Bedazzled (31 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: Bedazzled
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“He would have done it, and allowed nothing to happen to us. Did you know there is a plot by the janissaries against the young sultan? Their agent came to Caynan Reis, and sought his allegiance. He said he would only give it to them if the deys of Algiers and Tunis agreed. He sent this man on his way, and then sent word to Istanbul to the valideh of the plot. He intended asking the valideh for autonomy for El Sinut as a reward when she offered one, so that our sons would have their own lands,” India told her startled cousin. “Do you think I should know these things if I was not my lord’s beloved, and trusted by him? Do you think the harem women knew of all of this, Thomas Southwood? But you would
rescue
me, and force me back to Scotland!” She glared at him.
Thomas Southwood had a momentary doubt that perhaps he had not done the right thing in forcing his cousin India aboard his vessel, but he quickly pushed it away. She didn’t understand at all. Caynan Reis would have gotten a child or two on her, and then taken a second, possibly even a third and fourth wife. India, he knew, would not have stood for such rivals, and been unhappy. She was better off going back to her family at Glenkirk. Back to the life she knew and understood. They would explain away her year’s absence, and find her a husband. She would forget Caynan Reis. Her great wealth would smooth over any difficulties.
He looked directly at her. “It is too dangerous for me to continue on to England with you aboard. We may encounter Barbary corsairs, and have to fight our way out this time, particularly now that we are so well armed. I am taking you to Naples to your grandmother, Lady Stewart-Hepburn. When you return home in a few months’ time, it will be said you have been with her all this time.”
“And what will be said about poor Adrian Leigh?” India demanded.
“God’s boots, India! You don’t still care for that arrogant little toad, do you?”
“No, I care nothing for him,” India said scathingly. “I love my husband, but Adrian ended up in the galleys because of me. Why didn’t you take him with us tonight?”
“I couldn’t without involving all the galley slaves on Aruj Agha’s ship. For God’s sake, India! Your former swain is chained with four other men on a bench. I didn’t have the authority to unlock those chains, and if I had attempted to take Adrian off that vessel, there would have been a riot. Our entire escape would have been thwarted. Besides, Adrian Leigh deserves whatever he gets for cajoling you into your rash runaway.”
“You really are a bastard, Tom,” India said. “If this is to be my cabin while you make your run for Naples, then get out of it! I don’t want to see you again.
Ever again!
How easy it is for you to ruin other people’s lives, and all for the sake of your damned ship!”
“This damned ship will help to get you home,” he said angrily.
“El Sinut is my home now,” she replied stonily.
Chapter
15
T
he morning after their flight from El Sinut dawned clear. The Mediterranean sun shone golden in a cloudless blue sky, and the brisk winds left in the wake of the storm had swung about to the southwest, speeding their progress toward Naples. It would certainly have been discovered by now that the dey’s wife and her servant were missing. It would have been ascertained that the English round ship was no longer in the harbor of El Sinut. The chief eunuch, Baba Hassan, would have connected the disappearance of India and Meggie with that of the ship. Particularly if someone finally saw the single grapnel atop the far wall of the dey’s private garden. Mr. James had freed, and tossed down to the alley the grapnel by which his captain and India had descended, but having gotten to the ground with Meggie, he had been unable to loose his own grapnel. They had left it. It was unlikely they would be caught before they reached Naples. By the time Caynan Reis and Aruj Agha were sent for, returned to the city, and sailed in pursuit after them, another two days would have gone by.
They sailed on through virtually unoccupied seas that first day, and the next day as well. Finally, on the third morning, they approached Naples. India stood at the rail, enchanted with the muted peach-and-lavender sky. Pearly gray mist hung suspended in the air like sheer, shredded silk. Here and there tiny islands appeared out of the foggy waters. She could just see the small fishing boats in the fog. She heard the call of a church bell over the smooth seas. A gentle breeze puffed at the sails, causing the ship to glide along almost like a fairy vessel. The air was very damp, and warm.
“Well,” Tom Southwood said, coming up to stand by her side, “you’ll be at your grandmother’s in a few hours, India. I want you to stay aboard until I have gone to Lady Stewart-Hepburn’s villa and spoken with her. I’m sure she is aware of your disappearance a year ago. She’ll send a message to your family posthaste, I have not a doubt. I’ll be glad to have you off my hands, quite frankly. You’re a very troublesome wench, India.”
“And you’re a pompous fool, dear cousin,” she responded.
“In time you will forgive me, and realize that what I did was for your own good, India,” he said gently.
India turned her face to him, her golden eyes almost amber with her irritation. “Go to the devil!” she told him, and then returned to her cabin where Meggie was awaiting her.
“Captain was seeking you, my lady,” the girl said.
