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Gidley took a step back and turned away with a disgusted grunt. ‘We be takin’ the longboat back to the boat in an hour or so,’ Gidley muttered. ‘Sun will be settin’ not long after. Ought to give you enough time to meet ’er, fall in love and get yer trousers back on.’ Gidley’s words faded away as he left along the road.
Warrington pushed through a clump of tree branches over the path and saw the roof of a house. The structure had two storeys and the stairs leading to the upper floor had no railing. He knew from his first day’s visit to the island that the house was made as the others he’d seen. The first level—a barn—held the livestock. He supposed the tradition of making homes in this manner started because of the houses built near the sea. If a low-lying area flooded, the animals could be released and water would be less likely to harm the house’s upper contents. Besides, the structure took fewer materials than if two were built.
He saw a nanny goat grazing near the corner, a kid at her side. And near the cliffs, a woman sat on one of the boulders overlooking the sea. She turned to him. In the chilled air, her red scarf fluttered around her face and she stood. He didn’t move. Let her approach him. She’d summoned.
The covering on her head showed scarlet enough to use as a beacon and another garment draped around her shoulders had only a little less colour. She pulled the covering snug as she walked. The wind didn’t warrant bundling so.
When she strode closer, he caught his breath. Even with the breezes constantly tossing the head covering against her, she drew his attention. Brown eyes with lashes thick enough he half expected them to flutter in the breeze, as well. She held her shawl closed with one hand and with the other brushed back the hair that kept blowing across her face. A waste of effort.
‘I’m Melina. Are you the Ascalon captain?’
Her words shocked him. She spoke King’s English and with only enough accent to give her words an exotic flair. And her voice—it purred into him, causing a jolt in his midsection that reminded him of how tempting a woman could be.
* * *
Melina appraised the man before her. She’d expected someone silver-haired. Perhaps scarred a bit. This one—she could see how he kept from being mangled. His body showed strength. She doubted he’d be able to scamper across the rigging as she’d seen French seamen do, but he could probably toss another man up to do the job for him.
His clothing fit tight over parts that held muscle, and loosely everywhere else. When the wind blew at him, he stood impervious. His stare trapped the breath in her and caused a pleasing quiver in her stomach.
She’d waited months for an English ship to anchor in the bay because she had to leave the island and discover the truth about the treasure. She had to be right. Her sisters must eat.
‘Where did you learn such speech?’ He asked his own question, ignoring hers.
‘I wish to go to London.’ She kept the scarf tight around her.
‘I wish for a soft bed at night, but the ship doesn’t have one,’ he said. ‘And it has no room for passengers.’
‘I’ve payment.’ She raised her chin. She would not give away this chance. Not willingly. Only certainty of death would back her down.
His shoulders relaxed and he gave her an apologetic smile. ‘We’ve had a fire. Our vessel is near ready for departure and we’re finishing the last repairs, but it might not withstand a storm. Another ship will be along shortly. Bargain with them.’
She took a step forward, closer than she would normally stand near someone who’d docked on the island. She looked up at him. ‘Before you decide, I must show you something.’
He gave a tilt of his shoulder and raised one eyebrow. ‘I told you I’m not interested.’ Then she saw his gaze drift to her chest and quickly move back to her face.
She pulled her shawl tight. ‘In the stable,’ she bit out, taking a step towards the structure.
He reached for her, trapping her arm, but his grip wasn’t tight.
She snapped her head in his direction and stood ready to push him back—first with words, then with force if she needed. He had to see her discovery.
‘I don’t wish—’ His voice softened, but he didn’t release her arm. His eyes, not true dark but reflecting the same colours as the almost leafless tree he stood near, showed compassion. ‘I can’t take you to London with us. Wait for another ship.’ His voice lowered. ‘Or stay here. The world is not kind for women away from their homes.’
Words fled her mind and she couldn’t look away from him. He’d trapped her—not with his hand, but with his gaze. His touch warmed her skin and his gentle grasp had taken her will to move.
‘Come with me.’ She thrust the words out, recapturing her strength.
He shook his head, still not releasing her arm. The grip held her firm, but she didn’t feel imprisoned. She knew a quick tug and she’d be able to slip away.
‘I... The ship is no place for a woman—even a...’ He tried again. ‘I’m sure you could have many times your passage back in your pocket in the time it will take us to reach London—but the men don’t need the distraction. They’d be competing for your favours instead of thinking of their duties. You’ll not go with us.’ He put his free hand in his waistcoat pocket, brought out a coin and held it to her. ‘Take it.’
She stared and didn’t move.
He kept his hand extended. ‘You may keep it. For getting me from the ship for a few moments and for letting me hear a woman’s voice. I want nothing more.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not bring more funds or I would give them to you.’
She jerked her head in refusal of the coin.
He released her, putting the gold away, and took a step back. She reached out, grasping his sleeve, stopping him.
