Chapter 10

 

Familiar creaks and groans drew Savion out of his sleep. Pain in his side brought him fully conscious. But it was a tight grip on his hand that startled him. Opening his eyes, he blinked in the dim light of a waning lantern to find Perdita slumped in a chair beside him, chin on her chest and her fingers intertwined with his. The soft roll of wavelets told him they were still anchored at Skivia as memories crowded his mind of the events of the day.

He thought to pull his hand back, but for some reason, he liked the feel of her soft skin next to his. He liked it a lot. Too much. He also liked gazing at her when she wasn’t looking. Hair like shimmering ink spilled from her pins down the front of her gown over a delicate frame that held enough curves to drive a man to distraction. And her unique smell. A scent he couldn’t quite place—a sweetness that reminded him of the sea. Women like her knew they were beautiful and expected attention from men. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

She moaned and said something he couldn’t make out, but her tone was so melancholy, so despairing. “Duncan, please. Please don’t leave me. Why didn’t you love me?”

Ah, one of her many lovers, no doubt. Savion yanked back his hand.

Jerking awake, she sat up and stared at him as if trying to remember where she was. “Savion, are you all right?” True concern shadowed her expression as she leaned toward him. “Does your wound pain you?”

Something in the measure of her voice, the way the lantern light flowed over her hair and sparkled on her skin, gave Savion a sense of having lived this moment before. Impossible. He closed his eyes, but still the images came in bursts: candlelight dancing over the slick walls of a cave, the sound of water dripping, and a black-haired beauty hovering over him. Just like this one was doing now. He also remembered songs, ballads, sung in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.

Wait. Perdita had sung to him earlier in the night—her off-key voice even now etching uncomfortably down his spine. He’d pretended to fall asleep just to get her to stop. Nothing like his memory. Still …

“I’ve seen you before.” He rubbed his eyes.

She shifted in her seat, bit her lip, then rose and strolled to his desk. “Of course you have, Savion. You rescued me nigh three nights ago.”

“No, from somewhere else.”

But she wasn’t paying attention. She was filling the lamp with oil, pruning the wick, and chasing shadows from the room. She was hiding something. He could sense it. But what? His thoughts drifted to the recent battle in Skivia.

“You are either very brave or very foolish. I haven’t decided which. Either way you disobeyed a direct order.” He tried to sit, but the pain in his side prevented him.

“I am not one of your crew, Captain. Besides, I thought I could help.” She kept her back to him and stared into the darkness outside the stern windows.

“I doubt that. After all, how much help could you be?”

At this, she spun around. “Because I’m a woman?”

The arch of one dainty brow made him chuckle. “Precisely. If you think you are any match for the Malum, you are as delusional as I first assumed.”

“Delu—” She slammed her mouth shut. “You forget I had a pistol and a sword.”

And a shrewish wit to match, he thought. “If you are so adept at protecting yourself, why did I find you stripped of your clothing and left on a beach at the mercy of two men?”

She moved closer, a coy lift to her lips. “I said I had a pistol and sword, not that I knew how to use them.”

Behold, the seductress returned. Somehow, he preferred the shrew. Visions of that shrew being overlooked by the Malum as if she wasn’t even there caused unease to ripple through him. “Why weren’t the Malum interested in you?”

She lowered to a chair and fidgeted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“There were two of them … heading straight toward you, but they passed you by and went into the store.”

She shrugged, looking away. “Mayhap they didn’t see me.”

“They saw you.”

She traced a finger over the intricate carving on the arm of the chair. “In good sooth, Malum never pay me any mind. I have no idea why.” She gave him a sarcastic smile. “Mayhap because I’m a lowly woman, as you so aptly pointed out.”

In good sooth. Who says that anymore? He narrowed his eyes. “Malum prey on the weak.”

She huffed and waved a hand through the air. “They eventually came after me. You saw them.”

“Only when their leader noticed my concer—me looking at you.”

“Indeed?” She smiled again—one of those deliciously mischievous smiles. “A bit egocentric, aren’t we?”

Infuriating woman! Savion made another attempt to rise, but his side caught on fire. His moan brought her rushing to him. She examined the bandage as if she knew what she was doing, then brought a glass of water to his lips.

“Enough of this nonsense. Stay still. You need your rest.”

