Captive (35 page)

Slowly, using incredible restraint.

She gasped.

Their eyes collided. Connected. Held. “Oh, God,” he breathed as he filled her, pressing against her, inside of her.

“Xavier,” she said, her eyes suspiciously wet. Her palms cupped his face.

The moment he began to move, his control snapped. Xavier closed his eyes and gave himself over to the rawest side of man’s nature. He pounded into her. Hot and hard.

Aware of her moving beneath him, with him, smoothly, perfectly—as if they had been lovers before.

And Xavier knifed into her, crying out her name.

She also cried out, one heartbeat later.

He could not believe what had just happened. He was in shock.

As he pulled on his thin trousers, he kept his back to her. She was very dangerous. Not because she was a spy. But because he lost all control with her. All control, all common sense, all reason.

In fact, he still mistrusted himself intensely—as far as she was concerned.

“That was wonderful,” she said hoarsely. But with a question mark.

He did not want to look at her. He was afraid to see her expression; mostly, he was afraid to look into her eyes—afraid of what he might discover there.

Too late, he regretted what they had done. Too late, he knew he would never forget what it was like making love to her.

He did not need this distraction now.

“Xavier?”

He turned. She had put on her pants and, topless, was now tying together the strips of linen over her breasts. He could not help staring at her. Her beauty left him stricken.

Their gazes met. She looked away first. “We have to talk,” she said very softly.

He tore his gaze away from her breasts, her hair, her mouth, finally meeting her eyes. They were filled with uncertainty. Vera’s eyes.

He did not want to discuss what she wanted to discuss. He was careful to be polite. “I hope I did not hurt you?”

Her smile faltered. “It was wonderful.”

He quickly moved to the door, to peer out of the cane slats. His back was to her now.

Silence fell between them, across the cell. A loud, heavy silence. Xavier edged the cane matting farther aside, continuing to peer out into the courtyard. He heard her standing and he glanced involuntarily over his shoulder. She was fully dressed except for the kaffiyeh.

“Do not forget the headdress,” he said stiffly—awkwardly.

“Now what happens?”

He understood that she was referring to them. He said, “Obviously there will not be any escape.”

Her brows knitted over unhappy eyes. “Xavier, you know I am talking about us.”

“There is no us.”

She stared, dismayed.

“What happened was a mistake.” He felt as if he were wielding a knife, but had no choice. “I blame only myself. There will not be another time.”

“I see,” she choked.

How could he be hurting her? He had to look at her even though he did not want to. She wasn’t crying, but she was
close to tears. “I do not understand you. Not at all.”

“I am not a spy. I am merely a woman—a smart, determined woman, the kind of woman you have never known before.”

That was certainly true. “If you are not a spy, then explain all of your lies to me, and how you knew so much about our navy.”

She hesitated. “I cannot.”

“I did not think so.” He was amazed at the extent of his own disappointment.

Her shoulders sagged. “Edward Preble is replacing Commodore Morris.” Then her eyes flashed. “That is common knowledge; everyone at the palace knows!”

Xavier stood straighter. “But you knew the last time we met, did you not?”

Her mouth set mulishly, down-turned. She did not answer.

He took a breath, fighting how he felt—which was strangely heartbroken.

“I guess I had better go,” she said.

“I think so.” He folded his arms and stepped aside as she moved forward.

Suddenly she paused beside him. Their bodies did not touch. She hugged herself. “Do not escape without me. Please.”

He looked into her shimmering eyes. “If and when there is an escape, I shall give you the opportunity to leave with us.”

She nodded. Then, “Xavier, we must escape, soon. The sooner the better.”

“Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”

She did not answer.

It was answer enough. He held open the cane door. “Goodbye …” he hesitated. He had been about to call her Vera.

She brushed by him, hurrying across the terrace. Murad appearing beside her. Again Xavier watched her as she crossed the compound, but this time, just before she entered the vaulted tunnel, she paused and turned.

Across the bagnio, their gazes locked. And then she was gone.

He rejoined Tubbs on the terrace. His first mate was asleep. Xavier squatted beside him, grasping his shoulder, gently waking
him up. Tubbs groaned, his eyes opening. When he saw Xavier, he was immediately awake. “What is it, Captain? Is something amiss?”