He turned, his mouth open, and seemed to struggle for words. ‘Miss. Truly. I do not want... And we cannot take you.’
He could keep his words—she needed a man who’d free her from the island.
‘Let me show you,’ she said.
‘As long as you understand you’re not stepping foot on that ship. The men...’ He finished his words with a soft tone. ‘They would not be able to ignore...’
‘I must show you my treasure.’ She turned away and strode inside the barn, knowing he would not resist following her.
They walked over dirt packed solid from goats’ feet, breathing dust from manure the animals kicked about. She moved towards a small stack of firewood branches. She knelt, reaching into the sticks, and pulled out the cloth-wrapped marble she’d hidden there.
She turned back to him, pulled away the fabric and handed the work to him. Even in the dark interior, the richness of the stone glowed.
He took the carved marble in his hands. The arm was slightly bigger than a human arm would be and the delicateness of the fingers proved the hand to be a woman’s. ‘It’s a part of some statue.’
‘Yes.’ Even as he touched and examined it, she rested her fingertips against the stone. ‘A learned man came here two years ago. He told us the island should have artefacts—worth coin to him—but he found nothing. I uncovered this—and more, after he left.’ She watched this one, noting his study of the arm. He looked at the hand the way a woman might look at a baby.
‘Take me to London,’ she said, ‘and you’ll be paid my passage once the British Museum discovers what I have—’
‘This is well done. When I get to England, I’ll get someone who understands art to look at it and he can send payment back if this marble is worth something.’
She jerked the carving from his hands. ‘I have to leave now. Not next week. Not the next ship. I must go.’ Already her neighbours had warned her. The man who led the island was planning to marry her soon. She would have no choice.
She turned, picking up the cloth she’d used to protect the arm. When she looked up, she caught his eyes on her. Her shawl had opened and her mark showed. He stopped moving. Her clothing fell open a bit more. With her free hand, she brushed the edge of the birthmark, letting her fingers rest a moment. Desire darkened his eyes.
She took a slow breath. Neither smiled. She stopped the words of caution blowing inside herself, pummelling her with the knowledge she could never turn back if she continued her path. ‘Is that what you want for my passage?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ve a bargain.’
He shook his head. ‘No. The captain will not let a woman sail with us.’
‘You’re not the archigos?’ She pulled the arm into her grasp, cradling it. He didn’t answer, but she could read the truth in his face. She’d just offered her body to a man who could not, or would not, say yes. Her mind hammered in rage. Controlling her desire to hit him across the face with the stone took all her strength, except for the amount she used to keep herself from shouting.
‘I’m the Earl of Warrington,’ he said. ‘I own part of the ship, but I don’t sail her. I’ll take you aboard the Ascalon and you may speak to the captain.’ His head moved sideways, indicating the direction of the vessel.
‘Very well.’ She could see his thoughts in his eyes. He believed the captain would refuse her. But if the ship’s leader had the same mind as most men, once her foot touched the deck, she would make it difficult for him to say no.
‘I will sail with the ship.’ She challenged him with her stare.
He turned and walked back into the sunlight.
Melina knew that once she stepped on deck, she’d find a way to stay, no matter what she had to do. Their father had given them enough to live on while their mother lived, but now he’d forgotten his daughters. Without funds, she could no longer escape a forced marriage to a man whose touch made her stomach roil. She could not let her sisters starve, or sell their bodies.
The arm, and a description of the goddess, would let the museum see what she had and they would tell her what the beauty was worth. The statue was valuable. Her heart told her so. She could support her family by selling the stone woman.
She ran to the steps of her house and grabbed the small satchel she’d stuffed together after talking with the other sailor. She’d told her sisters her plans. They now watched from the window. Melina waved and then took a step to the path.
The first footstep was easy. But then she couldn’t move. A hollowness in her heart told her she was leaving her home for ever. She squeezed her eyes tight and planted one foot forward, then the other.
Chapter Two
Melina rushed to keep up with Warrington’s long strides. As she reached the first bend in the path, her satchel strap slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. The weight pulled at her arm, but she kept the stone cradled. The bag bumped against her leg, slowing her pace.
She paused and he immediately stopped and turned to her. He’d been as aware of her footsteps as his own.
Warrington reached a hand out to her, gesturing for the bag, and she met his eyes. Reassured, she hefted the rock in one hand and let the errant strap slip into her grasp. He took the weight from her, tossing the leather sling over his shoulder.
Muffled tones reached her ears. She focused on the sounds. Two men talked as they moved towards the path. Her heart thudded when she recognised the voice of Stephanos, the man who planned to wed her. He was moving in their direction. A few more steps and he would see them. She’d be trapped.
‘Skase,’ she whispered, and then remembered her English. ‘Quiet.’
Warrington studied her, but gave a small lift of his chin in agreement.
She brushed past him, nodding for him to follow her. Snaking through the gnarled trees, she ran towards a knoll that rose just enough that they couldn’t be seen from the path.
