The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  Did ye not sleep so well?"

  "Not much," she said, frowning.

  "Aye, well. It's always worse on't first night. Better tonight,

  eh?"

  Disappointed, she returned to the cabin and made an effort to

  straighten it, and when the cabin boy brought the tray tried with her

  most beguiling smile and a toss of her glorious red hair to bedazzle

  him.

  "Who does this ship belong to?" she said, sweetly, taking the tray

  from him.

  "Master Silas Mariner, mistress. He's the owner."

  "Silas Mariner'1. Ah, easier to say than La Vallon, yes?"

  "Yes, mistress."

  "And where did you berth before you went to Scarborough?"

  Like a man, he took the full force of her green eyes, smiled, and said,

  "Sorry, mistress. If I want to keep my job, I have to keep my mouth

  shut." He bowed, and closed the door quietly.

  It was mid-day when Isolde tried yet again to elicit some information

  regarding direction, distance, time of arrival--anything concerning

  land or the lack of it. She made another attempt mid-afternoon, and

  again in the evening, by which time Master Silas Mariner-La Vallon had

  failed to return to his cabin in the forecastle before she appeared on

  deck.

  "I realise that you are doing your best to avoid me, Master La Vallon,"

  Isolde said, as he turned to make a polite bow, 'and I am grateful for

  that. However, there is a problem which I need to discuss. "

  "You are mistaken, mistress. I was not avoiding you but waiting for

  you. And I am aware of your problem. My crew are well trained. They

  have to be."

  The fear and anger that she had tried since dawn to contain took

  another leap into her chest, making her feel as if she had bumped into

  something solid. Her legs felt weak, but she allowed herself to be led

  over coils of rope and across the drying deck into his cabin, which was

  not the master's, after all. It was larger than hers, but

  wedge-shaped, the table piled with papers and instruments, ledgers,

  quills and ink pots

  As the cabin dipped and rose again, she held on to a wooden pillar and

  waited until he had closed the door before turning to him. Her voice

  held more than a hint of panic, which she had not intended.

  "For the fiftieth time of asking, sir, where are we?" The words seemed

  to come from far away, adding to the sense of unreality that had dogged

  her all day, and, in the exaggerated pause between question and answer,

  she saw that he, too, had discarded the earlier formal attire for the

  barest essentials of comfort. His shirt, a padded doublet of soft

  plum-coloured leather and tight hose were his only concessions to the

  North Sea's cutting edge.

  "I will show you," he said. He brought forward a roll of parchment

  from a pile on the table and weighted its corners with a sextant, a

  conch shell, a glass of wine and one hand.

  "There..." he pointed to the eastern coastline 'there is Scarborough,

  and this is where we are now, down here, see? " His finger trailed

  southwards, passing Hull, where Isolde had expected to enter the

  estuary of the River Humber in order to reach York on the Ouse. His

  finger stopped some distance from the coast of Norfolk, nowhere near

  land.

  Isolde felt herself trembling, but pulled herself up as tall as she

  could despite the tightness in her lungs.

  "No," she said, "I don't see. I don't see at all. What's happened?

  Have we been blown off course by the storm? Is that it?"

  Silas allowed the roll to spring back, and she knew by his slow

  straightening, his watchful air, his whole stance, that he was

  preparing for her reaction. His shaking head confirmed that there was

  more to come.

  "No, mistress, there was no storm last night. That was just weather.

  We are on course."

  "On course for where? Hull is behind us now."

  "Yes. We are heading for Flanders. We always were."

  The room swam.

  "No," she said, breathless now.

  "No, sir. You may be, but I am not heading for Flanders. Turn this

  ship round immediately. Immediately!

  Do you hear me? " She whirled, heading for the door, the master,

  anybody. But once again he was there before her, and this time, with

  no one to witness, he caught her in a bear hug and swung her round to

  face him, wedging her against the door with his body. All the de

  fences that she had been taught, which were supposed to be crippling to

  an attacker, were useless, for her feet were somewhere to the side, her

  hands were splayed above her head, and the shock had numbed her. Worse

  still, the reality which had been hovering out of reach all day now

  descended with cruel precision, wounding her, making this new and

  frightening restraint all the more unbearable.

  She fought him with all her strength, refusing to call for help. This

  was his ship. These were his men. No one would interfere. She was

  more alone than she had ever been before, and her anger roared in her

  ears.

