The Bartered Bride (12 page)

Since kissing was too intimate, he brushed his lips lightly along the line of her jaw and down her throat. The wrapped neckline of the kebaya had fallen open to reveal tantalizing curves. He bit his lip to stop himself from kissing her breasts, guessing that also would be too much. "Are you all right? " She gave a tight little nod that cracked his heart. Could any man have been so valiant about accepting a hated invasion of body and soul?

Reminding himself that she wanted this over quickly, he released her breast and stroked down her abdomen, avoiding the profane glitter of the chain. The thin silk of her sarong warmed luxuriously under his hand. For a man who'd hungered too long, she was a tantalizing banquet of femaleness. She quivered as he approached the juncture of her thighs. Was that all distress, or was there an element of physical response?

Another decision to be made. Would it be more emotionally destructive to coax her body to respond, even if readiness meant there was less physical pain? He swore to himself. Mating was meant to be joyous sharing, not this tortured navigation through reefs of agonizing complications. Since physical pain was guaranteed if she couldn't relax, he chose to try to induce a response. Maybe words would help. "In only a few minutes this will be over, Alex," he whispered. "Tomorrow we'll be free, sailing to Java to find your daughter. Then home to England and your family and your real life. If the winds are fair, we'll be in London in four months. Maduri will be only a fading memory, a half-forgotten dream."

Her tension eased as he painted his picture with words. Encouraged, he continued to talk, spinning stories about his ship, his far-flung business interests, sights he'd seen, how much the crew would enjoy having a little girl on board. He poured a river of positive words and images over her, all the while caressing her with increasing intimacy.

But under the flowing words, his control was fraying. Celibacy had been a way of life for years, but now he wanted to bury his face in her hair and hear ardent gasps when he pleased her. He wanted to sink into her with intoxicated kisses and laughter, lose himself in heedless passion rather than thinking, planning, worrying.

Be quick about it. He slid his hand under her sarong, gliding over shapely calf and knee until he touched intimate flesh. Instinctively she clamped her thighs together, then forced herself to relax. Her breathing was quick and shallow.

Exploring with exquisite care, he found heat and dewy moisture. This was genuine response, and he nourished it with all the skill he'd learned in his marriage bed. There was a subtle change in the tempo of her breathing and her hands began to open and close on the bedspread like the paws of a kneading kitten.

When he felt she was ready, he moved between her legs, supporting his weight above her. Remembering the sultan's order to make it clear that they actually consummated this obscene act, grimly he exposed himself as he opened the front of the loose trousers. Yet even the knowledge of being watched couldn't dampen his aching, drymouthed urgency. The feel of her legs bracketing his, the rich carnal scent of intimacy, incinerated doubts and conscience.

Be quick about it.

As soon as he pressed into her heated depths, control shattered and he drowned in searing femininity. It was the headiest of drugs, too long denied. Like a boy on his first attempt, he erupted without even moving, arching his back as he gasped, " Oh, Lord, my dearest love ..." He hung suspended in rapture and fulfillment-which splintered when Kasan said tartly,

"Congratulations, Captain. Not an impressive performance, but adequate for this test. You have won the Singa Mainam, and the woman is yours, to do with as you will."

Panting and disoriented, Gavin moved himself off Alex, jerking her sarong over her again as he did. The deed was done, and now he was saturated with shame for having experienced stunning pleasure in such a corrupt act. "Alex?"

She didn't answer. Her hands were knotted and the bones of her face sharp as a woman dying of fever. He raised a hand, intending comfort, then dropped it as he saw silent tears pouring down her face. They had won the Game-but dear God, at what price?

Alex gripped the coverlet, desperately trying to prevent wrenching sobs. That would be the final, unbearable humiliation. Gavin had been a sensitive, generous lover-and that had made the whole experience worse. She had been violated, and didn't even have the satisfaction of hating the man who had done it.

As Gavin moved from the bed, she opened her eyes and pushed herself to a sitting position. For an electric instant their gazes met before she wrenched her eyes away. He looked as if he'd been emotionally flayed to the bone. Bleakly she recognized that they were bound together by a joint degradation no one else could ever fully understand.