She reached the hiding place and pulled him beside her, hoping they would not be seen. Listening, she realised the men no longer talked. Stephanos and the other man were silent—unmoving.
Fear crept into her body, clutching at her insides. If Stephanos saw her with Warrington, the Greek would not ask any questions, but would find his own answers. Stephanos and his friends always carried knives and they were skilled with them.
After a few moments of nothing, she heard the word, gida, and relaxed. Goat.
The men continued on. She heard their voices fading away and her breathing returned to normal. Warrington put a hand on her shoulder, the warm grasp somehow reassuring. He tugged her around to him and put his face so near hers that the breath of his whisper touched her cheek. He didn’t release her, but his grip was soft.
‘Have you stolen the stone?’ he asked, words quiet, creating a haven around her.
She would have confessed all if she’d done wrong. ‘No. The man who owns the land where I found the treasure knows what I have planned. We are in agreement and he has said he’ll keep my secret. I trust him.’
Just the gentlest touch of his hand again, moving over the crest of her shoulder and the merest bit down her back, and the waiting look in his eyes, trapped her in an intriguing web and she could not stop her words. ‘When they are sure I am safely gone a long distance, my sisters are to say I’ve been forced away by a man from a ship.’
His eyes widened and he stepped back as if she’d prodded him away with a burning stick.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed the distance between them, stopping almost against him. She could not risk him raising his voice.
‘You must understand our reasons,’ she said quietly. ‘No one will know who you are. My sisters will not describe the true person.’
He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and she could tell he meant to leave her there and go on his way.
‘No,’ she whispered, closing her fingers over his roughened hand, preventing him from giving her the bag. His knuckles were large in her grasp, startling her, and she knew she didn’t keep them closed by her strength any more than she caused the tides. Confusion flashed behind his eyes and something whispered in her that she had trapped his hand—that he could no more move his fingers than if their grasps had been reversed and his strength held her.
She could not lose her advantage. ‘I am not a thief. I merely wish to get to the British Museum and find out what my treasure is worth. Then I will be able to sell it.’
‘But kidnapped?’ He remained with his face almost at hers. ‘That’s a bit much.’
She closed her lips and let her breath out through her nose before she answered, ‘I have no choice.’
‘I do.’ He kept his words tight and lines appeared at the sides of his eyes and mouth. ‘I am not at ease with purchasing a woman and I certainly wouldn’t steal one.’
The words pleased her, yet they were not what she wanted to hear.
She had to convince him. She held his gaze with her own. ‘It is necessary. My sisters can’t be hurt by my actions. The man who rules the island would be enraged at them if he thought they had helped me leave and did not search him out to keep me. They would suffer. They could be starved, or beaten, or forced into marriage or worse. I cannot escape and leave them behind to face torture.’
She felt his movement and looked down to her hand. She’d tightened her grip on his fingers. He slowly slid his hand from hers.
‘You’re leaving behind a man.’ His words were thoughtful.
She had to make him understand. ‘Our land doesn’t support my sisters. The rocks only grow more rocks. I care nothing for the man who wishes to marry me, yet his mother often sees that we have food. If I stay, I will have no choice but to wed him. She wishes for it. So does he. He is powerful.’
Stephanos controlled the island and did so easily. But he had other secrets. He often left the island and returned with goods. One of his shirts was mottled with faded brown stains. Blood.
She could barely keep the kindness in her words when Stephanos called on her and she had to speak to him. Perhaps, as the others whispered, she truly had been tainted by her English heritage.
‘I have promised myself to no one,’ she said.
Warrington shut his eyes.
She put her palm flat on his chest. When his lids fluttered up, she could feel the change in his gaze. She wouldn’t beg, or ask again. She didn’t think she needed to.
He spoke harshly under his breath—the words directed at himself.
His hand closed at her elbow and he turned away, again taking the lead, only this time, his steps were careful and he watched the wooded areas around them.
She followed, knowing her sisters depended on her and she risked her life to be able to save them. But it wasn’t a choice. It was what she had to do. She was the eldest and that meant sacrifice. If she died at sea, or at the hands of a stranger, then she would know she did it for her family. Her mother’s last words to her had been Take care of your sisters.
* * *
Warrington forced himself not to stare at Melina. They stood hidden among the cragged rocks, watching the longboat and waiting for the sailors to return. The hem of her head covering fluttered in the wind and kept calling his attention to her.
He wished he could see her chest again. Her birthmark did have an interesting curve to it. He remembered the child’s game of imagining wisps of a cloud as objects and tried to recall the exact shape the mark formed.
He heard the first mate’s voice before he saw him emerging from the road. Once the men reached the longboat, he hurried Melina to them.
‘You ready to heave to?’ Gidley gaped at the woman even as he directed the words at Warrington.
‘Yes,’ Warrington snapped. ‘Hurry.’
Gidley’s voice became butler formal. ‘Will his lordship be having a guest?’
