The Bartered Bride (8 page)

"So I can dream of tomorrow's test?" He grimaced. "I hope it's swimming or diving or chess. Those I could manage fairly well."

"You did splendidly today. You'll do as well tomorrow," she said, trying to sound confident. He stood, moving stiffly. "Let's hope God wants you free, because I can use all the help I can get." As he vanished into his bedroom, she thought that God was probably busy, and that was why He'd sent Gavin Elliott. She smiled, knowing the thought would have embarrassed the gallant captain if she'd said it aloud.

She picked up the book of Byron's poetry and leafed idly through the pages, pausing at The Prisoner of Chillon. The description of a man long-imprisoned, despairing as he watched his brothers die, was chilling. Byron had imagined well, until the end, when the prisoner said, "My very chains and I grew friends ... " She could not imagine such resignation. Like the prisoner's brothers, she would have preferred death.

Yet she'd loved Byron's work as a girl, hiding away a slim volume of his poems because she suspected her mother might not approve. Now that she was a mother herself, she sympathized-Byron could be quite ribald-but she hadn't noticed that when she was young. The exotic settings had enthralled her. He created worlds of high romance, with dashing, dangerous heroes who did great deeds and loved great loves.

Tall, handsome, and brooding, Edmund Warren had been the very picture of a Byronic hero. She'd probably not have accepted his offer if he'd been fair-haired and average looking. Her taste in men must have gone back to her father, who'd been a very dashing cavalry officer. When she'd married, she hadn't known how to look beyond a face to a man's soul.

A pity that she hadn't fallen in love with a decent, kind, undashing man when she was still capable of love. Now the thought of a physical relationship caused her stomach to knot. She was too old, too scarred for romance. She'd squandered her chance. Not that her marriage had been a disaster, but it had been far less than she had hoped for. She had expected the deep, joyous love that bound her mother and stepfather. Instead, marriage had put her in a cage as surely as the gilded bars that held her now. Chiding herself for an overactive imagination, she returned to Ivanhoe. Poetry made her think too much.

The next morning began much the same way, except this time Gavin wasn't surprised to see that Alex was gone. When he and Suryo reached the arena she was waiting in the shade of the pavilion, her glossy dark hair styled differently and wearing a new selendang. More relaxed than the day before, she gave him a private smile.

Gavin returned the smile before casting the die again. This time when it tumbled to a halt, Sheng Yu announced, "Fighting the dragon."

Gavin frowned. "What does that mean?"

"The dragon is a beast from Komodo Island, called the ora there," Kasan explained. "For centuries, they've been bred on Maduri for their fighting ability. You must enter the ring with the largest of my dragons and steal the jewel of the sea from around its neck, armed only with a kris." Jewel of the sea? Wondering if this was a bad dream, Gavin said, "Bring on the dragon, Your Highness."

Tea was served while the dragon was summoned and a fenced enclosure about thirty feet in diameter was assembled in the middle of the arena. Drums announced the entry of the dragon, which was roped between four large men who struggled to control their thrashing charge. Gavin almost spilled his tea when he saw the beast. It was a giant lizard, easily ten feet long and weighing more than he did. Ugly, too, with a dark, scarred hide that looked like woven metal, and a foot-long yellow tongue that darted out as the heavy head swung from side to side. A giant, irregular pearl hung around its neck from a leather thong. Gavin didn't envy the man who had tied it in place.

"I've heard of the ora," Alex said under her breath. "Don't let it bite you. I don't think it's actually poisonous, but the mouth is so filthy that any creature bitten dies of infection within days."

"I'll do my best to avoid bites," Gavin assured her. "Does the blasted beast breathe fire?" She smiled without humor. "Not that I know of."

"I must be grateful for small blessings." Gavin rose and set aside his tea. Despite the heat, he kept his coat on. The good worsted wool might offer some protection.

The dragon wranglers got their charge into the enclosure, carefully coordinating the release of ropes so they could bolt for safety at the same time. One man was knocked down, and dragged hastily from the ring by his fellows before the dragon could grab him.

With all in readiness, Kasan presented Gavin with a kris in its scabbard. "Wield this well, Captain." The wavy-bladed dagger and scabbard were beautifully wrought. More important, the blade was razor sharp. As Gavin belted the weapon around his waist, he asked, "What if I kill the dragon defending myself?"

