Enchantress

by Constance O'Banyon

  “I do not know, señor. It was too dark, and I was afraid, so I ran away.”

  Thorn shoved the man away. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “It was not long ago, señor. I did not interfere, because I thought one of the men might be the woman’s husband or even her father.”

  “I do not think so,” another disagreed, “because the big man with the strange clothing was trying to protect her. He fought until he could no longer get up. If he is not dead, he soon will be.”

  Thorn stared at the innkeeper. “In which direction did they go?”

  The man pointed westward. “They went that way, señor. I felt that they were men of the sea.” He looked at Thorn. “Like yourself.”

  Thorn dropped several coins into the landlord’s hand. “I am Captain Thorn Stoddard. See that the big man has the best of care, and send someone to the ship Victorious. Inform my men what has happened here, and tell them I am trying to locate the woman.”

  “Those men were very dangerous, señor,” the man warned. “Would it not be better to allow the authorities to find the woman?”

  Thorn’s eyes took on a dangerous glint. The woman had been under his protection. He knew this could happen; he should have been prepared for it. With long strides, he hurried to the back stairs. He was duty-bound to get her back.

  The music faded in the distance as Thorn rushed away from the village square. He cursed himself for a fool. What in the hell was he doing, chasing after men that had rid him of a woman who had been nothing but a nuisance to him? Hell, he did not even know her name.

  But deep inside, he knew he had to find her. With or without his consent, she had come under his protection, and he would be damned if anyone was going to take her back to Turkey and place her in the hands of that madman, Selim, if he could prevent it.

  He felt in his breast pocket and realized he did not even have his pistol with him. Ill-prepared as he was, he wondered how he would rescue her if he came upon her abductors.

  His jawline tightened with determination as he raced into the darkened night. He would find out if she had been taken to the Turkish ship. If he located her, he would enlist several of the men to aid him in releasing her.

  Thorn stopped short when he spotted a flickering light just ahead on the docks. He proceeded with caution, and before he realized what was happening, he was surrounded by Turks, their lanterns blinding him for the moment. Thorn never saw the man who struck him from behind, but he felt pain explode in his head and he fell forward into a world of oblivion.

  The darkness was oppressive within the small cell where Brittany had been placed by her abductors. The swaying of the ship made her nauseated, and she had no concept of the passing of time. She had cried until there were no more tears left. Now all she could do was tremble with cold and fear, hoping it was not rats she heard scurrying across the floor.

  When she heard the cell door open and saw the flicker of a lantern, she pressed her back against the damp wall, fearful that the men were coming for her.

  She heard a muffled sound and watched as two men tossed someone onto the floor. Before her eyes could adjust to the light, the men left, carrying the lantern with them, and the cell was once more in total darkness. She waited until she heard the door lock before she crawled forward to investigate, fearing it was Achmed who shared her dismal fate.

  In the pitch-black, she felt cautiously in front of her, fearful of what she might find. It appeared that the man was unconscious. She touched a man’s rough face, and drew back quickly. It was not Achmed—but who could it be? Achmed must have been badly injured or else he would surely be locked in here with her.

  Brittany moved back against the wall and closed her eyes, fearful of what would happen to her. If only she had not been so determined to go ashore, she would still be safely on board the Victorious.

  She hugged her arms around herself for warmth. Strange, she thought, that it was so cold inside the bowels of this ship when the day had been unusually hot.

  There was a soft groan, and Brittany tensed. The other prisoner was regaining consciousness!

  “Where the hell am I?” came the unmistakable voice of Captain Thorn Stoddard.

  Brittany did not stop to wonder how he had come to be a prisoner with her, but hurried to him, fumbling in the dark until she found his hand.

  “You have come to help me,” she said in a relieved voice. Then she began speaking more rapidly. “I have been utterly frightened and so certain that no one would ever find me. It is cold and dark in here, and I think there are rats.”

  Thorn sat up and touched his head, only to groan when he found a painful lump there. “I hardly think I could be credited with rescuing you, madame. At the moment, I am as much a prisoner as yourself.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I fear we have fallen into the hands of Sultan Selim’s Admiral Kainardji.”

  “Yes, that is what I suspect.”

  “I am sorry that you have been drawn into this because of me, Captain Stoddard.”

  He winced in pain as he tried to straighten up. “Are you sorry?”

  “Of course.” She reached out her hand to him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Most of my injury comes from my wounded pride,” he admitted. “I came into those devil’s hands like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I doubt they have ever had their prey come more willingly to them.”

  Brittany shivered. “What is to become of us, Captain Stoddard?”

  He reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Worrying won’t help. I don’t suppose there are any windows in this cell?”

  “No, only the one door,” she said in a distracted manner, for never before had she felt a man’s touch, and it unsettled her.

  He stood up and pulled her up with him. “At the moment we can do nothing but wait.”

  When he felt her tremble, he spoke encouragingly. “We will come out of this. I have survived worse predicaments.”

  “It seems that to do nothing would be to admit defeat,” she stated. “Knowing what a stubborn nature you have, I cannot see you going down in defeat without a fight.”

