Читать книгу Captive on the High Seas - Christina Rich - Страница 10

Chapter Two

All reasoning had disappeared when the man had tossed her over his shoulder as if he were a barbarian and she nothing more than a sheep to slaughter. She had been fooled by his attire, richly dressed as he was, into believing he was kind, compassionate. She had hoped to convince him to return her to her father. Instead, he treated her no different than that Philistine when he had dragged her around by her hair.

And now she was being led around a boat. She’d heard of such vessels moving on the Great Sea, but she’d never seen one. Tales told by her father when she was naught but a girl had filled her with excitement. She had longed to experience such adventures until she recalled with clarity how his boat had splintered against rocks leaving him near death.

The crewman stopped beside a ladder and motioned for her to climb. She tilted her head back. It seemed as if the ladder led to a small room or a pyre. She’d heard the stories of these heathens, who even now lifted prayers to an unfamiliar god. She would not be their sacrifice, not to their god of the sea. As if one existed. Had they not heard of the one true God? The One who created the seas and all the beasts within.

The boat rocked. Although she understood the motion of the water, she was not prepared for the way it unsteadied her, causing her to stumble toward the wooden rail. White waves crashed against the boat. She sucked in a breath as the sailor lashed his arm around her waist and pulled her back from the edge. Fear clawed at her stomach, making it angry with each movement of the vessel. Her mouth began to water. Before she knew what was happening the man had her bent over the railing as she lost her morning’s meal. She pressed her bound hands to her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Better?”

“My thanks.” She nodded; grateful he’d spoken in her language and not that of her captor. She’d prefer the captain did not know she understood most of his language, especially if it helped her to escape.

The crewman pointed back toward the ladder. Ada wished to be as far from the sea as possible, yet... She glanced toward the port. If she could gain her freedom could she reach the shore before a sea monster attacked or the water swallowed her? There were people milling about. Would someone help her?

“Go on. It’s the safest place for you.” He pointed.

Ada’s stomach once again rebelled. Hands once again pressed to her mouth, she shook her head.

A shout rose from below. Rows of oars poked through the side. Another shout and the boat lurched forward. Ada stumbled, but gripped the rail to keep from falling. She swallowed back the tears threatening to spill as the boat lurched again, and again. Each movement proceeded by a command. A command that took her farther away from home.

The man glanced around as if considering Ada’s chance of escape. “Very well. However, you should sit over there.” He tugged on her hands. Shaking his head, he led her to the back end of the boat. The one closest to the shore. “Here. Sit beneath the shade of the helmsman’s perch. You won’t get stepped on and the walls will keep you from falling into the sea. My brother will not be happy I disobeyed his orders and will have my head if anything should happen to you.” He paused as he looked her over. “Considering your sickness, I am certain he will understand.”

A wave splashed against the boat, spraying upon her face. She pressed her back against the side and slid until she sat on her heels.

“I have duties to attend. Nicolaus had hoped to leave before the storm.” Nicolaus? This sailor’s brother and captain? It was not one she imagined. More like Leviathan or Goliath. He needed a name that invoked fear in children, not one that made her want to champion him as if he were a hero. He most assuredly was not her hero. Heroes didn’t steal maidens from their homes. It didn’t matter that he didn’t actually steal her, it didn’t matter that he, in truth, saved her from that horrible man, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of him as a hero, especially not her hero.

The man looked toward the sky and Ada followed his gaze. Angry gray clouds hung low, gliding overhead.

“Seems we’ll sail right into it.” He planted his fists on his hips and shook his head. The boat jolted and then rocked. Could the tipping and tilting of the boat possibly worsen? Ada gasped at the thought, but before she could ponder the panic welling inside her, the boat rolled, jerking her to the side. Instinctively, she flung her bound hands out to keep her head from hitting the planks. The crewman seemed unaware of her predicament or the odd creaks and rolling of the boat. His feet remained planted as she struggled to right herself and keep her stomach from rebelling against the motion. Were the waves making her ill or was it the lingering fear from her father’s tales?

“I will bring you a drink when I return. It should calm your nerves some.” He turned to leave, and then halted. “Take care. The god of the sea will not likely return as comely a maid as you if you were to fall over.” He left, scratching his head.

“Bah,” she whispered beneath her breath. Her brother had oft teased her when she was little saying the fabled god would come steal her away to his kingdom if she did not behave. The memory burned the back of her throat. What would Asher say now? However, it was not she who had been about such mischief to cause her trouble.

The captain’s brother halted near the middle of the boat and glanced at her over his shoulder before disappearing beneath the planks. Ada waited a few moments to see if he would return.

A shout from the platform above her caused the forward motion of the boat to quicken. Ada’s pulse thundered harder with each jarring movement. She bit at the ropes binding her wrists in hopes of loosening them, but to no avail. Standing, she ducked beneath the helmsman’s perch and leaned over the rail. Her gaze turned homeward. Merchants continued to busy themselves along the wharf. Some carried amphora vases toward the shore, others carried them onto boats. Waves rolled in from the sea, crashing against the stone piers, and her stomach roiled with the motion. She needed off this boat, needed to go home. Her brother had taught her to swim when she was little but never in such a vast body of water and never with her hands bound. All she need do was get into the water and swim on her back, kicking her legs.

