Dangerous Weakness (17 page)

Chapter 28

Volkov stepped into the room and lowered the lantern. Lily saw his face illuminated from below, a leering mask of pure evil. When she began to shake, Richard’s arm tightened on her shoulder, and she moved closer.

Other figures huddled in the doorway. She could just make out two or three faces, avid and alive with curiosity.

“What a disgusting little family tableau,” Volkov sneered. “You’ve disappointed me, Lilias.”

Disappointed
?

“I had so looked forward to renewing our intimate acquaintance.” He tilted his head as if considering her. Lily gagged back her rising gorge. “I thought if you pleased me particularly well we might postpone your punishment.”

Richard lunged forward. A brutal kick to his shoulder pushed him back against Lily.

“Do control the marquess, Lilias. My ‘assistants’ aren’t particularly careful, and I would much prefer that he die slowly.”

“You want me, Konstantin, not Glenaire. Let him go.”

“Touching. I presume he is responsible for your interesting condition? He really ought to pay for that. What will your dear Papa think of all this? Perhaps I should act in his stead since he is nowhere to be found.” He put a finger to his lips as if considering something.

“I owe him for your papa’s disappearance also, don’t I? My men tracked him to Copenhagen but lost him. Did you know that?”

Papa, what did you do?
Any relief that Volkov had failed to find her father faded under his current threat.

“This marquess of yours also made life difficult in London.” He kicked Richard’s ribs. “Yes, I owe this one quite a bit.”

“The question is what to do with you? I discovered your destination by sheer luck from an encounter on Malta. I paid dearly to be told when you left the Seraglio.” He laughed, an ugly miserable laugh. “Not enough perhaps. I had not counted on finding you with another man’s bastard. I truly hate taking someone else’s leavings.”

Lily had no warning when he yanked her arm with his free hand and pulled her up.

“No!” she screamed.

Richard fell sideways. She could see him try to rise from the corner of her eye. Volkov yanked her forward with his left hand. The lantern in his right swung ominously. The thought of her flowing veils catching fire caused her to yank instinctively on Volkov’s hand. She batted at the lantern with her free hand and knocked it against Volkov.

“Damned whore, you’ll pay for this!” Volkov shouted when fire singed his jacket. He dropped Lily and the lantern, plunging them into darkness. Lily scooted back into the farthest corner she could find.

In the light of a flickering torch hastily brought up to the entrance by one of Volkov’s minions, she saw Volkov swing around to her with murder in his eyes and step forward. Behind him, Richard rose to his knees and staggered upright.

A tall man dressed, unlike his fellows, in a short jacket and loose trousers shouted from the door at Volkov who ignored him and kept coming toward Lily. The man snapped his fingers. Someone grabbed Volkov’s shoulder and pulled him back. They shouted in a stream of Turkish, Russian, and other languages. Richard seized the opportunity to move in front of Lily.

“That man told Volkov we’re too valuable to damage,” Lily whispered in his ear. “He spoke Russian, if poorly.”

Two of the men in black subdued Volkov, one holding either arm. They joined the argument with Volkov and then began to argue among themselves.

“It isn’t quite Arabic or Turkish either. I think I hear Berber, at least when they speak between one another,” she told him. She felt him stiffen.

Volkov ordered them to let him go. “It is none of your business who these people are. They belong to me,” he shouted. They spat in his face.

“They’re saying he failed to pay them!” Lily exclaimed. Astonishment momentarily banished fear.

The tall man at the door crowded into their prison carrying a torch. He flicked a brief glance at Lily and Richard, but he saved his contempt for Volkov.

“He’s listing unpaid bills,” she said thickly. She clung to Richard’s back.

“Bills for?”

“Murder, beatings, across Greece. Hazard pay for coming into Constantinople itself, I think. He says they grow weary and will take the prize for payment.” Lily felt a surge of hope. “What prize?”

“Us. We’re the prize.” Richard cursed quietly.

Her hope faded. “Who are these people?”

“Corsairs, most likely.”

Hope died. Lily’s heart stuttered. “Corsairs?”

“Barbary Pirates.”

A swift blow from the flat of a scimitar quieted Volkov. He hung limp and unconscious between his two captors. Richard spared him no pity. The corsairs tossed the Russian to the floor and began to strip him systematically until he lay naked and unmoving on the cold stone floor.

The tall man with the torch shone his light on Richard and shoved him sideways to have a better look at Lily. He reached over to lift a lock of her hair where it hung in disarray on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch her.” Richard shouted. He extended a hand to stop the man and got a slap across the face for his trouble. The blow snapped his head back and threw him into the wall.

The man moved his light closer to Lily; he examined her face and hair with meticulous care. He spoke to her in Russian. She answered in Turkish.

“What did he say?” Richard asked through swollen lips.