He drank the liquid, staring at her over the rim. The tenderness in her eyes swept away all thoughts of Malum. All thoughts of pretty much anything. For she did seem to care about his wellbeing. Snores drew his glance to Hona sound asleep in the corner. He smiled at his friend’s loyalty, then shifted his gaze back to Perdita. The shadows beneath her eyes spoke of her exhaustion. Still, she had stayed awake to tend to him. Lorelei would have never sacrificed a moment’s rest for his needs. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.

He had determined never to trust beauty again, and this particular beauty wore many masks. Which one was the real Perdita? What was she up to? For he sensed a restlessness in her, a duplicity that pricked his nerves. And his good sense.

Despite his misgivings, during the next week, he found her to be a skilled nurse, almost saint-like in her ministrations.

Savion knew his crew cared for his welfare, but their talents did not include nursing the injured. More oft than not when he was ill, they left him alone in his cabin. One time when he’d been down with a fever, he’d had to drag his searing body up the companionway ladder just to ask for a drink of water.

But not this woman. She hovered over him as a mother would an only child, tending to his every need, allowing him the peace he needed to recover. Only once did Petrok enter the cabin and that was to get orders on where to set sail. “Kadon,” Savion replied, keeping his promise to Perdita.

On the second day, when Savion’s fever abated and he was able to sit, Perdita read to him from The Chronicles of Maylon with perfect pronunciation and faultless elocution of the archaic language in which it had been written nearly two hundred years ago. Not only that, her passion for the words, the story they told, was like none he’d seen during all his studies.

“You must have had the privilege of an education, Perdita.”

She seemed surprised and looked down, her sweep of lashes fanning her cheeks. “Yes, my father insisted. He had only daughters and wanted us to have the same education he would have given a son.” Sorrow lingered at the corners of her mouth.

Because she missed her family or because they had all departed this world? “Tell me of your childhood.”

She would not look at him. The ship bucked over a wave, and a breeze from the porthole spun through a lock of her hair. “There is not much to tell.”

Rising, she closed the book and moved to replace it on the shelf lining the bulkhead. “I was but a poor shepherd’s daughter.”

“Rich enough to afford an education, it would seem.” His tone emerged with more sarcasm than he intended.

“You doubt me?” She faced him, indignant, her green skirts whirling about her legs. She’d found a gown somewhere—one without bloodstains. But unfortunately, this one was just as tight as the other. “Education was important to my mother. She hailed from privilege.”

“Is that why you use expressions from our ancient tongue? ’Tis, ’twas, naught, mayhap, and forsooth—of all words? Because of your mother? Was she some sort of historian?”

Her jaw tightened. “Yes, if you must know.” But then her shoulders slumped, and a look of longing replaced her anger.

“Forgive me.” Savion chastised himself. Whether she was telling the truth or not, he had no right to belittle her. “Your parents must have loved you very much to ensure you were properly taught.”

She stared out the window. “My father wanted me to marry well. He always said with my beauty I could catch a prince.” She gave a sad smile.

“Why haven’t you then?”

For a moment she looked as though she would cry. But then she took a deep breath and faced him with a hint of a smile. “I suppose I haven’t found my prince yet.”

After a knock, Bart entered with a tray of food: pork stew, bowls of rice, sweet corn, buttered yams, a platter of salt fish, fried plantains, and coconut milk. Perdita’s eyes lit up, as they normally did at the sight of food, and she rushed toward the desk where Bart laid the tray, thanking the man over and over.

Savion had never thought the crusty old sailor capable of blushing, but Savion could swear the red hue on Bart’s face was not due to the heat.

After Bart left and they both settled down to eat, Savion continued the conversation. “What happened to your parents?”

“What do you mean?” She brought a spoonful of stew to her lips.

“Surely if they are alive, you’d be living with them, not wandering the Ancient Seas alone and with no support.”

“My family still lives. But I cannot … I … I have business here before I can return home.”

“Business?”

“Indeed. Business that is my business.” She slid a spoonful of buttered yams into her mouth and closed her eyes as if in ecstasy.

Savion smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy their food so much.”

“When you are deprived of it for so long, you appre—” She bit her lip and looked away.

“Ah, your impoverished upbringing, I take it?”

She nodded and slipped a plantain into her mouth, then glanced over the feast as if deciding what to eat next. Her hand wavered over the platter, hastily avoiding the salt fish.