Xavier nodded. “Morris has been relieved of his command. Our escape must be postponed. The good news is that Preble succeeds Morris. In time, I have every hope that he will aid us in a successful escape.”

Tubbs sat up. “Two more slaves died today in the god-awful quarries. How much time do we have. Captain, before our own crew begins to drop like flies?”

Xavier was grim. “I don’t know.”

They were silent, staring at one another, thinking about death.

Xavier’s jaw tightened. “The guards have already been bribed to allow us out the night of the fifteenth. We have acquired two pistols and five daggers. That is enough to proceed and do what still has to be done.”

Tubbs’s eyes were wide. “But surely you do not think to escape anyway!” he exclaimed.

“No. I am not talking about escape.”

Tubbs sat tensely on his heels. “If you are not talking about another escape, then what are you talking about. Captain?”

Xavier slowly stood. At six foot four inches, he towered over Tubbs, who also rose. “I am talking about the destruction of the
Pearl,”
he said.

Tubbs stared.

“But not the night of the fifteenth.” His gaze darkened. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we shall destroy her.”

The next night

“W
HERE, HAVE YOU
been?” Alex demanded.

Murad closed the door to her chamber. “It’s late. Why are you still awake, Alex?”

Alex was sitting up in bed in the dark. The room was only illuminated by the moon and the stars shining outside. “I can’t sleep.”

Murad stared at her.

“Not just because of what happened last night.” Even if she and Blackwell were never together again, Alex was not ever going to forget the glory of being made love to by him. Their union had been inevitable. And it had been far more than a physical joining—it had been a union of their hearts and souls.

But Alex was disturbed, uneasy. The hairs on her nape prickled. “Something has happened,” she said slowly, absolutely certain of it. “Or is about to happen.”

Murad hesitated.

Alex slipped from the bed. “What is it? It’s about Blackwell, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Murad took a breath. “Blackwell intends to destroy the
Pearl
tonight.”

“What!” Alex cried.

“You heard me. Apparently he originally intended to destroy
the ship during the escape—two weeks from now. When he found out that Morris was relieved of his command, he decided to go forward with the
Pearl’s
destruction immediately. Tonight—at exactly two in the morning.”

Alex was in a state of shock. She managed to shake the cobwebs from her brain. “Ohmygod.” Then excitement began to rush through her veins.

“Of course! How stupid I was not to have guessed! The guards have been bribed and the
Pearl
has to be destroyed … Murad, this is wonderful!”

“Is it?”

Alex’s smile faded. “The
Pearl
has
to be destroyed, Murad. According to the history books, it was destroyed by Blackwell long before the ship ever reached Tripoli. I still don’t understand why it wasn’t destroyed at sea the way I read about it, but in any case, when Preble attacks next summer, it could be a completely different battle if the bashaw has a ship like the
Pearl
to use against us.”

Murad stared, his eyes silver in the dark. “I don’t like it when you talk about the history books, Alex. I don’t like it when you talk about the future.”

She touched his bare arm. “Maybe that’s because you are starting to believe me.”

“Maybe,” he finally said.

“What time is it now?” Alex asked abruptly.

“It’s only nine o’clock.”

Alex nodded, the idea of aiding Blackwell already forming in her head. She knew she should leave him to achieve this objective alone. But how could she? This was history in the making. More important, what if Blackwell needed her?

“You are staying in the palace tonight,” Murad said flatly.

“Of course,” Alex mumured, trying to mean it.

“I am serious.”

“I can see that. You are also worried. Why?”

“Because I seem to be the only one thinking of the consequences should Blackwell succeed tonight,” Murad said quietly.

Chills raced up and down Alex’s spine. “I don’t understand.” But she did.

“I don’t think that you do,” Murad said grimly. “The bashaw will be furious. He will not allow this kind of act to go
unpunished and unavenged.”

Alex froze. “Oh God. What will he do? What will he do to Blackwell?”

Murad did not answer her.