“He found me,” India replied. “I shall be glad to be quit of him. Hopefully Lady Stewart-Hepburn will not be so condescending.”
“You do not call her Grandmother?” Meggie asked.
“She is my stepfather’s mother, and I only met her in France two years ago. She has lived in Naples for many years now. For my stepfather’s sake, I call her Grandmama, but I was never comfortable with it. My Lindley grandparents were dead before my father and mother were wed. The only grandparents I have ever known have been the earl and countess of BrocCairn, Mama’s parents, although the earl is also my mother’s stepfather. Most of the women in my family have been wed to any number of husbands. We are very long-lived, Meggie.”
Knox had brought them a small repast, some flat bread, dates, and a small carafe of fresh water. The two women ate, and then Meggie fetched a basin of water so they might wash. They had no trunks, and were wearing the same garments in which they had left El Sinut. There was not even a comb for their hair, and all of India’s precious jewelry had been left behind. At least that, she hoped, would tell her husband that she hadn’t departed willingly from his side.
Caynan!
Her heart cried out to him over the many miles now between them.
I love you! Please find me! Please!
The ship anchored in the Bay of Naples. They had exchanged the banner that flew atop their mast earlier that morning for two flags, one indicating they were an English ship, and the other below it to announce they belonged to the O’Malley-Small Trading Company. Captain Thomas Southwood left his vessel, and was rowed ashore. There he immediately registered his ship with the harbormaster, explaining they had escaped captivity in the Barbary States by stealing back the
Royal Charles.
He requested that a ship’s painter be sent out to his vessel to repaint the correct name on its side and stern. Then, asking directions to the Villa del Pesce d’Oro, he rented a horse and made his way to the small estate, outside of the city and on the sea.
It was to this beautiful villa with its gardens that Catriona Leslie had come to marry Francis Stewart-Hepburn. It was from this place that she had been kidnapped, and taken into slavery in the Ottoman Empire. But Francis Stewart-Hepburn would not be denied the great love of his life, and, discovering where his wife had been taken, came to rescue her. He had, as he later told her, crossed three seas and two straits to find her. They had not returned to Villa del Pesce d’Oro, for Lady Stewart-Hepburn had been badly traumatized by her adventure. They had instead gone to another villa in the hills above Rome, Villa Mia.
In the next few years, as the shock of her sojourn had eased and finally faded almost away, they had taken to going to the Neapolitan villa each summer, and remaining into the autumn when they would return to Villa Mia. Lord Bothwell had loved the warmth and the sunshine of Naples. He had been buried there, except for his heart which was taken from his chest upon his death and placed in a carved oak box which was then placed into a decorated silver reliquary, and rested on a table by his wife’s bed. It traveled with her. It would be buried with her when she died.
The gates to the villa were opened by a smiling gatekeeper. The door to the house was opened by a craggy-faced Scot in a kilt.
“Aye?” the grizzled fellow growled.
“I am Captain Thomas Southwood, of the O’Malley-Small trading ship, the
Royal Charles.
I should like to see Lady Stewart-Hepburn.”
“And what is yer business, Captain?” the doorkeeper demanded.
“My business is private, fellow, and not to be discussed with servants,” Thomas Southwood replied stiffly.
“Now dinna get yer breeches in a twist, Captain,” the Scot said, “but nae one gets into this house wiout my knowing their business. I promised my lord on his deathbed that I would watch over her ladyship, and ’twas nae a promise made lightly.”
“I am a son of the earl of Lynmouth, uncle to the duchess of Glenkirk,” Thomas Southwood answered. “ ’Tis family business I have come about. Now, are you satisfied, and will you let me in?”
“Aye, come in then, and I’ll take ye to her ladyship,” the Scot said calmly. He turned, and led the way into a bright salon overlooking the colorful gardens of the villa, now a riot of bloom. “Captain Thomas Southwood, m’lady,” he announced.
Catriona Stewart-Hepburn had been sitting at an embroidery frame by the open windows. She arose now, and he saw she had the same elegance that his late grandmother had possessed.
“My lady,” he said, bowing over the outstretched hand.
“Southwood.
Are you related to the earl of Lynmouth, sir?” she asked him.
“Robert Southwood is my father,” he replied.
“How kind of you to visit me,” she told him. “I do not often have visitors from the north. Do you bring messages from my family?”
“I’ve brought your granddaughter, Lady India Lindley,” he announced, smiling at the look of astonishment that crossed her face.
“India!
Oh, thank God! Jemmie and Jasmine have been so worried! Where did you find her? Is she all right? Where did she disappear to?” She sat down heavily, waving him into a chair.
