The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  And then his head hit the floor.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Terror was debilitating. Shock weakened. But panic was the undoubtedly the worst.

  It had been a fairly normal day. Evening. Although the cabin had swayed more, and the sound of wind had risen, nothing had been different. Ida had been combing through her hair, making soothing sounds whenever she chanced upon a snarl, and then the door burst open. They’d used Emin’s body as a battering ram. The man wasn’t conscious.

  Terror hit like a wall of black. It iced her blood and froze her actions. Then Ida jumped before her, and all manner of chaos happened. Cassandra screamed. Grabbed the dagger. Faceless men poured into the room, pushing, shoving, yelling. Some were even salivating. Emin groaned. She did the only thing possible. She turned the dagger on herself. Held it in front of her heart.

  And that stopped them.

  They’d seen her blade. Saw where it was pointed. Emin lumbered unsteadily to his feet. Moments ticked by. Somebody snarled. Guttural yells emitted from the crowd. And then the immense form of Rhoenne vaulted right over the top of them, smacked into the deck with a loud thump, and without hesitation, started slashing and hacking, and killing.

  Annihilating all of them.

  All.

  Cassandra couldn’t move. Breathe. Blink. Couldn’t do anything other than watch as one after the other they fell to Rhoenne’s actions.

  And then it was over.

  Seconds later the shock took over, coloring a section of time with a wash of red. All those bodies. And parts of bodies. Cassandra had never even seen men fight. She’d never witnessed violence. She’d never even seen an animal butchered. The sight was gore-filled. Nauseating. And somehow impossible to look away from. The floor was awash with what had to be blood. Entrails. Deck sway made trails of dark wet shine slither along the floor. And at the center of everything was Rhoenne. Wild-looking. Clothing ripped. Muscles heaving. Wet. Big. Strong.

  Solid.

  Fright and shock were consuming forces, but he was a beacon of security. A rock of shelter. She’d barreled into him without thought, clung instinctively, and sobbed with an abandon she’d never experienced before. Being cradled by Rhoenne Ramhurst was the safest place in the world, while listening to his words the most soothing sound ever. She’d been protected. Calmed. The weak feeling had just started to subside.

  And then he’d collapsed.

  Panic sent her heart racing furiously, her breathing gasped and rapid, motions frenzied and useless. Panic wasn’t just debilitating. It incapacitated. Lantern light continually swayed across the cabin, lighting on Rhoenne sprawled at her feet, facedown, then showing Ida at his side, attempting to turn him over. And all Cassandra managed was bouncing in place atop the bed, stifling back a choked reaction with both hands to her mouth. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think.

  And for the first time in her life, she was at a complete loss.

  Emin burst through the door, sword drawn. The wound on his head sent a trail of blood down his cheek. His glance met hers before he nodded, then dropped the weapon. It clattered on the planking. The next swing of the light showed him kneeling at Rhoenne’s side alongside Ida.

  “Highness? What has happened to His Excellency? Highness!”

  His words started as a query but ended sharply. The next swing of light showed he’d rolled Rhoenne rolled onto his back.

  “He is injured?” Emin continued. “How badly?”

  Another swing of light caught Emin squatting, an arm wrapped about Rhoenne’s lower legs as he swiveled him, placing his boots on the cot beside Cassandra. The next bit of illumination caught an expression she’d never seen. The man looked severe. Angered. And intense.

  “Why did he not tell his men? Highness!”

  Emin’s voice was authoritative, and sharp. The light had swung back to the door, leaving him in dimness. And then he smacked his hands together, making a cracking sound just like a horsewhip.

  Cassandra started. Emin’s actions startled. Frightened. But somehow, they halted the discordant helplessness she’d been mired in.

  Everything perfectly focused and cleared.

  The light swung back to Rhoenne and Ida. Emin was again crouched at Rhoenne’s side.

  “Highness. Forgive me, but you must help. Now. Right now.”

  Cassandra nodded. She didn’t know if he saw it. The next bit of light, showed Emin lifting the bloodied pad away from the wound. He’d put it back in place before being illuminated again. The next showed him pressing so hard that blood oozed from between his fingers.

