Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  “Cur!”

  A hand grabbed the neckline of her new tunic and yanked her back. Averill had selected this garment from the others due to the heavy stitching about the neck and sleeves. It would wear well. She hadn’t guessed it would make such an effective handhold. Averill barely had time to toss her bundle at the woman’s doorstep before he had her. Whatever happened to her, the urns mustn’t be damaged.

  A whip slashed at her back. She cried out and ducked out of range of the next blow. More horses blocked her way, and she slid beneath one, using the girth to swing herself to the other side, rolling in dust as the animal reared and another soldier fell. It wasn’t her fault if the rider couldn’t hold his seat either, and fell off at her actions, was it?

  Her feet pounded at the dirt as she ran, leaving the commotion behind, then she heard hooves bearing down on her, and a hand hauled her up by the collar.

  “Hang on!”

  Although the words were hissed between his teeth, she knew that voice. It was the soldier, Tenny. He tossed her right over his shoulder. He didn’t even wait for her to grip his belt before urging his horse into a gallop. Her legs were spread apart over the animal’s backside, and her fingers tightened their grip. She knew if she fell, his horse would trample her to death. She slid closer to his saddle, and kept her eyes tightly closed.

  The horse plunged on and on, and finally Averill peeked. Oh no. He wasn’t taking her back to Sen-Bib’s. They would’ve reached it by then. She’d been stupid. It would be a simple matter to silence one poor street boy. She swallowed her fear and relaxed her grip. She’d rather be trampled.

  She let go.

  “Child!” He swiveled and reached for her, but he was too slow.

  Averill fell, bruising her knees and palms as she rolled. It was worse than she’d suspected. They were almost to the city gates. She ran for the first shelter she could find, darting beneath awnings as his horse turned sharply. She ran behind large baskets filled with breads, skirted a fish seller and the slippery ground about him, then went through a rug seller’s wares before sliding behind the coverings.

  Still, Tenny followed her, although he was on foot now. Averill ducked into an alley, running like she’d never run before. She rounded another corner, clinging to the sandstone with fingers wet with sweat. And then her eyes widened in horror.

  It was a dead end.

  She turned and froze at the sight of Tenny. He was blocking the alley’s entrance. He looked flushed and his chest heaved as he watched her. Perhaps she could push past him before he caught his breath. He reached beneath his jacket before she could put her plan into motion.

  She turned pale.

  “You can’t run further. I’ll find you. And I’m weary of the chase.” His hand pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped it over his face before putting it away again.

  Averill shook with relief. She was surprised he couldn’t see it.

  “Come.” He held out his hand toward her, and she stared at it before taking a step back. “I won’t harm you.”

  She wanted to believe him. She dared a glance to his face and then looked away quickly. “Will you take me back to Sen-Bib?” It was the only place she had, but she was horrified at the thought of returning without the money.

  He had turned and lounged against the wall to eye her. She scuffed her toes into the dirt.

  “Is that where you wish to go?”

  “I should return for my urns first. Will you take me?”

  “I just saved you from a beating. I’m not sure that you don’t deserve one. And now, you want to go back? Sergeant Miggs will want restitution for what you did.”

  “Can I help it if he can’t sit his mount?” she snapped, and looked back to the street.

  “A spitfire! I knew it when I had a good look at you.”

  He spoke in his English tongue. Averill watched the ants moving in the dirt and considered his words. She didn’t want anyone thinking enough of her to call her names. At least, she told herself she didn’t.

  “What were you doing there?” he asked, using the Arabic tongue again.

  “I was taking blue vases to the pretty lady.”

  “I thought Sen-Bib found you too lazy for such work.” It sounded like a smile crept into his voice although she didn’t look up to verify it.

  “He’s a jackal!” She spoke in English and heard his intake of breath.

  “You speak both languages well, boy. How many others do you know?”

  “A few.”

  “Italian?”