  "I was a fool to trust you," she snarled, twisting in his grip.

  "I was a fool. You and your confounded brother. I should have seen

  what was happening. This is for Felicia, isn't it? And I walked

  straight into the trap. Fool... fool... what an idiot!"

  "If that's what you want to believe, believe it," he said, drawing her

  hands slowly down to the small of her back.

  "It makes little difference what you believe, except that you're going

  to Flanders."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

  "You'd have gone anywhere with my brother."

  "I would not! I had no intention of staying in York with him: I was

  using him to get away from that place, that's all. Otherwise I would

  never consort with a La Vallon."

  "You'll consort with the La Vallons whether you like it or not, wench."

  He lifted her easily, as he would have done a child.

  "And you're wrong again. My brother is no part of my plans."

  "I don't believe you. Put me down! No... oh, no!" The soft bed hit

  her with a thud from behind and then, as she rolled away, the panelled

  wall cracked into her forehead. Stunned and utterly confused, she felt

  him pull her back and capture her wrist, tucking her other arm safely

  behind his back where she felt only a broad expanse of silky leather.

  Immediately his long legs and body were sprawled across her, holding

  her immobile and shaming her by their closeness. His brother had never

  been as close to her as this. Never.

  With closed eyes and clenched jaws, she waited for what she was sure

  would happen next, though she had no details to guide her. When all

  she experienced was the deep rocking of the ship nosing its way through

  the water and the rhythmic thud-thud on the sides, she opened them,

  warily.

  He was leaning on one elbow and looking down at her face, his eyes

  wandering over hair and skin and finally coming to rest in hers.

  "Well?" he whispered.

  "You think I'm about to rape you?"

  She gulped.

  "Aren't you?"

  To her relief, he did not smile.

&n
bsp; "No. You'll come to me without that."

  His sentiment was so totally absurd that it was not worth an answer,

  and she looked away disdainfully. The memory of his regard at supper

  had scarcely left her, and the details of his contact over the last

  twenty- four hours had imprinted themselves upon almost every one of

  her waking thoughts. But the idea that she would ever give herself to

  him willingly after this unforgivable treatment was quite ridiculous.

  She would take the first opportunity to free herself.

  She squirmed, and felt his legs tighten their hold.

  "This is unworthy of you, sir. Let me go now. You must know that this

  is not the way to avenge your family for the abduction of your sister.

  You knew?"

  "About Felicia and your father? Of course I knew. Even before Bard

  told me."

  So. That was what she had thought.

  "And he plotted with you to do the same?"

  "No, he didn't. I've told you. Bard is not part of my plans. He

  never has been."

  Her green eyes flashed like sunlight over mossy waters.

  "Rubbish!

  Don't tell me he'll be standing there on the quay at York waiting for

  you to deliver me, as you said you'd do. "

  "He will. He'll wait and wait, and then he'll begin to ask questions,

  and he'll discover that I'm not due at York. We called there before

  Scarborough, so the cargo we're carrying is for Flanders. Poor

  Bard."

  His tone was anything but concerned, and Isolde was tempted to believe

  him.

  "I believed you before, but I'll not do it again, sir."

  "That's sad. Now I shall have to resort to more believable methods."

  She realised what he was about to do, and, when she thought about it

  later, knew that she could have made it more difficult for him, though

  not impossible. But his eyes held her every bit as surely as they had

  done before, and she could already feel the warmth of him on her skin,

  see his head blotting out the- last of the dim light in the recessed

  bunk. Her eyelids closed under the infinitely slow exploration of his

  lips upon her face, and even then she wondered why she was doing

  nothing to resist it. Bard's kisses had always held more than a hint

  of selfishness, intended to impress but never to close her mind, as she

  felt his brother's doing.

  Slowly, and with practised skill, he kept her mouth waiting until she

  moved her head to follow him, luring her on towards the sublime

  capture, the first taste of his mouth on hers. And with restraint,

  without even hinting that this moment was, for him, the assuaging of an

  ache that had threatened to devour him, he left the full impact of it

  until she moaned and softened under him, until he felt one hand move

  impatiently across his back. Then he released her wrist and slid an

  arm beneath her back to gather her up to him as he had done during that

  long look which had so puzzled and intrigued her.

