by Jackie Ivie
Euan swore.
“There is more,” Grant offered.
“Well? What? Speak up, mon.”
“I overheard...something. I need to check. In the market.”
“The market?”
Oh God!
Rhoenne was looking up now. His vision blurred with useless tears, while his entire being filled with something worse than pain. Far worse.
“...need funds,” Grant continued.
“Done. Iain? Get him a purse.”
The man took off at a run. Dove through the hatch door. He was back moments later with a bulging bag. He tossed it to Grant.
“Now, go. Find her,” Euan ordered. “Report back as soon as you can. Go!”
The silence was broken by the sound of running footsteps across the wooden deck. Rhoenne blinked tear trails into existence. They reached the hairline at his ears.
Please God. Please? Bring her back to me. I will do anything. Pay any price. Serve any penance. Please!
That silent prayer was just the first. It continued unabated throughout the night. He didn’t stay aboard ship, either. He covered over with a cloak, and went to check himself. And found an empty structure. In ruins. Still smoldering.
He’d thought he knew pain. He’d experienced it often enough. He’d dealt with it and moved on. He thought he knew how. But nothing in his existence could have prepared him for soul-shattering agony that filled, overwhelmed, and destroyed.
And that was before Grant returned the next morning, bringing a jeweled armband he’d purchased from a market seller. On a tip that it came from a harem girl. She’d been a sultan’s favorite, her hair a distinctive shade. And there was a lock of hair that proved it.
They were out to sea before Henry was well enough to leave the cabin. Euan had taken over Rhoenne’s place in tending him. The lad had matured without warning, and not one of them had noted it. He was the man behind everyday orders. Settling of issues. Parsing out drinking water as it grew scarce. Doing the same with the rare fish they brought up for stew. The reason for the shortage in stores was due to Rhoenne. They’d lingered another ten days in port while Rhoenne spent a small fortune in ducati coin prowling the markets, the taverns, the docks. Anywhere he could think of. Interrogating. Threatening, and more than once coming to blows. All for a hint of anyone who knew about a harem girl...or the jeweled band he wore on his right wrist.
All for naught. No one had seen her. No one had spoken to her. She’d disappeared.
Exactly as he’d feared.
They’d finally sailed. Euan handled most administrative duties. Ida tended the invalid. Rhoenne attended to the rigging. Navigating. Observing the stars. Checking the horizon. Watching for signs of bad weather. He kept constantly moving. Avoiding anything to do with normal human needs. No one saw him eat. Or drink. Or sleep. If anyone chanced upon him, he’d look aside and brush past them.
His entire focus was on the chore he faced. The one he’d run from five years past. He was ridding the Ramhurst fief of the venomous Aileen. For once, he knew he’d succeed. He was empty inside. Completely inhuman. And absolutely emotionless.
Henry found the laird sitting atop a rail at the stern, watching dolphins cavort in their wake. The older man walked gingerly, wincing every so often, his gait slow. Rhoenne heard his approach. He didn’t turn. He had his fingers wrapped about the pouch Ida had sewn for him. She’d slid it across the floor to him when he’d last checked on Henry. Days earlier. Her sobs had colored the scene.
Rhoenne hadn’t shown any emotion.
The little pouch hung from a cord around his neck. He usually had it tucked beneath his tunic, hidden. Safe. It was stitched from golden colored silk, with almost invisible stitching. It contained a lock of hair. The golden jeweled band that never left his wrist reflected light if he moved it. Henry finally reached him. Rhoenne didn’t react. He didn’t turn from contemplation of the scene before him.
“Ramhurst?”
Rhoenne put out his free hand, palm outward, giving a silent command for silence. It didn’t work.
“I just heard. They kept it from me. I am...abjectly sorry, my laird.”
“Don’t. Just....don’t,” Rhoenne replied.
“But if I had na’ taken an injury, this would na’ have happened!”
“’Tis na’ your fault. ’Twas God’s will. I have many debts, my friend. One is now paid.”