  He spoke in that language and she smiled. The words were hard to recall, almost as difficult as the Latin the priest had insisted she learn.

  “Latin, too, and some French, s’il vous plait?”

  He whistled. Averill reddened and ducked her head further.

  “Amazing. You don’t belong to Sen-Bib, do you?”

  “Belong?”

  The surprise lifted her head. She met his eyes and gasped. She watched the strangest look creep into his as she continued to stare. It was beyond her comprehension why, either. He was a man and he wasn’t that handsome, although the sun behind him was making him glow.

  “Yes. Belong.”

  She looked down again. It was laughable. She didn’t belong anywhere, or to anyone. “I don’t understand,” she finally replied.

  “Will I have to pay him for you?”

  Her heart beat faster, frightening her. She almost clutched her hands there. “I belong to no one!” She spat in the dust at his feet.

  “Well. That much I believe. However…with a bath and decent clothing, you might do.”

  “For what?” She wondered if she could edge around him. She didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a man, and she’d sworn she’d never be near one again.

  “I’m being sent to Damascus. I’ll need an interpreter.”

  “What makes you think I’ll interpret? And what makes you so certain I can?” She spoke in Turkish and looked up at him again, although she had to narrow her eyes to hold his gaze.

  “You’re very good,” he replied in the same language. “It makes one wonder where you learned so much.”

  “You don’t need an interpreter, Tenny. Let me pass. I’ll find Sen-Bib myself.”

  At the use of his name, he crossed his arms and sucked in on his cheeks. “What’s your name?”

  She slid one foot toward the opposite wall, moved her glance past him to the street, and then back. She could have sworn he was aware of it, too.

  “I asked you a question.” He moved from his indolent position against the wall, blocking the entire alley.

  She shrugged. “What do you want it to be?”

  “I don’t believe I’ll need you solely as an interpreter. I’ll take you as an artist…to record the journey.”

  She cocked her head and regarded him, ignoring the rush of blood to her cheeks in order to do so. She’d never had such a reaction to a man, and she refused to acknowledge one, now. Tenny was stroking the space beside his nose with his forefinger and there was a quizzical expression on his face that she couldn’t place.

  “Why would you want an artist?”

  “Actually, it just occurred to me. Things said in my hearing are sometimes different from things said otherwise. If I take you with me, you’ll come with your paints.”

  She huffed at the idea she possessed paints. He was mad.

  “You’ll let no one else know of your ability with languages, though. Will you do that?”

  “I won’t travel with you, Tenny.”

  “My name is Captain Andrew Tennison. Only my friends call me Tenny. And you are not one of them.”

  Averill dropped her gaze. The cool way he said it calmed her as nothing else could have. Perhaps she should consider his offer. Life with Sen-Bib was getting tedious and much too dangerous.

  “I have no paints, Captain Tennison. I rely on my own blending.”

  “You make your own paints, too? Is there no end to your talents?”

  He w
histled, and Averill felt the unfamiliar blush of heat to her face again.

  “I also have no canvas and only one brush. If I don’t return with Sen-Bib’s money, I won’t have even that.”

  “Come along with me. I’ll take care of it. I have lodgings I’ll take you to. First, we’ll stop and purchase the things you’ll need. I take it you own only the clothing you wear?”

  She didn’t bother saying anything. The answer was obvious. Her clothing was new. His coin had paid for it.

  He held out his hand and she almost reached for it. That shocked her. He’d washed and perfumed himself only that morning, while she still bore the remnants of paint from vases that were weeks old, not to mention the grime of days.

  “I will follow you.” She looked at the ground near his boots. He was still wasting time shining them, she noticed.

  “Can I trust you?”

  “You don’t own me!” She forgot herself and glared at him. She surprised him. She could tell. And then she shrugged, her anger gone. “If I go with you, it’s of my own free will. You promise me paints, brushes, and canvas. I have only dreamed of those things. Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll follow you.”

