Tears of the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  Ignoring the newcomer, Savion pushed forward and raised his voice over the crowd. “Let her go, Sal. She’s but a foolish woman.”

  “I agree with the foolish part.” Sal motioned for his henchman to grab the whip. “As to the lettin’ go, she deserves her punishment.”

  “I’ll take her away from here and promise you she’ll never return.”

  “She’ll ne’er return, all right. I’ll make sure o’ that.” He chuckled. “But she’ll get a fittin’ punishment fer stealing from ole Sal.” He glared at the mob. “A warnin’ to ye all.”

  “From what I understand, the money was not even yours but the mayor’s,” Savion returned.

  Ole Sal spit to the side. “Unfortunately, the mayor has met an early grave, bequeathin’ his fortune to me.”

  Savion gripped the hilt of the sword hanging at his hip, his men following his lead. “Release her at once, or answer to me and my men.”

  The tall, well-dressed man tilted his head toward Savion. “This is none of your affair, sailor! Begone! You would risk your life and your men’s lives for this wench, this whore? Besides, she is a thief and deserves her punishment.”

  Verrad leaned toward Savion. “He has a point, Captain. The Scepter is loaded with goods and ready to sail. We’ve done enough for this woman. Do we dare defy the law?”

  Savion flattened his lips. The law. The law demanded punishment. He thought of his father: pure goodness, wisdom, love, justice … mercy. Yes, what of mercy? What of second chances? What would his father do? Savion faced the angry mob. “Perhaps she does deserve to be punished, but don’t we all deserve the same for our stupid actions? Haven’t we all stolen or lied or hurt others?”

  Silence descended on the crowd. Some gaped at him as if he’d told them they were naked.

  A few of Sal’s men scratched their heads and lowered their blades. But Sal pushed his beefy body in front of Savion’s and yelled, “Thieves must be punished or chaos will reign.” He sneered at Savion. “What are you going to do? Fight my forty men with your twenty?”

  Not just forty. From the looks of things, the well-dressed man had an additional fifty with him.

  “No.” Savion had no interest in bloodshed. Especially not his crew’s. “But if punishment is what you want, punishment is what you’ll get. I will take the flogging in her stead.”

  Chapter 14

  Perdita could not believe her ears. Even as the words sifted through her mind, they stabbed her heart with both shock and grief. Nay! This is not how it was supposed to happen. Savion was supposed to dash to her rescue, risk his life in a battle against overwhelming odds—as he had done in Skivia when he’d singlehandedly fought three Malum. Why else would Perdita risk being burned at the stake?

  “Nay, Savion!” She started to sob but forced back tears that would betray her. She’d rather see him leave than suffer the punishment that was her due. “Go away! I don’t want you here!” She twisted for a glimpse of him, the irons biting her wrists.

  His golden eyes met hers—the look he gave her powerful yet tender, holding more compassion than the anger she deserved.

  “Go!” She turned away.

  Chuckling sounded from Sal’s direction, followed by laughter from the crowd. “You would suffer agony and humiliation for this wanton maid? I heard you were a mighty warrior, a defender of the weak, not some nimby-hearted cod.”

  “Do you accept my offer or not?” Savion’s tone bore annoyance.

  “I do not. Bring the whip!”

  Relief loosened Perdita’s tight chest, even as she braced her back for the flogging. Shuffling sounded. Part of her hoped ’twas the sound of Savion and his men leaving. If they weren’t going to rescue her, she preferred they not watch her humiliation.

  One glance told her she was correct. She was not worthy of the kind of love that would sacrifice all.

  Stupid, stupid girl! Now she would suffer the flames as well.

  “I will pay money for her!”

  ’Twas Damien Gund’s voice. She’d heard him strut into the clearing like a bloated goose and announce her as naught but a whore. And the sweat trickling down her back had turned to ice. Now as she strained to see him, his eyes locked upon her like cannons on a target, and a victorious grin masked his normal vicious scowl.

