Riveted (7 page)

Lucia nodded. “There is one such young woman aboard. She’s bound for Heimaey, in the Vestmann Islands.”

She spoke the name as if it should have some import, but David didn’t recognize it. “Heimaey?”

“Hymen Island.”

“Ah.” Heat filled his cheeks. The island off the south coast of Iceland was inhabited only by women, and was where some Catholic families sent their unmanageable daughters, keeping them pure for advantageous marriages. Rumor was, however, that the women
were simply left there—and since no men were allowed to set foot on the island, distasteful stories of virgin cults and women who would steal a man’s virility had begun to spread. “Her family requested that she be taken to the island?”

“Accompanied by her nurse, yes. They have the stateroom on the second deck. You saw her on the docks?”

“Yes.”

“I hadn’t realized that she’d been allowed to leave the ship.”

Perhaps she hadn’t been. David hadn’t seen how the trouble at the port gates had started, but he felt certain that her birth documents were false. Had she been trying to escape?

Maybe he should have helped her. “Do you know her name?”

“Maria Madalena Neves.”

“Lusitanian?” That couldn’t be right. She hadn’t spoken Portuguese at the gates.

“I believe so. She boarded
Phatéon
in Nova Lagos—though I do recall she said that her grandmother was from one of the northern kingdoms. Sweden, perhaps.”

That might be the answer, then. If she’d been unmanageable, she might have been sent away before, to family in the north. Would she know
his
mother’s family? “Will she be at the captain’s table?”

“She has been these past two nights. I can see to it that you have a seat next to her, if you like.”

“I would.”

His aunt nodded, but a hint of uncertainty weakened her smile. “David, I hate that this must be said, but I hope that she has not misled you in any way. It hasn’t happened on this ship, but I’ve heard that some of these girls will attempt to make themselves…ineligible. And they’ll use any man to do it.”

David grinned wryly. “She must not be that desperate. I asked her to join me for dinner at the inn. She refused.”

“She
refused
—?” Lucia seemed to stumble, at a loss for words.
“Ah, well. Perhaps she will be desperate enough to seduce you after we are under way.” When David began to laugh, she raised her hands to suddenly pink cheeks. “Oh. No, dear. That is
not
what I mean. Only that her fate will seem more inescapable at that point.”

He’d known what she meant. That didn’t make the other any less true. “Is it inescapable?”

If so, he would offer to help her escape it.

“No. The Vashons receive a fee from the family, and so the captain will fly the girl to Heimaey. But on
Phatéon
’s next docking at the island, she’ll receive free passage away if she doesn’t want to stay.”

“Do the families know this?”

“Of course not. But here is something you won’t expect to hear, David: Of the fifteen girls we’ve taken, only two have left.” With a sly grin, she patted his hand. “Perhaps this one will have reason to leave, too?”

He’d dug this hole, hadn’t he? “That’s not what I—”

“Hush, now. And make certain to comb your hair.” She turned away from him, unpinning her own hair. “If you can tear yourself away from Miss Neves after dinner, I would like to introduce you to the crew in the wardroom. We’re rather starved for new company, and so passengers are always welcome—and there is one person in particular who I think would interest you.”

Only Maria Madalena Neves interested him, and if what he suspected of her origin was true, Lucia would certainly understand why. “I will see you again shortly, then.”

“Comb your hair,”
was her only reply as he left.

David’s cabin was on the second deck—and, he realized after asking for directions—only a few steps from the stateroom. His heart pounded when he stopped at his door, and he stood looking down the passageway toward hers. She might emerge at any moment.

What would she think of seeing him there, after she’d run from
him on the docks? What would she think of suddenly facing him across a table? Perhaps he ought to prepare her. He could look in on her, inquire that she was all right after her ordeal at the port gates.

Everything would be proper. Her nurse would be in the stateroom. He wouldn’t even enter the cabin, but simply make his inquiry from the passageway.