“You had nae debt to me.”
“I did na’ say it was to you. Some things we never cease paying for. Nae penance is enough.”
“Bhaltair’s death was na’ your fault! ’Twas a just penalty for attempted murder!”
“Say one more word and I will reinjure you.”
“Rhoenne—”
“My façade only works if it is na’ cracked. You ken?”
Despite the hold he had on his emotions, his voice broke. Rhoenne grabbed a sail line and started climbing. Hand-over-hand. Fully breaking open blisters and accepting easily what he used to consider pain. He’d reached the mizzenmast and straddled it before looking down again. Henry was nowhere in sight. The day before him was glorious. Sunlight dappled the waves. A breeze lifted strands of hair.
But inside he was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Any word?”
Cassandra looked up hopefully at Emin's entrance. The sewing hoop fell to her lap. It was a senseless effort anyway. She wasn’t paying the slightest attention to her project, despite how Nonna lectured. Each stitch was more haphazardly sewn than the last.
“Much apologies, Highness. I have returned bereft. Once again. There is no message from Sitia.”
Cassandra stood, walked with small mincing steps in her pointy-toed heeled shoes over to a window. She looked out over the rocky hillside forming the demesne of Zecchin Castle, the seat of the Zecchino duchy. The castle was constructed of buff-colored stone, completely impregnable. Safe and secure from any uprisings that might take place in any city of the Candia Duchy. Impossible to breach for a small group of Highland clansmen hailing from someplace called Scotland - a place that didn’t just sound like the outer edge of the world, it probably was.
Her pale peach silk skirts rustled with each step. The binding about her midriff made breathing difficult. But Nonna insisted she dress as befitted her station. The woman had ordered and paid for an entire new wardrobe.
“You gave them my armband? And...the lock of hair?” she questioned.
“Yes, Highness.”
She sighed. “Then why doesn’t he come for me?”
“Forgive the impertinence, but is it possible he has...lost interest?”
Cassandra smiled to herself. Reminisced. “No.”
“I have seen it often, Highness. The sultan...was a difficult man to keep entertained. Many were the woman he set aside through the years.”
“That’s because women are property in that culture. It’s very easy to set aside a pair of shoes, or a new jewel. It’s much harder to set aside someone you love.”
“You are certain of his love?”
“Oh, yes.” Her voice warmed. And she placed her hands atop her womb as if a child would already show.
“Then he will come. You must just be patient.”
“Something is wrong. He didn’t get the message. Otherwise he’d have come as soon as he found we’d moved!”
“They are still at their war, Highness. I am told the Greek rebels are in possession of Sitia. Armed Venetian warships are in the harbor at anchor. It may not last much longer.”
“It’s been a month! I cannot be patient much longer. You don’t understand. Yesterday, she introduced me to a Venetian count!”
“Yes,” Emin responded with a noncommittal tone.
“She lives in the past! I don’t even think she sees me!”
“Your own grandmother?”
“She doesn’t want me, Emin. She only wants to use me! Rhoenne knew it instantly. He gave her such a difficult time! You should have heard him. But he knew. Somehow, he
knew. She’s not a loving grandmother. She’s more like the sultan’s mother!” She spun on her heels. “You remember her? We saw it often in the harem, especially among the old ones. All they do is manipulate and play with other’s lives. It must be addictive. They want power. And once they get it, they want more of it. The duchesse thirsts for an alliance between the Zecchino house and the House of Dandolo, something that will give her enough power she’ll eclipse the Morosini family. They politick for governance once my grand-uncle retires. It’s a long confusing story that I do not care about...but it gives me insight to what she’s doing – and why. I can see through her designs.”
“These designs you speak of. They concern you?”
“Most assuredly. But she is forced to play a waiting game at the moment. The same one I am losing.”
“A waiting game?”
“She wants to wed me to that count. Or – should he balk, another member of the Dandolo family!”
“But you are already wed.”
