The Pirate Prince (37 page)

When they gained the ship, Allegra watched Lazar closely, trying to read him. A terrible feeling of foreboding was taking shape inside her. Aside from the fact that he would not look at her—indeed, he seemed to be pretending she didn’t exist—he seemed perfectly fine.

He was shattered, and she knew it, but not so much as a single small crack showed in the walls he’d thrown up so fast and so well around him.

He stood on the quarterdeck, dispensing a stream of orders to his crew, the men feverishly working the capstan to lift the anchor, hauling up the gangplank, and scrambling up the ropes as the sweeps maneuvered the ship out of berth. Patiently he heard out Bernardo’s groveling apologies and granted forgiveness, then half carried Vicar to the sick bay to be treated for a nasty blow to the head he’d taken.

Returning topside a few moments later, he made certain that the ship passed the shoals safely and was under way in the warm current of the Mediterranean.

He gave Darius some of his clothes to wear, instead of the hated Arab robes of the slave, though she doubted they would fit the boy any better than they had fit her. Lazar sent him to the galley to be fed but, as an afterthought, stopped him before he descended the hatch. By the lantern’s light, she saw him give the boy his curved Moorish knife. The boy took the gift with an awed, upward gaze of instant devotion to the man. To be sure, Darius had used the knife well, but Allegra found it ominous indeed to see Lazar giving away his favorite weapon.

She watched him return to the helm, where he went over their exact course for the full voyage one more time with Mr. Harcourt. Still ignoring her, Lazar then left the helm and went to the bow of the ship. She stood watching him while he looked out at the sea, and she saw that he was lost in himself despite the facade.

She hesitated, not knowing how to go to him after those moments in Malik’s chamber.

Before she could approach him, he left the bow, the moon glinting on his pistols, and when he passed the mast, he paused, tilting his head back to gaze up at the sails. For a long moment, he ran his hand lovingly over the smooth wood of the mast, and it was then she knew.

He had made his final preparations. He had taken care of everyone. She had just watched him say his final good-bye to his beloved ship.

“Oh, God, no,” she said under her breath as her knees began to shake. Dread took her like a shark, in one bite.

At the base of the pine mast, Lazar lowered his head, turned away, and walked slowly toward the hatch. She stood there, frozen, trying to believe she was wrong—surely her own worst nightmare would not rise to engulf her now. Surely her own brave Lazar would never give up. Victory was within his grasp.

The moment he was out of sight, she tore after him.

Lazar locked the cabin door and went to his desk, where he sat down heavily in the chair, pride crushed, soul battered, whole body aching. He opened the top drawer and began searching for the silver bullet he had saved for this occasion.

He couldn’t find it. When he realized Allegra was banging on the door, he looked up. His lost gaze fell upon the pile of files and documents about Ascencion. With a savage pass, he swiped them all to the floor, scattering them. He yanked the drawer right out of the desk and overturned it.

“Damn it, where is it?” he muttered aloud.

“Please, Lazar, please let me in.”

He didn’t answer. He heard her run away, screaming, for men to come and break down the door. He crouched down and rooted through the spilled contents of the drawer, but by the time he held the little silver bullet between his thumb and forefinger, he knew he couldn’t do it.

He could not do this to Allegra.

How he was going to live, he did not know, but life held him, thrashed him in its jaws like a lion and would not let him go.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He stood up quickly, dizzy. He removed his pistol holster and threw the whole thing across the room before it ever tempted him again. He tore himself free of his sword’s shoulder strap, cast it off, and stalked to the balcony for air, panting, clutching the silver bullet. At the rails, he threw the bullet as far out into the ocean as he could, then he braced both hands on the wood and hung his head in utter despair.

Vicar had a key to the cabin, but with a crowd of men standing behind her, Allegra fumbled with the lock in her terror and haste. At last it sprang free.

Then came the hardest moment of her life.

Steeling herself, she laid hold of the doorknob. But before she could turn it, it turned itself. The door opened, and Lazar stood there, looming in the dimness.

“It’s all right,” he muttered to the men. “Go back to work.”