  “What did he say? What does he wish?” Emin asked.

  “We need to get his man...Henry,” she whispered.

  “Is that what he wants?”

  Cassandra would have answered but Ida was at Emin’s side handing him another wad of material and the woman was emphatically shaking her head. The swing of lamplight made it impossible to miss.

  “He does na’ want his men?” he asked Ida. Cassandra heard rustling that could be anything. “What does he want?”

  Ida gestured, lifting the bottle of spirits, then pointing to the light above them.

  “He wants the drink for the candle? He wants to start a fire? In here?”

  Ida gave a disgusted-sounding grunt. Cassandra heard a smack sound. She could only guess what had happened, because the light had swung away again.

  “No.” Cassandra answered.

  “What does he want, then?”

  “We have to get his man,” she said.

  “Highness. This man has just saved your life. The life of this woman. And me. He saved my worthless life. You had not been granted the sultan’s favor yet, so you were not required to accept the true faith, but you must know. There is more at work in this world than chance and fate. It is a great power. You call it God. I name it Allah. They are the same. And I do not know why Allah granted me the blessing of service to this man, but I recognize the hand behind it. You understand? Serving this man is Allah’s will. I will not go against his wishes. I cannot.”

  She swallowed. “He could die.”

  “Allah will not let that happen. We must help. So. Assist me. What does he wish of us?”

  “He said something...about cleaning the wound. That is what the drink is for. And then he wants to heat a knife blade. He said it seals the...wound.” She didn’t gag, but it was willpower that stopped the reflex.

  “He wishes to sear the flesh. Very smart.”

  “He also spoke of Ida sewing—.” Cassandra stopped. Shuddered. Fought the rising bile to her throat. She couldn’t finish.

  “I see. Very well. Ida? The bottle.”

  He held out his right hand for it. Light intermittently gave Cassandra a view of how Emin peeled back the pad to pour amber-colored liquid onto a wicked-looking, finger-length gash. Rhoenne jerked. The boot beside her tapped at her hip. The bleeding started up again almost instantly. With the next sway of lantern light she saw that Emin had a new wad of material onto the gash.

  “Here. Hold this.”

  Ida took Emin’s place, pressing on the bandage so that Emin could stand, lift the lantern from its hook and hold it out to her.

  “Highness. You must hold this. Steady. We need the light.”

  Cassandra held the lamp on her lap, watched Emin open the little access window, pull a dagger from his belt and insert it into the candle flame. He swiveled and dropped to his knees returning to Rhoenne’s side. Peeled the bandage away again. Poured more liquor on it. Rhoenne groaned and jerked again. The boot struck her thigh again. Emin had another wad of material in place. Pressing. And then he did it again. Cassandra’s hold on the lantern kept light on the scene. She kept moving her glance from their ministrations to the blade, watching as the metal turned red, then yellow, then almost blue.

  “Is it ready yet, Highness?” Emin asked.

  “What?”

  “The dagger.”

  “It’s bluish,” Cassandra replied.

 
; “Ida?” Emin asked the figure on the opposite side of Rhoenne. “Can you hold him?”

  Hold him?

  Ida shook her head.

  “Then you’ll have to do the burn.”

  The woman nodded. Emin handed her a wad of cloth before he moved to Rhoenne’s head. He pulled head and shoulders onto his lap, leaned forward to wrap both arms about his torso. Cassandra didn’t see Ida take the blade, but she got a perfect view of the fiery hot blade touching Rhoenne’s skin. As well as his instant reaction. Rhoenne jerked, arching up from the floor, even as Emin held him. An agonized cry filled the cabin. Bass tones overtook everything, even the sound of sizzling flesh. Tears instantly sprang to Cassandra’s eyes. Blinking sent them down her cheeks.

  Rhoenne was no longer unconscious, either. His blue eyes were open. Wide. And crazed. And then he started struggling. She’d already seen him fight. A boot hit her arm, nearly toppling her. Cassandra didn’t know how Emin held him. The eunuch strained, muscles bulged as he held Rhoenne and the eunuch was losing. His grip on Rhoenne’s was flung aside.

