The Dark Crusader

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The Dark Crusader Page 12

by Jackie Ivie


  Cassandra glanced up at him. Down at herself. Posing? “I’m not,” she replied.

  “Then why does it look like you are?”

  She daren’t move. In this position, she was barely shielding her nakedness. She didn’t know what he expected her to answer.

  “Who has seen you? Thusly?”

  “Emin.” She cleared her throat. Her words still sounded like a fearful whisper. She sounded like a child who’d been caught in disobedience. She couldn’t shake the sensation, either.

  “Who else have you shown?”

  Shown?

  Cassandra blushed. Fully and gallingly. She already knew what he thought of her, but having it put in words was callous. And frightening. And for some reason it sent her heart into palpitations that sent pain with each beat, too. She didn’t dare delve into that affliction. She didn’t trust her voice, either.

  She shook her head. The hair mass wobbled. She put her free hand to it to keep it from toppling.

  He didn’t say anything for such a long time, the steamy enclosure that had felt warm and humid now chilled. It could be due to the removal of her scrub. But she doubted it. She didn’t know what to do. Say. Think.

  “May I...continue?” She spoke to the wall. She could upbraid herself about the little lost girl voice later. When she found her imperious side. And had some clothing for bravery.

  His breathing altered. He gave a heavy sigh. She wished he quit doing that. It raised a lot of trouble all along her skin. All kinds of things she tried to refuse and ignore. Her belly tickled. Her breasts tingled. Her nipples tightened. All of it thankfully hidden in her current position. She darted a glance toward him. He was looking at the ceiling. And then he folded his arms and lowered his head to glare at her. Cassandra lifted her chin slightly and met his look despite how the odd shiver that flew up her exposed back.

  “Not in my presence,” he finally answered.

  Cassandra nodded. Her hair wobbled forward dangerously. She shoved it back a fraction and held it.

  “I brought you something. Something you need.”

  Cassandra blinked. She was afraid the surprise showed. Her shoulders moved back fractionally, and that move sent the mass of hair backward. Her chin tipped up and her body went sideways. She grabbed for her hair with both hands, lost her position at the tub and ended up crouched beside it. There wasn’t a more ignominiously position she could have attempted. Tears of humiliation flooded her eyes. She couldn’t prevent them.

  “It looks like you could use some help,” Rhoenne remarked.

  “But—.”

  “I’m not offering. I am not allowing Emin to help you, either. And my men are not coming anywhere near you.”

  He opened the door. Cassandra peeked up to see that he’d only opened it a hands-width. She watched his shoulders move as he leaned into the aperture. The room was larger than his tent. He made it look miniscule.

  “Come.”

  When that didn’t appear sufficient, he twisted, reached out, and brought a figure in by a grasp of his hand on a shoulder. It was a slip of a woman, so thin she looked like her bones might snap. And Rhoenne manhandled her?

  Cassandra squelched the instant upset as the woman lifted her head. Her cheekbones were sharp. Pointed. Her features pinched. And her eyes were easily the most terrified Cassandra had ever seen. They took over her entire face.

  Rhoenne propelled the woman in front of him before he let go. And then he crossed his arms, and looked down at Cassandra with his usual enigmatic expression.

  “You bought a slave woman?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “I thought Christians didn’t deal in human trafficking.” She couldn’t help the note of censure, although she tried.

  “I didn’t like the alternative.”

  “Where is she from?

  “Don’t know.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “She doesn’t speak Frank? Or Arabic?”

  “She does na’ speak at all.”

  “She’s a mute?” Cassandra asked.

  “Her tongue has been cut out,” he informed her without a hint of inflection.

  “Oh, dear God,” Cassandra’s voice carried the horror. She rose. Instantly realized the mistake, and sank back down.

  He hadn’t noticed. He’d tapped the woman on the shoulder, and Cassandra watched as Rhoenne waved his hands and pantomimed washing, first his arms and belly. Then his hair. Then he pointed at Cassandra. And then he just looked heavenward in an attitude of defeat.

