Before she could decide whether or not to pull away, his eyes closed. She relaxed again. Despite the drink, he was behaving with a restraint that spoke well for his character. Though he still clasped her hand, his grip wasn’t suggestive. Rather, he held her as if she was his anchor in a tossing sea, which was probably how he felt.
When the lamp began flickering, she gently disengaged her hand. Instead of making her bed behind the carved screen, she laid her coverlet and pillow next to Gavin. Even with bars between them it felt intimate, but also safe.
After the lamp finally sputtered out, she reached through the bars and took his hand again. This time she didn’t know who was anchoring whom.
Chapter 9
GAVIN WOKE with his head pounding like the damned Maduri drums. Though he didn’t open his eyes, he could sense sunlight in the room.
A hand was intertwined with his. Cautiously he opened his eyes and turned his head a fraction to the right. Alex lay sleeping only a few inches, and a set of gilded bars, away. She wore his shirt and an old sarong and her rich hair tumbled gloriously around her face, the dawn light striking auburn and gold highlights. What had she said the previous night? Something about being thin and disreputable. Perhaps that was how she saw herself, but she still had a loveliness that haunted him.
In vino veritas. Too much alcohol had washed away most of the mental barriers he’d erected between them. Even in the grip of a major hangover, he desired her intensely, but she also inspired a potent mixture of tenderness and respect. He hadn’t reacted to a female this strongly since meeting Helena. Though the two women were nothing alike, they both had strength and wit and warmth.
He’d tried to deny his attraction, but perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing. Alex worried that captivity would cast a dark shadow over her life when she returned home, but if she had a presentable husband there would be little or no scandal.
He’d had vague plans of establishing himself in England, then looking around for a highborn wife who would gain him entry into the society he despised. He’d never intended a cold marriage of convenience, though. He cared about Alex, and in time that might deepen into love. Affection mattered more than pedigree.
But such thoughts were wildly premature. First they must escape Maduri. If he didn’t win the Lion Game, he’d be waving her good-bye as she sailed away. Even if he was successful in the last two trials, Alex was in no shape to think about marriage. She needed to be free, needed to come to terms with what she’d suffered, before making a major decision about her future. She might well decide she wanted no part of Gavin, who’d be a reminder of the worst time of her life.
There was also the risk that she might never heal enough to risk putting herself in a man’s power; if she failed to find her daughter, she might be scarred for life. He wasn’t selfless enough to marry a woman who was emotionally crippled. He wanted a wife whose companionship he enjoyed. A wife like Helena. His throat tightened.
Muscles stiff, he cautiously stretched, stopping when a wave of nausea swept over him. It was going to be a long and difficult day.
Alex’s lids drifted up, revealing her luminous aqua eyes. “Do you feel like death would be welcome?”
“Not quite that bad, but close.” He inhaled slowly to steady his queasy stomach. “Did I do or say anything appalling last night?”
“You were very well behaved for a man deep in his cups.” She sat up, sliding her hand from his grasp to cover a yawn. “Will you be able to perform another ghastly feat this morning?”
“Mercifully, I don’t have to. Kasan said it’s traditional to skip a day after a drinking contest.”
Alex laughed. “What a very civilized island Maduri is.”
In pressing need of his chamber pot, he gritted his teeth and pulled himself upright with the help of the bars. Then he leaned against the cage until his vital organs steadied. “Why couldn’t I throw the symbol for swimming?” he muttered. “I like swimming.”
“Perhaps that will turn up tomorrow. You’ve thrown four of the possible feats, so the odds of casting something you want must be increasing.”
The odds were still not wonderful, but he was in no mood to think about mathematics. He took comfort in the fact that Kasan must feel as ghastly as he did.
The door opened to admit Suryo, who carried a breakfast tray. As Gavin shuddered, the other man said, “I have a drink here that will make you feel better. A moment while I give the lady her breakfast.”
Gavin nodded and headed to his bedroom, weaving only a little. After he closed the door, Alex said, “Last night Captain Elliott said something about spending ten years here. Is he still considering the sultan’s offer?”
