Dangerous Weakness

by Warfield, Caroline

  “Don’t touch her, you dog!” Richard roared, lunging forward only to be yanked back. He shouted himself hoarse; they ignored him. He cursed Volkov for the animal he was. He fought to break loose from his bonds until pain shot through his head and darkness overcame him.

  Lily. Oh God, Lily.

  Chapter 29

  Hard wood cut into Richard’s back when he came to. He could not feel his hands, bound as they were behind some sort of post. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. His keepers had left him tied and gagged in a dim space that smelled of fish and bilge water. They had left his smallclothes, but they were little protection from the cold.

  Gratitude for the looseness of his gag didn’t outweigh his other discomforts. No pain came close to fear for Lily. What did they do to her?

  Frantic attempts to pull at his bindings resulted only in greater shoulder pain and a banged head. Where the hell am I and how long have I been here? An hour? He suspected more. Four perhaps? Lily, dear God where are you?

  Something soft and clawed ran over his lap and scuffled to the left. I have company in this hell, four footed, and cunning. He fought back nausea, bent his knees, and slid his feet close to his body. How long before they gnaw at my toes?

  An inhuman moan emanated from the gloom to the left. No rat that. Richard stared into the shadows, allowing his eyes to adjust. Not so inhuman. Black eyes glared back at him; Volkov slumped against a similar post ten feet away, face bloodied and swollen. His eyes glow, though. Hatred glows in those eyes like red coals. While Richard watched, blood dripped down Volkov’s face, across his bare chest and onto the rough loin cloth that was his only clothing. Do rats smell blood? I hope he keeps them busy so they don’t come for me.

  He knew from the bobbing—and the horrific smell—that they had been carried to a ship. He sensed movement; they were under sail. The ship moved slowly which meant they had not yet reached the open sea. By now they may have cleared the city and crossed the Sea of Marmia that lay below Constantinople. He suspected they were passing through the Dardenelles to the Mediterranean. Escape from a ship should be easy in that narrow passage. Hadn’t Byron famously swum across?

  He shook with bitter laughter. Escape would be easy? If he managed to undo his bonds, find Lily, and get to the deck without being captured, he still had the problem of swimming to shore with a pregnant woman in tow.

  How long before Liston or Sahin Pasha figure out what happened? he wondered.

  Rescue seemed almost as unlikely as escape. Even if the Ottomans knew to follow or cared to, the ship, if it was a Barbary corsair, would be fast.

  At least Volkov couldn’t do further harm. Richard’s only satisfaction lay in the sight of the Russian beaten, bloody, and bound.

  Richard couldn’t measure the time that passed before he felt the ship gain speed. Volkov had slumped, asleep or unconscious, and Richard himself had almost nodded off when footsteps on the stairs to the hold put him on alert. The man who entered no longer wore black, but his scarred face made Richard’s guts churn.

  Dressed in loose brown trouser and wide-sleeved shirt, Scarface wore the long tunic characteristic of North Africa. He had a lethal-looking curved sword in a red sash and his dagger in his hand, the weapon Richard last saw pointed at Lily. If this animal harmed Lily, he will pay . . . someday, I will see to it.

  He cut Richard’s bonds and aimed the knife at his neck. “You come now,” he said in passible English.

  Richard pulled out the gag; his tongue and throat felt like old leather. Temptation to attack the man surged. One thought kept it in check. Not until you find Lily. Richard did as he was told. He crawled up the stairs and limped across the deck. Wind whipped at his bared skin.

  They had reached the open Mediterranean and picked up speed. He noted they sailed on a small frigate or perhaps a corvette, probably captured from the Portuguese or the Americans twenty or more years ago. Small but impressive. At least it isn’t a galley.

  His keeper prodded him forward toward the captain’s cabin situated aft. The cabin, stripped of decoration and hard used, had the sparest of furnishings.

  “Welcome, English,” a deeper voice said. The speaker sat at the broad table built into the deck, the captain’s desk with its myriad map drawers. Broken handles and gashed wood spoke to this one’s long life. Richard recognized him as the leader of their captors. The man clearly captained this ship. Richard lunged toward him; the point of a sword stopped him.

  “Where is Lily?” he demanded, his voice a harsh squawk. “Where is my wife?”

  “Wife?” the man arched a dark brow. “Your woman dresses for the Sultan’s Seraglio and you call her wife?”

  Richard opened his mouth to speak again, but this time the words grated in his throat and died there.

  The captain gestured, and Richard’s keeper handed him a water skin. He swallowed deep and choked. Rum!

  Both pirates laughed. “I am Rais Hamidou. You have heard of me?” the captain spoke in impeccable English. Rais. Richard recognized that word. Leader. Chief. Captain.

  “Rais Hamidou is dead. Steven Decatur killed him at Cape Gata.”

  A roar of laughter greeted this pronouncement. Richard realized three or four more pirates had crowded into the cabin to watch this exchange. He inclined his head and raked his memory; the image of his desk with its dozens of reports on Mediterranean shipping didn’t help much. Legends clung to the name Hamidou, but they obscured the question of whether the deeds were true or those of any one man. Perhaps a Hamidou rises from the ashes like a Phoenix when one is killed.

