by Jackie Ivie
“That’s truly what you were doing? Seeking a breath of fresh air and a bit of stargazing?” he asked finally.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
He held out his hand. She didn’t move.
“What is it now?” he prompted.
“You...wouldn’t toss me overboard, would you?”
Rhoenne straightened. Frowned. “Why would you ask that?”
“Please! If that is my fate...don’t hold it against Ida, as well. Please? It was not her fault. She’s been through enough in this life.”
Her voice broke on the plea, and the last part was whispered. Rhoenne was immobile. Stunned. Not only at her words, but the genuine sincerity she’d exhibited while she said them. She actually thought him capable of tossing her overboard? Worse, he couldn’t fault her line of thinking. He’d been punishing her for interrupting his life. He’d been penalizing her for being born female. He’d purposely tarred her with the same brush reserved for Aileen and her ilk.
And with her plea, Cassandra changed everything.
He’d suspected she was different. That’s why he’d fought it so hard.
The small ship cabin wasn’t large enough to contain the breadth of his self evaluation, and yet too small to hide from it. Rhoenne Ramhurst considered himself a reasonable man. Fair. Tough, but just. Right now, he felt almost bestial. He rarely experienced any kind of upbraiding anymore. Henry was usually behind it. This experience ranked up there with the worst of his life. He didn’t know what expression might be on his face. He was actually grateful it was dark.
Rhoenne took a deep breath, exhaled with an audible sigh, then put his hand back out toward her again, palm up. And then he spoke. Softly. Solemnly. “Cassandra, take my hand. I merely seek to grant your wish. And assure your safety as I do so.”
“You’re...granting my wish?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Are you trying to make me change my mind?” he asked in a teasing tone.
“Are...the stars out?” she asked in a hesitant voice, as if his words were still not to be trusted.
“Aye. And very brilliant.”
He didn’t realize he’d held his breath until her fingers touched his. The bandaging curtailed further contact, but just the touch of her fingers was enough to make his heart throb with an intensity that staggered. His knees even trembled. He very nearly took her hand to his lips to kiss her fingertips. He didn’t know what vestige of common sense stopped him. He was only grateful.
There wasn’t a level for the depth of trouble he was sinking into.
He’d been right about the starlight. It was not only brilliant, it illuminated the shininess of her hair, the small upturned nose, the glitter of her eyes, wide and excited. And it hovered on the curve of her soft lips, highlighting them. Rhoenne stifled a groan as he led her to the rail, backing until his thighs reached it. That’s when he noticed something obvious. He hadn’t even taken the time to cover her with the cloth. He suspected the reason. He’d gone insane the moment her fingers touched his.
“Is it thus...every night?” she asked.
“Thus?” he asked. He was amazed his voice worked.
“So...vast. Look. The sky is filled with stars. And the air! So...”
She tipped her head back to inhale a large breath. And all the available light seemed in play for her, the moon and stars working in tandem, to bring out her perfection, turning her from mortal to golden-hued goddess. And he was starting to turn poetic. Just like a troubadour.
Good Lord.
He was shaking, too?
“Fresh,” she finished.
“It’s got a hint of rain,” he explained.
“Rain?”
“We’ve had calm seas. Few clouds. That may soon change. That is what you smell.” He was talking weather. But he could be saying anything. His mind wasn’t connecting properly. He should be grateful his mouth worked.
“Well, I think it’s divine. Free. Crisp.”
Crisp.
He hadn’t considered air with that description before.
“I’d forgotten how it smells,” she continued.
“Air?” Rhoenne asked.
“I’ve lived in an incense-filled cage for eight years,” she informed him. “Eight...lengthy years.”
“You must have been very young.”
“A child. But they like them young.”
What she said was as disquieting as how she said it. In a calm, modulated fashion. Dead-sounding. Rhoenne felt his back clench like it had when he’d heard of Ida’s mutilation.