Suryo passed a small jug of tea between the bars. “He meant the ten years he must stay if he loses the Singa Mainam.”
Alex gasped. “He’d have to stay here that long?”
“He had not told you?” Suryo looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it is best that you know. Since the sultan would not release you, the captain proposed this challenge as a way to win your freedom. If he triumphs in the Lion Game, you can both leave. If he loses you will be released, but he is pledged to serve the sultan for the next ten years.”
Alex shook her head, dazed. He’d never even hinted at the price he would pay if he lost. She’d thought this blasted game was only about her freedom. Instead, Gavin had put his own future on the line as well. Losing would cage him as surely as she was caged now. His bondage would be more luxurious and his abilities respected, but he’d still be trapped, no longer his own man.
It was the most gallant, stupid, generous, infuriating thing she’d ever heard.
Looking less disheveled, her crazed knight errant returned to the sitting room and silently drank Suryo’s hangover remedy. Part of her wanted to ask why he’d kept his devil’s bargain secret, but she knew the answer to that—he hadn’t wanted her to bear the additional burden of knowing what her freedom might cost him.
He was right, too—the knowledge horrified her. Reluctantly she decided to honor his wishes. At this point nothing she did could make a difference to his future. All she could do was pray for his success, for both their sakes.
The fourth trial had arrived. Feeling almost himself after sleeping a good part of the previous day, Gavin shook the die, uttered a silent prayer, and rolled it onto the table.
Sheng Yu proclaimed, “Empty-hand pentjak silat.”
“Splendid!” Kasan exclaimed. “I have hoped for this chance to test the fighting arts of Maduri against the European style.”
Gavin’s belly knotted. His most fervent wish had been to avoid physically fighting the sultan, and empty-hand combat was almost as dangerous as using daggers. If he hadn’t used his one refusal already, he would invoke it right now.
Kasan expected to win easily because the fighting arts of the East were truly amazing, very different from anything practiced in the West. However, Gavin was also trained in pentjak silat, the Indies style of combat, which meant that both their lives were at risk. Knowing he had no choice, he asked, “What are the rules, Your Highness?”
“We must stay within a circle that will be laid out in the arena. Any empty-hand fighting technique is allowed except biting and eye-gouging. A fall is when the shoulders touch the ground, and best of three falls wins. Do you need to prepare, Captain?”
Since he wore loose Maduri garb, Gavin shook his head and moved to the side of the pavilion to remove his boots. Under his breath, he asked Suryo, “What do you know about Maduri fighting?”
“It’s rather like the Javanese style, using hands and feet equally. He will not expect you to know silat, so surprise should give you at least one fall.”
“No more than one—he’s too intelligent not to catch on quickly.” Gavin looked into the arena, where attendants were marking a circle with a material like powdered chalk. “If I fight seriously, one of us may die or be permanently crippled. If I don’t do my best…” His mouth tightened.
“I have trained you in
the controlling and disabling moves. Use them.” Suryo’s lips curved into something that was not at all a smile. “And remember my other lessons. It is best to avoid fighting, but if you must fight—enjoy it.”
Doubting he would enjoy this, Gavin gave Alex a reassuring glance. She smiled back a little tremulously. “I know you’ll do well, Gavin.”
She’d be even more concerned if she understood this kind of fighting. Pentjak silat was nothing like the English gentlemen’s sport of boxing. Brutal and lethally effective, it was rather like highly refined street fighting. Move in close and fast. Grapple, crush, and gouge. Do whatever necessary to survive, including kill.
He stepped into the arena and paced across the circle, absorbing the textures of earth, air, and light as he mentally prepared for the match. There might not be another Westerner in the world who knew as much about pentjak silat as he did. Bereft after Helena’s death and desperate for distraction, he’d accepted Suryo’s offer to teach him the Island form of fighting. The training had opened a whole new world that required skill, discipline, and a high tolerance for pain. Beyond that was a spiritual dimension which eventually helped pull him from his black depression.