Alex’s heart seemed to stop. Her thoughts raced, unwelcome and unbidden. So far, the history books had been all wrong. Blackwell was supposed to die in the summer of 1804 for his affair with the bashaw’s daughter-in-law. But what if the script continued to change? What if Blackwell was executed in the summer of 1803 for the destruction of the
Pearl?
What if his fate hung in the balance now?

“Alex,” Murad said tersely. “His fate belongs to him. You cannot change it.”

Alex did not reply.

They were a total of six men. Barefoot and silent, they waited while the guard unlocked a side door that opened onto a narrow city alley. The guard stepped aside without a word while the men, lead by Xavier, filed out. A moment later the door was closed, but it was not relocked.

As usual, the night was full of stars, the moon half-full and glowing. The men did not carry torches or any form of light. Everyone wore daggers, Xavier and Tubbs each carried pistols, and two of the men carried fire bombs made from gunpowder stolen from the quarries, and flint that had been provided by Quixande. They passed the palace walls, ghostlike, and hurried through the sleeping city.

The harbor came into view, numerous naked masts forming long, needlelike shadows that pierced the night sky. At the end of the harbor, Tripoli’s tricolored flag with its crescent symbol flew from the fortress on the mole, and just past the bottleneck entrance there, a warship cruised. One of the men cried out.

“Shh,” Xavier said, but his pulse had quickened too. The men had stopped in their tracks. Everyone stared out at sea.

“My God, it’s an American ship,” Tubbs whispered in excitement.

“It’s the
Vixen.
She’s come back,” Xavier said tersely.

“Captain, there must be a way to rendezvous with her,” Allen cried in excitement “There’s no need now for us to go back to that hellhole!” He was shaking visibly.

Xavier turned, his face stem. “We have one mission to perform this night, Allen, and that is destroying the
Pearl.
Escape is not a part of our plans.”

“But, Captain—”

Tubbs clamped his hand down on the young man’s thin shoulder. “Follow orders, Allen, or I’ll take care of you myself.”

Allen’s jaw tightened. His eyes turned sullen. The men behind him muttered and shifted, each and every one still staring at the small brig cruising just off the shore.

“Let’s go,” Xavier commanded.

They had reached the docks. They squatted down behind stacked barrels, which smelled strongly of wine vinegar. The
Pearl
bobbed at anchor just a few wharves away. A half dozen janissaries guarded her. They were fully armed with scimitars, knives, pistols, and muskets, but they were playing with dice. Laughter and muted conversation in Turkish drifted to Xavier and his men.

But Xavier already knew that the
Pearl
was kept under guard. The two parcels containing the firebombs and the flint were passed forward. Each was wrapped in oilskin and made as watertight as possible.

Xavier and Tubbs handed two of the men their pistols and stepped out of their single item of clothing—their pants.

“Good luck, Cap’n, Tubbs,” someone whispered. It was the big, burly quartermaster, Benedict.

Xavier nodded. He and Tubbs melted away from the men, who remained watching the Turks, ready to assault them should they discover what was happening. They paused at the edge of the dock. Xavier slid soundlessly into the water. Tubbs handed him the two oilskins. Xavier held the bundles above the water as Tubbs slipped into the water beside him. Then he handed Tubbs one of the parcels. Both men began to swim a rough sidestroke, determined to hold the gunpowder above water—just in case.

They began to approach the wharf where the Turks sat.

The garden was dark and silent inside the palace walls. One man waited, unmoving. Eventually he saw a big, burly figure moving toward him swiftly through the dark. The second man paused.

“They’ve left the bagnio,” Kadar said.

Jovar smiled, his teeth flashing white in the night.

Alex could not stand it. She was pacing her bedchamber nervously. By now Blackwell and his men should have left the bagnio and were perhaps even at the docks. But had they successfully left the prison? Without alerting the guards? Alex was well aware of the Moslem penchant of betrayal and treachery. And if they had not yet been discovered, had they made it through the sleeping city? Were they at the harbor? She had promised Murad she would not interfere.

But she had not really meant it.

Blackwell’s life could be at stake. How could she remain in her bedroom, in the palace? How could she not help? What if something went wrong? What if he needed her?