  She hung her head. Two fates awaited her: tortured for life or burned at the stake. She didn’t know which she preferred.

  Ole Smelly Sal eyed the man with suspicion. “Didn’t you just say she deserved her punishment?”

  “Aye, and it’ll be my pleasure meting it out to her.”

  “She stole from me, not you,” Sal returned.

  Damien gave an incredulous huff. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Gund.”

  “Then you know how miserable I can make your life, Smelly.”

  Sal’s face grew tight.“That’s Sal to ye.”

  “Sal, Smelly, who cares?” Damien snapped his fingers, and several well-armed men emerged from the crowd. “I will give you one last chance to accept my offer.”

  Perdita’s stomach soured. Damien hadn’t changed a bit. He was still as vile and greedy and determined as ever. Sunlight caught the silver streaking his dark hair and manicured beard as he stood in the center of the square as if he were king. He was imposing enough without all the black satin, silver embroidery, lace, and brass-buckled boots—attire that made him look like royalty. No doubt he thought he was royalty with all the power he wielded. And now that he had found her, she knew he’d never let her go.

  She would spend the rest of eternity adding to the fiend’s fortune as the lead exhibition in a traveling show, while he tortured her for pearls each night.

  “What sort of price are we talking about?” Sal scratched his scraggly beard.

  “How about the price of your life.” Damien and his men whipped out countless knives and pistols, shocking the throng into silence. Several began slinking away.

  Sal gave a nervous chuckle as he took in the growing number of men emerging from the mob to stand beside Damien.

  Perdita faced the wooden post again, her heart thrashing in her chest. Damien would win. He always won. Zost! She should have spent this ethereal redemption in her cave as she’d planned. Not embarked on some fool’s quest after a man who’d never done a vile thing in his life.

  The battle began. Grunts and groans and the chime of blade and roar of pistols burst into the air like fireworks in some maniacal carnival. She dared not peek. What did it matter anyway? To either victor she would be a prisoner. In either of their hands, she would be tortured. And with Savion gone, her only hope of becoming mortal had vanished.

  She leaned her head against the rough wood, and thought to appeal again to King Abbas. He was supposed to be a benevolent king, merciful and kind. Yet, he had not answered her last prayer for peace. Instead, Savion had appeared, and now she found her situation far worse. Regardless, she whispered a prayer anyway and then gripped the post, awaiting her fate.

  Hands grabbed her shoulders. Damien’s men or Sal’s, she didn’t know. Sunlight glinted off the blade of a large ax, blinding her. Leaning away, she trembled. Zost! This was going to hurt! Someone shoved her against a hard chest as arms surrounded her from behind. Still, the battle raged in the background. Gun smoke and the metallic smell of blood clogged her nose. Along with the sweat of the man behind her.

  “Stay still!” he ordered. Heart leaping, she turned her head to see Savion’s stubbled jaw rubbing her cheek, his eyes on Petrok standing above Perdita with the ax.

  Thwack!

  Metal on metal clanked, jerking against her wrists.

  Thwack!

  The chains slipped from her hands. Savion pulled her to her feet and swung an arm around her waist to help her walk. Then, with his crew forming a barricade around them—fighting off the few men who noticed what they were doing—they dashed down the street. Mud oozed between her bare toes as they wove around wagons, coaches, horses, and curiou
s stares to the docks and into a small boat. Rapid rowing by six of Savion’s crew brought them to the Scepter within minutes, while a string of commands from his mouth sent his men hoisting the boat into its cradle and unfurling sail. The anchor was raised, canvas thundered above in a hearty boom as it caught the wind, and the Scepter veered to port and sailed from the harbor.

  Perdita gripped the railing and gazed at Kadon, where pistol shots still split the air. She smiled. How long would it take before they realized the object of their battle had disappeared?

  Inside, her own battle raged between being thrilled to not be facing torture, ecstatic that Savion had come back for her, and disappointed that her plan had not worked and she was still under the curse.

  Immortal and trapped instead of mortal and free.