“Did someone...sell you?” he ventured.
She shook her head, then turned her gaze directly to his. Since he looked down, and the moon was at his back, his face was shadowed. Her features might as well be spotlighted. Rhoenne caught a breath. Felt a whoosh of sensation. And leaned forward...drawn to incredibly lush lips. Pursed and ready.
For a kiss.
He caught the move at the last second, yanking his abdomen so tight, it pulled him back upright. And then he stood there, looking over her head, breathing hard, watching a sail flap with a slight breeze silhouetted against the star-filled night sky. And wondering when he’d lost all his wits.
“They overran the castle. My father...he went down amidst so many of them, I didn’t see his end. My mother...and sisters? I don’t know what happened to them. If they died, it...wasn’t quick. I heard their screams long after I was tied and gagged and taken.”
Her voice trembled. Rhoenne clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.
“I did not know what women suffered...during battle, but I vowed to never let it happen to me. That is why—”
She stopped. He glanced down at how she’d bitten her lower lip. She’d also looked down. The light sent long shadows of her lashes onto her cheeks.
“You took my dagger,” he finished. It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer.
She nodded.
He reached to his belt, plucked the little knife out, and held it to her, hilt out. She looked from the blade up to him, and at the contact of their gazes, every thought went flying right out his ears. Musical notes flitted through his ears, blending together to compose a melody. Rhoenne hadn’t sung in more years than he could remember. And just like that, he started composing?
For how long he gazed into her eyes, he couldn’t say. Music filled both ears. Beautiful. Soul-stirring.
She asked something. Her lips moved. He didn’t hear or comprehend any of it. Rhoenne finally tore his gaze from hers and looked out at the endless vista of night sky again. He didn’t know what had happened. He couldn’t explain or interpret. All he could do was vibrate in place. And hope like hell she didn’t notice.
“I said...’tis dangerous still?” she repeated.
“Oh. Aye.”
He glanced back at her. She smiled and looked away. It looked like a blush touched the tops of her cheeks, but it wasn’t quite light enough to be absolutely certain. And that didn’t even matter. Rhoenne vaulted heavenward. Touched the stars. Marveled at a burst of brilliant light. Spun in wonder...then dropped. Right back into his boots and well-worn Arabic attire, standing with his buttocks against a ship rail with a knife held in his outstretched hand. He shut his eyes for a moment. Reopened them. He was amazed he hadn’t moved.
“Here. Take it,” he said.
“But you are my protector. I trust you. And...I have Emin.”
Rhoenne felt his chest fill with pride, despite the stupidity. “We cannot be everywhere. Please?”
She took the dagger and held it against her chest, blade down, the hilt separating her breasts. He needed to look elsewhere...and rapidly.
“But we’ve come so far. Surely...Candia is close?”
“You will not be safe there.” Rhoenne spoke to the top of her head. It was a much safer focal point.
“Candia is a Christian kingdom. Part of the Venetian Republic.”
“And you are too
beautiful.”
Oh, hell.
He did not just say that. No. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. Rhoenne could have bitten his own tongue. Beauty was a weapon! Hadn’t he learned? Telling her he found her beautiful was tantamount to complete surrender. He wasn’t just admitting he might have erred in his judgment of her...but he had to go and give her ammunition, too? What if he’d been wrong? And she was exactly like Aileen?
“The sultan’s harem had hundreds of beautiful women. Haven’t you heard it said that ‘each was more beautiful than the last’?”
“Surely you have to line them up that way.”
“What?” she queried.
“Beautiful women. If I say my clansmen are each larger than the next, I have to line us up that way, so it makes sense. Therefore, you can only have beautiful women that are more beautiful than the next...never mind. This is starting to hurt my head.”
She giggled. His heart plunged to the pit of his belly and started pounding, blending in with the feeling of disgust he usually harbored there. Rhoenne shook his head to clear it. Spoke on the obvious. “Besides, you were the sultan’s favorite. That puts you at the top of the line.”
