Royal Captive

“Are you okay?” he called up as the dust settled.

“Of course I am.”

“They had to have heard that.” He put his disguise back on, hoping he got the mustache straight. His swim over to the riverboat had washed off some of the glue. He’d have to be careful not to lose the damn thing completely.

“There’re plenty of other noise with all engines going full-steam. And even if they heard us, it’ll take them a while to figure out where the noise came from. They might think it was just two containers sliding against each other.” She peeked down at him. “The way is clear. Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t one of those super-macho types, but the fact that she would be rescuing him rubbed him the wrong way. His masculine pride prickled as he climbed the crates. They swayed the whole time, which didn’t help his motion sickness.

She was already halfway through the hole when he got there, her shapely behind dangling practically in front of his face. “Watch the edges. They’re pretty sharp.” She grunted. “I could use a hand here.”

For a moment he hesitated, not sure where or how to touch her. He ended up bracing her thighs, which seemed to do the trick. Her muscles flexed against his palms. He ignored the way that made him feel. She hoisted herself up at last. “Come on.” He tried. There wasn’t enough room for his shoulders. But he was good at navigating tight spots. He’d spent a lot of time in underground funeral chambers, squeezing through impossible passageways. He twisted, angling one shoulder up, and turning the right way to be able to clear the hole without losing too much skin. The cool night air felt like heaven on his face. He sat next to the hole and drew a couple of deep breaths, hoping to steady his stomach. She was already moving along, going for even higher ground, easily climbing the side of another container. He went after her, only succeeding with effort even though he had the advantage of upper-body strength.

She was looking all around when he caught up with her. “Any idea where we are? I can’t see the lights of the land.”

Neither could he, which meant that swimming to shore now was out of the question. He looked up at the sky to get his bearings. “Heading southeast for now.” Of course, that was pretty much a given. They had to get out of the Adriatic. “Once we reach the Mediterranean Sea, we’ll see if the ship is heading toward Asia, Africa or for the Atlantic.”

“How soon will we know?”

“In a couple of hours.” They were traveling at a good clip.

“Any idea what we could do in the meanwhile?”

He looked out over the vast rows of containers and could make out the bridge up front. He drew a deep breath. “We could try taking over the ship.”

HER IDEAS HAD BEEN more along the line of jumping ship and swimming for shore, but she could see the white froth of the waves in the moonlight. The water was too rough, the mainland too far away.

“Look.” She pointed toward the starboard side.

A half-dozen men were walking the ship with flashlights.

“Maybe they heard the explosion,” Istvan observed.

“Or it’s a routine check. To make sure the containers are all steady and well-secured. They’d want to know that before the ship goes out to the ocean.”

The muscles in his cheeks seemed to tighten as she said ocean. And she noticed how tightly he was hanging on to the edge of the container as the whole ship swayed.

Several pieces fell into place. “Are you seasick?”

“Certainly not,” he said with heat, which told her she’d hit a nerve.

She sat back on her heels as she examined him. She didn’t picture him having any weaknesses. He’d been nothing less than formidable from the moment they’d met. She couldn’t help a relieved smile.

“I’m always glad when I can use my misery to entertain others,” he groused.

“Having weaknesses makes a person more approachable. You can be harsh, you know.” She paused. “You probably do. You probably do it on purpose. I wasn’t looking forward to working with you, to be honest.”

He pulled up an eyebrow. “The feeling is completely mutual.”

She smiled again, at his unflinching honesty, the first thing she liked about the prince.

“Do you always take so much delight in other people’s misfortune?” he asked in a wry tone.

“Sorry.” She reached back and unhooked her necklace, pulled the round eye hook off with her teeth, rolled off all the pearls save two. She stashed the free pearls in her pocket, then with four knots she secured the remaining two about three finger widths apart. “Give me your wrist.”

“I don’t wear jewelry.”

“Please, you’re royalty.”

“I wear some symbols of the monarchy on ceremonial occasions,” he corrected.

She held his gaze.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“This will help the problem you don’t have.”

After a moment of glaring at her, he held out his left hand. She fastened the string so the pearls would be on the inside of his wrist, pressing against the nerves there.

“What is this?” He examined her concoction dubiously, while she made a matching one for his other wrist.

“An acupressure bracelet. My father used to be seasick. He was terrible. You’ve never seen that shade of purple. He looked like a walking Monet painting when it hit him bad.”

The darkening of his face told her that bringing up her father might have been a mistake. “He was a good man, in his own way,” she added, feeling the need to defend the man who’d kept her fed and clothed, alive for the first part of her life.

He remained stoic. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

After a moment of silence, he climbed from the top of the container onto the top of the row below them, then down several more levels to the deck. He strode forward between the rows, going pretty fast, pulling into cover each time he reached a gap between two containers.