owan strode to the ship she had indicated, needled by Ibernia’s insistence that they leave immediately, no less her means to ensure she had him doing her will. ’Twas he who twisted women around his finger and turned them to his will! Rowan did not care for the change. Nay, there had never been a woman who compelled him to act against his will.
And he had wanted that hot meal. No less, a break from voyaging on ships and all the attendant discomfort. Aye, this was certainly not the circumstance he would have preferred, but Rowan had a weakness to which he seldom confessed.
The flash of fear in the lady’s eyes had been his undoing. He was not one who liked to see women afraid. Perhaps his upbringing made him love to see women laughing and happy, to see welcome in their eyes. Rowan did not care. He would never force a woman beneath his hand, for to Rowan, that would take the joy of the moment from him as well.
The anguish in those clear blue eyes when he vowed to seduce her told Rowan volumes of what his new slave had endured at the hands of men. Clearly Ibernia—or whatever her name was—had not found happiness with men, and Rowan was not inclined to torment her.
He suspected she had been tormented enough.
Just as he suspected that she was more than she would have him believe. There was something in the tilt of Ibernia’s chin and the flash of her eyes that spoke of a life of privilege, a household in which a woman had the freedom to speak, a place in which her comments would be heeded.
There was a lilt in her voice that hinted at education, an assessing light in her eyes and keenness of wit that showed she had grown up surrounded by those who valued her view. Only a woman raised in pampered circumstance could imagine that fleeing that circumstance could win her anything better.
She was born wealthy, or Rowan would eat his saddle.
Though she hurried to cover her tale of the ship, Rowan was not fooled. She had recognized the insignia, an unlikely feat for someone who was “no one.” The Venetians were not so common as that in this port outside the Mediterranean.
Rowan would guess that Ibernia was a merchant’s daughter, schooled by her family in matters of import to merchants. ’Twas easy to conclude from that how she had become a slave. Perhaps she had travelled with her father or spouse on a journey gone awry, and become a spoil of war who had then been sold.
She lied about fleeing the nuns, of that there could be no doubt. Indeed, he was fiercely curious about that truth, and he knew he would have the fullness of the lady’s tale before all was done.
If not much more of her favor.
But he would proceed with caution—even though there was clearly more to Ibernia than she would have preferred Rowan know, he also knew that she would not part with her tale readily. Nor that ’twould be readily disentangled from the falsehoods she had learned to tell to protect herself.
A sea voyage might indeed be the best way to win the lady’s confidence and serve all of his objectives. Intimacy, few distractions, time they were compelled to be together. Perfect—if he did not spend all of the voyage with his head hanging over the rails.
Rowan refused to speculate on the possibility, though his innards churned at the very prospect of embarking on a ship so soon.
The vessel they sought was in the midst of activity. ’Twas not the most finely wrought ship in the port, and even more surprisingly, ’twas far from fastidiously maintained.
Rowan hesitated, unable to reconcile such a ship flying the Venetian insignia. The Venetians built their own vessels and were ferociously proud of them, so proud that he could not imagine they would acknowledge any lesser ship as their own.
Ibernia nudged him impatiently, and Rowan shook his head before he continued. Truly such details mattered naught—what mattered more was the manner of bargain he could make with this captain, if the ship was destined for Dublin.
Indeed, the only morsel of counsel his father had ever granted him was never to trust a Venetian, for their trust was bought and sold as readily as their goods.
’Twas an interesting accusation for a man like Gavin Fitzgerald—a mercenary devoid of trustworthiness himself—to make.
All the same, Rowan put one hand on his purse as he stepped forward, the other resting casually on the hilt of his sword. A man stood on the wharf, the foreign cut of his garb and his speech revealing that he was of the ship. He tallied and counted, obviously directing the loading of the vessel, and Rowan knew better than to trouble him.
Though the man’s speech made Rowan smile slightly. Ibernia could have understood the men only if she had been tutored in the Venetian dialect.
He slanted her a telling glance. “How fortunate for you that when you passed earlier the men were not speaking their native dialect,” he commented in an undertone. “Otherwise you might not have understood.”
The lady, to her credit, flushed crimson. Her lips tightened though and she said naught.
Ha! Rowan would eat his destrier if she was not a merchant’s daughter!