  Cassandra couldn’t decipher the woman’s expression this time when she looked back down to Cassandra. Then the woman looked back up at Rhoenne. Back again to Cassandra. The dawning realization of what she was being tasked to do chased every bit of fear from her features. She looked stunned. Then inordinately pleased. She nodded. Took off the burka she’d been wearing, folded it, and draped it over the edge of the tub. And then she rolled up her sleeves. She lifted a hand next, pointed it at Rhoenne, and then the door, and then waved, looking exactly like she was shooing him.

  Rhoenne’s expression was priceless.

  Cassandra had to duck her head before he saw any of it reflected on her face.

  “I will na’ be far,” he remarked.

  Cassandra sobered before she looked back up. Nodded. The smile wouldn’t stay off her lips however. She watched him look there. Then over her head again. And then he gave his heavy sigh. She was probably in luck that he’d gone before her snort of amusement turned into laughter.

  He was on this third tankard of ale before anyone bothered him. He’d given the men leave from guard duty and strict orders to leave him alone. That was after he’d stripped down to just his jewelry-filled bag, taken a maliciously strenuous swim in the ocean, toyed with shaving before discarding the notion. Then he’d dressed in new Arabic-inspired long trousers, and a tunic with embroidered edging. It was a slim-fitting tunic that hugged his chest uncomfortably despite being the largest Emin had purchased. He’d sent the eunuch on a shopping expedition, to keep him from any further view of Cassandra, but also to purchase attire.

  For her.

  Rhoenne didn’t care what style, what material, or what price. He just wanted her covered, the larger and more voluminous the outfit - the better. What had happened? All the knights now wore new attire, but at least a trunk had been delivered to the door of her chamber. And the skinny wench had taken possession of it after Emin knocked.

  He knew the last because he’d been morosely positioned at the end of the hall by then. He hadn’t left her unguarded, however. He’d added Iain and Graham to Grant’s duty of watching her door while he’d swum. With the warning that he’d personally punish anyone who disturbed her.

  Disturbed her?

  What a farce.

  She was not the one being disturbed.

  Rhoenne took another quaff of beer. Swallowed. He’d already eaten as much as he could hold, finished his repast with a cup of thick coffee, and downed two tankards of ale in rapid succession. And all of it was an effort to keep his thoughts from straying...right back to her.

  It was an impossible task!

  Her image might as well be emblazoned on his eyelids. Exactly as he’d seen her. One shapely leg lifted, showing a curved hip, leading to a wondrously small waist. And the side of a bountiful breast that he’d had a very good view of. With not a stitch of material to mute any of it. Her skin had been rosy, with just a hint of shine...

  Oh.

  He was in massive trouble every time he shut his eyes.

  And it was her fault.

  The woman didn’t show any sense. He was doing his utmost to keep from taking what she just continued offering. Damn her. He was doing everything possible to keep his primal urges at bay. She was obviously well versed in her craft. She knew exactly how to raise desire...to an incalculable level, and for an insurmountable time. His determination was being chipped away with every passing moment. Every descriptor he
used for intestinal armor was close to failing. He was heartless. Cruel. Uncaring. Strong. Inhuman. And all of that turned to pudding every time he closed his eyes. He’d even begged God for help with what was becoming incessant relentless craving. Pure physical want. And massive need.

  And what did she do?

  Prance about naked.

  “Ah! My laird! There you are! Standing in shadows. Wrestling with inner demons. As usual.”

  Rhoenne didn’t just glare. He sent a promise of doom with his attention. It didn’t work. Henry was immune.

  “Do na’ be so glum! I have great tidings! And I have heard of your foray into the markets as well. And your newest acquisition. I must say...I am surprised.” Henry chuckled as if there was something laughable about anything.

  “You do not want to bother me, FitzHugh. I am spoiling for a fight,” Rhoenne warned.

  “Really? How big a fight?”

  Rhoenne growled.

  “That big, huh? Well. You have no reason for such gloom. We have been successful beyond my wildest dreams! Look. Just look at all these dinars!”

  Henry opened a large bag at his hip and lifted a handful of coins from it. Rhoenne glanced at the pile of coins then back at the knight’s face. He took another drink of ale. Swallowed.