  Wind blasted over her, and strands of her hair tickled her back—her nearly-bare back. Oh my, she’d forgotten. She spun around to find some of the crew gaping at her with the expected desire, and one of them—Verrad, if she remembered his name—eyeing her as if he’d just won a race and she was the trophy. Before she could make her escape below, Savion leapt down from the quarterdeck, shouted a few orders to Petrok at the helm, and took her arm. Halfway down the companionway, the ship canted, and he laid a hand on her back to steady her. Heat spiraled through her at his touch to her bare skin. He must have felt it too, for he jerked away so fast, she felt a breeze. An angry breeze, no doubt, as he all but shoved her into his cabin, entered behind her, and slammed the door.

  ♥♥♥

  Savion eyed the woman as she inched toward a chair. A ray of sunlight shimmered over the silky skin of her back as raven locks caressed her waist with each rock of the ship. He swallowed and looked way, trying to regain his fury. Ah, there it was.

  He grabbed a waistcoat from his trunk. “Woman.”

  She turned. He tossed it at her. “Cover yourself.” Frowning, she slipped on the garment, then sank into a chair. “Why are you—”

  “Angry?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I find you once again on my ship! You’re like a fungus, an insidious fungus that returns again and again after I think it’s gone for good.”

  The hurt in her eyes made him instantly regret his words. He stormed toward the stern windows. “I gave you money and a room for a week. Plenty of time to locate your friends or find gainful employment.” Balancing on the heaving deck, he crossed arms over his chest and gazed at Kadon growing fainter in the distance. Could the woman have been the reason he sensed he must stay in Kadon? That urgency, that sense of danger, had vanished now that she was on board. But why?

  He swung about, trying to restrain his frustration. “Instead of doing the good thing, the right thing, you decide it would be a better idea to steal the mayor’s fortune!”

  “You didn’t have to save me.” She fingered a lock of hair and stared at the floor.

  “Next time I won’t.” And he meant it. It was not good for someone to be rescued from their own consequences. How would they ever learn?

  She looked up at him, her nose and cheeks pink from the sun, her lashes a silken forest, her green eyes moist with wonder. “You offered to be flogged in my stead? Why? When you obviously loathe me.”

  Savion looked away from the pain in her eyes, the longing that did disturbing things to his insides. The ship tilted. Water roared against the hull like the blood through his veins. “I don’t loathe you,” he finally said. He wove around his desk and leaned back on the top, staring at the floorboards. “I couldn’t bear to see you … any woman suffer like that.”

  “You are unlike any man I have known, Savion.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  She gave no reply, save a sad smile. “I am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. I didn’t ask you to come, though I’m glad you did.” Lush black hair tumbled to her lap, tender strands dancing over her face in the breeze from the hatch above. She was so beautiful, he could look at her for hours. But she was vain and self-centered, a thief, a liar, a seductress. A charitable seductress, apparently.

  Indeed, there was good in her. She was educated and intelligent. And kind. He’d seen it when she’d tended his wounds. And now in her charity.

  “Why would you steal all that gold only to give it to the poor? Why would you steal at all? Especially from the most powerful man in town?”

  “Because he’s also the richest. And the money was put to better use.”

  “That is not for you to decide.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Contrary to what you believe, I do actually care about those in need. I hate watching others suffer.”

  “There are better ways to help. Legal ways.”

  “None within my grasp.”

  “So you sacrifice your freedom, your very life, to feed the poor? I find that hard to believe.” He rose and walked to the bookcase. “Just another one of your half-witted impulses, I’d wager. Or perhaps you had a score to settle with the mayor? I suppose I’ll never know since I can’t trust a word out of your mouth.”

  “Alas, you use me monstrously, Savion.” Her voice broke in sorrow. “I grieve that you find me so lacking in character.”

  He turned to face her, looking for tears, anything to prove the remorse in her voice, but found none. “Then prove me wrong. Tell me the truth for once. Why did you take the money?”

  The deck tilted, and she clung to the chair arms. “In truth, I was helping a friend. Not by getting him the money but by taking it. I cannot explain further or I will break his confidence.”