"I thought you fortunate to throw the goddess, Captain," the sultan said musingly, "but it wasn't good luck after all, was it? You will not sail away from Maduri unscathed." Alex watched as the two men locked gazes. They were opposite sides of a coin-one fair, one dark; one rigidly controlled, the other gloating. The sultan was enjoying Gavin's distress, while Alex's anguish was as unimportant to him as if she were a mosquito buzzing about the room. Though she couldn't hate Gavin, with Kasan hatred was easy. If she knew pentjak silat, she would kill him with her bare hands. Was this how her father and stepfather had felt fighting the French? No, her stepfather had always spoken of his French opponents with respect. In contrast, the sultan was despicable-a man who abused his power as easily and naturally as he breathed. She loathed him in a deep and very personal way..

There was so much leashed emotion in Gavin that she feared he'd explode into violence, but luckily his control held. It wouldn't do to anger a ruler who could have them executed on the spot if he wished.

"Since all of your requirements have been met, Your Highness ..." Gavin stepped into the hall and retrieved the manacle key from the head guard. Mutely Alex watched as he unlocked her chains, taking pains not to let his fingertips graze her skin.

He lifted the manacles away-and in one smooth, furious gesture hurled them through the open arches that led to the terrace. Glittering in the sun, they sailed over the railing and hit the ground with a discordant jangle. She rubbed her raw wrists, scarcely able to believe that she was finally free. Voice eerily calm, Gavin said to the sultan, "It has been ... interesting, Your Highness. I wish you well in finding the right man to act as your agent to the West."

"I found him," Kasan said dryly. "A pity you did not agree."

"A man held against his will can never be the right man," Gavin said with equal dryness. "But a word of advice. When you return to your list of possibilities, avoid the Englishman, Barton Pierce. He is not a man of honor. The Dutchman, Vandervelt, is a much better man. There are other good choices as well." The sultan's eyes narrowed. "Can I believe what you say? You are not well disposed to me at the moment."

"That is up to you, Your Highness, but on my oath, I wish neither you nor Maduri ill. Pierce is a man who does ill." Gavin inclined his head. "With your permission, we will now take our leave." Alex stood, desperate to depart, but Kasan frowned. "I'd thought to hold a farewell banquet for you tonight."

"Now that truly would defeat me." Gavin gave a smile that matched the sultan at his most charming. "I haven't the strength to endure more Maduri hospitality, Your Highness. I still haven't recovered from my last experience of arak."

Kasan laughed, and the tense atmosphere eased. "Travel safely, Captain, and if you ever return to these waters, call on me again."

"Thank you. I shall remember that." Gavin glanced at Alex. "But now we must make a voyage to Sukau."

The thought of Katie strengthened Alex. She straightened her weary body, holding herself like a soldier's daughter.

Kasan's gaze ran over her with insulting thoroughness. "Don't turn your back on your slave woman, Captain. She looks dangerous. What a pity it will be if you can't enjoy her as you deserve."

"Mrs. Warren belongs to no one but herself," Gavin said as he ushered her out the door. "She is, and always has been, a free woman." For those words, she could almost love him. Within an hour, they were on the Helena. The journey to the harbor was a blur to Alex as she focused every shred of control on leaving bondage with her head held high. Gavin and Suryo flanked her, sternfaced, almost as eager to leave as she was.

The Helena was a sleek, impeccably maintained ship that looked capable of out-sailing anything on the high seas. As soon as their party climbed from the jolly boat to the deck, Gavin excused himself and began snapping orders to prepare for departure. Alex gathered that the tide was about to change, and if they didn't leave immediately they'd have to wait for hours.

"This way to your cabin, puan." In Suryo's compassionate gaze she saw that he knew what had happened, and would never speak of it. Near the breaking point, she followed him below and along a narrow passage to the rear of the vessel. As he opened a door, he asked, "Do you need anything, my lady?"

"Just ... to be alone."

"As you wish. When you want food or drink, ring for me." Gratefully she recognized that she'd been granted permission to be private for as long as she needed. Hardly noticing her surroundings, she crossed the cabin and fell onto the neatly made bunk, wrapping herself around a pillow as she began to shake violently.