  “Verra well. Do na’ congratulate me. But I have managed to not only gain a measure of coin, I have secured passage within hours and we do na’ even have to pay! Well. Except for the woman.”

  The woman...

  Damn it.

  The words sent trouble shooting straight to Rhoenne’s groin. And in this attire, it wouldn’t stay undetected. He should have donned the burnoose again, despite the heat of being indoors. Rhoenne turned sideways, leaned a shoulder into a mud brick wall in a dismissive fashion. He crossed his legs defensively. Regarded her door even more sullenly.

  “It will be a working voyage for us, but what man among us cannot sail? Except perhaps the eunuch, but he will soon learn, I have no qualm.”

  Rhoenne grunted.

  “You doona’ wish particulars?”

  “No.”

  Henry continued on unimpeded. “That ship we saw at anchor? ’Twill sail with the tide. They’ll send a skiff for us. It should be here after midnight. They’d have sailed this morn, but some of the crew took bad sick. The captain had no choice but to send them back ashore.”

  “So?” Rhoenne asked.

  “So...they’ve had some sickness in port. Some fear ’tis plague. The ship captain can na’ interest anyone in sailing with him. He is desperate. He is willing to pay us! He will na’ even charge us for the lone cabin. For your woman...or both of your women, since Euan tells me you have added to your...uh. Stock.”

  “Finished?” Rhoenne asked.

  “You are deuced dark this eve, Ramhurst. More so than usual, I mean.”

  Rhoenne growled again.

  “You know...I think I’ll go and find myself a nice tankard of beer, and some company that actually wishes my presence. You will be ready when we sail?”

  “Me?”

  “I meant your women. Will you make certain they are ready? I understand you have given strict orders that no one is to approach them. You may wish to rescind that...or alter it slightly. Allow the eunuch to help. He appears in need of an assignment. And he’s not quite as fond of...solitude.”

  Rhoenne’s chest felt tight. His eyes burned. His head ached. His gut was wrenched. And his groin was a throbbing problem that wouldn’t recede.

  “Final warning, FitzHugh,” he returned.

  “Try and talk some sense...”

  The man tossed a hand in the air and strode away, his words fading along with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Henry’s jubilation had been premature. They’d been desperate. It showed. Getting aboard this ship may have been a quick solution, but it was not without peril.

  Rhoenne sensed it before they raised anchor. The ship was a two-mast lateen-rigged cocha. They had a cargo of goods to sell in Venice, but it didn’t change the nature of the ship, the captain, or its crew. This was no merchant ship. This was a slaver. He knew it in his gut. He’d hauled Cassandra aboard over his shoulder as if she had the value of a carpet. Emin was at his heels with the skinny wench trussed in the same fashion. While Emin stood guard that first night, Rhoenne reconnoitered. A trip to the hold verified it. The iron chains holding crates in place were affixed to the ship’s ribs, and they had wrist-sized cuffs welded on.

  Men willing to treat humans as chattel in exchange for gold were not just untrustworthy, they were dangerous. The captain claimed to be Muslim, but he didn’t follow the strictures of his faith, nor did any of his crew. The man was a sot, the crew unruly. Any order given was obeyed with a surliness that begged punishment. The captain stayed too drunk to care. More than one crewman should have been tossed overboard for insubordination. The Ramhurst clansmen were outnumbered by more than four to one.

  And Rhoenne had two women to protect.

  Emin wasn’t much of a seaman, but he made an excellent guard. He stood for hours with his back to the cabin door, wicked-looking weaponry gleaming from his belt, his stance unmoving and deadly. The door was only opened to allow for food and drink to be sent in, refuse to be handed out. Emin protected the cabin during the day. Rhoenne kept vigil at night. They’d developed a system. Emin would nod when he appeared. Open the door. Rhoenne did a visual check. If Cassandra wasn’t already abed and sleeping, she did a good imitation of it. The servant woman would nod. And then he’d go about his night.

  Two crewmen worked during the night, one kept look-out. The other worked with ropes and sails under Rhoenne’s direction. The work wasn’t arduous, even with an ever-present breeze. That was one good thing. The crossing would pass quicker, and the motion wasn’t too stomach-churning for any with a weak belly.