There was a man on the gangplank who supervised the repair of the rigging while he kept one eye on the loading. He stood with the confidence of a man well assured of his fine appearance. His full-sleeved white chemise was of fine linen, his chausses were of deep green wool. His boots were more finely crafted than most, his laced heavy leather jerkin was adorned with more than one battle scar. He was of an age with Rowan, trim and perhaps slightly shorter.
He was dressed so finely and directed with such authority that he could be none other than the captain of the good vessel Angelica.
Rowan hailed him with a wave and a shout. The man turned, revealing that he was ruggedly handsome, a fact that Rowan normally would not have noticed. In this moment, though, he was very aware of Ibernia beside him, no less her comments about the allure of Venetian men.
And how much did she knew of Venetian men? Or how well had she known them? Rowan found himself bristling at the unwelcome prospect of competition.
Was this captain the manner of man Ibernia found attractive? Rowan did not like the possibility of rivalry for her favors, not in the least, but he had taken her dare and would not back away from it now.
He stepped closer to the gangplank and raised his voice to call the captain again.
“I have no spices to sell,” that man said haughtily, his speech accented, then made to turn away.
“I am not interested in spice.” Rowan hastened on before the captain could dismiss him. “Indeed, I believe you sail for Dublin and would seek passage on your ship.”
That made the captain pause and turn. He surveyed Rowan, as if assessing his net worth on the spot. His eyes narrowed shrewdly and Rowan guessed he had put the value close to the truth.
For the captain took a step closer. “You must pay in advance, in gold coin.”
Rowan shrugged as if this were of no concern. Truly, ’twas not, for he always had a full purse, courtesy of his foster mother, Margaux. “Of course.”
His calm agreement snared the captain’s attention fully. That man waved to his sailors to continue their labor and descended to the wharf. The captain was tanned and well muscled, his stride revealing that he was a man of purpose who tolerated no foolery.
His flowing dark hair was tied back at his nape, his fathomless gaze danced assessingly over Ibernia. He shook out the lace at his cuffs until ’twas just so, then smoothed an errant strand of dark hair back from his brow.
Then he smiled slowly and solely for Ibernia.
Rowan stiffened but refused to look to see the lady’s response to this example of Venetian masculinity. No doubt any hint of his curiosity would amuse her overmuch.
No doubt she glared at the captain.
But the captain’s smile broadened, his own opinion of Ibernia’s charms more than clear. ’Twas as if he found welcome in the lady’s response. Before Rowan could look, the captain came to a halt before Rowan and met his gaze.
“For you and two others?” He rubbed his chin. “And a pair of steeds?” His gaze strayed to Ibernia once more, drifting almost absently over her garb. Rowan waited for an indignant outburst from the lady, but it did not come.
“I am not certain we can accommodate all of you,” he mused, his smile becoming cold as he turned back to Rowan.
But he would take Ibernia, of that Rowan had no doubt! Rowan straightened with uncharacteristic indignation. “I suspect there is a price that will convince you to find the space.”
The man grinned outright then and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Of course.”
“Not on the decks.”
“Nor in my hold,” the captain retorted. “ ’Tis too precious a space to waste upon travellers.”
“We would pay good coin.”
“And my hold is already put to better use,” he said crisply. “Travellers take considerably more room than other cargoes and fetch markedly less.”
Rowan had no doubt the hold was stuffed from stem to stern with fine goods for trade. Before he could ask further, the captain chose to argue over the destrier. “They are trouble from start to finish,” he claimed, walking around the steed.
Troubador tossed his mane and stamped his foot, as if that steed would persuade all that he was flighty. Rowan ground his teeth and glared at the stallion, who took no note of his response but fought the bit instead. The captain stood behind them all, his gaze straying rather obviously to Ibernia’s legs.
“A fine feisty specimen,” the captain murmured wryly, and Rowan disliked the glint in the man’s eye.
Rowan suspected the captain was commenting upon Ibernia and glared at him. “The steed is sedate, you have my word upon it.”
The captain shrugged. “Your word will be worth naught when the beast begins to kick.”
Rowan gritted his teeth. “I shall, of course, compensate you for any damages sustained.”
The captain looked up, his expression hardening. “You shall make a deposit.”
Rowan held his gaze. “You shall render a clearly annotated receipt for any such deposit.”