“I know! She disregards it, though. To her, marriage is only a means to gain power. I think she believes my marriage to Rhoenne is of such little value it can be set aside with a wave of her cane and a bribe to the right hands. Especially if he fails to come for me!”
“Ah. I begin to see.”
“What are we to do?” She was wringing her hands now. A poor sign.
“We shall escape, of course.”
Cassandra slanted a glance at him. “Again? You truly think it possible?”
“We are very successful at it, Highness.”
She smiled with him. “True. Can you make it soon? Before my loss in this game is obvious?”
“You speak in riddles.”
“Rhoenne has given me...a child.”
His eyes went huge. And then he fell to his knees. “Oh, Highness. This is the greatest gift! The most wondrous event. He will be most pleased. As am I. Worthless though I am, I hereby pledge my life in service to your unborn son.”
“You are so wrong, my friend. Not only about your worth, but this babe could easily be a daughter.”
He looked her over for a moment. Considered it. Then shook his head. “No, Highness. That man would not sire a girl.”
“Girls come from somewhere, Emin. And they are just as precious.”
“Oh. They are much more so, Highness. Are not our vows to protect and serve proof of their value?”
“I am not being protected, Emin. This is just another prison.”
“But Highness, it is the duty of every man to protect women. How are we to do that if we can’t secure them?”
“Secure them. Apt words, my friend. That’s it, exactly.”
“Well. It will not concern you yet, Princessa. This child is not a girl. You carry a son. And I vow to do all in my power to protect and serve him, just as I do you.”
Men.
Cassandra smiled to herself.
“I shall require another piece of your jewelry, Highness. Perhaps an anklet? Or some stones from a bigger piece?”
“Of course. Here.” She reached beneath her mattress, pulled out the bag. “You have a plan?”
“We are just outside the city of Chania, Highness. It is a busy port. There are many ships in the harbor. Large ships. Ocean-going ships. It should not be difficult to secure you a berth. The more difficult task will be yours.”
“I know. My every move is watched. Except when I’m locked away in my cell. I cannot imagine what might happen if they knew you were in here!”
“You can find some excuse to visit the markets? Stay a day or more in the city? Perhaps pack some of your beautiful new clothes?”
“If I agree to her plans, she will allow anything, I think. If I can do it without alerting her to my true purpose.”
“You can do this?”
“I shall start tonight. At the dinner...if the menu does not cause my belly to revolt. That is why I suspected actually. What shall I do? What can I say? Should I portray anger at him for not coming for me? No...I shall be saddened. Weepy. That may be the more believable performance. And it will be true.”
“You would not agree to wed this count?”
“I will agree to wed the devil himself if it will get me to Rhoenne! Here. Is an anklet enough?”
Emin took it. Bowed and slid back out the window. The sides of the castle were smoothed. Hard to grip. Her room was on an upper floor. Yet still, Emin managed to get to her. It was also why he visited at dusk, when the guards changed. Cassandra was at the window watching as he climbed the rope and disappeared through a crenel of the battlements. A moment later the rope slithered out of sight.
He couldn’t use the door.
It was locked.
Subterfuge became her life. She’d practiced for years. A week went by without a visit from Emin. Then another one. The days passed with excruciating slowness. Cassandra got very good at acting. She was required to visit with her grandmother every evening, just before the dinner. That’s when Cassandra would be told what was expected of her. Her continued failure at stitching would be pointed out. She didn’t argue. She rarely spoke up at all. Every night was a repeat of the night before. Nonna required formal dress. Cassandra had gained the slightest bulge in her lower belly. Nothing noticeable. She could still fit into her tight dresses although it cramped. One of the maids looked at her sharply one night, however. That decided Cassandra. She hadn’t survived eight years around power-hungry women without learning what they’d do.
And who they’d use.