  He smiled at her assessment of his character. “I would admit that our chance of escape would lessen if this ship were to put out to sea,” he replied. “Whatever we do will have to be accomplished soon.”

  Brittany wanted to believe that they would escape. Captain Thorn Stoddard was so commanding and self-assured that he instilled confidence in her and made her believe that there was reason to hope.

  Again Thorn felt the woman shiver. “You are cold.”

  Brittany felt warmth spread through her body when he placed his coat around her shoulders, for it was still warm from his body heat.

  Thorn sank down to the floor, bracing his back against the wall. “I am going to have one hell of a headache in the morning,” he acknowledged, testing his head once more.

  Brittany sat down close to him, and bravely reaching up to touch his brow, found it sticky with blood. “You have been wounded.”

  “It’s nothing—don’t make a fuss,” he replied, pushing her hand away.

  With a stiff determination, Brittany ripped a strip from her petticoat and bound it around his head. Then for a long moment they sat listening to the timbers creak and feeling the swaying of the ship as it rode the restless waves.

  At last Thorn spoke, knowing he must prepare her for whatever lay ahead. “Madame, you are going to have to be very brave. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “Yes…I will try.”

  “And you will do exactly as I tell you?”

  “Yes, I shall.”

  “Good. For the time being, it will be best if you get some rest. I would not be surprised in the least if my crew came to our rescue before daylight.”

  “Do you truly believe that, Captain?”

  He didn’t, but he had to keep her hopes up. “Certainly. They will have missed me by now. You know what an ingenious fellow Cappy is.”

  “Shouldn’t we do
something now?”

  “I doubt if any opportunity for escape will present itself until morning.”

  “Suppose the admiral should set sail?”

  “He would not chance it in these waters at night because they are too treacherous to navigate.” Thorn pulled her head against his shoulder. “Get some rest.”

  “I suppose you are right, but I am not sleepy.”

  He thought she sounded more like a little girl than a woman. “You promised to obey me.”

  “Yes, and I will.”

  “I don’t suppose you swim.”

  “Yes, I swim very well, Captain Stoddard.”

  He felt her move closer to him, and he realized she was trembling with fear. Protectively, his arms went around her, and he pulled her close. “I’ll say one thing in your favor.”

  “A compliment, Captain Stoddard?”

  He laughed softly, thinking she no longer wore her veil and if it were light he could see her face. “Merely an observation.”

  “I cannot wait to hear this.”

  “You haven’t cried and carried on like most women I know would have.”

  “That does not say much for the women of your acquaintance, Captain.”

  “Sharper than a serpent’s fang is a woman’s tongue,” he quoted glibly.

  She sighed wearily, refusing to be baited by him. If anything, she felt comforted by his attempt to distract her. Now she understood why he instilled confidence in his crew, for she felt it, too. He was such a strong presence, and she felt there was nothing he could not accomplish. Had he not won the sea battle when the odds had been four to one?

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and she yawned. “I can swim, and I can also use a scimitar with deadly accuracy.”

  He smiled, trying to picture the delicate brown hands swinging the big sword. “That’s good to know. If only we had a scimitar.”

  “It amused Simijin to instruct me in swordplay. He was proud of my accomplishment.”

  Thorn moved a little away from her when she mentioned her lover, Lord Simijin. “We may both need all our skills to come out of this.”

  “So tired,” she murmured.

  He pulled her back into his arms, smelling the sweet scent of her hair. “You have had an extraordinary day. Sleep now, and I shall keep watch.”

  “Yes,” she said, her head falling forward. “I will sleep if you do not mind—”

  Thorn held the woman in his arms, feeling as if he had somehow misjudged her. She was being uncommonly brave, although she must be terrified of the sultan if she had taken such drastic measures to flee Turkey.

  He heard her soft breathing and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. He smiled ironically. Here was a woman whose face he had never looked upon—and one he knew so little about—yet their lives had become hopelessly intertwined. That he faced death at the hands of the Turks was a certainty, but what this woman faced could be far worse. They would encounter impossible odds, but then, he told himself, the faint at heart never won a battle.

  Without his being aware of it, he reached for, and found, her hand. Her long, slender fingers were cold, and he clasped them to bring warmth to her. Finally, he shifted her weight so she was lying across his lap. She stirred, and he spoke softly to her.

  “Go back to sleep. You are safe in my arms.”

  She turned her head against his wide chest, feeling warmth penetrate her whole body. Yes, she was safe with this man holding her.

  Thorn had not intended to fall asleep, but he had. Being a light sleeper, he was suddenly jarred awake by the sound of a bloodthirsty yell that he recognized right away as that of Cappy Hamish. Help had come sooner than he had expected. He shook the woman, speaking to her quickly.

  “Awaken, madame!”

  At first Brittany could not shake off the sleep-drugged state that held her in its thrall. She shook her head to clear it, while Thorn raised her to her feet. It was still dark in the cell, and she clung to his arm.

  “What is wrong, Captain? Are we underway?”

  “Shh, listen.”

  She could only hear the creaking of the ship, but then she became aware of the sounds of a battle on deck. There was no mistaking the sound of clashing swords which was followed by cries of surprise and then pain.