The distance did not seem too far as she could still make out the arms and legs of the seafarers on shore. She gauged the incoming wave as her stomach threatened to unleash its fury. If she did it right, if she jumped before a wave passed, would it push her to shore as it did the pieces of drift being carried toward Ashkelon?

She pressed her face against her hands. Then what? Would she end up on the auction block again once she made it to the port city? This time to that horrible man with the matted beard and colorfully dressed women clinging to his arms. No doubt, especially since he had not seemed too happy to find himself outbid. At least she had a chance of returning to her father. And the sisters who had betrayed her.

Air hitched in her lungs. Had they acted on her father’s wishes? He’d been angry over her mother’s passing. Had he decided to rid himself of his youngest daughter, too? Was that why he had allowed her to journey into the city with Asher and her sisters when he had never done so before?

The thoughts ambushed her chest, tearing little pieces away from her heart. If she did not return home, she would never see her father again, never know if he had wished her gone from his presence.

She glanced down the side of the boat and watched the oars dig into the water, pushing the boat forward. If she jumped here, she would miss the oars and by God’s mercy He would see her safely home.

A look around the deck told her only a few men remained above. The rest, she assumed, tended the oars. The sailor who had helped her earlier had yet to reappear. Armed warriors stood on either side of the captain on a platform at the head of the boat. Nicolaus’s arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced shoulder width apart. The strong wind tugged at his tunic, brushed back the curls of his hair.

Power and strength exuded from him and she could quite imagine him the son of one of his fabled gods. Her sisters had oft spoke of such men—half god, half man—with wistful smiles and wistful sighs. Mostly, they were larger than David’s Goliath had been. And they always had some sort of gift. Ada had paid her sisters heed only to gain their acceptance, but she knew better. There were no gods other than the God of Heaven and earth. He was the only living, breathing God. A god not created by the hands of man.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, the captain turned. His gaze settled on her, warming her chilled limbs from the stiff, stormy breeze. If only they had met under different circumstances. If only he had not acted the barbarian and hauled her over his shoulder as though she was his property. Of course, she was. He paid a great price to own her. However, that did not mean she was not angered by his behavior. Was this how her mother felt when she was bought and taken from her home by Ada’s father?

A shout drew his attention forward. The boat lifted, slamming Ada against the back of the craft and then to the side. A wave knocked her feet from beneath her and off the boat. She grabbed ahold of the rail and clenched her jaw, her feet dangling over the side. She glanced toward home, now a mere speck in the distance and she knew she’d not be able to swim the distance, not in the angry sea.

Her fingers ached with the effort to maintain her hold. She lifted her face to the sky. “Abba God, please, I just want to go home to my father.”

The boat rocked one way, lifting her away, and then the other plunging her into the cold waters. A wave crashed into her forcing her fingers to let go. She was pushed and then pulled, the wave sucking at her and then rolling her. Her lungs caught fire as she kicked her legs, fighting against the sharp talons of the wave.

* * *

He had shifted only a bit when the delightful prick at his nape had changed to a gut instinct that something was abominably wrong. A flash of bare feet and legs caught his eye when the sun-bleached linen and waves of wheat-colored tresses thrust upward.

“Xandros! Brison!” He jumped from the command post and onto the deck. He did not wait to see if the two followed. Unhinging the clasp at his shoulder, he removed his outer cloak, leaving only his undertunic on, and ran toward the back of the ship. He grabbed hold of the end of the coiled rope, kept at either end of the boat in the instance a man fell overboard, and hopped over the rail. He dove into the water. He’d sailed since he was a young boy and never once imagined anyone would willingly throw themselves to the mercy of the sea. Had she preferred to take her chances with the waves, or had she slipped overboard?

He blew the salty water from his nose and kicked toward the surface. Relaxing his muscles, he allowed his body to bob with the waves while he tied the rope around his waist. Brison’s bellow rose above the seas and the oarsmen reversed direction. Nicolaus would be thankful later that the coming storm had prevented them from unfurling the sail.

“Nicolaus!”

Xandros stood on the rail, pointing northward. The woman’s bound hands rose above her head before disappearing in the choppy water. Nicolaus bit back a curse. Brison should have cut her loose, but then Nicolaus should have ordered him to cut her loose. Perhaps then she’d have a better chance against the sea.

Not that she would have much of a chance if she did not know how to swim. The sea often took humans captive. She bobbed above the water, gasping for air, and he realized she had been pulled farther away than he expected. He hoped the rope reached that far.

“Nicolaus!” He did not need to look at his friend to see the warning. The way the sea bubbled around his legs and rose against his chest, he knew a large wave was bearing down on them.

He dove beneath the water, beneath the fall of the wave until it passed. Kicking upward, he broke the surface and sucked in air before slicing his arms through the water toward the last place he’d seen her.

“Where?” There was no time for patience. However, his gut told him to wait a few beats of his pulse. The water once again rose. God, my uncle is certain You are real. I did not save the woman only to see her swallowed by the ocean.