  The reality of it far surpassed anything either of them could have

  imagined in the hours since they had met, and there had been plenty of

  imagining on both sides. Yet there was a part of her that remained on

  an even keel, despite the weightlessness of her mind and the amazing

  sensations of her body. A part that reminded her of what she was

  about. Between his kisses came the cautionary voice, urging her to

  resist before it was too late. La Vallon. The enemy. Abduction.

  Flanders. Revenge. Obedient to the warning, she pushed at his

  shoulder, then his chin, tearing her mouth away.

  "No ... no ... no!"

  He gave her a chance to offer reasons, but she could remember nothing

  that would have convinced him of her unwillingness except a turn of her

  head and more denials. His voice was husky with wanting.

  "It's no wonder my brother came after you so fast, maid, if that's how

  it was with him, too."

  It was, she thought, a particularly insensitive remark for him to have

  made, and she was at once angered and sobered by the need to rebut

  it.

  How could he kiss her so and believe that her response was common to

  both brothers? If she had been able to read his mind, she would have

  seen there the instant regret of one who had been as much shaken as

  she. But by then it was too late.

  She turned back quickly to wound him.

  "I see. So it's that too, is it?

  To prove that you can so easily take what he wants from under his nose.

  Well, well. With a ship and a crew of this size and a woman as naive

  as me, who couldn't? But don't think you'll ever have my co-operation.

  Master Silas Mariner. Now let me go back to Mistress Cecily. She

  needs me. "

  He twisted a hand into her hair.

  "It was you, remember, who brought up Bard's name, not once, but twice.

  If you find comparisons hard to bear, then think on the boyish pecks he

  gave you while I try to win your cooperation." His kiss this time was

  intended to teach her the difference between a man and a boy, but she

  had already discovered that, and needed no further demonstration of the

  power and scope of his artistry. For the next few moments she needed

  all her strength not to cry out or to fight for survival, and there

  were tears of anger in her eyes at its conclusion.

  "Let me go," she croaked.

  "Let me go back to--' " You're not going anywhere. You'll stay here

  tonight, where I can guard you. "

  "Against what? Jumping overboard? Cecily needs me, I tell you."

  "She doesn't. The ship's physician is with her. You're staying with

  me."

  "And what dye think that lot out there will be thinking, after this?"

  "My master and crew are paid to sail the ship. They do as they're told

  and keep their mouths shut."

  "I cannot stay here... please."

  "Hush, now, maid. You've had a long day and you need to sleep. I

  shall not harm you." He removed her shoes and straightened her skirts,

  then pulled blankets over them both, enclosing her against the bend of

  his body, stroking back her hair and caressing her back with tender

  hands.

  She had hardly slept last night and, after a nerveracking day, she was

  exhausted. Now, within the safety and comfort of his arms and the

  rocking of the ship, there were no more choices to be made or decisions

  to be met. Nevertheless, she summoned her iciest tones to fire a last

  salvo over her shoulder, to where his smile was already settling in.

  "You can't do this, you know. You simply cannot do this."

  She heard the smile broaden.

  "Remind me, maid, if you will. What is it that I cannot do?" His

  voice almost melted her.

  "You cannot insist on sleeping with a woman who dislikes you, for

  one.

  Nor can you take her somewhere she doesn't want to go. "

  "Forgive me." He grinned, sweeping his fingertips down her neck.

  "But we merchants are an optimistic bunch. A law unto ourselves.

  Remind me again in a year, will you?" He yawned.

  "And start calling me Silas."

  She woke once during the night, taking some time to recall where she

  was and why the large shape at her side was clearl
y not Cecily's. Then

  she remembered, and tried to sit up and take her bearings. The ship

  rolled, throwing her on to him, and she was instantly enclosed by

  strong arms that flung her back with a soft thud, his body bearing down

  on her as the cabin tipped in the opposite direction.

  She tasted the silkiness of his hair against her lips, the warm musky

  smell of his skin, and was reminded of her duty to maintain anger.

  "You planned it, didn't you?" she whispered.

  "Right from the start, you knew what you were going to do."

  His reply touched her lips, with no distance for the words to go

  astray.

  "Course I planned it. Course I knew what I was going to do.

  Don't blame yourself, lovely thing, there was nothing you could have

  done to prevent it. It would have made no difference whether you'd

  agreed to come or not; I would still have taken you. "

  The last words merged into the kiss that he had tried, without success,

  to delay, and Isolde had neither the time nor the will to withhold her

  co-operation, as she had sworn to do. Even in half-sleep, the nagging