  But Rhoenne couldn’t stay awake and watchful forever. He knew his limitations. He’d started taking short naps throughout the day, tying himself to a cot in the hold. The first sennight passed uneventfully. An eighth day. A ninth.

  The cabin door opened on the tenth night. Just past midnight. He didn’t see it. He didn’t hear it. But he instantly knew it. Rhoenne was atop the mizzen sail when he sensed what was happening. He reacted instantly. Instinctively he dove for a line, and thanked fate he’d wrapped strips of cloth around his hand to protect his blisters. The slide to the deck burned his palm even through the bandaging. He’d plucked a dagger from his belt before he landed, all within seconds, and without sound. He didn’t have time for subtlety, however. He took the last yards with a full body lunge, rolled into a crouch, ready to kill. Quickly and remorselessly. And the skinny maidservant may have lost her tongue, but she had no trouble making a muted squeal before she turned and ran back into the cabin.

  “What is it, Ida? What?”

  Cassandra spoke from inside the cabin. His heart instantly palpitated. Rhoenne told himself it was the effects of his exertion and not the sound of her voice, then disguised the idiocy of that thought with a quick scan of the deck. There was a new moon above them, sending a little light onto the deck. Nothing looked amiss. No alarm sounded. The creak of masts, flapping of sailcloth, and slap of rope was the only sound...other than the harshness of his breathing.

  “Did someone see you? Yes? Well...who?”

  Cassandra spoke again. She was speaking a Slavic tongue. Rhoenne slowly rose to his feet. Tucked the dagger back under his belt. Stepped into the portal since Ida had just left the door open. His eyes had adjusted, making it possible to see where Cassandra stood, completely covered in cloth.

  As if she was leaving.

  “Oh,” Cassandra addressed him with a flat tone. “It’s you.” Then she turned to the servant woman and spoke in Slav again. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Mister Big, Bad, and Barbaric?”

  Rhoenne barely kept the amused snort from sounding. He settled with clearing his throat. Lowered his voice to make it sound rough and intimidating. “You disobey?�
�� he demanded.

  “Don’t be angered at Ida. Please. It was my idea.”

  “Ida?” Rhoenne asked.

  “That is her name.”

  “She told you her name?”

  “Of course not. I had to find out which language she understood and then guess until I got it.”

  “I see.”

  “She may be silenced, but she’s not stupid.”

  “I never said she was. How many languages do you know?” Rhoenne asked.

  The burka lifted as she shrugged her shoulders. “A few.”

  “Are you going to answer me?” Rhoenne continued.

  “I just did.”

  “About your disobedience.”

  She tossed us a hand. “Oh. I didn’t think it would matter. No one was around.”

  “I told you. I would be around.”

  “So you did,” she told him.

  He watched her turn around. Her shoulders looked slumped suddenly. She opened her burka. Gave a sigh. “You were right, Ida. It’s useless. I am a prisoner, although I do not accept that beauty is the reason. I can’t get a free breath or a glimpse of anything except the walls of this cage. I can’t even gaze at the stars.”

  She looked so little. Sounded so wistful. Rhoenne’s chest swelled with warmth as undeniable as it was massive.

  Oh.

  He was in trouble.

  “Stars? You wanted to view stars?” he asked in the same language they’d just used.

  Cassandra gasped and spun. It wasn’t bright enough to see her face as she probably went over what she might have just given away. His mind had to see it for him. It was just as entertaining.

  “You know Slav...too?” she asked.

  “Aye. And Rus.”

  “Well. Of course you would. You are just a perfect gaoler, aren’t you?” She spoke crossly.

  “You are being protected,” he stated.

  “I know. That’s what I keep telling myself. It doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

  Rhoenne considered. It had been ten nights since they’d sailed from Batok. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. There were only two others up tonight, and he had a rough idea where they would be at the moment. One favored the galley and a midnight snack. The other usually fished from the stern, snagging several of the large fish that trailed in the ship’s wake. Rhoenne had been the only one high on the rigging. It should be safe enough.

 

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