Dangerous Weakness

by Warfield, Caroline

  Lily sucked in the breath she didn’t know she held. The man is doing his best to fix things, Lily. He’ll hate himself if his best isn’t good enough. He’ll hate himself if harm comes to you. The realization roiled her emotions ever further, comfort warring with fear for him. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stand straight, chin high.

  “If you could negotiate, then all is well. No one does it better,” she said.

  Richard looked at her then, gratitude clear in his expression.

  “We did negotiate,” he said. “There is to be ransom.” He outlined Hamidou’s terms.

  “Sixty days?” She asked breathlessly. “Do you think it will take that long?” She didn’t dare ask, “Do you think it will come in time?”

  “We have to pray it doesn’t take longer,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  “The baby won’t wait that long,” she told him.

  Anguish twisted his face. “I can’t help it. It may be faster if response comes from Gibraltar directly and word does not have to get to England. If the government responds quickly maybe, but there are no guarantees—” He looked as if he meant to say more.

  No guarantees they would respond at all. Lily didn’t need to have him spell it out.

  Lily put a hand over his mouth. “Listen to me, Richard. You can’t fix everything. Our daughter will be born when she is ready, here or on our way to England. We can’t possibly make it to London in time.”

  His arms went around her, and he pulled her close. “I’m sorry I can’t do better. I have no idea about childbirth, but I’ll do my best to see to you.”

  That statement and the image it conveyed made her chuckle, laughter bubbling up from deep inside. “Foolish man. I don’t believe childbirth is your expertise either. I will manage the thing.”

  “So you like to say.” His worried frown didn’t lighten.

  “In this case I’m right. I have to be. The women will help. That young woman’s grandmother is a midwife. You will remember my efforts to build a bridge to them.”

  He jerked his head up. “I won’t have some village peasant assisting in the birth of my son!”

  “What do you propose? You can’t transport some Mayfair accoucheur here on time, even if you could convince one to come.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, and she shut it with a kiss. She snuggled her head against his shoulder. The words he spoke at Chadbourn Park came back to her. “There is nothing I can't manage if I have all the facts.” This must be killing him. “No one expects you to do the impossible,” she murmured.

  “I do,” he growled.

  She listened while his heart slowed.

  “You kissed me,” he said moments later.

  “I did.” Lily smiled against his shirt.

  He took her face in his hands, sliding long fingers under her side curls. She waited for his kiss. When he paused, uncertain, she said, “I won’t break, Richard, as you discovered on the ship. Kiss me.”

  He covered her lips with his and kissed her gently until she opened to allow his tongue to explore more deeply. When he tried to pull away, she held him close.

  “There’s one thing I know you do very well. You did say we’re as good as married.”

  His eyes widened. I’ve shocked him.

  “You’re inviting me? What about the baby?”

  “I learned many useful things in the Seraglio. One is that there is no reason to forego all lovemaking.” She looked at her expanded girth. “You just have to be careful.”

  The poor man looks poleaxed. She watched emotion play across his face: desire, hope, and then caution.

  “No reason except a village full of curious people, bright sunshine, and an ever-open door.”

  He took a step away, but held tight to her hand. “Walk with me, wife. It appears we’re to have the freedom of the island as long as we don’t attempt to escape.”

  “Should we? Escape, that is.”

  “Ask me after I’ve had a look at the island. I suspect not, or he wouldn’t allow the freedom.” He led her toward the flimsy cloth that served as a door. “Besides, we need to continue the conversation tonight. After dark. When the village sleeps.”

  His look, full of passion and promise, made her knees week.

  “See, little one,” she murmured, “your father is a clever man.”

  He took her hand and led her outside. No guard stood at the door.

  “What else did they say while you negotiated?”

  “A lot I didn’t understand. The one word I do understand is becoming too familiar—kafir. Scarface uses it as his favorite insult.”

  Lily looked around the village. How many of these faces hold kindness? How many hate?

  Chapter 33

  It took little time to walk a circuit of the island and less time to be certain they could not escape it. They began with the rise above the cove.

  Hamidou’s frigate still lay at anchorage, but preparations to bear his message to Gibraltar were underway. The few small boats kept for fishing, transport to the frigate when it anchored further out, or the mainland lay in a shallow cove under guard. Richard’s heart sank. Lily clung to his hand.

  “Could we overcome the guard?” she whispered.

  Don’t be daft! He sucked in breath. “Alone, I might try it.

  “But not with me,” she sighed. “I’m a burden.”

  “Never that. We have a baby to protect, Lily.”

  She didn’t argue; she leaned her head against his arm without letting go of his hand. He needed to comfort her; he almost took her in his arms in full view of the village in broad daylight. What would Her Grace make of that? She would whip me with her outrage if she hadn’t already fainted at my appearance. That thought brought a smile to his face. He squeezed Lily’s hand and led her on.

