The Bartered Bride (Bride Trilogy) Read online

  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 gatepost, 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.

  Chapter 8

  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.

  “Tuan 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.

  As he watched, Gavin didn’t know whether to laugh or grind his teeth. Maybe walking through fire really was easy for a Maduri—but the mere thought tied his stomach in knots. Knowing that his inability to fire walk removed his safety margin and might end up costing his freedom, he waited until Daksa returned, then cast the die for the third time, praying that something he could manage would turn up.

  “The breath of life,” Sheng Yu announced.

&n
bsp; What the hell was that? Before Gavin could ask, the sultan said, “The drinking contest! One of the two Singa Mainam trials that are also pleasures.”

  “How does the contest work?” Gavin asked warily.

  “You and I must match each other drink for drink. Whoever stays conscious and is able to walk the longest wins.”

  “This is a test of leadership?” he exclaimed, incredulous.

  “A leader must lead, whether drinking or fighting.” Kasan grinned. “Competing with arak or palm wine is more pleasurable than dueling with a kris.”

  “I’ll grant you that.” Thinking it would be a long day, Gavin added, “This contest is not fit for a lady to watch. Can Mrs. Warren be escorted back to my quarters?”

  The sultan nodded and gave the orders. Alex wanted to protest. Absurdly, she felt as if Gavin was safer if she watched, but drinking sessions were long and boring at best and not particularly dangerous, so she left quietly with the guards. She hoped Gavin had a hard head even if he wasn’t a heavy drinker.

  They had just entered the palace tunnel when they were intercepted by Tuan Bhudy, a powerful Maduri merchant—and her most recent owner. Shorter than Alex but wide and muscular, he was a formidable figure steeped in wealth, privilege, and cruelty.

  Alex stopped dead, bile rising in her throat. Memories of his abuse were so intense they might have been burned into her flesh. She would have bolted if her retreat wasn’t blocked by two guards.

  “Issskandra.” Her Malay name hissed from Bhudy’s mouth as his gaze traveled over her with insulting familiarity. “You look remarkably fine. Perhaps it was hasty of me to send you to market after that last incident.”

  “Your mistake was in buying me in the first place,” she said tightly. “I will never be any man’s property. If you’d kept me longer, I would have killed you.”

  “Such bold talk for a slave. You need to be taught a lesson, and it will be my pleasure to teach it.” He squeezed her left breast, hard.

  She almost cried out from the pain, and even worse, the memory of pain. Refusing to give him the pleasure of seeing her suffer, she looked to her guards. They watched uneasily, not wanting to interfere with a powerful man.

  Groping for the right Malay words, she caught the gaze of Wira, leader of the guards. “Sultan Kasan will not want his Singa Mainam prize hurt.”

  Bhudy snarled rapid words at Wira. Fearing that he might convince them not to interfere while he molested her, Alex suddenly pivoted, whipping her golden chains at his head. She felt savage satisfaction as the chains smashed into his temple, sending him reeling. Then she kicked Bhudy between his legs with so much force her toes hurt. He shrieked and collapsed on the floor, writhing back and forth in agony as blood flowed from his head wound.

  Instantly four daggers were drawn. Knowing a sudden move would cost her her life, Alex stood stone-still. “I am the prize in the sultan’s Lion Game,” she reminded them again, trying to keep her voice steady. There was no point in describing how Bhudy had abused her; after all, he’d been her owner and could do with her as he willed.

  Invoking the sultan saved her from being skewered. Wira detailed one man to help Bhudy and took the others with him through the palace to Gavin’s rooms. Alex walked meekly with eyes downcast, shaken by the encounter and the possible consequences. Ironically, her best defense was the fact that now she was considered the sultan’s property, and it was impertinent to molest anything belonging to the ruler.

  Being locked in the cage again was a relief. Once she was alone she crumpled to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees to control her trembling. She wanted desperately to cry, but didn’t dare. If she started weeping, she might never stop. The encounter with Bhudy had destroyed the fragile sense of safety that had been growing since she’d met Gavin.

  When a measure of composure had returned, she looked for her water pitcher. It sat on a table across the room, moved by a maid. Even if she were dying of thirst, she couldn’t have reached it. Her lack of control over the most basic needs of life suddenly swamped her. My very chains and I grew friends… Dear God, no, every day the chains chafed harder, body and soul.

  Her utter frustration exploded into rage and she began slashing her chains against the bars wildly, chipping gilt and causing a clamor that jangled from the walls. How could anyone endure slavery? What made men so vile that they believed they had the right to own another human life? Most bitter of all, how much longer could she survive without going mad?

  Drawn by the cacophony, a slave girl appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with alarm. She was no more than eleven or twelve—not much older than Katie.

  Hating to see fear in the child’s eyes, Alex stopped battering the bars and tried to compose her expression. “Please, water. Tolong air putih.”