  “I am acquainted with the name,” Richard said.

  He took a slower swallow of rum to soothe his throat and survey the room.

  “Where is my wife?” he repeated with as much diplomatic aplomb as he could muster in his current state.

  “Secured below.”

  Relief swept through Richard. Lily is alive.

  “She is an innocent.”

  “An innocent?” Hamidou smirked.

  “She is my wife,” Richard countered; his eyes dared the man to disbelieve. “I demand to see her.”

  Shrewd eyes considered Richard’s defiance. Hamidou flicked a gesture, and one of the men bolted out the door.

  “She is not untouched,” Hamidou said. “That will impact her value to some in the slave market in Tunis, but her fiery hair and her obvious fertility may prove an asset. The hair will certainly please. We shall see.”

  The thought poleaxed Richard.

  “Volkov owed us much,” Hamidou went on. “We will recoup our losses.”

  These men intended Lily for the slave markets. Knowing felt far worse than guessing. The trade flourished for three hundred years. The American invasion of Tripoli and Exmouth’s bombardment of Algiers had contained the trade but never stamped it out.

  Before Richard could respond, the door opened and Hamidou’s man returned. He pulled Lily behind him, her hands bound. The man pulled her with a rope like a dog. Frightened green eyes bore into his over a silken gag. Scarface’s sword kept Richard in place.

  “She should bring much, this one, with or without the baby. The child is yours?” Hamidou said.

  “Yes,” Richard rasped. He racked his brain for an argument the man would accept. Only one would work. “Whatever you think she’s worth, I can pay you more.”

  “You?” the man roared with laughter, looking Richard in his ragged smalls and bruises.

  “I am Richard Hayden,” he rose up and stiffened his aching spine. Hamidou raised an eyebrow. Unimpressed. “The Marquess of Glenaire.” More interest. “Heir to the Duke of Sudbury.” I have his attention. “Whatever you think she is worth, my government will pay more. He prayed that was true. If Castlereagh balked and his father wouldn’t, Chadbourn would see it done.

&nb
sp; “Interesting, but not certain,” Hamidou answered. “I know the traders in Tunis and Algiers. I don’t know you.”

  But you’ve heard of me. I’d swear to it. “What do you have to lose by waiting?” He forced his eyes to stay on Hamidou and not Lily.

  The man appeared to ponder his words. “Perhaps I will wait with the woman and sell you. You are worth almost as much as the woman, my lord Glenaire, though not, I think, as much as Volkov owes us. The galleys are hungry for strong backs. Your strength is not first rate, but it will improve over time, and it will amuse them to have ‘my lord’ to pull their oars.”

  He felt sick. If I’m lost in the galleys, it will take years to find me. What will happen to Lily and the baby then?

  “If I wait,” Hamidou mused, “she will deliver. If her baby lives, I can sell him also.”

  A wail wrung from the depths escaped Lily’s gagged mouth.

  Hamidou rubbed his chin and ignored Lily’s moan of protest. “What shall I do with you?”

  The pirate looked amused. Does he really have to consider it or is he torturing me? Richard had nothing else to say, nothing else to offer. He had played his last card.

  “I will consider your proposal,” the man said at last. “In meantime, you will be fed as will your . . . wife, did you say? We must care for our merchandise. Volkov owed us much. You will make up for it and more one way or another.”

  Rough hands shoved Lily back into the wooden closet that had been her cell for hours. They removed neither bond nor gag.

  Raucous laughter accompanied their forced march from the captain’s quarters. Hamidou’s quarters. Richard had called him Hamidou, the beast who would sell my baby. She gagged as her rising gorge threatened to choke her.

  Two of the captors, who stunk of bilge and unwashed bodies, shoved Richard into the closet to lie in a heap at her feet. Her heart leapt. Do they mean to leave us together? They grinned like fools from the doorway.

  Richard struggled to his knees. One pushed him back down when he tried to rise. They pantomimed a mockery of obeisance. Lily forced her rattled mind to clear. She called on her smattering of Arabic and knowledge of Turkish, but she couldn’t make all out all of their words. She understood “English lord” at least. She could do nothing to help, bound as she was.

  The men tired of their game at last when a third man appeared with what looked like a pile of rags. They tossed it at Richard, slammed the door, and shot the bolt to lock it. Behind the door, she heard muffled words that sounded like “robes for a king.”

  Richard stumbled up and yanked off her gag. He kissed her hard and fast. She pulled her head away and lifted her bound hands to his face.

  “Untie me you blasted man, this is no time for dalliance.” He began to work at the knots, but leaned in and stole another kiss.

  “What the devil did you mean telling that beast I’m your wife?” she sputtered. “Who gave you the right?”

  He looked up from working at her fastenings. “I thought it might help keep you safe,” he said. He struggled with swollen hands to untie the knots. “They frown on unmarried pregnancy.”

  “You have no business ordering my life,” she said. “I’m not yours to—” Yours to bully. Yours to control. She remembered Hamidou and the sword he held to her heart. “Oh God, Richard, the baby!”