The men stared at each other, then the captain named a price. Rowan halved it, the captain laughed as if ’twas preposterous, and they argued good-naturedly. Both knew the deal would be made, both knew the price agreed upon would be in the vicinity of two-thirds the captain’s original one.
But when they agreed and Rowan would have shaken the other man’s hand, the captain instead captured Ibernia’s fingertips. She started, her eyes widening, but he smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. His eyes glowed as if he had just spied a fullsome meal, then he bowed low over her hand.
“Beauty unrivalled,” the captain purred. “Have we met, ma bella?”
Rowan was certain Ibernia would grant him a sample of her sharp tongue.
But she flushed scarlet and spoke quickly, almost breathlessly. “Never!”
The captain smiled, no one on the wharf in his eyes but the incomparable Ibernia. And ’twas clear enough that she was intrigued by the captain.
Rowan seethed.
He was the one who should be capturing the lady’s eye. He was the one who had bought her freedom. He was the one who had offered her freedom, even from his own bargain.
And he knew he was possessed of greater charm than some swarthy sailor. He would not pay for their passage and watch this man seduce her!
Ibernia, though, seemed to share no such conviction. She smiled for the captain, a fetchingly small, intimate, feminine smile that would have made Rowan’s toes curl.
Had that smile been directed at him. But Ibernia eyed the captain as if he were so wondrously handsome that she could look no where else.
“ ’Tis impossible that such a creature should be compelled to endure the hold, or even the chamber of one of my aides.” The captain smiled smoothly. “I insist, ma bella, that you share my quarters on this journey.”
That was enough! If Ibernia would not put the captain in his place, Rowan would!
“ ’Twould be a most inappropriate circumstance for my lady,” he retorted before even he guessed what he would say.
All eyes turned to him as one. The captain frowned momentarily, his gaze flying between Ibernia and Rowan, but Rowan was watching the lady. The color drained from her face, as if she could not imagine a more dire fate.
He was not that foul to look upon!
Ibernia opened her mouth, but Rowan glared at her and she frowned. Mercifully, she had the wisdom to say naught, and he was uncommonly relieved that she chose this moment to trust his choice.
He did not expect that impulse to last.
“Your lady wife?” the captain echoed with obvious skepticism. He scanned Ibernia’s clothing tellingly and Rowan cleared his throat.
“We were robbed in this filthy port,” he lied, summoning what he thought was a suitable measure of indignation. He took Ibernia’s elbow in his hand and drew her close to him in a proprietary fashion. The captain’s eyes narrowed and Ibernia caught her breath, but Rowan pressed a chaste kiss to her brow.
“ ’Tis tragic that my lady’s fine garb and jewellery was the greater loss,” he declared, unsettled by the hint of Ibernia’s vulnerability. “As much as it troubled me, there was no choice but to grant her some of my own garb. As you can imagine, we would put this place behind us with all haste.”
“Indeed.” The captain did not appear to be deceived, his glance drifting over Rowan’s clothing.
It would have been helpful if Ibernia had said something in this moment to aid Rowan’s lie. She seemed, however, supremely disinclined to do so, apparently having been captured by this man’s so-called charm.
The captain brushed his lips across Ibernia’s knuckles once again—for she had not pulled her hand from his, even yet—his voice dropping confidentially. “It shows much of a man that he takes the finer things for himself,” he mused, then smiled for the lady as Rowan’s blood boiled. “On this voyage, perhaps I may be so bold as to show you the merit of a true gentleman.”
“I should be delighted,” Ibernia said with perfect composure.
Then she smiled anew at the wretch!
Rowan longed to speak his mind but did not want to jeopardize their passage. With an effort, he bit back his words, taking no consolation from Thomas, who clearly enjoyed himself overmuch.
“At the very least, let me see you garbed suitably,” the captain purred, his excuse for charm enough to make Rowan long to push him into the mire of the harbor.
Ibernia’s hand fluttered to her throat. “I could not so impose!” she declared, with the demure grace of a lady of the court.
“Ah, but ’twould be to my own delight to see such beauty suitably presented.” The captain bowed low. “If I may be so bold—Baldassare di Vilonte, at your service.”
“I will pay for my lady’s indulgences,” Rowan interjected coldly when this tender scene showed no signs of ending. “Of course.”
“Indulgences.” Baldassare clicked his tongue disapprovingly, then granted a consoling smile to Ibernia. “One would expect naught else from a man who does not truly understand women.”