With a cry, Allegra threw herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She ran her gaze over the length of him, trying to discern any evidence to show he was a threat to himself. Except for how battered he was by his fight, he was safe.

Thank you, God
. She pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to his pounding heart, her entire body weak with relief as she realized she must have overreacted. Turning to the men, though she did not let go of Lazar, she murmured an embarrassed apology for having upset them. They cast wary glances from her to Lazar, then nodded and went back to their work. Vicar sent him a piercing look and said not a word, turning away.

Standing with her arms around Lazar in the open doorway of the cabin, Allegra called to the last man leaving the stateroom.

“Have the galley heat water for him. Your captain will have a bath,” she said without so much as a blush. “Tell Emilio to make him something to eat—something soft to chew,” she added, glancing up at his poor, bruised jaw. “Then tell the ship’s surgeon to bring me poultices and cloths for his wounds.”

The crewman nodded and hurried off to do her bidding.

Lazar was silent, his expression remote, as if his face had been chiseled from granite. He still made no move to return her embrace. She figured he was probably furious with her for leaving the ship, in addition to being humiliated. On the other hand, he didn’t object or push her away either.

She took him by the hand and stepped into the cabin. She closed and locked the door, then paused, looking up to search his face. A moment later, she led him to the big, comfortable armchair and bade him sit.

He did. He watched her warily as she slid off the dark scarf she had tied over her plaited hair. Holding it in her hand, she folded her arms over her chest as she stood across from him, critically eyeing every visible cut and scratch and bruise on his powerful body.

When she noticed the stark, fractured plea in his midnight eyes as he gazed at her, her eyes flooded quickly with tears. She stepped closer and laid her hand against his cheek. He pressed his cheek against her palm, closing his eyes with a look of exhaustion.

“Why did you come? You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered brokenly.

She stared at the beauty of him, his long, black, feathery lashes closed. Her bold, proud pirate captain, her Prince, was not simply hurt; he was shamed down to the core of his soul. She felt that wound as though it were her own.

“Lazar di Fiore,” she whispered, “I love you more than life itself.”

His eyes flicked open suddenly. His brow furrowed a little as he looked up at her suspiciously.

There was a long silence. He pulled away from her hand and looked away.

“I don’t want your pity,” he forced out in a stony voice. “Just leave me alone. I know the sight of me repulses you. You don’t have to keep up this charade—”

“Sweetheart,” she interrupted him softly, “look at me.”

Jaw clenched tight, he looked up insolently. “What?”

“Do I look repulsed?” She gazed at him with her heart in her eyes. “You are the bravest, greatest-hearted man I have ever known, and your strength to have survived such a place awes me.”

As he stared up at her, the fractured look returned. “Don’t torment me,” he whispered, dropping his gaze suddenly. “It’s bad enough that I failed—”

“You didn’t fail. You just needed a little help.” She reached into the pocket of the trousers she wore and pulled out the signet ring, offering it to him. “You did it, Lazar. You kept your word to your father.”

He took it slowly, and now his eyes filled with tears that quickly vanished.

“Now Ascencion will be yours, as it should be.”

He lowered his head and was quiet for a long moment. “I only wanted it so you would not think ill of me, but I know you cannot love me now.”

At his confession, her throat closed with emotion. She could not speak. She nudged his knees apart with her own to stand between them and pulled him into a sheltering embrace about his wide shoulders and his head. He rested his cheek against her bosom. She held him close.

“I do love you,” she whispered. “That’s why I followed. I knew you were in danger.”

“You walked into Al Khuum for me,” he said, dazed.

“I would follow you into hell itself, Lazar.”

“Aye, you just did.”

“And we made it out because we are stronger together than either of us is alone, my love,” she whispered. “You’re safe now.” She pulled his skullcap off and ran her fingers tenderly through his velvety jet-black hair, vaguely noting that it had grown fast. She leaned down and kissed his head.

“But…Allegra.”

“I love you, Lazar. Nothing is going to change that. There is no reason for you to feel you need hide anything from me.”