"Don't," Kasan advised. "The ora is traditionally considered sacred. Killing one would bring great misfortune."

Wonderful. Once more, drums rumbled as he crossed to the fenced enclosure. The attendants opened a small gate, and Gavin entered, dagger in hand. The dragon waited, still as carved stone except for the cold glitter of its hooded eyes. It looked ... hungry.

"You have the advantage over me, Sir Dragon," Gavin said. "I can't kill you, but I'll bet you don't feet the same way about me."

The forked yellow tongue flickered, and the beast gave a short, evil hiss that raised the hair on Gavin's neck. "If you hold still and let me cut off the pearl, this will go easier for both of us." Moving with shattering suddenness, the dragon whipped its massive tail around, knocking Gavin to the ground. He caught a nightmare glimpse of long, curved teeth, and rolled away barely in time to save his throat from being ripped out.

Not daring to stop, he leaped to his feet and retreated, gasping to recover the breath that had been knocked from his lungs. "You're fast, but your aim needs improving. Thank God." The dragon became immobile again. Gavin edged to his left in a way he hoped wouldn't look menacing. Reptiles tended to be less active than warm-blooded creatures. He'd seen men approach crocodiles slowly without provoking an attack, and with luck that would work here. He was within a yard when the dragon exploded into action again, this time slashing with its vicious hooked claws. Gavin dodged back, but the dragon ripped through his right sleeve and pain blazed along his forearm. He hoped those wicked claws weren't as filthy as the teeth. The dragon swung its head sideways and lunged at Gavin. Trapped against the fence, he saw no choice but to leap onto the beast's horny back. As it pitched and hissed furiously, he flattened himself on the long spine, clinging to the torso with his knees and locking his arms around the thick neck. Like riding a tiger, he was in a precarious position, but out of range of the lethal fangs. After a couple of minutes of frenzy, the baffled dragon suddenly stopped, uncertain how to rid itself of its unwanted burden. Gavin took advantage of the moment to slice the thong with the kris and grab the pearl with his left hand. Then he jumped off backwards, staying out of the dragon's sight. Panting, he flattened himself against the wall of the enclosure as he waited to see what, if anything, the beast would do. It hissed and clawed at the ground, but didn't turn to come after him. Scarcely daring to breath, Gavin inched around the ring toward the gate. As it swung open, the dragon spotted him and lashed its massive tail again. Prepared this time, Gavin leaped away and let it whip underneath. Grabbing a gate post, he swung onto the top of the gate, then jumped down outside. Breathing heavily, he sheathed the kris and crossed the arena to the sound of cheers. This show was much quicker and more dramatic than rock climbing had been. He reached the pavilion and bowed to the sultan, then offered the pearl in one hand and the scabbarded dagger in the other. "The jewel of the sea, Your Highness, and your splendid kris."

"Keep the kris, Captain. You have earned it." Taking the pearl, Kasan turned and offered it to Alex.

"As this jewel of the sea has been fairly won for your lady." She stared at the pearl, still on its thong, as if unsure what to do with it. Then she tucked it into the waist of her sarong and stepped forward, pulling off the selendang. "Your arm needs tending, Captain." Not waiting for a reply, she began wrapping the length of cloth, blue this time, around his right arm. Gavin became aware of how much the gash hurt. It was messy, too. His coat and shirt would never be the same. Speaking so only she could hear, he said, "Too many more challenges and I'll be an invalid." Though he'd meant it as a joke, she shuddered. "That's what I'm afraid of." Wishing he could retract his comment, he said, "Actually, my wardrobe is suffering more than I am. This isn't serious."

Hearing that, Kasan said, "You didn't come to Maduri expecting a Singa Mainam. I shall have garments sent to your room."

"Once more Your Highness is gracious."

The sultan's eyes glinted wickedly. "Merely helping you accustom yourself to the Maduri way of life. You have done well so far, but three trials remain."

Gavin was all too aware that he was less than halfway through the Lion Game. He never should have accepted the cargo that had brought him to Maduri. If he'd refused, he'd be well on his way to England by now.

But he'd never have met Alex. As he watched her tie off the crude bandage, admiring the stubborn set of her jaw and the sparkle of her aqua eyes, he knew that the risks he was taking were worth it.