Gavin hadn’t known that many Asian cultures had secret warrior traditions, with the skills being passed from teacher to trusted disciples. He’d quickly recognized the honor in being chosen as Suryo’s student. The two of them practiced everywhere they traveled, the tight quarters on shipboard being a particular challenge.
During the seasons Gavin spent in Macao, he’d met other martial arts practitioners through Suryo. He’d learned about different Asian schools of fighting, and how to ward off attacks of up to seven men at once. More than once that had proved useful.
As drums began pounding rhythmically, Gavin turned to face Kasan, who stood on the opposite side of the circle. They were well-matched physically, Gavin a little taller, the sultan broader, though in silat size wasn’t important. The trick was to use the opponent’s own strength against him. Suryo was three stone lighter than Gavin, but he could still throw his student into a wall with ease.
Breathing deeply, Gavin narrowed his focus down to the dangerous, arrogant man across the circle. This match he could not afford to lose.
Sheng Yu called, “Let the warriors engage!”
Kasan pressed his hands together in front of his chest in the ritual salutation at the beginning of a fight. Gavin copied the gesture awkwardly, as if it were unfamiliar to him.
The sultan moved forward with hands open and the smooth, flowing movements of a trained fighter. He’d probably been studying pentjak since he was a child.
Instead of taking a similar posture, Gavin took the stance of a Western boxer, hands fisted and body upright as he advanced. Pentjak adepts generally preferred to let the other man strike first because an attacker left himself open to a wide range of ferocious countermoves. Though it was risky to give Kasan that opportunity, Gavin feinted a jab at his opponent’s midriff, hoping Kasan would react with overconfidence.
The sultan avoided the blow with contemptuous ease before closing in for a grappling hold that could be used to slam Gavin to the ground. For an instant they were locked together, and Gavin saw something dark and forbidden in his opponent’s eyes.
“Today you become mine,” Kasan growled. “You should have saved your refusal for this test, for I am a master of pentjak silat.”
“Don’t underestimate Western fighting skill.” Having anticipated the sultan’s hold, Gavin broke away and dropped low to grab the back of the other man’s knee, yanking him off balance while shoving hard into the ribs. Before the astonished sultan realized what was happening, he was flat on his back.
“First fall to Tuan Elliott!” Sheng Yu called as the crowd roared with surprise.
Kasan rolled to his feet, eyes glittering with anger. “You were right—I underestimated your skill, and your cunning. But not again.”
“We are well matched, Your Highness.” Gavin relaxed into a defensive posture, knowing the risks had just increased sharply. Silat relied on memory trained into the muscles—Suryo often said that a move practiced three thousand times became part of one’s body—and most moves were meant to cripple or kill. Kasan had the same training. He wanted to win, and if he thought he was losing—well, Gavin dead was no more useless to him than Gavin gone to England.
While Gavin didn’t want to injure the sultan, in the tension of battle he might unintentionally break the other man’s back, drive splintered ribs into his lungs, or worse. With both of them fighting to the limit of their skill, anything could happen. Though Gavin’s situation was rather worse: if he killed the sultan the Maduris would execute him on the spot, even if the death was accidental.
Kasan struck toward Gavin’s throat. Gavin deflected the blow, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid having his wrist caught and forced back violently. He broke free before any bones snapped and flowed into a grappling hold that immobilized Kasan, briefly.
Methodically they tested each other, alternating defensive evasions with assaults. To anyone unfamiliar with pentjak, it would have seemed like an intimate, graceful dance rather than a lethal struggle, with death only one misstep away.
As they engaged, parried, and slid apart, the sultan panted, “I’ve traced your woman’s child. It was sold into the harem of the Rajah of Sukau on Java.”
As a distraction it was first class. Barely thwarting a savage knee toward his groin, Gavin asked, “What do you know of the rajah?”
“He is said to be civilized. The child should be well treated.”