His right hand cupped her arm, and he pulled her down onto his lap. He stared down into her eyes, searching them as if he sought to see into her very soul.

“What is it?” she whispered.

His dark eyes flickered.

“You love me?” he asked barely audibly. There was so much wistfulness in those three tiny words it brought fresh tears to her eyes.

“Yes, I do. With all my heart.”

“I lost everything, everyone I ever cared for,” he whispered, head down. “How shall I ever bear it if I lose you?”

She went down on her knees before him, her hands on his shoulders. She stared up fiercely into his eyes. “You will never lose me. Never. I will be with you always.”

“I can’t marry you,” he said heavily.

“Shh, sweetheart. I know that,” she whispered as she stroked the broad muscle of his arm. “I understand about your old betrothal—it’s best for Ascencion. Just give me some place in your life. I will be your mistress, your friend, whatever you want, Lazar. Just let me be near you.”

With a pained expression, he captured her hand and held it to his lips for a long time, his head down, eyes closed in distress. “You deserve more than to be anybody’s mistress. I want you for my wife, but I cannot have you.”

She smiled gently as she smoothed his hair back. “In my heart, I am your wife. That is enough for me.”

“
Chérie
.” He pulled her back onto his lap and held her so that she faced him, her legs around his hips, her head on his shoulder. “Never let me go.”

“Never,” she whispered, hugging him more tightly to herself.

They clung to each other, huddling together for comfort like two orphaned children, as if the other were all they each had left in the world. They were silent for some time, both dazed by the night’s events. Now they sat there, simply stroking each other’s hair, arms, and back, learning the feel of each other all over again, basking in the reassurance. She caressed his neck several times, just to feel with her fingertips the blessed pulse of his heartbeat.

“I can’t bear to think how close I came to losing you,” she told him, kissing his cheek. “But you told me you would come back to me, and you did.”

“I would do anything for you,” Lazar whispered with strangled savagery. “Allegra, I just want you to know—all that hell—I would go through it all again to arrive at this moment—to have this with you. Allegra, I’ve never said this to anyone before. I love you.”

She stared at him in anguished joy.

“You are the dearest man,” she choked out, pulling him close, eyes shut tight. “I love you, too.”

“Kiss me,
chérie
.”

She did, very gently. When he deepened the kiss, he flinched, pulling back.

“Ow,” he said ruefully, touching his jaw, swollen on one side from his fight.

She smiled, shaking her head at his bruises. “What a sight you are, Fiore,” she said, smiling very slightly in spite of herself.

“Fine words from a woman wearing men’s clothes.”

With a gentle touch, she examined a cut above his right eyebrow. “Poor thing, look at you,” she murmured. “I don’t think there’ll be any more kissing for you tonight.”

“It’s worth the pain,” he growled with a faint shadow of his old, playful smile. He leaned toward her again.

She stopped him with a soft gaze. “My love, if we begin, I don’t think either of us will be content to stop at kissing. After seeing him tonight—are you sure you’re ready?”

He was quiet, somber for a moment, and then he looked shrewdly into her eyes.

“You must not blame yourself—ever,” she said. “I saw how he was. The man was filth, and I’m glad I stabbed him.”

His eyes widened. To her surprise, he laughed softly. “What’s this? My kitten has turned lioness?”

Her answer was a slight, lazy grin. “That’s right, Leo.”

Smiling vaguely, he touched her cheek, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “If you can still bear the sight of me, then I guess it truly
is
in the past.” He ventured to look into her eyes again.

“Well, let me tell you, my friend,” she purred as she placed a kiss on his neck, “I would like to bear more than the sight of you tonight.”

He shivered a little. “Is that so?”

Their caresses filled with a different intention, from shared consolation to silken enticement. Lazar leaned back in the chair, staring at her as she parted his vest with both hands and ran her nails lightly down his chest.

“Tonight, my warrior, you will show me all the places you’re hurting, and I shall kiss them all.”

“That could take a while,” he whispered with a brief, devilish lift of one flared brow.

“I hope so.” She leaned down and kissed his chest once.