Rowan let his tone turn frosty. “Though you do me great honor by flattering my lady’s many charms, there are those who could misinterpret your attentions.”
“Indeed.” The captain released Ibernia’s hand with evident reluctance, his gaze flickering over Rowan as if he saw no threat to his amorous intent. “If I can be of any assistance, ma bella, please do not hesitate to summon me.”
She smiled like a Madonna, her tranquil expression making Rowan’s blood boil.
Where had these fine manners been when he bought her freedom from that slave trader with hard coin?
“I thank you for your gallantry, Captain,” she said sweetly. “You are too kind.”
“Baldassare,” he insisted. “You must call me Baldassare.”
Ibernia caught her breath. “Baldassare,” she conceded softly. The captain blew a kiss to her, then returned to his post, a whistle on his lips.
And Rowan knew all too well why that whistle was there. He was doubly irked that Ibernia had been so charming to this rogue seaman and that he had not been able to think of a clever way to redirect the conversation.
It helped naught that Thomas was grinning hugely and that Ibernia still stared after the captain. Apparently she could not tear her gaze away from that man’s retreating figure.
He was wrought too short, to Rowan’s thinking, and dressed too richly for his labor.
“Do not let me interrupt your interlude with Baldassare” Rowan said testily. “ ’Tis only the matter of paying for our passage and seeing us aboard that occupies me.”
Ibernia glanced coolly up at him. “ ’Twould have been less than wise to insult the man,” she replied. “Venetians are greatly proud of their courtly skills, and there is no telling what he might have done had I spurned his simple gesture—”
Her words halted, as she belatedly realized her mistake. She gasped and raised one hand to her lips, her quick glance to Rowan telling him that she wondered whether he had noticed.
And notice he had. Rowan folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “For a slave, you seem to know much of Venetians.”
The lady lifted her chin. “One hears tales, even from other slaves. We are not mute, after all.”
“Indeed!” Rowan caught her chin with one fingertip when she might have turned away. She held his gaze warily, her uncertainty making him feel oddly protective of her. “Why did you welcome his touch?” he asked softly.
“I did not welcome it,” she snapped. “I endured it.”
“You enjoyed his salute.”
She pulled her chin away from his touch, that intellect bright in her eyes again. “Do you know so little of men that you did not guess his manner had naught to do with me? He sought only to prick your pride.” An unexpected smile danced over her lips. “Indeed, there is much between men in matters of prick and pride.”
Thomas chortled at her unexpected earthiness, and Rowan’s mood worsened that she—once again—made the jest instead of he.
“And ’tis the way of a merchant to be concerned with ensuring a deal is made,” he retorted, annoyance dismissing his intent to be cautious. “As well as to have knowledge of Venetians.”
Ibernia’s lips thinned only slightly before she met his gaze squarely. “What are you saying?”
Aye, there was a catch in her voice, one that a man who was not watching for a hint of the truth might have missed.
But Rowan was watching. He leaned closer to her, newly confident in his conclusions. “Only that you, ma demoiselle, are no slave of humble origins, regardless of what you claim.”
She smiled as if this was ridiculous. “Do tell. What else might I be, in such exquisite garb? Have you forgotten my fine rope? Or my charming companion of earlier this day? Perhaps you have forgotten the coin that won you my companionship?”
Rowan glared at Thomas before he could snicker, though the boy grinned. “Make no mistake, you lie to me in this and I know it well. You are from a merchant family—there is no other way you could know of Venetians and of making deals.”
“No other way indeed!” she scoffed. “Do not imagine that slaves do not witness the making of bargains. Any with eyes in their head can learn much of that with little effort. I have been in this port long enough to have learned some-thing of matters!”
Rowan did not doubt that. Just as he did not doubt that her tale was not the truth.
“You lie,” Rowan insisted.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, the sign of her temper doing marvels for Rowan’s mood. He knew he was close to the truth when she could not hide her response.
“And you are as innocent as a newborn babe?” she demanded impatiently.
Ah, she was magnificent in anger! All sparks and flash, all color and heat. Truly, a part of him enjoyed matching wits with her, for he could not guess what she might say. Indeed, her manner made Rowan wonder how she would look in passion—a prospect so intriguing that consideration of it nigh distracted him from the conversation.