“Not Turkish,” Lily answered without taking her eyes from their captor. “I assured him I am not.”

“English,” the man said, his speech heavily accented but perfectly clear. “Both?”

In the dim light, Richard could see her pulse pound in her neck, but she stood tall and did not look away from the man.

“Both of us, yes,” Lily told the man. Her courage strengthened Richard’s.

Behind their tormentor, the two black-clad guards finished trussing Volkov hand and foot. One hefted his purse and laughed. Gold flashed in the hand of other man, the bigger of the two. The bigger man had thrown back the mask that covered his face in the passageway. Richard could see the deep scar that marked the right side of his face from brow to chin and the smaller scar across his lips that gave him a perpetual sneer.

Scarface stuffed the gold ring in his robes and strode over to where Richard and Lily stood. He shot Richard a contemptuous look, grabbed Lily by the hair, and pulled out a curved dagger.

“Don’t touch her,” Richard shouted helplessly just before a blow to his midsection from the third man crumpled him to the floor. The two captors argued over Lily in a language he didn’t understand while the third relieved him of his jacket and began to finger it as if assessing its value.

He struggled to his knees and looked up into Lily’s eyes, eyes wide with terror. When he tried to stumble forward, the man who had removed his jacket, who appeared to be the younger of the three, twisted his arm up above his shoulder.

“Lily,” Richard called through a haze of pain, “what are they saying?”

Her answering voice wavered, the sound coming thin and reedy. “The one with scars says a pregnant woman is worth nothing and I will slow them. He wants to—”

A loud scream from Volkov cut her off. He rolled and struggled against his bonds, unleashing a torrent of invective, drawing all eyes to him.

The older man, the one Richard began to pray was the leader, shouted at him in Russian. Volkov shouted back. All three laughed, and the oldest spat some words.

“What are they saying?” Richard demanded, gasping for breath.

“Volkov called them filthy names and demanded that they follow his orders. This man called him ‘
yazychnik’
and ordered him to be silent or—”

“Or what?”

“Or they will slit his throat.”

Volkov opened his mouth as if to speak again, but only a gurgling sound came out. Scarface picked up Volkov’s torn shirt, sliced it with his dagger in one swoop, and gagged him with it.

“Yazychnik sounds Russian.” Richard whispered. “What does it mean?”

“Infidel,” she answered on a breath.

As if at her word, Scarface turned on his heel, but before he could approach Lily again, the older man barked an order, and they began to strip Richard as they had Volkov. Scarface pulled his right hand so hard he thought his arm might leave its socket. He began to pull at Richard’s signet ring.

Richard pulled back and started to object, but Scarface took his dagger and threatened to cut off the finger with the ring. Richard forced himself to relax. His grandfather’s ring with its intaglio coat of arms carved on a perfect sapphire disappeared into Scarface’s robes.

The younger man began to bind Richard’s hands. Scarface moved toward Lily, baring his teeth and spitting one word in her face. “Kafir.”

“Don’t touch her, you dog!” Richard roared, lunging forward only to be yanked back. He shouted himself hoarse; they ignored him. He cursed Volkov for the animal he was. He fought to break loose from his bonds until pain shot through his head and darkness overcame him.

Lily. Oh God, Lily.

Chapter 29

Hard wood cut into Richard’s back when he came to. He could not feel his hands, bound as they were behind some sort of post. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. His keepers had left him tied and gagged in a dim space that smelled of fish and bilge water. They had left his smallclothes, but they were little protection from the cold.

Gratitude for the looseness of his gag didn’t outweigh his other discomforts. No pain came close to fear for Lily.
What did they do to her?

Frantic attempts to pull at his bindings resulted only in greater shoulder pain and a banged head.
Where the hell am I and how long have I been here? An hour
? He suspected more
. Four perhaps? Lily, dear God where are you?

Something soft and clawed ran over his lap and scuffled
to the left.
I have company in this hell, four footed, and cunning.
He fought back nausea, bent his knees, and slid his feet close to his body.
How long before they gnaw at my toes?

An inhuman moan emanated from the gloom to the left.
No rat that.
Richard stared into the shadows, allowing his eyes to adjust
. Not so inhuman.
Black eyes glared back at him;
Volkov slumped against a similar post ten feet away, face bloodied and swollen.
His eyes glow, though. Hatred glows in those eyes like red coals.
While Richard watched, blood dripped down Volkov’s face, across his bare chest and onto the rough loin cloth that was his only clothing.
Do rats smell blood? I hope he keeps them busy so they don’t come for me.

He knew from the bobbing—and the horrific smell—that they had been carried to a ship. He sensed movement; they were under sail. The ship moved slowly which meant they had not yet reached the open sea. By now they may have cleared the city and crossed the Sea of Marmia that lay below Constantinople. He suspected they were passing through the Dardenelles to the Mediterranean.
Escape from a ship should be easy in that narrow passage. Hadn’t Byron famously swum across?

