Raven shook himself out of his reverie. “Santander, in northern Spain. We’ll be there in a couple of hours. Provided you leave my men alone to do their jobs.”
Heloise pursed her lips. “I did nothing to encourage them. Besides, what are you going to do? Throw me overboard?”
“I wouldn’t want to poison the sharks.”
She frowned. “There aren’t any sharks in the English Channel.”
He pointed to the land mass off to their left and shot her an evil grin. “That’s Guernsey. This is the Bay of Biscay.” Raven smothered a laugh as she glanced down at the water as if expecting to see ominous gray fins circling the ship.
“Surely this is the Mediterranean?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug and shoved the bundle of clothing at her. “Here, you need to put these on.”
“I’ve only just got dressed.” She inspected the shirt and breeches with a dubious expression. “Whose are these?”
“The cabin boy’s. Don’t worry, they’re clean. Mostly.”
“I’m not wearing them.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, Hellcat, I don’t think you’re taking this whole captor-captive thing very seriously. We need to set out a few ground rules. Namely, you have to do everything I say.”
“Ha! If I ever consider obeying you, Ravenwood, I’ll certainly let you know.”
“Try it, if only for the novelty.”
She sniffed. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Raven manfully resisted looking any lower than her neck. “You’ll attract less notice as a boy. People will assume you’re my servant.”
“Another dream come true.”
He ignored the sarcasm and pinned her with a challenging glare. “There are plenty of historical precedents, you know. The French general Masséna had his mistress dress as one of his staff officers so she could accompany him on campaign.” He went in for the kill. “You always wanted to be treated like one of the boys. Now’s your chance.”
“All right,” she growled. She turned and navigated her way unsteadily toward the hatch.
Raven’s weathered deckhand Hardy, who’d accompanied him on countless hair-raising adventures, sidled up and shot him a gap-toothed grin. “Problems wi’ the lady, Cap’n?”
Raven watched Heloise’s shapely derriere disappear down the ladder and exhaled loudly through his teeth. “I swear, that woman could make a bishop put his fist through a stained glass window.”
Hardy chuckled and gave him a commiserating slap on the back.
Raven scowled. The next few days were going to be absolute hell.
Chapter 13
Santander was chaos. The curving harbor teemed with life, so fascinatingly foreign that Heloise hardly knew where to look. Fishermen and fishwives decked in straw hats and striped shawls shouted as they hawked their wares on the dockside. Barks of laughter and arguments over baskets of pungent fish clashed with the shouts of men unloading wooden crates onto the jetties and two men cursing as they tried to restrain a rearing horse that objected to disembarking. Colors seemed more intense, the light harsher, and the sun warmer than in England.
She made no demur when Raven steered her down the gangplank and they plunged into the dockside crowds. Her stomach knotted in excitement as she tried to absorb every nuance of this strange, bustling city. She only understood snatches of conversation but gleaned much from the expressions and accompanying gestures. These people were no different from those in any street in England; they gossiped about food prices, naughty children, fashions, errant husbands, prizefights, and livestock.
As Raven had predicted, no one spared her a second glance. She hadn’t worn breeches for years and these seemed indecently tight. They clung to her legs and rubbed between her thighs in a most disconcerting manner. The shirt was a little less revealing, but the leather boots Raven provided were at least a size too small.
Raven purchased a large, floppy straw hat from a street vendor and Heloise scowled as she realized he was having no difficulty communicating. She poked his arm.
“You speak Spanish!”
He gave her a condescending smile. “It’s a good thing one of us can. If you’re nice I might teach you a few useful phrases. Repeat after me. Me gustarísa una aguatinto del puerto.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’d like a colored aquatint of the harbor.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very useful.”
“He roto mis dentaduras. I’ve broken my dentures.”
“Idiot.”
“Actually, there’s only one phrase you’ll ever need. Sí, Cuervo, que siempre tiene la razón.”