Ibernia, however, showed no such distraction. “What of your lie that we are wed?”
“I never said that we were wed.” Rowan grinned. “Not precisely.”
Ibernia’s eyes shone with blue fire and she propped her hands on her hips. “Do not play games with me, sir! I am not so witless that I did not hear the words fall from your lips. You quite clearly said that I was your lady.”
“And so you are.” Rowan leaned closer, virtually daring her to deny the truth. He had a sudden urge to kiss this challenging woman, to kiss her fully, so deeply that she moaned for more.
“You are a lady,” he insisted.
“I am no one.” She folded her arms across her chest mutinously, clearly unaware of the enchanting view of her ripe breasts that the pose granted Rowan.
What had ever possessed him to admire lean and lithe women?
“A lady, to be sure,” he insisted, “and by virtue of the coin I parted with, you are mine.”
When he might have expected an angry retort, Ibernia’s lips twisted and she lifted a hand to her heart. “Your gallantry overwhelms me,” she declared, then fluttered her eyelashes. “Is this the moment that I should cede to your chivalrous charm?” She turned to Thomas, her eyes wide. “Indeed, how could any woman choose the fine manners of Baldassare over your master’s boldly possessive claims?”
Thomas snickered in a way that was becoming most annoying. It helped naught that Rowan felt like a clumsy knave. Indeed, he sensed he had disappointed Ibernia and disliked the feeling most heartily.
Matters could not be said to be proceeding to his plan.
“And what was I to do?” Rowan demanded, his voice rising that she should find him less than appealing. Especially in comparison to that Venetian! “Let you share his quarters? He would make you no wager, of that I am certain!”
“Perhaps not.” Ibernia shrugged and smiled, composed once more. “Perhaps he would make a finer offer.”
“And you would willingly be his courtesan?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
’Twas infuriating that she should think so little of his offer of protection. And truly, how could one who loathed the touch of a man—as Ibernia claimed she did—even consider the possibility of becoming a courtesan?
“You do not fool me!” Rowan retorted. “You are not fond of liaisons with men, be they knights or merchants or sea captains. You would not roll willingly to your back for anyone!”
Ibernia’s lips tightened, then she shook a finger beneath his nose. “I will never roll willingly to my back for you, of that you can be certain!”
“So you have said, and so we have wagered upon the outcome.” Rowan smiled slowly. He savored the sight of her bright gaze and the flush in her cheeks.
Aye, he angered her.
And anger did not come from naught. Nay, the lady was aware of his charms yet determined, quite naturally, to win their wager by denying her attraction to him.
’Twas a fine prospect for this journey. ’Twould not be an easy seduction, but Rowan guessed the prize was well worth the price of winning it.
“Indeed,” he mused, his confidence restored. “I cannot wait for the privacy of our small chamber on this ship.”
Ibernia’s eyes flashed. “There will be no small chamber and no such privacy between us!”
“Of course there will be.” Rowan clucked his tongue. “One cannot expect a married couple to endure the open decks or share quarters with the sailors.”
“We are not wed!”
“Ah, then you would prefer I tell the captain the truth and let you share his quarters.”
She bit her lip and glared at him, her silence as much of an endorsement as Rowan was likely to win. “I could loathe you,” she muttered, although the corner of her mouth quirked in opposition to her words.
Rowan grinned. “But I shall coax you to love me instead.”
“You are most audacious …” She might have said more, but Rowan had already turned away.
“We shall have a cabin.” He nodded with confidence. “This captain will see the way of it and will oust one of his men, no doubt encouraged by the beauty of your smile.”
“You may be certain that I will not ask him for this favor.”
Rowan shrugged in his turn. “Then a measure of coin will change his thinking, of that I am certain. You have my assurance that I shall try.”
“You cannot do this thing!”
“ ’Twill be done, Ibernia. You have my word upon it.”
Suddenly she looked so agitated by the prospect that Rowan bent close to reassure her. He whispered in her ear and felt her shiver at the warmth of his breath on her nape.
“Ma demoiselle, I steal naught that is not freely offered.” Rowan let himself smile when she glanced up at him, surprised to find a shimmer of tears in her eyes. He felt the sudden urge to coax her smile or her anger.
Anything but tears.
He winked. “Though I am not adverse to persuading a lady to freely make such an invitation.”
“Oh, your surety of your own allure is insufferable!”