The wave tugged at him and crashed down upon his head before he could swim under it. He tumbled deeper away from the surface, slamming into a tangle of seaweed. No, it could not be seaweed, they were far enough away from the shore and he was not that close to the bottom.

Was he?

Something bumped against his leg. His eyes flew open. A mass of tresses expanded from either side of her heart-shaped face. The strands took on a life of their own as they obeyed the motion of the turbulent water. He wrapped his arms around her and kicked his legs until they broke the surface. Her body lay lifeless in his arms. Brushing her hair from her eyes, he willed them to open.

He spun her around so her back was pressed against his chest, and wrapped his arm tight around her stomach. He lay on his back and started to swim toward the boat when she began coughing. Her lids fluttered open and then widened in fear. She smacked her head against his shoulder as she arched against his chest. He tightened his hold on her as the sea began to bubble against his legs, but she managed to twist her body around to face him.

“Trust me.” Staring into her eyes, he spoke her language and willed her to trust him. If only until they set foot on the boat. “Hold your breath. I am taking you under.”

He glanced toward the large wave as it rolled toward them. Her muscles tensed.

“Now.”

She sucked in air a moment before he propelled them beneath the wave. With his arms wrapped around her waist, he once again pushed them toward the surface. He shifted her against his side and sliced through the water toward the boat—her hair tangling with his arms and legs hindered him. After only three strokes, the woman tensed and began to struggle against his hold.

“Halt!”

She jabbed her elbow into his ribs, but he held tight.

“You will die.”

She dug her heel against his shin. Twisting in his arms, she clouted his jaw, scratched at his eyes. He was a good swimmer, one thing he’d always beaten his brother at, but she was making it difficult. He seemed to be swallowing more water than usual.

“Halt,” he growled near her ear, jerking her against him. If she did not stop they would both die, and then he’d, most assuredly, lose against his brother. A shame, given he’d just begun to feel alive again.

Her eyes filled with tears, or perhaps it was only the sea. Whatever it was, her fear and sadness reached into his soul and tugged with a greater force than any wave. He knew right then he’d do anything to protect her, even allow the sea to take him.

“I am scared.” Her eyelids slid shut, pushing tears down her cheeks until the droplets fell into the bobbing water.

Did she wish to meet her maker? Was he so fearsome that she preferred death over his company?

“Home.”

His gut constricted. He understood that one word, had longed for home with great sickness during his own captivity. He glanced toward the shore, the large tower, a mere speck of sand on the horizon. However, with the sea once again rising he did not have time to span their language barrier and explain that he’d take her home after he’d beaten his brother in their quest.

As if guessing his intentions, she slammed her bound fists against his nose, forcing him to loosen his hold. Her arms flailed, and she kicked her legs against his as she struggled to keep her head above water.

Nicolaus grabbed hold of her tunic, her hair enslaving his forearm and chest. Tugging on the rope attached to his waist, he bound her arms to her sides and then to him. Even though it seemed the fight had drained from her limbs, he was not willing to risk losing. He hated losing, even when he gave up. But giving up was not possible. Not now.

With her back cradled against his chest, he twisted onto his back and kicked his legs. “Xandros, pull!”

After what seemed like long moments, Xandros and Brison pulled them onto the deck. Nicolaus untangled from her hair and loosened the rope from her body and then from himself. He lifted her into his arms, cradled her against his chest and carried her toward his chambers. He climbed the four rungs of the ladder, ducked beneath the beam and set her in the corner before returning to the portal.

“Brison, see the men work double time. We must get ahead of the storm. Xandros, report to the command post. Once the storm passes, we sail west across the Great Sea.”

Nicolaus raked a shaking hand through his hair. Droplets of water splattered to the deck and pooled with the sea dripping from his tunic. He eased in a breath and blew it out slowly. Several times before facing her.

She huddled against the corner, cloaked in her glorious mane with her eyelids closed. He could almost believe she was a creature of the sea. A daughter of the fabled gods. However, her beauty was incomparable to the stories of the beautiful creatures luring sailors from their ships.

Drawing her knees into her chest, she shivered with a violence that shook even him and near caused him to lose his legs. As if sensing he watched her, she opened her eyes. Fire raged in the depths of her glittering jewels. The quivering of her jaw belied the fearless front etched on her face. If not for the rope around her neck and binding her hands she could have held court in the finest palaces. How could anyone sell their relative? Of course, he knew. He had seen the petty jealousy of the women watching this maid’s fate. Who was she to them? A sister, a cousin? No doubt, a servant in their father’s house. A cruel master to allow his daughters to send such a creature to the auction block and near into the hands of Ashkelon’s darkness.

Had his sister suffered such a fate? The anger he’d fought to calm resurfaced. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. The maid lifted her chin as if to defy his anger.

Shaking his head in disbelief at the woman’s misplaced courage and never-ending fight, he laughed. If the men accompanying him when they’d encountered the evil seafarers had had half her courage he never would have been captured, not even against the ten ships that had surrounded him, forcing him to surrender. And never would have been taken to Delos and suffered the shame of slavery. Nor would his father have suffered the loss of his daughter.