  “Very well. But you still haven’t told me your name.” He smiled down at her and Averill averted her eyes. “Didn’t that grave robber, Sen-Bib, call you Averill? Is that your name?”

  She shrugged again and waited for him to lead. And after a moment, he turned.

  He took her to Momeds, a shop Averill had only glanced at before, because the owner glared at her and then warned her not to steal. Captain Tennison walked ahead, leading his horse, looking back only once to make certain she followed

  He’ll buy me paints! She was barely able to contain her joy as she followed him into the shop.

  “That boy isn’t welcome in here,” the shopkeeper said.

  Averill backed toward the doorway.

  “The child’s with me,” Captain Tennison said. “I’ll buy what he selects.”

  “In that case, boy, you can enter, but watch what you touch.”

  Averill looked down at her feet, wishing she had the pride to stalk off. Instead, she walked in, and Tenny and the shopkeeper ceased to exist. Her eyes were filled with all manner of delights. She saw canvasses of purest white. Some were woven so tightly, she couldn’t see the texture. There were so many sizes and types of handmade brushes she didn’t know how to choose, and the paints! She’d never seen paints in collapsible tubes before. She hadn’t known they came that way.

  “How much am I to spend?” she whispered, daring a glance up at the Captain.

  He smiled, and her eyes darted away.

  “I’ll buy what you like. You can paint whatever takes your fancy – animals, scenery. Buildings.” He shrugged. “You decide.”

  Averill clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. Is this really happening to me? This morning I woke up hungry and had to avoid camel dung outside Sen-Bib’s booth when I went out to relieve myself. And now, I can buy whatever I like? Is this truly the same day?

  “I can’t decide,” she whispered finally.

  “Is there anything you’d recommend for an artist?” Captain Tennison asked the shopkeeper.

  “This boy paints?”

  The man hooted with laughter. She turned away.

  “I’ll spend my coin at the shop next to the basket weaver,” Captain Tennison said sharply. “Good day.”

  The shopkeeper’s laughter cut off and Averill swiveled her head in surprise. No one had ever stood up for her before. It was truly a day of wonders.

  They left the shop much later. Captain Tennison stowed her purchases in his saddlebags, mumbling about a large canvas she couldn’t resist. She had eleven smaller ones, too. Perhaps a camel bag could be made to fit the big one. She couldn’t wait to begin. She also had brushes of every imaginable size. There was solvent for cleaning them, and colors of all descriptions. The blending possibilities stunned her.

  “Come along, then,” Captain Tennison said. “And don’t you dare think of leaving me. What would I do with all this stuff?”

  She ran to him and put a hand on his arm as she looked up at him. It didn’t help that she came only to his shoulder, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful. She smiled.

  “I won’t leave. I’ll follow you, Captain Tennison. I thank you.”

  His eyes weren’t as dark as she thought. They were light brown and shadowed by thick lashes. Perhaps that was what had made them seem darker against his tan.

  Strange things were happening to her skin as she continued to touch his jacket sleeve. She watched the gooseflesh form on her arm as he cleared his throat. When she lifted her fingers, they didn’t feel like her own, and Averill frowned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He lived in a two-story sandstone building. Averill cautiously followed him in, her feet feeling chilled by the tiles on the floor.

  “Harvey!”

  A man stepped out from another room. “Sir, you’ve got a thief following you! A street urchin!”

  He waved his arms and Averill ducked behind the captain.

  “Stop that, Harvey. This is Averill. I’d like a bath for the child immediately.”

  A bath? Oh no. No. She couldn’t bathe! They’d see, and then they’d know she was no boy! She turned to run, but hands gripped her upper arms and hauled her around to face Captain Tennison. Then he lifted her feet from the ground to bring her face close to his.

  “You wouldn’t leave me now, would you?” he asked in Arabic.

  “I...I....” Averill swallowed.