By the third morning of the Lion Game, Gavin was beginning to feel cautiously optimistic. The night before, he and Alex had spent a peaceful and oddly domestic evening, assuming one overlooked the bars between them. She'd started reading Scott's Rob Roy while he'd spent some time with his ledgers, then turned to calculating his odds for succeeding at the game.

The answer pleased him. He'd survived the climb and the dragon, and the need to clean and repair ship hulls at sea had made him proficient at swimming and diving. He was also a good shot and a better-than-average chess player.

While he was still unsure what some of the trials were, most should be doable, as the dragon had been. The most worrisome possibilities were fighting the sultan either unarmed or with a kris, which would be risky both physically and politically. With luck, neither of those combat trials would come up. If one did-well, he'd use the one refusal he'd been allotted.

"Than Elliott."

Sheng Yu formally handed Gavin the ivory die for his third cast. Gavin rolled the die in his hands, then cast it.

The top of the dodecahedron was unnervingly blank. Then he realized that symbols were being covered after a task had been selected once. No point in fighting a dragon twice. He picked up the die and threw again.

Sheng Yu announced, "Dancing the fire."

It was another category where Suryo hadn't found clear information. Gavin asked, "What does that mean?"

"It is an ancient tradition of Maduri," Kasan explained. "You must walk across a bed of burning coals."

Gavin tensed. "You're joking."

"Not at all. This dance is adat, custom, performed when a boy becomes a man. It's one of the easier Singa Mainam tests, actually. I'd hoped you'd receive a more difficult trial." The sultan gave one of his lazy, dangerous smiles.

"You've done this yourself?" Gavin asked. "Of course, when I was thirteen." Already slaves were laying a square of wood in front of the pavilion. Unnerved, Gavin withdrew to consult with Suryo and Alexandra. "Suryo, are you familiar with this fire dance?"

"Not quite like this, but something similar is done in Bali."

"Don't Indian holy men walk across fire?" Alex added. "An officer who had been in India told me he'd seen that."

"I've seen it myself," Gavin admitted. "But I suspect there's a trick of some sort. A pathway that is less hot, maybe." He stared at the blazing wood, his skin crawling.

"There is no trick," Suryo said. "Or rather, it is not a fraud. The dancer is in a-I think the word is

'trance.' Prayer and exaltation take the mind elsewhere, and the fire is crossed with no harm." Gavin took a deep, unsteady breath. "At sea there is no greater danger than fire."

"Have you been caught in a shipboard fire?" Alex asked quietly. He nodded, unable to speak. Early in his seafaring career a blaze had started in the cabin of a chief mate notorious for his drunkenness. Even after eighteen years, Gavin remembered the stench of burning human flesh. Three men, including the captain, had died, two others had been seriously injured.

Gavin was a very young second mate, but as the only surviving officer, command of the ship fell to him. After organizing a successful fight to put out the fire, he'd nursed the damaged ship back to Salem with his skeleton crew. Ironically, the incident had been good for his career-the next time he shipped out he was a chief mate-but he'd never overcome an almost paralyzing fear of fire. Alex unobtrusively took his hand, pulling him out of the past. He squeezed her fingers hard, grateful for her perception.

Flames were beginning to die down in the arena, and attendants raked the coals into an even surface that glowed menacingly even in the tropical sun. Thinking that it should be possible to cross the embers so quickly that no harm would be done, Gavin bent to roll up his trouser legs. He wore a loosely belted tunic and trousers that the sultan had sent to his rooms the evening before, and the finely woven blue and silver cotton might burn if it came too close to the coals.

"The fire is ready," Sheng Yu announced. "Remove your boots, Captain." Gavin froze. "I'm supposed to do this barefoot?"

The Maduris in the pavilion looked surprised. "Of course," the sultan replied. "That is the custom."

"No!" Gavin shuddered as he remembered the white of bones against charred flesh. "I invoke my right to refuse one trial."

Kasan looked startled, then pleased. "You are sure? Truly, fire walking is not difficult for a man who is relaxed and in control of his thoughts."

"I appreciate your encouragement, but no," Gavin said dryly. "As you will. Cast the die again." Tuan Daksa intervened. "A moment. It would be a pity to waste a good fire." With his face calm but an impish glint in his black eyes, the elderly Buddhist monk left the pavilion and stepped onto the burning coals. Serenely he crossed, steps light and the hem of his robes floating in the rising heat.