Rowan cupped her elbow in his hand before she could step away, smiling determinedly for the captain who watched their exchange. “And until we reach Dublin, I am your spouse, however insufferable I might be.”
“You cannot insist upon this!”
“Indeed I can, for I just have.”
“I will not countenance your lie,” she insisted. “I will tell the captain the truth of it at first opportunity.”
“And he, no doubt, will be quick to assure you of his own charms. Do you truly wish to share his chamber, all the way to Dublin?”
The lady exhaled mightily. “Caught between the devil and the sea,” she declared through gritted teeth, and Rowan did not want to know which role she believed him to fill.
He dropped his voice persuasively low, intent on reassuring her. “I made you a wager and I will keep it, Ibernia. Do not be so certain that others would do as much.”
A consideration dawned in her eyes, as if she wanted to believe him but did not know whether she should. The hint of her vulnerability tore at Rowan and made him want to make her smile.
He pulled her closer and brushed his lips across her brow, liking that she did not fight him in this. “As for claiming you as my wife, well, do not forget, my Ibernia, that all is fair in love and war.”
“ ’Tis clear enough which this is,” the lady murmured.
Thomas chuckled behind him and Rowan could not help but grin. “Aye, when I turn my charm fully upon you, you will not be able to resist me,” he teased. “Love will make you swoon!”
The lady laughed, albeit quickly and unwillingly. The sight of her smile restored the last vestige of Rowan’s good humor, though her comment was cutting.
“Indeed, has there ever been a man so smitten with himself?”
Even Thomas’s snort of laughter could not dispel Rowan’s optimism.
Aye, he would win their wager yet!
Infuriating man!
Ibernia’s innards felt tangled. Her flesh tingled beneath Rowan’s gentle grip, her temple burned where he had pressed his lips. She could neither catch her breath nor stop the shiver that tripped over her flesh whenever Rowan touched her.
Because he made her so angry, of course. Indeed, Rowan loved himself well enough for two. Oh, she would not cede to his touch, not on this ship or afterward.
She caught her breath once more as he did just as he had warned he would do. Truly, he made his victory in pursuit of that cabin look so easy it might have been predestined. Ibernia stood by, helpless to change the course of events and not liking it all, while Rowan negotiated for the navigator’s chamber with smooth finesse. She hovered behind him as much as she was able, uncertain whether the captain knew something of her or not.
Baldassare’s dark eyes told naught of the secrets he held. Ibernia did not know whether to be more troubled by the captain’s courtly manner or by the possibility that he might know something of her true tale.
To be sure, she had erred in approaching this ship, but realized her folly too late. Ibernia had been terrified that this captain might have heard a rumor and guessed her true identity. It helped naught that he studied her so intently. Indeed, she had been so frightened that her guise would be stripped away when first they met that she had not been able to find a word to say.
That was not like her. Rowan and the response he spurred from deep within her had only confused her. She must be falling ill, there could be no other explanation.
Ibernia had never met Baldassare di Vilonte, that was no lie. But she favored her mother strongly in appearance, and Rowan—a pox upon him!—had quickly guessed aright as far as her father’s occupation.
Had her father posted a reward for her return? Ibernia had no desire to become a pawn in any man’s quest for coin—and there was something about Baldassare that prompted her distrust.
But as the captain turned away one more time, saying naught, Ibernia exhaled shakily. Perhaps she had feared wrongly, perhaps there was no risk here at all. Perhaps she would soon be home safely, secure in her father’s home, able to make her own choice—and that more wisely than she had done before.
But there was still some measure of risk to be had on this journey. Aye, the reminder of that danced within her as Rowan laid claim to her arm once more, his warm touch making her want to lean against his strength.
Though Ibernia relied upon no one. Even when she was ill. She straightened proudly and walked ahead of Rowan, turning quickly away when he winked at her.
Oh, Ibernia would grant him a reckoning of his charm!
The cabin they were given was so small that Ibernia doubted she truly could evade Rowan in such a cramped space. She nibbled her lip and studied the narrow bed mounted to the wall, the floor betwixt door and bed little wider than the pallet itself. Below and above the bed were bundles of goods lashed tightly—indeed, even the ceiling hung with more bundles!—and they were counselled not to so much as touch the goods.
“An inventory will be made before you disembark,” the solemn officer informed them, his words stilted. “And any deficiencies deducted from your deposit.”