  “I’ll buy you more clothing while you bathe. Harvey won’t bother you. I swear it. You’re safe here. That’s why you’re here. Understand?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll explain later. After you bathe. But you will bathe. Or I’ll stay and force it. You understand that?”

  She nodded.

  He set her back down. Averill couldn’t control her shaking. She couldn’t tell how angry he was.

  “Have I your word?”

  She nodded again.

  “Good.”

  He turned to Harvey, who’d listened to the exchange but looked like he hadn’t understood a word.

  “The street child will bathe, Harvey, so we don’t have to contend with fleas.”

  “He’s staying, then?” Harvey looked at her for a fraction of time before turning back to the captain. “Very good, sir.”

  Averill watched Captain Tennison anxiously. After all he’d bought her, and giving her the chance to escape Sen-Bib, she almost ran away from him. And after she’d already given her promise.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Tennison.” She whispered the words as he set her large canvas against a wall.

  “Then do as I tell you. Have you eaten this morning?”

  Eat in the morning? He was so ignorant. She shook her head.

  “Prepare a light luncheon while I’m gone, Harvey.”

  “Will that be before or after the bath, sir?”

  Harvey looked at Averill as if she were something that needed to be swept into a dustbin and discarded.

  “After.”

  And then Captain Tennison grinned at her. Averill’s eyes went wide and she quickly looked away. What was the matter with her?

  She was still watching the spot on the tile when Harvey told her the bath was ready. Averill followed him up a narrow staircase to a small room, where a large, barrel object sat, full of warmed water. Harvey shut the door behind him. Averill checked if it could be locked and wasn’t surprised to find none. But if she hurried, she wouldn’t need a lock.

  She tossed off her clothing and stepped into the water, immersing herself before surfacing again. A bar of scented soap lay beside the tub, and she giggled as she lathered her head and then the rest of her. No one at the mission would believe this. Baths were taken one after the other until the water stank and was cold, and there was never enough soap.

  She dried herself on a fluffy towel she fo
und beside the tub, then wrapped it about her. It felt luxurious. She opened a small, shuttered window and looked out onto the street, shielding her eyes from the glare. It didn’t seem possible. Just that morning, she’d been out there, running from the soldiers, and now she was safe. Warm. Bathed. And assigned to paint as much as she liked, with wondrous paints and brushes.

  Captain Tennison was very generous to street boys.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and tightened the towel around herself. Perhaps she should ask for a comb. It was a long time since she’d washed and groomed her hair properly. She’d tried not to care. Thin strips of it touched her shoulders, where once it had reached to her waist, thick, blue-black and very straight.

  Averill shook her head. Such memories would start her reminiscing. And that was something she refused to do.

  She saw Captain Tennison round a corner, his horse burdened with all sorts of packages. Averill gasped and her eyes widened. She spun to place her back against the wall. He wouldn’t buy so much for a street child, would he? Then she had a terrible thought. Captain Tennison might be the type who preferred boys! Her hand crept to her throat. She was in terrible danger.

  She checked for her clothes, only to find them gone. Harvey must’ve taken them while she stared out the window. She yanked off the towel and pulled on one of the captain’s satin robes, nervously knotting the tie about her waist.

  No. This wouldn’t do at all. It clung, outlining her easily. She’d never be safe on the streets. She twisted the knot loose. She couldn’t escape back to Sen-Bib wearing only a towel or robe that fit like this one did.

  “Averill, are you finished?”

  There was a knock at the door, and her heart sank. She was out of time.

  “No!” She wrapped herself in the towel and then put the robe over it. It was bulky, but concealing.

  “Come on out and see what I bought for you,” Captain Tennison said, “or I’ll come in there and get you.”

  She opened the door a crack. He sat by a huge screen and smiled at her before lifting a glass of dark liquid to his mouth.

  “Come out. Let me get a look at you.”

  He winked, and her hands balled into fists. She shut the door again and leaned against it, taking as many calming breaths as she could and remain conscious. He does like boys!