He shook with bitter laughter.
Escape would be easy?
If he managed to undo his bonds, find Lily, and get to the deck without being captured, he still had the problem of swimming to shore with a pregnant woman in tow.

How long before Liston or Sahin Pasha figure out what happened?
he wondered.

Rescue seemed almost as unlikely as escape. Even if the Ottomans knew to follow or cared to, the ship, if it was a Barbary corsair, would be fast.

At least Volkov couldn’t do further harm
. Richard’s only satisfaction lay in the sight of the Russian beaten, bloody, and bound.

Richard couldn’t measure the time that passed before he felt the ship gain speed. Volkov had slumped, asleep or unconscious, and Richard himself had almost nodded off when footsteps on the stairs to the hold put him on alert. The man who entered no longer wore black, but his scarred face made Richard’s guts churn.

Dressed in loose brown trouser and wide-sleeved shirt, Scarface wore the long tunic characteristic of North Africa. He had a lethal-looking curved sword in a red sash and his dagger in his hand, the weapon Richard last saw pointed at Lily.
If this animal harmed Lily, he will pay . . . someday, I will see to it.

He cut Richard’s bonds and aimed the knife at his neck. “You come now,” he said in passible English.

Richard pulled out the gag; his tongue and throat felt like old leather. Temptation to attack the man surged. One thought kept it in check.
Not until you find Lily
. Richard did as he was told. He crawled up the stairs and limped across the deck. Wind whipped at his bared skin.

They had reached the open Mediterranean and picked up speed. He noted they sailed on a small frigate or perhaps a corvette, probably captured from the Portuguese or the Americans twenty or more years ago
. Small but impressive. At least it isn’t a galley.

His keeper prodded him forward toward the captain’s cabin situated aft. The cabin, stripped of decoration and hard used, had the sparest of furnishings.

“Welcome, English,” a deeper voice said. The speaker sat at the broad table built into the deck, the captain’s desk with its myriad map drawers. Broken handles and gashed wood spoke to this one’s long life. Richard recognized him as the leader of their captors. The man clearly captained this ship. Richard lunged toward him; the point of a sword stopped him.

“Where is Lily?” he demanded, his voice a harsh squawk. “Where is my wife?”

“Wife?” the man arched a dark brow. “Your woman dresses for the Sultan’s Seraglio and you call her wife?”

Richard opened his mouth to speak again, but this time the words grated in his throat and died there.

The captain gestured, and Richard’s keeper handed him a water skin. He swallowed deep and choked.
Rum!

Both pirates laughed. “I am Rais Hamidou. You have heard of me?” the captain spoke in impeccable English.
Rais.
Richard recognized that word.
Leader. Chief. Captain.

“Rais Hamidou is dead. Steven Decatur killed him at Cape Gata.”

A roar of laughter greeted this pronouncement. Richard realized three or four more pirates had crowded into the cabin to watch this exchange. He inclined his head and raked his memory; the image of his desk with its dozens of reports on Mediterranean shipping didn’t help much. Legends clung to the name Hamidou, but they obscured the question of whether the deeds were true or those of any one man.
Perhaps a Hamidou rises from the ashes like a Phoenix when one is killed.

“I am acquainted with the name,” Richard said.

He took a slower swallow of rum to soothe his throat and survey the room.

“Where is my wife?” he repeated with as much diplomatic aplomb as he could muster in his current state.

“Secured below.”

Relief swept through Richard.
Lily is alive.

“She is an innocent.”

“An innocent?” Hamidou smirked.

“She is my wife,” Richard countered; his eyes dared the man to disbelieve. “I demand to see her.”

Shrewd eyes considered Richard’s defiance. Hamidou flicked a gesture, and one of the men bolted out the door.

“She is not untouched,” Hamidou said. “That will impact her value to some in the slave market in Tunis, but her fiery hair and her obvious fertility may prove an asset. The hair will certainly please. We shall see.”

The thought poleaxed Richard.

“Volkov owed us much,” Hamidou went on. “We will recoup our losses.”

These men intended Lily for the slave markets. Knowing felt far worse than guessing. The trade flourished for three hundred years. The American invasion of Tripoli and Exmouth’s bombardment of Algiers had contained the trade but never stamped it out.

Before Richard could respond, the door opened and Hamidou’s man returned. He pulled Lily behind him, her hands bound. The man pulled her with a rope like a dog. Frightened green eyes bore into his over a silken gag. Scarface’s sword kept Richard in place.

“She should bring much, this one, with or without the baby. The child is yours?” Hamidou said.

“Yes,” Richard rasped. He racked his brain for an argument the man would accept. Only one would work. “Whatever you think she’s worth, I can pay you more.”

“You?” the man roared with laughter, looking Richard in his ragged smalls and bruises.