Hoping to God that was true, Gavin shifted his glance to make it appear that he was going to lunge to the left. Instead of falling for the feint, Kasan countermoved and caught Gavin’s left elbow in a lock. As he applied pressure, shattering pain washed through Gavin, swamping all thoughts but agony.
Feebly he tried to break the hold as he was forced downward, but he was unable to summon enough strength. He blacked out from the pain, regaining consciousness an instant later to find himself sprawled on the ground.
“Second throw to Sultan Kasan!”
From a polite distance, the sultan asked coolly, “Did I break the elbow?”
Gavin rose, trying to conceal his nausea. A cautious flex of his arm increased the pain, but at least the joint still worked. “It’s fine.”
Kasan gave his charming smile. “Good. I don’t wish to delay the time it will take for you to join my service. Are you ready for the final throw?”
Gavin nodded, thinking he should have risked burning his feet off in the damned fire walk. The long, demanding bout was draining his energy, making it harder to keep his reactions under control. A wrong move could be disastrous.
Wanting to end the match, he watched for an opportunity to apply a hold that would control Kasan without seriously injuring him. Less concerned with causing damage, his opponent caught Gavin in a turning, twisting head hold that tilted him backward and could easily turn into a neck snap.
Where a man’s head goes, his body will follow. Instead of resisting, Gavin relaxed into the hold, letting his weight fall heavily back into Kasan. For an instant Kasan was off balance as he shifted his stance to absorb the increasing weight.
Gavin used that moment to twist away and apply a risky nerve block to the other man’s upper arm, knowing that if he failed he’d be vulnerable to anything Kasan wanted to try. Damnation! The nerves were protected by too much solid muscle. He jabbed his fingers again brutally. Kasan gasped with agony, his body going slack. It was a perfect control move—paralyzing the opponent with pain but not causing real injury. “Yield, Your Highness!”
The sultan swore in Malay, raging but unable to escape. Ruthlessly Gavin forced him downward until Kasan hit the ground and the fight was over.
The drums erupted cataclysmically. “Match to Tuan Elliott!” In the pavilion, Alex jumped to her feet with relief and excitement.
Gavin stepped back diplomatically and bowed to the sultan. “
You fight better than any ruler has a right to, Your Highness.”
“And you fight better than any Westerner has a right to.” Icy with anger and frustration, Kasan got to his feet. “Pray to your gods that tomorrow’s challenge is an easy one, Captain, for you will be granted no quarter.”
That Gavin knew. He bowed to the onlookers, then returned to the pavilion.
“Where on earth did you learn to do that, Gavin?” Alex asked, awe in her face.
“From Suryo.” He nodded at his friend, who was examining the throbbing elbow.
“I’ll bind this now, Captain,” Suryo said. “Though not broken, already there is swelling.” He picked up a bandage and began wrapping the joint.
“The sultan said he’s traced Katie, Alex,” Gavin said quietly. “She was sold to the Rajah of Sukau, and should be quite safe.”
Alex lit up, luminous with joy. “Thank God! And thank you.” She swiftly brushed a kiss on his cheek, then ducked back, blushing at her forwardness. She smelled like tropical blossoms.
As she was escorted away by guards, Gavin touched his face. Alex’s lips seemed to have burned their imprint into his cheek. In her own way she was as dangerous as Kasan. The sultan merely threatened his freedom and life. Alex might have the power to reshape his soul.
Chapter 10
THAT NIGHT, Alex paced through the slanted moonlight and shadows of her cage, fidgety as a puppy. Though she’d learned to move silently, without even a hint of jangling chains, Gavin eventually emerged from his bedroom. Fair hair rumpled and dressed in light-colored tunic and trousers, he looked like the ghost of some fabulous pagan god. “You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.
“No.” She took a deep breath to keep the tremor from her voice. “I’m sorry to be such a burden. I feel ready to shatter into pieces from sheer nerves.”
“You’re not a burden. You’re a remarkable woman. I suspect that if I were captive and you had to play a Lion Game to free me, you’d do it magnificently.”
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