Safe in the Earl's Arms

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.