Her sewing knife was sharp enough to slice a small cut at the top of one thigh. It was painful. She’d winced as she smeared blood on wads of cloth that she then left atop the waste in her bucket for disposal. That way the silent maids could note and report to her grandmother. Afterward, she dribbled wine onto the cut, gasping at the sting. And she’d watched them pour aqua vitae onto Rhoenne’s gash? She didn’t know how he handled pain so well. It had to have been agonizing.
During the third week since Emin’s visit, she finally received the proposal. Count Dandolo wished an alliance with her. Nobody asked her. The proposal was given to her grandmother. He was offering for her hand. Cassandra wasn’t even consulted before the offer was accepted.
And she’d thought harem life was restrictive and controlling and overbearing.
What a horrid life the duchesse was busily constructing for her!
Cassandra couldn’t even say with certainty what the count looked like. She’d never looked into his eyes. She daren’t. The revulsion might be impossible to hide. She’d only addressed him if it was absolutely necessary. Most likely, he’d been told of her supposed time in a monastery. He probably thought her shy and retiring. The man was short, barely taller than she was. He was full of his own importance, dressed in vivid colors and costly fabrics. He wore a sword with a silver hilt at his side that looked incapable of slicing dinner bread, let alone protecting anything. He had a thick belly his attire failed to hide, a pointed beard with streaks of gray through the black, and his touch made her tremble with distaste.
But she didn’t demure or protest. Instead, she started whining over her lack of attire. Despite the rows of dresses and kirtles in her wardrobe chamber, she needed new clothing, fashioned in the Dandolo colors of burgundy and gold, of course. Surely her grandmother knew how important it was to ‘The Family’. She’d need to personally select the newest fabrics at the markets, freshly arrived from the east. And when Nonna balked, Cassandra did the best acting of her life, screaming and sobbing and tossing items with a fair degree of accuracy as though insanely enraged. She’d seen this type of behavior before in the harem. Surprisingly, it was quite enjoyable. She was hard put not to laugh as all four of her maids scurried from the room.
She didn’t know what they reported. But it worked. She’d succeeded.
Before dinner the very next evening, she was told she could have a short visit to the city. The Zecchino family owned a small villa for just such things. Cassandra would be escorted there
under heavy guard. She’d be sequestered in the house, which meant she’d be imprisoned. She was not to visit the market. The tradesmen would bring their wares to her. It wasn’t much, but it was enough...as long as God listened to the prayers she winged heavenward almost ceaselessly. Silently and desperately. And if Emin somehow knew what had transpired and came in time. There were so many variables at play; so many things that could go wrong. It got harder and harder to keep her tongue silent. She was so very tired of living a lie!
The trip from the castle took most of the day, traveling in a small carriage pulled by a donkey. The path wound back and forth through countryside of arid dirt interspaced with vineyards. Chania was a bustling city. She could hear it long before they came into sight. They skirted the thriving portions of the city, ending on a quiet street. The Zecchino villa was a single story structure, the walls adjoined to neighboring homes that probably had the same layout. She’d seen buildings like this before in Alexandria, Egypt. This was an ancient Roman design, the buildings still in use. There was one entrance at the front, another in the rear for servants and the like. Other than the large wooden entrance door, the entire front was a windowless wall of sand-colored stone. It looked more prison-like than anyplace she’d yet been.
Cassandra couldn’t escape the feeling as the door closed shut behind her. The inside was cool, and quiet. The sleeping chambers were at the back of the house. They were spacious, and each had a small window opening high in the walls. It would be difficult for her to fit through, however. The home was designed with an atrium at the center, open to the sky. A fountain bubbled and frothed in its midst, creating rainbows of mist that sparkled in the dying sunlight. It would have been restful if she wasn’t on edge every moment. Watching every shadow. Jumping at every sound. This was their only chance, and she didn’t even know how to contact Emin! And even if she did, how would he manage to get to her? And if he did, how was he to fit through the window aperture?
She needn’t have worried. The moment the last maid left the room, followed by the click of a key turning in the lock, Emin stepped from the darkest corner of her room. Relief made her knees sag while tears smarted at her eyes.