  Their route took them around the outer perimeter of the houses. The sea, the great churning blue wall to their prison, stretched in every direction they looked. They had circled back past the little square and Hamidou’s uncle’s house when Richard noticed a path leading up the rocky outcrop behind the village, one that must lead to the top of the cliff above the cove.

  “Let’s explore that rise.” He nodded toward it.

  He followed the path upward with his eyes when they walked toward the back of the uncle’s house. He heard Lily cry, “Dear God!” She grabbed his arm with both hands and turned her head into his shoulder. He looked down at what she saw, and bile burned hot in is chest.

  Volkov sat in front of them. Ropes circled his chest and ran under his armpits, holding him upright. His hands were bound in front, the bindings brown with dried blood. His state of undress had not changed; bits of rotten food, mud, and excrement clung to him, thrown, Richard guessed, by children who had been given full rein to torment the man. A crude paper sign with Arabic writing hung around his neck.

  Compassion, natural and unbidden, tore at Richard’s heart. He brushed it aside, swiftly calculating what it meant to Lily and his own situation. “Can you read the sign?” he asked Lily.

  She lifted her head and forced her gaze back to Volkov. “Infidel,” she whispered.

  “Thus anyone who cheats Rais Hamidou,” Richard murmured. And England damn well better make good on my deal with him.

  “No one deserves to be treated this way.”

  “Perhaps not,” Richard said, “but some poor souls in Newgate for debts don’t fare much better.” He turned her toward the path, guiding her away from the man.

  “Shouldn’t we do something? We can’t just leave him like that.”

  “No.”

  “Richard!”

  “No. I won’t jeopardize your safety by approaching this man who hired his very captors to kidnap you. It would get back to Hamidou in a heartbeat. He brought i
t on himself. Let it go.”

  A rough path zigzagged upward over jagged boulders. Richard held her hand and helped her up. They reached the top after several minutes. Richard forced Volkov from his mind. He hoped Lily did the same.

  One bronze-skinned teenager hunkered down by a rock where he could scan the horizon in every direction. Hamidou’s lookout. The boy grunted and turned away, ignoring them.

  A brisk Mediterranean wind roiled Lily’s skirts and put her hair to flight. She held on to her Berber headdress. Around them lay rocky coast. The village occupied one small flat area.

  “Look—the mainland.” She pointed across the water. They could see the coast of North Africa, bright brown and gray in the sunlight with thin lines of green here and there.

  They stood shoulder to shoulder for long moments. Lily confirmed Richard’s suspicion that they shared one thought when she murmured. “A person could swim it.”

  “Do you swim, Lily?” He’d never known a lady who could swim.

  “Not in women’s skirts,” she replied, “And certainly not in this condition.” She looked down ruefully.

  But she can, he thought, astounded. “I’ll have to see how well you swim some other time.”

  He stared at the shore, lost in thought. I could swim it, but could I bring help for Lily quickly enough? Unlikely. Whatever lay in that land didn’t include the British Navy. The thought of Volkov sickened him. Thus those who cheat Hamidou.

  “You could,” she said, as giving voice to his thoughts.

  “I wouldn’t leave you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry to be a burden.”

  He did take her in his arms at that. Let watching eyes and London strictures be damned.

  “Never that,” he said. He pulled her head against his shoulder while the wind howled around them. “Never that.”

  They lingered until the sun began to dip; he led her back down. With every step, his heart sank deeper. No escape. None. I can only rely on my friends. He squeezed Lily’s hand tighter.

  “You’re hurting me,” she complained. “Do you want to break my fingers?”

  He loosened his grip with an apology but did not let go. At the bottom of the rise, he turned her toward the far shore, away from the luckless Volkov, and back to the hut where Lily’s nameless young friend waited with food and drink. She smiled at their joined hands and bowed out, dropping the door covering as she went. Quiet and privacy descended.

  In the fading light, Richard took Lily’s face in his hands, long fingers cupping both sides of her chin. He meant to kiss her, but when she smiled wanly, he pulled back. Purple patches lay beneath both eyes, and her mouth looked pinched.

  “You look exhausted,” he said frowning. She didn’t deny it.

  He lowered her to the rough bed that also served as their settee and brought her tea. She took a cautious sip.

  “Mint!” she said, and tried another sip. “Good.”

  He pushed food on her, but she took little. He held bread dipped in a sort of meat sauce to her mouth but suspected the nibble she took wouldn’t keep a mouse satisfied.

  “You should eat.”

  “I did,” she said pulling off her headdress.

  “Not enough for even one grown woman, much less for the two of you.”

  “The women gave me goat’s milk this morning.”

  Is that good for a pregnant woman? He had no idea. He had no idea how to care for her on his own.

  “I’m sorry to be a—”

  “Don’t say ‘burden.’ Don’t ever say it,” he growled. “When we get back to England, I’ll hire an army of servants to care for both of you.”