The words spilled from his tongue like love poetry. Heloise suppressed a sigh. Spanish really was a beautiful language. She raised her brows and waited.
“Yes, Raven, you are always right,” he translated solemnly.
The boots were good for one thing. She kicked him in the shin.
He sidestepped with a chuckle and slapped the hat on her head. “Can’t have those freckles joining up now, can we? A laborer’s tan is extremely unfashionable this season. Come on.”
He bought two horses from a trader: a handsome Arab for himself and a chestnut mare for her. Neither, she noted, had a sidesaddle. He placed her satchel in one of the panniers strapped to the side of his horse and beckoned her to step onto his linked fingers to mount.
“We’re not staying in Santander?”
“Afraid not.”
He boosted her up and Heloise swung her leg over the saddle. She’d ridden astride as a child, but had endured the more ladylike sidesaddle since she’d turned sixteen.
Raven mounted his own horse with a fluid movement and steered the animal down the street. It wasn’t long before they’d ridden out of the city altogether, heading toward a range of distant hills. Heloise glared at the forbidding peaks and her spirits sank. There didn’t appear to be much in the way of human habitation up ahead.
“Where are we going?”
Raven squinted at the horizon. “León. It’s about fifty miles. We should be there by tomorrow, I expect.”
“Tomorrow!”
He smiled at her dismay and Heloise glared at his back as he galloped ahead. He’d donned a rough black waistcoat over his white linen shirt, but it wasn’t long enough to conceal the pair of pistols he’d tucked into his waistband or the knife in a leather holster he’d attached to his belt. A tremor of apprehension ran through her. Surely those were just a precaution?
She shook off the worry as she studied her surroundings. There were flowers she didn’t recognize, trees she couldn’t name. Rabbits scampered out of their path and a few nimble-footed goats scattered into the hills at their approach.
After an hour or so the cultivated land petered out and the path began to climb as they headed into the foothills. Villages became more distant as the sun grew hotter. Heloise prayed they’d stop for a rest. The dust was harsh in the back of her throat and her eyes watered with the sun, despite her ridiculous hat.
At the crest of a hill they discovered a burnt-out village and Heloise frowned at the cluster of weathered, rudimentary crosses that lined the side of the road.
Raven caught her troubled gaze. “This area saw intense fighting at the end of the war. The French used the Ancient tactic of chevauchée, where the retreating army burns the crops behind them. It’s effective, but it punishes the locals as much as the enemy. It’s no wonder the Spanish fought so fiercely alongside us to expel them.”
Heloise shuddered. Peace might have been declared six months ago, but the scars left on the landscape would clearly take far longer to heal. A dark bird flew up from the carcass of a dead animal and she eyed it with distaste. She’d never been able to tell the difference between rooks, ravens, and crows. They all had sharp claws, intelligent eyes, and glossy black plumage. Just like her companion.
“You’re well named, you know,” she said. “Are you aware of the collective noun for a group of ravens?”<
br />
“The collective noun?” He mocked her prim schoolteacher tone.
“The word for a group of them together,” she explained patiently. The idiot was feigning ignorance just to amuse himself. “You know, like a parliament of crows. A gaggle of geese. A covey of quails.”
Raven shook his head. “I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”
“There are two, actually. An unkindness of ravens and a conspiracy of ravens.”
His lips curved upward. “Such flattery.”
Heloise fell into a dreamlike reverie as they plodded along. Her body had developed a mass of aches and pains, but she’d be damned if she’d ask to stop. They’d passed a few secluded cottages and a shepherd’s hut a while ago, but now there was little more than scrubby brush, lizards, and dry rocks. Heloise slapped her thigh with the palm of her hand and a cloud of red dust billowed out.
Raven reined in so he was alongside her. “You’re very quiet. Are you sulking?”
“No.”
He leaned over and flicked the brim of her hat.
She swatted him away. “I’m not here for your amusement, Ravenwood. I didn’t foist myself upon you. You can’t complain if you don’t like my company.”