  “Ah, you have no qualms about lying, but divulging secrets, now there’s a line you won’t cross?”

  She cast him a seething glance and frowned. “After I took the gold, I was running through town and noticed those in need. It was nice to be able to help them.”

  He studied her, seeking the truth of her words. “Odd. But for once, I believe you.”

  A hint of a smile lit up her face.

  “Was that so hard?” He approached and sat beside her. “Let us have another test since you are in the mood for truth. Why did Damien Gund want to buy your freedom?”

  She glanced out the window, fidgeting in her seat. “How should I know? I’ve never seen him before.”

  Back to lying again. Disappointed, Savion rose. “And we were doing so well.”

  “Perhaps he was overcome by my beauty.” Her tone was desperate. “What else could it be? I have no money or possessions.”

  “Not every man grovels at your feet, woman.”

  “So I have discovered.” She slumped back in her seat.

  Shouts sounded above as the mad rush of the sea heightened against the hull. “Nevertheless, here you are once again aboard my ship and at sea.”

  “In good sooth, I am sorry to burden you, Captain. Pray, leave me at the next port. In the interim, I shan’t be any trouble, I promise.”

  “Now that I definitely don’t believe.”

  Chapter 15

  After Savion left to attend his duties, Perdita found herself alone once again. She paced the cabin, stared at the glistening sea through the stern windows, and wavered between lying on the bed trying to sleep or flipping through the many books lining Savion’s shelves. One would think she’d have grown accustomed to being alone, but it never failed to bring her spirits low. Especially during the only month she had to enjoy the company of others. So, when Bart brought a clean gown and some boiled pork, biscuits, and papaya, she begged the grouchy old sailor to stay. He stared at her curiously, scratched his thick beard, and darted from the room as if she had the plague.

  Mayhap she was a fungus, just as Savion had said.

  As night fell, her thoughts drifted to Damien. And the pork she’d eaten for supper—as delicious as it was—soured in her stomach. The vile man had finally found her! A shiver overtook her. Striking flint to steel, she lit two lanterns, hoping to chase away the shadows along with the chill. Surely, it wouldn’t take him long to find out who Savion was and what ship he commanded.

&n
bsp; Although, if Damien followed them and attacked, it would provide another opportunity for Savion to break the curse. It would also put Perdita at great risk. Hugging herself, she lowered to the cushioned window ledge and watched the moon sprinkle silvery dust atop waves. The rhythmic creak and groan of the ship should have lulled her exhausted body to sleep, but her nerves were too tight, her despair too overwhelming. She had only twelve days left before she faced another ten years of torturous loneliness.

  This time she didn’t think she could bear it.

  Hours later, the door latch clicked and Savion entered the cabin. Thankfully, his anger seemed to have evaporated. He stepped into the lantern light, and she wondered once again how she could have ever thought him plain. There was so much more to this man than his appearance—his spirit and soul so strong, so noble, they made his looks more than appealing.

  Was that the reason he found her so hideous? Did her ugly soul overpower her beauty?

  Setting his sword on the desk, he approached. “You look frightened.”

  “I am.” She hugged herself.

  One brow rose. “You? The woman who singlehandedly fights villains off on a beach, braves battles against Malum warriors, and steals a ruthless mayor’s fortune? That woman is frightened?”

  She smiled. “Mayhap I have reached my limit of adventures.”

  “Ah, let it be so!” He chuckled.

  If he only knew how many preposterous adventures she’d embarked on in her long life, how many times she’d tried to lure men to their deaths—and in how many different ways. In truth, she’d run out of ideas. Now, here stood this enigma before her. This man who, by all accounts, would leap to his death to save her—or anyone, for that matter—but who was somehow protected by a force she dared not acknowledge.

  By now she should have had him seduced to the point of declaring his love for her on bended knee. The next step would be to give her body to him, receiving his admiration and love, hearing his words of devotion whispered in her ears through the long, passionate night.