“Oh, dear. I did tell you that. Didn’t I?”
“Are you now going to recant?”
“Forgive me. It was a lie, but not a huge one. I was not his favorite...not yet. Why do you think I had to escape?”
Rhoenne regarded her for a long moment. The music started fading from his ears. He swallowed. “You forget,” he finally said. “I have the jewelry he put on you.” And then he patted the bag that was anchored to his belt.
“He put jewels on all his women.”
“All?” Rhoenne’s eyes went so wide the air hurt. His jaw dropped as well.
Cassandra nodded. She had a slight smile on her face as if she dealt with a half-wit. Rhoenne searched her expression for any indication that she lied. Still couldn’t believe it.
“No man would put so much wealth on women. I refuse to believe it.”
“Women are possessions to these people. Adorning them is the same as adding gilded accoutrements to a horse. Surely you know that? Their culture is rife with atrocities. Isn’t that why we crusade against them?”
Rhoenne stilled, once again feeling every bit of gall from the defeat finalized by the battle of Fariskur. It overrode and colored the sensations and emotions he’d suffered since bringing her out of the cabin. The disgust in the pit of his belly was back in full force, as well.
“We lost this crusade,” he told her, his voice bitter. “King Louis of France has been taken. We lost the last of Outremer. We barely hold the City of Acre.”
She must have realized how his voice had changed, even if she didn’t suspect the sensations he’d been experiencing since they’d left the cabin. She also sobered. Regarded him with the same lack of expression.
“But you survived,” she told him. “And so have I. And Ida. Emin. That is what matters. I think I should go back in now. It...turns chill.”
She shivered visibly. Rhoenne hustled her back to her prison.
Her cage...of safety.
Chapter Thirteen
Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, blocking the sunset. They’d grown darker as the day progressed. Rhoenne was the lone man watching the storm’s approach with apprehension. The breeze grew to gusts of wind that snapped the sails, rattled iron and rope, and sent ominous creaks throughout the ship. He’d begun a continuous circuit of the ship as eve approached. Bow to stern. Starboard to port. Hull to the highest point atop the mizzenmast. His nod to any Ramhurst clansman was returned. The looks he intercepted from the other crewmen were expressionless and dark, which were not all that unusual. Rhoenne returned those in kind. More than one man had a sullen, malicious bent to his demeanor. That also wasn’t abnormal, but it seemed more pronounced today. Rhoenne told himself he was being imaginative, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.
He was too unsettled to rest. He assigned blame to the approaching storm and the strange aura of animosity the crewmen seemed to project. Their captain was useless. The man was drunk and snoring from the back of the galley behind the curtain he’d rigged since giving his cabin over. That was also completely normal for this voyage.
But something kept Rhoenne pacing. He was leery it might be to keep from pondering what might be the true issue at play in his life.
Because of last night...
Something had happened to him last night.
Something massive.
The thought sent all manner of annoyance through him. His heart rate quickened. His throat felt tight, the tunic even tighter. The garment had long-since torn open at the seam down his back and at both shoulders. Every move today seemed to rip it more. But then the worst sensation of all happened, and without a hint of warning. He’d chanced along the wrong section of deck. Without thinking. Or watching. Drawn near the spot where Emin now stood guard. Reached the area just outside the cabin door.
And a sliver of something rare and absolutely euphoric went right through his belly.
Rhoenne had stopped mid-stride. He’d disguised it with a move to the railing, and a sharp gaze out at the horizon. As if that helped. He didn’t dare glance back at Emin. Rhoenne had too much to do with stifling a sensation he’d never felt before. Could it be because he’d been with Cassandra? Last night. Supposedly stargazing?
No.
Impossible.