  “Don’t be an idiot. We need every scrap of protection we can find. At least they put us together. It will be true soon enough.”

  The ropes came free before she could summon an argument. When he pulled her into his arms, she no longer wanted to argue.

  He kissed her long, his mouth gently tugging on hers. Her arms went around his neck to pull him closer while she savored the warmth of his naked chest. She slid one hand down his back. When she felt scratches, he winced but did not relax his hold on her. She lowered her hand to the soft cotton of his smalls and held on to his buttocks. When she broke their frantic kiss and moved her mouth across his neck and collarbone, he laid his face against the top of her head and breathed deeply.

  “I thought you were dead,” he murmured.

  She looked up, startled. “I feared for you, too,” she whispered through a throat thick with unshed tears.

  The shadow of a grin flitted across his face. “Perhaps my lie had one benefit. At least they put us together.”

  He looked around. Their cell had nothing but rough wooden walls and a foul-smelling bucket, for relieving themselves he presumed. “Not exactly the Brighton Pavilion, but better than the hold.”

  “Better?” How could this hole be better?

  “No warmer though,” he said. Lily felt him begin to shiver spasmodically.

  “Maybe this will help.” Lily picked up the pile of rags and shook it out to find it was a tunic of some sort, like the garment a laborer or nomad might wear. It looked as if it had once been blue but had faded to dirty gray. It smelled vaguely of animal, showed patches worn thin with wear, and sported ragged tears across the hem. She held it out to him.

  His look of distaste might have amused her under other circumstances.

  “Your choice is this or parading in front of those men in your smalls,” she said tartly. She looked fully at his state of undress, which she had ignored in her terror in front of Hamidou, and felt her face grow hot. “They treated you horribly.”

  “They weren’t gentle,” Richard said, pulling the offensive garment over his head. “But I fared better than Volkov.” He winced when it slid down his back.

  “Volkov? Is he alive?”

  “Barely. They beat him badly. He’s tied up in the hold in his own filth without so much as the dignity of his smallclothes.”

  “I can’t feel pity,” Lily said, but she looked as if she regretted that. “Let me look at your back.”

  “Not now, love. I will keep.”

  Did he really call me love? In her heart she knew it to be a figure of speech, but an unusual one for the Marquess of Glenaire.

  “You don’t need to fuss over some scratches,” he went on. “We are together and will be fed—or so Hamidou promised. Let that be enough for now.”

  Hamidou! In spite of her best efforts, Lily crumpled. “He threatened to sell my baby!” She grabbed the front of his robe and wailed, “You have to protect her. Pay him whatever he asks. Tell him he can sell me, but protect our baby.”

  “Don’t even think about making such an offer!” he shouted and quickly lowered his voice. “I won’t have it.”

  “You don’t order my life,” she sobbed. “I will do whatever I have to.”

  Richard took both her hands in his. “Hush, Love. Hamidou is no fool. He knows exactly who I am. Negotiation may be touchy, but I can persuade him to let you and the baby go. I’m certain of it.”

  “Negotiation?”

  “He’ll want to haggle, once he’s done terrifying us, but yes. I’ve been worthless so far on this adventure, but negotiating with hostile parties is one skill I can use to protect you.” He held on to her hands; bitterness gave his words a hard edge.

  “You are not worthless,” Lily said.

  “Am I not? My wife and baby are locked in a Barbary cell, a pirate has terrified you so badly you’re willing to die for your child, and I did nothing to prevent any of it,” he snapped.

  “Foolish man,” Lily said. She removed her hands from his, slid them up his chest, and looked up at him. “If you hadn’t charged down that hill, I would be in this alone, with no ‘negotiating’ skills and no hope of ransom.”

  Blue eyes bore into hers, warm with intense emotion. Why did I ever think them icy? He stood a little straighter.

  “I’ll need help,” he said.

  “Help?”

  “For one thing, you must not show fear. You did well when we were taken. Your courage made me proud. Keep it up. Save your tear
s for when we’re alone.”

  Lily doubted she had done so well, but his pride lay like balm on her flagging spirits.

  “For another,” he went on, “I know neither Russian nor Turkish much less Arabic. I’m afraid French is the extent of it, and that only moderately. I could have used your facility many times in my work.”

  The admission astonished her. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “I’ll need you to pay close attention to everything you hear.”

  “Berber,” she muttered. Her brow wrinkled in thought. “When they speak among themselves I hear a different language. Berber, I suspect. I can’t help with that.”

  “Do your best. Information gives a negotiator an edge.” He pulled her into his arms. “We can do this together. We won’t let Hamidou order our life.”

  Lily sank into his warmth. He said ‘our life.’ Our. Hope took root in her soul.

  Chapter 30

  Hopelessness gripped Richard. The moment of accord with Lily hadn’t lasted. She spent most of her time sitting against the wall, arms around her belly, lost inside herself. He couldn’t rouse her. Their conversation consisted of him urging her to eat when food came.

  Day merged with night in the windowless cell. Food came twice a day, but Richard couldn’t be certain how many days. When the ship finally paused and lurched at what he hoped was anchor, he tried to count back. They had sailed perhaps twelve days since they had been locked up together.