  Soon dancing flames of a lantern lit the darkened shadows, and there was the jingle of keys and the door was shoved open.

  Brittany gasped when she saw what looked like an avenging angel, his pistol trained on the Turk he had in a viselike grip. Cappy smiled at his captain and Brittany.

  “It’s like this, sir; when you didn’t come back, we decided you was in trouble, so me and several of the men thought we’d come and give you a hand.”

  “Cappy, you old sea dog!” Thorn exclaimed, pulling Brittany forward. “I never thought I’d see the day I would be glad to see that face of yours.”

  Three other men from the Victorious appeared just behind Cappy, each smiling at the sight of the captain.

  “We’d best be off, Captain,” Cappy urged. “The Turks only left a skeleton crew on board, but I’m betting the others will be arriving soon, since it’ll be light within the hour.”

  “Yes, let’s be away,” Thorn concurred.

  “Excuse me just a moment, Captain,” Cappy said, turning to his prisoner and bringing the butt of his gun down hard on the man’s head. When the man crumpled to the floor, he smiled his lopsided grin. “Shall we go? The boat is waiting.”

  Thorn pulled Brittany out into the dimly lit corridor, and they all moved quickly up on deck. They had to step over several prone bodies, but none of them were men from the Victorious. Apparently the Turks had once more underestimated them.

  Thorn was glad there was no moon so they could make their departure under cloak of darkness.

  When they reached the railing, he picked Brittany up in his arms and agilely climbed over the side, dropping with a thud into the swaying boat below. They were soon joined by the others, and the small craft was propelled forward as the crew swiftly rowed away.

  To Brittany, all the events of the evening had happened so quickly that they had taken on a sense of unreality. She sat shivering in the aft of the boat, still clinging to Captain Stoddard’s coat for warmth.

  “How is Achmed?” she asked in an urgent voice. “Has anyone seen him?”

  Some of the men were surprised that the Turkish woman spoke English.

  “Yes, madame.” Cappy finally spoke up. “His wounds are deep. But he was taken to the Victorious, where the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Rutledge, is looking after him.”

  Brittany lapsed into silence, hoping that Achmed would survive. He was such a strong man, and he had been so brave—surely he would not die now.

  Brittany’s eyes went to the captain. It was still dark, so he was no more than a shadowy outline. “Captain Stoddard, how can I thank you and these men for what they have done for Achmed and myself?”

  Thorn frowned, wondering if he had misjudged her. Perhaps there was more to her character than just being the spoiled plaything of the Grand Vizier. She had certainly acted admirably tonight. He spoke to her in a kind voice. “It is all included in the cost of the fare, madame.”

  “I fear you got the worst of the bargain, Captain. The fare was not near enough to pay for the damages you have incurred because of me.”

  His laughter was soft. “Have no fear on that point, madame; I shall have a detailed assessment presented to Lord Simijin, your husband…” He paused. “No, I don’t suppose Lord Simijin is your husband, since you are his concubine.”

  Brittany did not bother to deny the captain’s wrong assumption, but she did so dislike him believing she was a woman of the harem.

  “Yes, Simijin will repay you,” she said, suddenly feeling very homesick for her mother and stepfather.

  Thorn felt cold toward her again. For a few hours he had forgotten that she was little more than a concubine. Remembering was not a pleasant feeling for him.

  “Think nothing
of it, madame. Your slave was the one who suffered the most.”

  “Yes,” Brittany said. “I fear for him, Captain.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Brittany was seated beside Achmed’s bed, holding his hand, as though by the sheer force of will, she could keep him alive. Two days had passed since she and Captain Stoddard had been rescued from the Turkish ship.

  Since returning to the Victorious, she had helped Dr. Rutledge nurse Achmed. Even though the giant was unconscious and unaware of anything that went on around him, Brittany talked to him soothingly, hoping somewhere in his world between life and death, he would hear her voice and respond.

  “Achmed, you just have to get better. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Open your eyes and look at me, please.”

  The eunuch did not stir.

  With heart-wrenching sadness, Brittany stood up to ease her cramped muscles. It was sultry inside the cabin, so she had abandoned her veil, vowing she would never wear it again. She hoped her mother would understand.

  She raised the heavy curtain of hair off the back of her neck, wishing the Victorious would get underway because it would be cooler at sea.

  Brittany had not seen Captain Stoddard since the night he had brought her back to the ship. Of course, she hardly left this room where Achmed lay so near death, and the captain had been occupied with the repairs on the ship.

  Brittany could hear sounds of loading and unloading above deck. Apparently they would soon be underway. She would not be sorry to see the last of this island.

  She took Achmed’s huge hand in hers. What tomorrow would bring, she could not guess, but could anything be worse than what she had lived through? She had been parted from her mother, pursued by the sultan’s warships, and, worst of all, Achmed might die—Dr. Rutledge had said so.

  As she stared at him, Brittany remembered all the times Achmed had brightened her life. He had always been kind to her, and had gone out of his way to make her life easier. Until lately she had not known how deeply that devotion ran.

  “You must live, Achmed, so I can tell you how dear you are to me. You must!”