  “Your wound, Excellency! You must cease! Cease this! You will break it open again!”

  Rhoenne twisted. Grunted. Snarled. The knife used to sear him clattered as it slid across decking. Ida was shoved away. And for some reason, Cassandra knew exactly what to do. She slid down onto her knees, somehow choosing Rhoenne’s uninjured side. She set the lantern on the floor with one hand and held it. And then she reached out, wrapped her free arm around him, put her nose against his throat, and just stayed there.

  Rhoenne’s thrashing instantly ceased. He dropped them to the floor. Emin huffed a relieved sigh. Cassandra blinked more tears into existence. Trembled. And then she felt a hand at her back. Fingers dug at her dress, pulling it tight against her ribcage.

  “Aileen?”

  The name was as unfamiliar as his tone. Raw. Tormented. Ugly. Cassandra shook her head, tickling her nose with his beard.

  “Don’t you ever come near me again. I warned you.”

  He flung her, using the hold he’d grabbed on the dress. Cassandra hit a wall, shoulder first. Scrambled upright. Shook her head to clear it. She was dazed. Stunned. Amazed she’d actually kept her grip on the lantern. It had smacked into the wood beside her. The glass was cracked, the flame flickered ominously, but miraculously the candle stayed lit.

  “Excellency!” Emin’s voice was curt. It carried a clear warning.

  “Emin?” Rhoenne answered. He sounded confused. Guarded. Extremely wary.

  “Yes. It is I.”

  “What...? Where...? Why...? How...?”

  He didn’t specify either question. Emin answered with a synopsis of events.

  “We are on a ship. In the cabin. With the women. There is a storm. There was a battle. You received a wound. We have just sealed it. You reacted...,” the eunuch paused and glanced at her before he finished, “badly.”

  “Cassandra?”

  Rhoenne lurched as if he’d rise. Emin put a hand on his chest to stop him. It no longer looked difficult.

  “She is here,” the eunuch answered.

  “I did not...hurt her?” Rhoenne asked.

  Emin looked at Cassandra for confirmation. She shook her head.

  “She is unharmed.”

  Rhoenne’s chest rose visibly with his sigh. “The wound?” He touched his injury as he asked it. Lantern light slithered across him. Wet smears on his fingers were impossible to miss.

  “As I said. You reacted badly,” Emin remarked.

  Rhoenne held his breath. Everything on him looked taut and angered. “Heat the blade again,” he said.

  “It is still mostly sealed, Excellency. Perhaps we should try Ida’s skill with a needle first.”

  “That sounds worse, Emin,” Rhoenne remarked finally.

  “Yes, Excellency. Yes, it does.”

  “Ida?” Rhoenne turned his head. Ida was already at his side. “Go. Get your weapons.”

  “Weapons?” Emin asked.

  “Needle. Thread. Trust me. These are a woman’s weapons. And right now, they are frightening ones. Do we have any of the captain’s spirits left?”

  Ida proffered the bottle. Rhoenne took a healthy draught before handing it back to her.

  “Pour some on the wound. Bathe the needle, as well.”

  “Highness? Bring the light. Please.”

  Cassandra had never seen a flesh wound, either. This one was open and raw. Blackened with a burn. Oozing blood. She’d never seen anyone stitch under such conditions, either. Nor could she seem to shut it out despite holding her hands to her ears and keeping her face averted. Emin held the light while Ida stitched. Rhoenne’s every groan sent a stab of tears to her eyes. Each time he sucked for breath a pain went through her breast. And through it all, her mind was continually drawn to the name he’d called her.

  Aileen.

  Cassandra didn’t have to ask.

  She knew Aileen. Intuition told her. That was the name of the woman who’d hurt Rhoenne, turning him into a black-heart that hated women. Cassandra tried to erase the name, but the opposite happened. It was solidified in her mind. She’d practiced it for too long. All those years in the harem. Listening. Learning. Memorizing. A whispered name, an observed gesture, a chance encounter - any and all information could be used.

  Because knowledge was the real power.

  It always had been.

  “Well. You look none the worse for wear.”