Savion sipped his coconut milk. “Why such an aversion to fish? You never touch it.”

“Fish is so bland, don’t you think? I much prefer beef or pork. And cake!” Her eyes sparkled. “Cake is surely from Nevaeh!”

Savion couldn’t help but chuckle at her childlike exuberance.

Fascinating, extraordinary woman! Captivating would be a better word, for he found himself completely enthralled with her, wanting to know more, longing to delve into her secrets. Even though he wasn’t sure he could believe much of what she told him.

The next two days only added to his suspicions, for no shepherd’s daughter could know of the things she spoke. As much as he tried not to, he found himself looking forward to their conversations and to her opinions on history, art, and literature. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t found his intellectual equivalent among the crew, and he now realized how much he missed conversing with someone who had an in-depth understanding of important topics: Natas’s rebellion, the Kalok wars, the rise of enlightened thought, governmental theory, as well as new scientific discoveries of air pressure, the human cell, and the magnetic properties of Erden. In addition, she possessed an extraordinary knowledge about wind and tides and the fish and mammals inhabiting the Ancient Seas, as well as geography, native superstitions, and the flora and fauna of nearby islands.

Savion was also amazed at how much they had in common. Their appreciation for the art of Flionna—the fluid lines, vivid colors, and expressions of pain he painted on his portraits. And Bettricheil’s music—the intensity and passion in every note. They spent hours discussing such things and during that time, all her masks slipped off unnoticed, and she was just …

Perdita.

What he found even more astounding was her resolute defense of her own opinions, which were not easily altered—no matter Savion’s arguments to the contrary. Though most of the time they agreed, her unwillingness to be convinced on certain points intrigued him. Only in Nevaeh had he found women possessing such freedom of individuality and thought. For a woman who seemed intent on seducing him most of the time, these moments in which she refused to give in to him on some point of history or political thought were moments he found himself utterly lost in her.

And he both hated it and loved it.

“How do you know so much?” he asked her on his sixth day of recovery after she’d brought him his noonday meal. Outside, dark clouds shielded the sun, and the ship teetered over a heavy swell.

“Do you believe a woman incapable of deep thought?”

He sat in a chair, a bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, his lunch of tea, turtle stew, and banana crisps beside him on a table. “I’ve met many intelligent women, some far wiser than me, but none of them look like you.”

At first her brow wrinkled. Then—and much to Savion’s dismay—her lips curved and the seductress returned. “Beauty and brains cannot exist together?”

He stared at her, longing for the real Perdita, but instead she sashayed his way and leaned to pour his tea, offering him a view of the figure spilling from her bodice.

Disappointed, he took the pot from her. “I can do it. I’m recovered now and in no need of a nursemaid.” He regretted his harsh tone.

Wind whistled outside the window as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Grabbing a few banana crisps, she moved away, not hiding her pain at his dismissal, and plopped them in her mouth. But there was nothing he could do about it. As much as he enjoyed this woman’s company, he didn’t trust her. And trust was everything to him.

 

The deck canted over a wave, and Perdita took advantage of her imbalance to throw herself in Savion’s lap. She’d been wanting to get this close to him for days as he sat in the same chair, the muscles of his bare chest taunting her to touch them—to touch him and feel his warmth and strength. The more they talked and laughed, the more she wanted to crawl in his arms. And this was the perfect excuse. But no sooner had she pressed her curves against his rock-hard chest, than he pushed her off as if she had Gengees plague. Flustered as she’d never seen him, he grabbed a shirt, tossed it over his head—wincing from his wound—and led her to a chair.

“You’d better sit, Perdita. Seems we are in for a rough ride.”

She slunk, more than sat, in the chair. Frustration ate at her hope. She’d enjoyed her time with Savion immensely, and she knew he felt the same. She’d sensed him softening toward her, seen the looks of longing in his eyes, but whenever she tried to charm him, he put her off.

Petrok poked his head in, a blast of rain-spiced wind barreling in behind him. “A storm, Captain. A pretty bad one. Are you up to taking command?”

Savion nodded, told her to stay put, and left.

A flash of lightning scored the dark sky outside the windows, and with it came a glorious idea—a frighteningly glorious idea. She knew exactly what she had to do.