The unease grew apace as the day progressed. Gusts became an unabated wind that snapped sailcloth and loose hair. Rhoenne pulled his into a queue and tied it back. It was too late to seek rest, even if he’d been so inclined, and it had been vacant. A silent crewman had taken up a position in the hold near where the sleeping cots were stretched and hooked as needed. The man had been whittling, while whistling a disjointed tune. He’d stop both whenever Rhoenne approached. If he looked up at all, it was to give a blank, indeterminate look. Rhoenne regarded him in silence if that happened. The fellow would always look away first, and return to his carving. And his whistling.
The day became a surreal span. Time alternated. A shard of something ecstatic spiked him every time he thought of last night and it was offset with an oddness that carried apprehension. Foreboding. And a feeling of disquiet he couldn’t shake.
If he believed in magic, he’d swear he’d been bespelled.
The agitation did not ease with twilight. Flashes of lightning lit the sky intermittently in the distance. Thunder rolled across the waves. The very air filled in ominous omen. Rhoenne stood mid-ship, looking up, and considered reefing the amount of sail. The captain hadn’t given the order – or if he had, it was ignored. But once the storm hit, pulling in canvas was going to be difficult, if not impossible. The first drop of rain splashed him.
“Ramhurst! There you are! Looking hale and hearty, I see.”
Rhoenne looked over at Henry’s approach. “Why would I na’ be?”
“You did na’ partake of the fish stew?”
“I never eat the slop they cook.”
“You have fasted?”
“Does it look as if I fast?”
The man looked him over. Then shook his head.
Rhoenne gazed heavenward for a moment. A raindrop hit him in the eye. He blinked it away. Looked back down at his man. “I have to get the sails reefed, FitzHugh.”
“Oh. Yes. Well. Do not let me stay you.”
“That is exactly what you do! Now, go below and rest.”
“I came to warn you to guard your belly.”
“I have no issue with that.”
“So I see. I simply try to ascertain how it is that you managed such a feat when every other man is laid low. Save Euan, but I think he has iron-clad innards.”
Rhoenne regarded him for long moments. Another raindrop hit his cheek. He relented first.
“There are three men up at night. One is an expert fisherman. He has yet to disappoint. We have fresh grilled fare every night.”
“Oh. Good. I shall go che
ck the women.”
“Na’ so fast, my friend.”
“I do na’ attempt a peek at your women! I need to make certain they are well!” Henry didn’t just look exasperated. He sounded it as well. Rhoenne sighed and found himself explaining.
“I deliver fish to Emin each morn. He alone sees to their needs. The rest of the catch is delivered to the galley. For the fish stew they cook.”
“Oh. Well, tonight the batch was bad.”
“You appear fine.” Rhoenne had his hands about the mast and a foot against it before Henry spoke again.
“I did na’ partake. The approaching storm has me...worried.”
“Worried?”
“You do na’ sense it?” Henry asked.
Rhoenne considered his man. Debated options. He’d appreciate Henry’s help when the storm broke, but the man needed rest. The last thing Rhoenne wanted was a worried, tired man once the storm broke. Rhoenne finally shook his head.
“No? Well, I have na’ taken a ship through a storm afore. With a worthless captain. And a crew down with sick bellies.”
“Do na’ fash. We shall manage it,” Rhoenne replied.
“What about the women? Have you thought of them?”
Had he thought about her?
Nonstop.
Rhoenne sighed. “Have you a purpose with these words?” he asked.
“You need to have Emin tie them.”
“Have you gone mad?”
Rhoenne climbed. Moved a hand up. Found a notch. Hauled himself up another half- body length. He wasn’t tying anyone in that cabin. Cassandra already likened it to a prison.
“To keep her safe!” Henry called after him.
“She’s in a blasted cabin, FitzHugh!” he yelled down.
“And she’ll be bruised, Ramhurst!” the man shouted back.
Rhoenne slid back to the deck. Climbing was going to require concentration. Dealing with Henry required massive patience. He turned and regarded him obstinately. Henry looked just as obstinate.