“Of course,” Rowan said softly as he dropped his single saddlebag to the floor. There was no real question in his tone, as if he knew the answer already. “Yet are we not to be witness to the initial inventory?”
The man smiled then disappeared into the shadows behind them, no answer evidently necessary.
Rowan muttered a curse directed at Venetians everywhere, then dispatched Thomas to check upon the steeds. “I shall be close behind you,” he advised, then turned such an intent glance upon Ibernia that she shivered.
“There is a matter we must discuss,” he declared.
Ibernia put the width of the room between them, feeling the cabin was already too crowded with only his saddlebag and herself over the threshold.
But to her dismay, Rowan stepped fully into the chamber and closed the thin wooden door behind himself. He visibly took note of the lock, then glanced over the goods once more. Ibernia knew they had been enclosed with the finer goods, thus the lock upon the door. Indeed, she could smell the spice.
Any loss here could cost Rowan dearly, and she assumed he wished to preserve whatever coin he had left.
“I will touch naught,” she insisted, believing her compliance was what he wished to ensure.
“ ’Tis not that I would discuss,” he said surprisingly, his bright gaze fixing upon her. He took a step closer and smiled, Ibernia’s heart leapt at his proximity. She stepped back and found the wall immediately behind her.
Rowan halted and frowned. “I will not hurt you.”
“So you say!”
His expression hardened. “So I pledge. You have naught to fear from me, though as much may not be said of our travelling companions.”
A footstep echoed overhead, the men called and the ship creaked. Rowan came close and dropped his voice. Indeed, Ibernia could barely hear his words over the clamor of her heart, his intense manner doing naught to ease her concern.
“I would suggest you remain within this room and unlock the portal only to me,” he said.
“I will not be locked away like a chest of spice.”
“You will not wander the decks in garb so revealing.” Rowan propped his hands on his hips. “Ibernia, we voyage with men, none of whom have pledged gallantry of any kind, to you or likely any other women. ’Twould not be wise to offer temptation.”
As much as she hated to admit it, his counsel made good sense. And her feminine pride was flattered that he considered her tempting, though she would have died rather than admit it.
Because she remembered all too well the price such temptation could bear.
Ibernia heaved a sigh and surveyed the confines of the cabin. “I shall go mad in this space.”
Rowan smiled crookedly. “Then you shall have to persuade me to accompany you onto the decks,” he said, and leaned incrementally closer. Ibernia caught her breath as he stared directly into her eyes. His were twinkling merrilly, like amber struck by sunlight, making it impossible to fear his intent.
“A mere kiss would render me your slave,” he declared, though his manner was so teasing that Ibernia knew he lied.
“You!” she declared, and made to strike his shoulder.
Rowan danced out of range and laughed outright, his merriment even coaxing Ibernia’s smile. Then he sobered. “I ask only that you remain.”
Ibernia was not inclined to agree so readily as that, simply because this man would read too much into such compliance. “And if I disagree?”
“Then I shall have to remain with you,” he said easily. “For truly, you are beneath my care, at least until you win your freedom.” Rowan pursed his lips and studied the cabin, his gaze lingering on the bed before he met Ibernia’s gaze once more. There was a wicked glint of mischief in his eyes. “Though indeed, I wonder what we might do to pass the hours, the days, and the nights.”
“You will never seduce me.”
“Ah, Ibernia, I have yet to truly try!” Rowan winked. Ibernia swung her hand to swat him and prompted only his laughter as he ducked out the door.
To be sure, once she had shut the door and that insufferable man could no longer see her response, she smiled herself.
Now that she was alone, Ibernia allowed herself to marvel at her own certainty that Rowan could be trusted to keep his word. Indeed, he had shown her naught but good treatment in the short time they had been together, and she dared to expect only more of the same.
Optimism, her mother always said, was a healthy trait for a woman of merit. Nay, Rowan would not hurt her and he would not force her—he would only try to persuade her.
And none but Ibernia knew how futile those efforts were doomed to be. That made her smile broaden.
Only for it to fade shortly thereafter to naught. Even a merchant’s daughter as knowledgeable about the ways of the world as Ibernia could err, for err she had. No sooner had the Angelica taken to the seas than the horrible truth became clear.
’Twas then that the ship’s cargo moaned.