“I am Richard Hayden,” he rose up and stiffened his aching spine. Hamidou raised an eyebrow.
Unimpressed.
“The Marquess of Glenaire.”
More interest
. “Heir to the Duke of Sudbury.”
I have his attention
. “Whatever you think she is worth, my government will pay more. He prayed that was true. If Castlereagh balked and his father wouldn’t, Chadbourn would see it done.

“Interesting, but not certain,” Hamidou answered. “I know the traders in Tunis and Algiers. I don’t know you.”

But you’ve heard of me. I’d swear to it.
“What do you have to lose by waiting?” He forced his eyes to stay on Hamidou and not Lily.

The man appeared to ponder his words. “Perhaps I will wait with the woman and sell you. You are worth almost as much as the woman, my lord Glenaire, though not, I think, as much as Volkov owes us. The galleys are hungry for strong backs. Your strength is not first rate, but it will improve over time, and it will amuse them to have ‘my lord’ to pull their oars.”

He felt sick.
If I’m lost in the galleys, it will take years to find me. What will happen to Lily and the baby then?

“If I wait,” Hamidou mused, “she will deliver. If her baby lives, I can sell him also.”

A wail wrung from the depths escaped Lily’s gagged mouth.

Hamidou rubbed his chin and ignored Lily’s moan of protest. “What shall I do with you?”

The pirate looked amused.
Does he really have to consider it or is he torturing me?
Richard had nothing else to say, nothing else to offer. He had played his last card.

“I will consider your proposal,” the man said at last. “In meantime, you will be fed as will your . . . wife, did you say? We must care for our merchandise. Volkov owed us much. You will make up for it and more one way or another.”

Rough hands shoved Lily back into the wooden closet that had been her cell for hours. They removed neither bond nor gag.

Raucous laughter accompanied their forced march from the captain’s quarters.
Hamidou’s quarters. Richard had called him Hamidou, the beast who would sell my baby.
She gagged as her rising gorge threatened to choke her.

Two of the captors, who stunk of bilge and unwashed bodies, shoved Richard into the closet to lie in a heap at her feet. Her heart leapt.
Do they mean to leave us together?
They grinned like fools from the doorway.

Richard struggled to his knees. One pushed him back down when he tried to rise. They pantomimed a mockery of obeisance. Lily forced her rattled mind to clear. She called on her smattering of Arabic and knowledge of Turkish, but she couldn’t make all out all of their words. She understood “English lord” at least. She could do nothing to help, bound as she was.

The men tired of their game at last when a third man appeared with what looked like a pile of rags. They tossed it at Richard, slammed the door, and shot the bolt to lock it. Behind the door, she heard muffled words that sounded like “robes for a king.”

Richard stumbled up and yanked off her gag. He kissed her hard and fast. She pulled her head away and lifted her bound hands to his face.

“Untie me you blasted man, this is no time for dalliance.”
He began to work at the knots, but leaned in and stole another kiss.

“What the devil did you mean telling that beast I’m your wife?” she sputtered. “Who gave you the right?”

He looked up from working at her fastenings. “I thought it might help keep you safe,” he said. He struggled with swollen hands to untie the knots. “They frown on unmarried pregnancy.”

“You have no business ordering my life,” she said. “I’m not yours to—”
Yours to bully. Yours to control.
She remembered Hamidou and the sword he held to her heart. “Oh God, Richard, the baby!”

“Don’t be an idiot. We need every scrap of protection we can find. At least they put us together. It will be true soon enough.”

The ropes came free before she could summon an argument. When he pulled her into his arms, she no longer wanted to argue.

He kissed her long, his mouth gently tugging on hers. Her arms went around his neck to pull him closer while she savored the warmth of his naked chest. She slid one hand down his back. When she felt scratches, he winced but did not relax his hold on her. She lowered her hand to the soft cotton of his smalls and held on to his buttocks. When she broke their frantic kiss and moved her mouth across his neck and collarbone, he laid his face against the top of her head and breathed deeply.

“I thought you were dead,” he murmured.

She looked up, startled. “I feared for you, too,” she whispered through a throat thick with unshed tears.

The shadow of a grin flitted across his face. “Perhaps my lie had one benefit. At least they put us together.”

He looked around. Their cell had nothing but rough wooden walls and a foul-smelling bucket, for relieving themselves he presumed. “Not exactly the Brighton Pavilion, but better than the hold.”

“Better?”
How could this hole be better?

“No warmer though,” he said. Lily felt him begin to shiver spasmodically.

“Maybe this will help.” Lily picked up the pile of rags and shook it out to find it was a tunic of some sort, like the garment a laborer or nomad might wear. It looked as if it had once been blue but had faded to dirty gray. It smelled vaguely of animal, showed patches worn thin with wear, and sported ragged tears across the hem. She held it out to him.