“I didn’t ask for this, either, you know. I’d much rather be back at home.”
“My apologies for interrupting your nonstop round of gambling, whoring, and debauchery,” she said with razor-edged politeness.
“You’re still as annoying as you were when you were ten,” he sighed.
She sent him a smug smile. “My brothers call it quietly stubborn.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pain in the arse.” Silence ensued for another mile or so.
It was so hot. Heloise wriggled in the saddle to relieve her aching backside and an unladylike bead of sweat trickled between her breasts. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to beg.
“I need to stop. I can’t feel my legs.”
Raven glanced back over his shoulder and shot her a cheeky grin. “Want me to feel them for you?”
She narrowed her eyes.
He shrugged. “Stop moaning. Your discomfort’s nothing compared to Kit’s suffering.”
Heloise cursed him to the deepest bowels of hell.
The cheep of crickets was an endless racket. The waves of sound rose to a screeching crescendo then fell again, like a throbbing headache, and a heat haze wavered above the parched landscape, distorting the perspective. There was no discernible trail. They were probably lost and Raven was too proud to admit it. They were going to be eaten by wolves. She hoped they ate him first, so she could watch. At least she’d die happy.
He glanced over at her and chuckled. “Poor little Hellcat.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“What?” he asked, all innocence. “Hell-cat? Hell-oise.” He deliberately put the emphasis on the first syllable just to provoke her.
“Yes. And it’s the French pronunciation. The H is silent. I’ve told you a million times. Ell-oh-ease.”
—
Raven watched Heloise’s lips form the three distinct syllables of her name and cursed the way his body tightened in response. At the “ell” her tongue peeked out and licked her even, white teeth. The soft exhale of the “oh” pursed her lips forward as if she were waiting for a kiss. And the final “ease” stretched her mouth into the same wide, satisfied smile she’d wear after exhausting, mind-altering sex.
Holy hell, it was a provocative name. Everything about the bloody woman sent him into an agony of lust. Hell-oise was apt; he burned for her hotter than the fiery pits of Satan.
What kind of a ridiculous name was it, anyway? It was a houri’s name, a courtesan’s name. She ought to be in some Persian seraglio, not flitting about the lush English countryside driving people mad. Raven grimaced. Her father might be an English lord, but her mother was quintessentially French. That parental dichotomy surely explained the warring sides of her nature; reserved and composed on the surface, wayward and unruly beneath. It was a lethal combination.
Chapter 14
Heloise almost cried when Raven stopped and tied the horses—whom she’d secretly named Hades and Persephone—to a scrubby tree. She slid off Persephone and had to clutch the stirrup for support when her knees gave way. Her thighs protested as she walked slowly around the clearing.
“Don’t go wandering off,” Raven warned. “You have the survival instincts of a day-old kitten.”
“I’m perfectly able to fend for myself.”
His derisive snort was far from complimentary. “If I left you alone for five minutes, you’d be in trouble faster than you can say ‘hieroglyphics.’ ”
Patronizing ass.
Heloise turned away to study one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. She plucked one of the long, brown withered beans that hung from the branches, snapped it in half, and sniffed. It was rich and fruity, and she smiled in sudden recognition.
Raven marched over and snatched it off her. “Leave that alone.”
She snatched it back. “It’s a carob. I recognize it from my research on Ancient Egypt. The bean itself,” she waved the brown stem at him for emphasis, “is a hieroglyphic symbol, although no one’s quite sure what it’s supposed to mean.” She studied the wizened fruit with a sense of wonder. “I’ve only ever seen these in illustrations. Did you know that carob seeds were traditionally used by people in the Middle East as a unit of weight? That’s where we get the term ‘carat’ for weighing gold and gemstones.”
“You are a fount of useless knowledge.”
She ignored his sarcasm and took an experimental nibble. It was sweet and chewy, not entirely unpleasant.
“Don’t eat it!” Raven’s face was the picture of horrified disbelief. He grabbed her jaw and squeezed. “What are you doing? Spit it out!”