Oh, he was a fool. Knowing that, he still combed
his fingers through his hair and approached her door. And if by some terrible chance, she was alone and desperate enough to invite him into her bed…

He wouldn’t say no. Hell, he’d like to spend the entire journey there, even if only to watch her face as she talked. Even if she insisted on the dark, even if she insisted that he didn’t kiss her or touch her skin more than necessary, he could still watch her face through his light-enhancing lens.

God.
He shook his head. Who was desperate, here?

Maria Madalena Neves wasn’t.

A few seconds after his soft knock, the door whipped open—and yes, she was absolutely beautiful in a blue silk gown that would have been more suitable in a ballroom than at a captain’s table. Her hair was long, dark, and curling. Plump lips pressed into a tight line. Two spots of red appeared high on her pale cheeks.

“What do you want, senhor?”

Nothing, now. But he had to make certain. “Excuse my intrusion. You are Senhorita Neves?”

“Yes.” She tossed her head, blue eyes flashing. “I know you as well, Senhor Porco. I know what you’ve heard about me, and why you have come crawling to my door. Do you truly think I could ever be so wretched that I would lower myself enough to let you touch me, pig?”

She stepped back. The door slammed, shuddering against the jamb. David stared at the wood for a long moment, then pushed his fingers through his hair again, mildly surprised that her ire hadn’t burned it away.

So that hadn’t been her. Damn.

He knocked at Lucia’s door. Powder puff in hand, she
opened it, looking up at him curiously. “David?”

“Don’t sit me next to Miss Neves,” he said. “The woman I met had short black hair and an enormous red skirt over yellow trousers. Do you know her?”

“Yes.” Lucia gave a merry laugh, nodding. “Yes, I know her. That is Annika Fridasdottor. I meant to introduce you to her tonight.”

Annika.
Perfect. “Who is she?”

“Oh, David. I have been trying to discover the answer to that mystery for almost four years.” She batted his nose with the puff. “We’ll see if you do any better than I have.”

When her stomach rumbled a hungry complaint half an
hour before supper, Annika wished that she’d taken the stranger up on his offer. She lay facedown in her bunk instead, with a hollow belly and a pillow over her head, trying to sneak in a few minutes of sleep.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind spun out waking dreams, refusing to rest.

What sort of supper would they have eaten? For a week, she’d been craving roasted mutton; surely the inn would have served that. And a thick, salty gravy that she could sop up with crusty bread. She could have devoured an entire haunch and still had room to lick her fingers after.

Oh, and she had to stop imagining this before she drooled into her mattress. It still faintly smelled of the sweet straw beneath the cotton cover, and nothing soured a bed as quickly as moisture seeping into the stuffing. She would dream of the stranger, instead, and of what his answers to all of her queries might have been.

Though she still couldn’t imagine a good reason to chase after
volcanoes. To study them, he’d said. What was there to study that couldn’t be viewed from afar? They shook the earth and terrified the sheep and ponies. They spewed ash that turned the daytime sky to gray and the nights to red. They poured lava down their snowy sides, sending up billowing steam that could be seen for miles, melting ice into rivers of mud that destroyed everything in its path. Everyone in Hannasvik knew to keep their distance from an eruption.

So there must be another purpose. Annika had once imagined herself descending into the mouth of a volcano—but she had also been five years of age and her ears still ringing with tales of dragons who hoarded their gold in mountain caves.

Perhaps that was what the man sought. Not dragons, because no sensible person believed in them, but glory. That seemed almost as foolish as searching for a dragon’s hoard, but perhaps the stranger was like Sigurd, who’d been manipulated by Reginn to carry out that dwarf’s revenge upon his dragon brother. Perhaps he’d been led to believe glory could be found in such pursuits.

She didn’t like to think that her rescuer could be so easily manipulated, however. She didn’t like to think of him resembling Sigurd the Deceiver at all. She preferred her heroes to resemble Brunhild, who took her bloody revenge upon the Deceiver after he’d misled and taken advantage of her.

Annika should have been as bold as Brunhild, too.

With a sigh, she turned over and stared up at the bottom of the shadowed bunk overhead. Now she doubly regretted refusing his invitation to supper. She’d never know why he ran after volcanoes. She’d never know whether her instincts had been correct and if he
had
wanted something from her other than company. Maybe he’d only wanted to know more about her, as he’d said—or had wanted to share her bed. That would have been easy enough to refuse.