  Rhoenne looked over at Henry. He’d left the cabin. Ostensibly to survey damage, but it was more to gather thoughts. Breathe fresh air. And gain some distance – not only from the effects of battling and attending to his wound, but from Cassandra. The cabin wasn’t big enough to escape awareness of her. No matter what he tried, he’d felt her.

  Felt her.

  Waves still rocked the ship, but the rain had stopped. The clouds moved away. Blue sky hovered on the horizon. And now they faced the aftermath. The situation didn’t look promising. Leagues of ocean faced them. A skeleton crew. Disabled ship. He shrugged at Henry’s observation. The shirt he wore concealed the gesture. Emin had pillaged clothing articles from somewhere on the ship. Of bright blue silk, the tunic was almost a match to his eyes, but destined for someone much portlier and a lot shorter. It was a poor fit through the shoulders, didn’t cover his loins, and sagged in the mid-section. The last was why he’d selected it. The garment hid the wrapping Ida had insisted on winding about him.

  “A night and morning spent in a cabin with two women must be agreeable. You must regale me with the tale some time.”

  “And a eunuch. Do na’ forget about him,” Rhoenne answered.

  “Jaded. That’s what it is,” Henry remarked.

  Jaded?

  Rhoenne had spent most of the hours watching the others sleep.

  The cabin did resemble a prison cell, although the lone ones he’d ever seen the inside of were those in Castle Tyne’s dungeons. There wasn’t even a window. Cassandra and Ida had the cot, their heads at either end in order to fit. It only worked because they were both slender and they were probably exhausted. They’d been overwrought. The aftermath of battle and horror and fright was usually physical exhaustion. He knew. Maybe Ida did, as well.

  Emin and Rhoenne had taken up opposite sides of the cabin. Emin dozed with his knees tucked up and his head pillowed atop his crossed arms. Rhoenne had reclined for the most part, his legs taking up floor space, so he could lean against a combination of bedding and clothing to make it more comfortable, and the wound more bearable. He amended that. It had been to make what they’d done with the wound bearable. Finishing the contents of the captain’s bottle had helped.

  He’d been imbibing Aqua Vitae. It wasn’t quite they quality of MacTarvat whiskey from home but it was a prize. Before they’d been lost, the crusader states had brewed a fine beer. Some of the ale had been aged in barrels to create this drink. It was close to whiskey and it numbed exactly as well.

  The storm had raged. Raindr
ops pelted the ship. Everything rocked. Wind whistled through the walls. And for once, Rhoenne didn’t assume responsibility. He could have, but he daren’t chance it. He didn’t want help. He didn’t need pity or compassion. He’d never accept coddling. He was paying penance, all right. He had been since he was sixteen. His absolution depended on it.

  And Henry pondered what all these night hours were for?

  Guilt. Regret. Self-punishment. And they were his, alone, to deal with.

  But keeping his injury secretive only worked if it stayed hidden. He’d have to trust Henry to handle their fate. Rhoenne didn’t have the choice. For once, his body hurt too much. And no amount of the captain’s Aqua Vitae altered anything.

  He could ponder why. He didn’t want to. He was afraid it was the woman lying atop the cot, snuggled on the far side of Ida. Cassandra. He’d fought feeling anything for her. Tried ignoring how his heart swelled every time he thought of her. Or looked toward her. Or closed his eyes...

  Rhoenne wasn’t delving any further. He guessed the reason for his affliction, but he’d rather deal with a wound that ceaselessly pained. Eyes that scratched from lack of sleep. A head that pounded in cadence with the throbs of ache emanating from his wound. Drunkenness sounded better.

  At one point, the ship had rocked so markedly, Emin had stirred to wakefulness and the women almost rolled off the cot. That’s when Rhoenne had scooted over, leaned back against the cot, and used his shoulders as a buffer to keep them abed. Henry had been right about the bruising that might occur. But Rhoenne wasn’t tying her.

  And then he’d actually done the unthinkable. He’d fallen into a sound sleep.

  “So. You want the complete list of issues? Or a short version?”

  Henry’s question brought him back to the present. Rhoenne blinked his eyes and shook his head slightly to clear it.

  “Of what?”

  “Our situation.”

  “Have you ever been short with anything?”