Heloise swatted his hand away. “It tastes a lot like dates,” she mumbled. “Stop being ridiculous.”
“What if the hieroglyphic symbol of a carob turns out to denote instant, horrible death? What if you’ve made a mistake and that’s some look-alike relation that’s deadly poisonous? Christ, Heloise, there’s a big difference between book learning and practical experience. Spit it out.”
Heloise shot him a look of pure defiance and swallowed.
He watched her with an expression of fatalistic dread.
She couldn’t resist. Adopting a look of surprised horror, she clutched her throat, staggered a little for dramatic effect, and bent over, gasping.
Raven’s brows shot together. He stepped forward just as she straightened up and grinned.
He sent her a furious glare. “Hilarious. I’ll remember this. Next time you really need my help, don’t be surprised if I ignore you completely.”
She chuckled. Annoying him was so much fun.
He pointed to a rock. “Sit down and don’t move until I come back. And don’t touch anything.”
She gave him a jaunty, mocking salute and waited exactly thirty seconds for him to stomp off into the bushes before she went exploring on her own.
This area had clearly once been cultivated. Rows of gnarled trees stood on stepped terraces, now dismally overgrown. Heloise clambered over a broken stone wall and stooped to gather some nuts scattered on the ground. The velvety outer layer was a surprise, but the hard-pitted nut inside she recognized from her mother’s Christmas table. Almonds.
A sudden pang of homesickness stole her breath, sharply followed by guilt. The smell of pine resin reminded her of the turpentine Maman used for thinning her oil paints. Had her parents heard about her disappearance yet? Were they worried for her?
Raven glowered at her when she returned to the clearing but said nothing as she shook the almonds from the pouch she’d made in the front of her shirt. He extracted a hunk of bread, some sweaty cheese, and a bottle of wine from his saddlebag and selected a rock next to her.
He’d been foraging, too. A stone nearby held a handful of figs,
like dark purple teardrops, and another shiny, red fruit, which looked like an apple with a tiny crown growing on the top.
“A pomegranate,” he said, noting the direction of her gaze. “Ever had one?”
She shook her head.
“Another new experience to add to your list, then.”
He cut it with his knife and revealed a mass of glistening red seeds. Heloise swallowed as he divided it in two and offered half to her. The gesture seemed oddly symbolic. He looked as tempting and irresistible as the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Would she be entering into some kind of devilish pact if she accepted it?
Raven frowned at her hesitation. “Come on. It’s not like you’ll be stuck with me for eternity if you eat some.”
She glanced up in shock at how closely he’d mirrored her thoughts. “You mean like Persephone?”
“I vaguely remember something about her having to stay with wicked old Hades in the Underworld because she ate a pomegranate.”
Heloise took the fruit and adopted her best schoolmistress tone. “Yes. When Hades kidnapped Persephone, Demeter—her mother—demanded her back. They couldn’t come to an agreement so they asked Zeus to intervene and he decreed that Persephone would be allowed to leave the Underworld, provided she hadn’t eaten any food of the dead. But she’d already eaten six pomegranate seeds, so she had to split her time between the Underworld and the earth above, six months in each.”
Raven was uncomfortably close. The front of his shirt hung open in a deep V that revealed the hard line of his collarbone, the cords of his neck. A wave of heat that had nothing to do with the sun burned through her.
Concentrate on the fruit.
She teased a few of the seeds out with her fingernail and brought them to her mouth. Juice, sweet and tart, spurted onto her tongue and she licked her lip as a trickle escaped. She glanced at Raven to see if he’d noticed her unladylike lapse and realized his attention was fixed on her mouth. The intense way he was watching her robbed the air from her lungs.
Oh, goodness.
“You know, some scholars have suggested that the fruit Eve offered to Adam was more likely to be a pomegranate than an apple.” Blood rushed to her face. Why on earth had she mentioned that? “Others believe it was a persimmon. Or even a tomato.”
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