Unless she hadn’t refused.

That was difficult to imagine, too, though she tried. She had
the memory of kisses to draw from, a caress of her breasts. Her own explorations had taught her the brief ecstasy of release. But to lie with someone, to fully give herself over to that person…she would need to feel more than those things. She would need to know the rending need and longing that her mother had told her came hand in hand with passionate love, as if her guts had been riveted together and the only way to ease the pain was being with that person. Annika had no memory of such emotions to rely upon as she dreamed.

The rest was just physical pleasure, and she could do that for herself.

Not here, though. Few places on an airship offered enough privacy to attempt it, so it did her no good to imagine bedding the stranger. She’d only end up frustrated.

With effort, she pushed those thoughts away. Daydreaming did her no good, either. It never had. In Hannasvik, she’d never been responsible for tending the sheep, but she’d still earned the name Annika the Shepherdess—because she was always gathering wool.

Sleep would have served her better, but there was no hope for it now. The cabin door squeaked open, followed by the tread of boots across the boards and the scratch of a spark lighter at the washstand. The brass lamp’s flickering flame danced across the second mate’s fair cheeks and glinted gold in her chestnut hair. Elena wound the oil pump and the wavering glow from the burner softened, steadied.

Elena’s index finger marked her spot between the pages of a closed book—apparently she’d abandoned the wardroom to enjoy a few more minutes of reading here before her watch began. Across the narrow aisle, the other two bunks were empty. No surprise that Marguerite was gone; the steward’s assistant reported to the kitchen before breakfast and would be running ragged through supper, but was the only one of the four women who ever got a full night’s sleep. Mary Chandler ought to have been in the upper bunk, catching rest
while the first engineer was on watch. No doubt Annika would hear an earful from her later, going on and on about how tired she was.

Glad that it was Elena who’d come in, Annika rolled up on her side and propped her chin on her fist. She liked Marguerite well enough, but her conversations with the older woman never seemed to range beyond food and the weather. Mary preferred to gossip, which was fascinating when Annika knew the person under discussion and unbearable when she didn’t. Since Mary had recently received letters from her family in Manhattan City, Annika knew from experience that it would run to unbearable over the next few days.

She never tired of Elena’s company, however—and a good thing, too, given that they’d shared a cabin for almost four years. Annika had joined
Phatéon
’s crew as the third engineer shortly after Elena had become the third mate. Their friendship had become fixed in the first months, with Elena spending every free moment teaching Annika to speak French and serving as her guide to the New World.

The loneliness of leaving home had been easier to bear with Elena—and initially, Annika had hoped that friendship might become more. But the passionate longing she dreamed of never developed and her guts never felt riveted, no matter how much Annika would have welcomed it at the time.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. Like most New Worlders, Elena probably wouldn’t have welcomed any romantic advances—and if found out, Annika would have lost her position on the airship…or worse, if she was reported to anyone other than the captain.

In any case, as the years had passed, Annika had grown to value Elena’s friendship more. Love could wait until after she found Källa—if it ever came at all.

Elena turned away from the washstand and stopped abruptly, spotting Annika. “Oh!” Apology tugged her lips into a grimace. “I
didn’t mean to wake you. They started bringing dinner into the wardroom, and with the jolting, I couldn’t bear the smell.”

Her friend did appear a bit bald around the beak. Annika hadn’t even noticed the airship’s rough rocking, or that the storm had come in. Yet another reason to stop herself from daydreaming. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“How could anyone in this? I hope we cast off soon. The cargo’s almost all up and most of the crew aboard; we’re just waiting for the mail, and of course the post delivery is late. Did you just come back from the city?”

“A little while ago.”

“Have you spoken with the chief yet?”

Chief Leroux, the head engineer. Annika hadn’t seen him since her return. “Why? Did he send for me while I was out?”

“And got Mary, instead. She was steaming mad, too, having to take García’s watch.”