  “And so you will fix everything.” Her scowl took him aback. Now what? She looks like she would tear the skin off my back if she weren’t exhausted.

  He took the dish away. He went down on his heels to loosen her sash and lay her down. She attempted to smile, failed, and let her eyes drift shut.

  He began to finish the food, dipping bread into the savory meat sauce and devouring the bits quickly while he watched Lily’s breathing become even. His eyes fixated on the gentle rise and fall of the swell where his son lay. Lily says daughter. He smiled at the sleeping woman and tucked the thin blanket under her chin. That’s the least of our problems now.

  Light faded away, and in the darkening, he remembered their brief intimacy in the afternoon. Lily’s words resounded in his mind. There is no reason to forego lovemaking. Sitting alone in the dark, the logistics of the thing seemed awkward any way he imaged it. Clearly some parts of his anatomy stood eager to try, if only Lily didn’t need sleep so badly.

  He shed his robe and climbed gently over the sleeping woman to lie against the wall. Lily lay on her side facing the door; Richard snuggled up behind her, his chest against her back. He embraced her swelling belly with one arm, kissed her neck, and tried to convince his overly eager manhood to settle down. To distract himself he began to devise ways to escape their predicament and reject them one by one, until he finally nodded off.

  Lily jerked awake deep into the night. He pulled her back against him and kissed the spot where her neck met the slope of her shoulder.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  She reached for his arm and pulled it tight around herself. “Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.”

  “Bad dream?”

  She nodded. “You tried to swim.”

  Tried. And failed. She didn’t need to say it out loud.

  “I won’t leave you, Lily. You can be sure of that, if nothing else. I won’t leave you.”

  Her warm bottom moved across his groin, causing an immediate swell of desire. He groaned with pleasure; Lily repeated the action. Minx!

  “Please,” she said, rolling over, seeking his kiss. He obliged her. One of his arms circled her head, and his other hand roamed over her growing middle. Astonishment greeted the unexpected discovery that a breeding woman responds quickly to a man’s touch, if he is gentle and knows exactly which places need a caress. Such a touch to her nipples elicited a moan, the invasion of a finger, moisture. She threaded fingers into his hair and held his mouth on hers. “Please,” she repeated, attempting to pull him closer.

  “Easy, Lily. We must have a care. Let me.” He rolled her back to her side and nestled behind her, pleasuring her with his hands until she squirmed restlessly. When she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and whimpered softly, a smile spread across his face. Her pleasure delighted him—delighted and inflamed.

  He slid into her moist heat from behind. His last coherent thought was You’re a treasure, Lily, never a burden. Never that.

  The grubby toddler in Lily’s lap pointed to her eyes. Most of the children obsessed on her hair until Grandmother finally told them to quit touching it. The boy in her lap was the first to notice her green eyes. She smiled at him. The smile he returned made her heart flutter.

  “Green,” she said pointing to her eyes. She looked around but found little on the rocky island in the same color. She spied a wide stripe on her young friend’s sash and pointed. “Green.”

  The toddler followed her gesture. His little eyes squinted. He looked back at her face. One tiny hand came up to the side of her eye. “Green,” he repeated.

  Whispers of the word went around the little circle of women around Lily. She looked at their eyes, curious and eager. Of course! These women are as anxious to learn as I am. They are no different than the intelligent women in the Seraglio or in London. The more they know, the richer their lives become. The teacher in Lily emerged from its sleep.

  “Let’s begin, then,” she said in English to baffled expressions. “I am Lily.” She put a hand over her heart. “Lily. Zambak.”

  When she pointed to the girl, the young woman didn’t disappoint. She put her hand on her heart and said
, “Izza.” She pointed to Lily and said, “Zambak.” She giggled then and added, “Lily.”

  Introductions passed amid much laughter. Only one refused, the woman with the most heavily decorated headpiece who invaded Lily’s peace the first day. She rose in a huff and retreated to her own home.

  “She is Wasila, wife of headman,” Izza explained. Lily decided to ignore the rebuff and forge ahead. She learned as much as she taught when they moved on to exchange simple words: house, sash, tea, tree, boat, man. Man or guard? Hard to tell.

  The sun had risen high above before the women began to drift away reluctantly. Lily looked up and saw Richard watching her from the door of their hut.

  “How long have you been there?” she asked.

  “Long enough. You’re teaching them English.” His expression looked grim.

  Lily’s mouth tightened. “Do you find harm in that?” she demanded.

  “No.” Still his expression didn’t soften. “English and did I hear Berber?”

  “Some Turkish, a word or two of French. We’re exchanging.” Richard stared down at his feet deep in thought.

  “They learn quickly. Most people do when given an opportunity,” Lily said into his silence. What bothers the man now?

  “Could I?” he asked. Her eyes flew open wide. “Could you teach me Berber—or Turkish at least?” he said at last.

  “I don’t know.”

  His scowl in response would have frightened children.