In the past months she'd wept and raged. She'd damned the pirates and the Islands, blessed the soft-voiced slave women whose compassion had kept her sane, imagined slow, violent deaths for her abusers, and yearned desperately to find Katie. Now her complex emotions defied analysis. She couldn't hate Gavin-he'd risked his life for her simply because he felt it was the right thing to do. But how could she ever look him in the face again without remembering his body inside hers? Her silent screams still echoed in her head. Yet somehow she must master her emotions where he was concerned. Otherwise months of proximity on a small ship would be unbearable.

She remembered his expression when he'd pulled away from her, and buried her face in the pillow, shuddering. Though the encounter had been dreadful for her, she'd been inured by months of bullying and abuse with little hope that she'd ever escape. The damned Lion Game was merely the last, and least physically painful, instance of what she had endured. She would survive it as she'd survived everything else.

For him, though, their forced intimacy had been shattering because he'd had to violate his deepest principles. That was a terrible burden for a man so innately decent. She must forgive him so he could forgive himself

As she made sense of what had happened, her shaking stilled and eventually she drifted into exhausted slumber. When she awoke, late afternoon sunshine slanted through the windows that ran across one end of the room. The steady roll of the ship and occasional snap of canvas overhead proclaimed that they were at sea.

She stood, grabbing the edge of a built-in cabinet as her stomach shifted uneasily. Taking stock of her surroundings, she realized this must be Gavin's own cabin. Spacious and well furnished, it included a wide bed and jewel-bright Chinese carpets on the polished oak floor. Desk and chairs were secured with discreet staples, and handsome teak storage cabinets had been built into the walls. Bookcases had also been built in, with bars to keep the volumes in place during stormy seas. It was a warm and welcoming place, cozy rather than sumptuous.

Though she didn't like displacing Gavin from his own quarters, she recognized that he wouldn't offer a lady in distress anything less than the ship's best. Still another gift she must accept graciously. She crossed to a window, still a little queasy even though she'd always been a good sailor. Outside, the sea was molten gold in the sun.

In the distance, a dark line of rugged land separated water from sky. Maduri or another island? No matter. It was behind her now.

With slow wonder, she absorbed the fact that she was truly free. Captivity and humiliation were behind her now.

Joy bubbled up from deep within. Free. For most of her life she'd taken liberty for granted, but never again. It was a gift beyond price, one she'd die rather than lose again. The knowledge gave her an insight into Gavin's adopted homeland, which had paid for its freedom with the blood of its sons. Suddenly anxious to remove all traces of slavery, she rang for Suryo. When he appeared, she asked,

"Could I have hot water to wash myself?"

"Of course." He and a sailor returned with canisters of hot water so quickly that it must have been ready and waiting. She'd expected to wash herself with a cloth and water in a basin, but Suryo pulled a tin hip bath from one of the cabinets.

"A hip bath!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen one on a ship."

"It can only be used when the sea is calm, like tonight," said Suryo. While the sailor poured water into the tub, Suryo left and returned with a tray of food and some folded garments which he left on the desk.

As soon as the men left, Alex stripped off her clothing and settled into the tub. She almost wept as the familiar tang of English lavender slid over her skin. Tropical flowers could be intoxicating, but lavender was the fragrance of her childhood, of dried blossoms scattered among her clothing and the lotion her mother made for dry hands in winter.

The hip bath had high sides to prevent spills as the ship rolled, and was large enough to accommodate Gavin. How many times had he sat naked exactly where she was now? Her flash of embarrassment at the thought was instantly followed by memories of greater intimacy. Harshly she scrubbed her skin with a rough cloth and sponge, as if rubbing herself raw could banish the taint of slavery and defilement.

The water was almost cool when she climbed from the tub and dried herself. Most of the bruises that had marred her skin when she was first brought to the palace had faded to ugly shades of yellow and green. Soon-those exterior marks of brutality would be gone. As for the interior ones-well, she'd spent enough time on wailing and self-pity. It was time to reclaim her life. Suryo had brought a long skirt and overdress made of Indian print cotton in soft shades of blue. Though similar to Island garments, they were made to her size and the cut was Western. When she donned them, she felt more herself than she had since the pirates had attacked the Amstel. Wanting to regain her sea legs, she drifted around the cabin as she nibbled on a piece of the bread Suryo had brought. This wasn't just Gavin's cabin; it had been designed for his wife. That's why there was a hip bath and a bed large enough for two and luxurious Chinese rugs. His love for Helena showed in every detail.