“India will tell you everything you need to know in detail, my lady, but I will tell you briefly. Almost a year ago, Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford, convinced India to elope with him. Neither my cousin, Jasmine, nor her husband, approved of this young man. With great foresight India had him book them passage out of England upon one of our ships, and she came aboard disguised. Her masquerade was fortunately discovered, and I took her in my charge immediately, putting her rash young swain into custody. Shortly afterward we were taken into captivity by a Barbary corsair. I advised my crew to accept Islam, which most of them did, thus avoiding service in the galleys. We were brought to El Sinut, and led before its dey, Caynan Reis.
“Because ours was the first round ship they had ever captured, and because I had accepted Islam, I was first sent back out to sea with the janissary agha of El Sinut as his navigator. When it was at last decided that I could be trusted, I was assigned the task of teaching the dey’s seamen how to sail my ship. I planned our escape for months, and at last three nights ago I accomplished our flight, rescuing India so she might go with me, along with the little Scots lass who is her servant.”
Catriona Stewart-Hepburn knew the answer to the question she now asked. “What happened to India when you arrived in El Sinut?”
“The dey fancied her, and she was taken into his harem,” was the answer, as she had expected.
“Ahhh, the poor child,” Lady Stewart-Hepburn said, remembering her own sensual captivity, and the trauma she suffered for several years after her husband rescued her. “How is she, sir? When may I see her?”
“She’s mad as hell, madame, for she fancies herself in love with the dey. I had to knock her unconscious to get her to safety. As to seeing her, I would very much appreciate it if you would take the troublesome wench off my hands, and see to the task of getting her back to Scotland or England, and into her parents’ charge again.”
“She is aboard your vessel?”
“Aye, madame, she is,” he answered.
“I shall send my Conall down to the harbor to fetch them,” Lady Stewart-Hepburn said. “Does she have much luggage?”
“Madame, I carried her unconscious over a fifteen-foot-high wall in the clothing she wore,” Thomas Southwood said.
“Where was the dey?”
“Hunting in the mountains with the janissary agha, or I should have never attempted such an escape,” he replied honestly.
“Stay with me for a few days,” the older woman said. “Both you and your men could surely use the rest after your great adventure.”
“I thank you, madame, but we must put to sea again as soon as possible, and direct our efforts to getting home to England.”
“If you sail west, Captain, you certainly risk being recaptured again,” she said in very practical tones. “I think if I were planning to foil my enemy, I should remain in Naples for a few days, take on a cargo, and sail east to Istanbul. By the time you return west again, the dey and his minions will have tired of the chase, and you will have a profit for your trouble.” She smiled at him, and her leaf-green eyes twinkled.
“Your legend, madame, does not do you justice,” he said.
“Please,” she said, “would you go to the door, and tell Conall to fetch Lady India and her servant from your ship. He is standing on the other side of the panel attempting to hear what is being said, but his hearing is not as good as it once was, I fear.”
The door snapped open, and the Scotsman said in glowering tones, “I hear well enough, my lady. Ye need nae insult me, and me so faithful to ye. What is yer ship called, Captain?”
“The
Royal Charles,
but right now it’s got itself a Turkish name on her sides and stern in those wiggly scroll-like lines they call letters. The harbormaster can tell you where we’re moored, and arrange for my longboat to take you out to fetch my cousin. I thank you, Conall.”
The kilted Scotsman stamped from the room even as his mistress was pouring two exquisite crystal goblets of deep red wine. She handed Thomas Southwood one of the goblets. “Wine, sir?”
The captain took the liquid gratefully, eyed its beautiful ruby color, and sniffed its fragrant bouquet. A look of delight passed over his face. “ ’Tis Archambault wine, madame! From my grandmother’s family estates in France. God! I have dreamed of this wine all those long months in captivity while I quenched my thirst with water, mint tea, sweet sherbets, and that damnably thick Turkish coffee.” He took a sip, and then another, and then drank the entire goblet down before her eyes. “Ahhhh, that was good! Do you know, when they captured my ship, they threw an entire cargo of sherry overboard?”
She refilled his glass, laughing.
“All those barrels floating in the sea,” he said mournfully, and began to sip at his goblet once again.
Conall More-Leslie fetched his mistress’s carriage and driver. Then, mounting his horse, he led the way to the harbor, instructing old Giovanni to wait for him. “I hae two ladies to bring back to the madonna,” he told the coachman. “They are aboard a ship in the harbor.”
He was rowed out to the
Royal Charles
, and, approaching it, saw a painter already hung over the side of the vessel upon a rickety scaffolding, painting out the Turkish squiggles, preparatory to restoring the ship’s proper name. He clambered up the ladder hanging over the vessel’s side and onto the deck, introducing himself to Mr. Bolton.
“I’ll fetch her ladyship, and Meggie,” the first mate said, “and glad I’ll be to see the last of them. Women on a ship’s bad luck, and we’ve had nothing but bad luck since her ladyship came aboard.”

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