  Glad for a request she could accommodate, the girl darted away. Alex sank to the floor again, praying that Gavin was right and that within a matter of days she would be freed. The closer freedom seemed, the harder slavery became.

  Despite her best attempts to control herself, by the time the slave girl brought water and rice Alex was weeping uncontrollably. But boredom eventually defeated anguish. Worn out by tears, Alex used precious water to pat her swollen eyes. Then she unpinned her hair, combed it loose, and settled down with Rob Roy. Returning to her native land was soothing even if only through a book. Reading also kept her from thinking too much about the progress of the trial.

  The sun was setting when the door swung open and Gavin staggered in, half supported by Suryo. His fair hair was tousled like a halo and his tunic gapped open to reveal his chest. Alarmed, Alex rose. “What happened?”

  “Haven’t been…this drunk since I was fifteen,” Gavin said in a slurred voice. “Shipmates took me to a tavern for my birthday. Amazing number of beers in Antwerp.”

  He zigzagged to the cage, catching a bar to keep himself from falling. Upright but swaying, he said with drunken precision, “Don’t worry, I won’t be sick. Already have been. Several times.” He leaned against the bars, eyes drifting shut.

  Tight with anxiety, Alex asked, “How did the competition turn out?”

  Suryo answered when Gavin didn’t. “The captain won, though it was close. They both have heads of solid stone.”

  “If Kasan had lasted one more round, he’d’ve won.” Gavin slid slowly to the floor. Suryo tried to lift him. “Captain, your bed will be more comfortable.”

  Nothing. Gavin was dead to the world. “Bring a coverlet and pillow,” Alex suggested. “Sleeping here won’t make him feel any worse tomorrow than he will anyhow.”

  Suryo smiled. “Very true, puan.”

  Together they laid Gavin alongside the cage so Alex could tend him if necessary. “Find yourself some dinner,” she told Suryo. “You’ve had a long day, too.”

  “Do you need anything more?”

  “Light a lamp before you leave, and I’ll be fine.”

  After Suryo complied and left, Alex sat down by Gavin. She reached through the bars, careful not to clang the chains, and drew the front of his tunic closed. It was amusing to think how outrageous this situation would seem to an English lady. No longer a lady, now she pragmatically accepted a man not her husband sleeping here in dishabille because she didn’t want her champion to wake alone and ill in his bedroom. It was hard to imagine that distant world where the rules of propriety mattered.

  Caught up in her book again, she jumped when a gravelly voice asked, “Is it hard…being beautiful?”

  Alex found Gavin watching her with hazy eyes. “I wouldn’t know. How do you feel?”

  “My head spins like being in the crow’s nest on heavy seas, only worse. If I tried to move now it would be a disaster.” His words were less slurred than earlier, though his face was chalky white under his tan. “Hate being so…so out of control. ’T’s why I prefer to stay sober.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  “Far too much. Do you know they store palm wine in great long pipes of bamboo? Startle
d me the first time my goblet needed refilling and a bloody great pipe swung over my shoulder like a cannon.” He gave a faint smile. “The palm wine was young, but far from innocent. We ended by switching to arak, sort of a rice brandy, because the palm wine wasn’t getting us drunk fast enough.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again hastily. “Odd. This drinking contest was as serious as any other trial, but it still feels ridiculous.”

  She laid her hand on his forehead. He was a little warm, but not feverish.

  “Your hand feels nice,” he murmured.

  “What did you talk about while drinking for so many hours?”

  “We both recited poetry by the mile. Maduri sagas have a nice rhythm. After I ran out of English and Latin verses, I started on improper songs in five languages.”

  Latin? The captain had been well educated. “Whatever it took, I’m glad you succeeded. I was worried because I didn’t think you were much of a drinker.”

  “Neither did Kasan—he calls me a Puritan. But young sailors learn to drink. A hard head is part of the job.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even more. “Kasan’s an int’resting fellow, but I don’t think I could bear ten years of this.”

  “Why ten years? Is that how long he wanted you to work for him?”

  Gavin’s gaze shifted away. “You still haven’t told me what it’s like to be beautiful,” he said, ignoring her question. “Do men make your life difficult?”

  She thought of Bhudy, and tried not to shiver. “There are men who will make any woman’s life difficult, and beauty has nothing to do with it. At my best I’m passably attractive, but now I’m bone thin and disreputable.”

  “No.” He reached through the bars to take her hand. “You’re one of the loveliest women I’ve ever met.”

  His intense gaze made her want to put the width of the cage between them. It was unfair to blame him for drunkenness when he’d incurred it on her behalf, but she didn’t know if she could stand it if he made a crude advance. She needed him to be a gentleman, a man she could trust to keep himself at a distance. A friend.