her palm flat on his chest. When his lids fluttered up, she could feel the change in his gaze. She wouldn’t beg, or ask again. She didn’t think she needed to.

  He spoke harshly under his breath—the words directed at himself.

  His hand closed at her elbow and he turned away, again taking the lead, only this time, his steps were careful and he watched the wooded areas around them.

  She followed, knowing her sisters depended on her and she risked her life to be able to save them. But it wasn’t a choice. It was what she had to do. She was the eldest and that meant sacrifice. If she died at sea, or at the hands of a stranger, then she would know she did it for her family. Her mother’s last words to her had been Take care of your sisters.

  *

  Warrington forced himself not to stare at Melina. They stood hidden among the cragged rocks, watching the longboat and waiting for the sailors to return. The hem of her head covering fluttered in the wind and kept calling his attention to her.

  He wished he could see her chest again. Her birthmark did have an interesting curve to it. He remembered the child’s game of imagining wisps of a cloud as objects and tried to recall the exact shape the mark formed.

  He heard the first mate’s voice before he saw him emerging from the road. Once the men reached the longboat, he hurried Melina to them.

  ‘You ready to heave to?’ Gidley gaped at the woman even as he directed the words at Warrington.

  ‘Yes,’ Warrington snapped. ‘Hurry.’

  Gidley’s voice became butler formal. ‘Will his lordship be having a guest?’

  ‘Launch the damn longboat.’

  Gidley put his forefinger to his lips in a silencing motion and then lowered his hand. He mouthed the word lady.

  Warrington mouthed back words for Gidley that neither would repeat in front of the woman. The other seamen beamed as if enjoying a particularly good scene at Drury Lane Theatre.

  ‘Yes, yer lordship.’ Gidley helped the others push the boat into the waves, then scrambled into the boat, and took the seat in front of her, facing the woman. Warrington made a forceful circular motion with his hand, commanding Gidley to twist around. Gidley’s eyelashes gave an innocent blink as he looked at Warrington, then gazed back at the woman, giving a bow of his head as acknowledgement, and turned in his seat. ‘Beautiful day for bein’ at sea.’ He spoke to no one in particular.

  Warrington stepped over the side and took the empty plank beside Melina. His shoulder brushed hers. He thought he detected the scent of rosemary about her, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what the herb would smell like.

  The other men thumped into the boat, voicing polite comments on the calmness of the sea and the beauty of the island as if speaking in front of their grandmothers. Gidley continued his teatime reminisces as the men rowed, recounting with the other seamen the polite sights they’d seen in their travels.

  Warrington shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea where these dainty men came from.

  ‘Correct, yer lordship?’ Gidley asked.

  ‘Most certainly, my dear,’ Warrington answered. He heard a smothered snort from someone else, followed by a coughing attempt to disguise the sound into politeness.

  Melina gathered the bundle closer. He hated that she felt discomfort.

  Warrington kept his voice calm. ‘The next one of you who makes a sound before we board is going to let the rest of the crew watch him swimming around Ascalon and the first seaman who can bounce a biscuit off the swimmer’s head can give him orders until we’re home.’

  Silence followed, except for the rhythmic sound of oars slapping the water.

  Her shoulders relaxed and he wished he could retrace his steps. Bringing her on to the longboat had been foolish and she was the one being misled. He’d let himself be blinded by a little spot of skin and now she was on a longboat for no reason. They both should have stayed home.

  He didn’t feel he’d had the option, though. The Foreign Office knew of his ship and had asked him for help. The trip had been a worthwhile diplomatic mission, in that he could tell them the Greeks still planned to rebel against the Ottoman rule. He didn’t know if the Turks
suspected or not, but he had the information he’d been sent for.

  When the boat tapped against the hull of the Ascalon, the men tied the longboat. The men closest to the ladder left first. Then Warrington or Melina would go on deck.

  Melina stood and didn’t move forward, still holding her bundle and her satchel strap draped over her arm.

  He touched the small of her back and she turned to him. He reached forward, taking the sculpture. ‘I’ll get it on deck. If you dropped it into the sea going up the ladder, we’d never get it back.’

  She released the bundle and gave her shawl and scarf each a quick knot. She picked her way to the ladder, lifting her skirts to step over the seat in front of them. A simple, everyday movement. His mouth went dry. The image of her legs sealed itself around him. His imagination began to fill in the rest of her body while his mind generously unclothed her. Long limbs, smooth, and welcoming.

  He brought himself back to the moment and saw her at the ladder, staring at the ropes.

  ‘Just go up as if you’ve done it every day, quick, and don’t stop.’

  She took a few deep breaths, pulled at the waistband of her skirt, trying to keep the fabric away from her feet, and grabbed both sides of the ladder. She snatched the hemp in a stranglehold and moved upwards. Arms reached out to help her on board.

  And now he held her parcel. He couldn’t risk dropping the rock.

  Warrington looked up and called out to the man who stood at the side. ‘Toss me the end of a rope. I need you to haul something up for me.’

  In seconds, a rope dropped at his feet and Warrington bound the end around the package. ‘Pull it up,’ he shouted and the arm went aboard ship. He shook his head at the waste of effort. The rock would be returning to the island soon.

  The men were good sailors, but not a one of them was of the clergy and it would take at least that to ignore the woman. He’d send a decent crewman back with her to escort her home safely. No, he’d have to make do with a well-threatened one. All the decent ones were on other ships.

  Stepping on deck, he saw the men assembled as if Ben demanded them for a meeting, but he knew the captain did no such thing. The cook sat on an overturned bucket and the cabin boy tangled himself in the rigging like a prisoner in stocks, waiting to hear what was said.