The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
A slow rumble of drums gradually amplified until thunder echoed from the stone walls. A hush fell as men stood and looked toward the tunnel entrance.
First to emerge was Sheng Yu, chief minister of Maduri. Then two guards in elaborate ceremonial gear, followed by Sultan Kasan, regally garbed in silk and jewels, with a priceless ruby flashing in his turban. He was a westerner’s fantasy of an eastern potentate—strong, rich, and powerful, a man above the laws of lesser men.
Gavin stiffened when he saw Alex among the sultan’s entourage. Dressed in Maduri garments, she was beautiful and furious, glittering with golden chains as she crossed the arena with swinging strides.
Kasan reached the pavilion and claimed the throne while Alex was guided to the chair set between him and Gavin. She was the only woman in the arena, present to show what the contest was about. Quietly Gavin asked, “Are you all right?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Apart from being chained and treated like a silver race cup, I’m well.” Despite her thinness, in her rich garments and elaborate hair she was a splendid, exotic prize that any man might wish to win. A goddess in golden chains. No wonder her eyes blazed with anger.
Kasan raised both hands for silence and began speaking Malay in a powerful voice that carried easily to every man in the arena. “We gather here to begin a Singa Mainam in which Tuan Gavin Elliott, Captain of Captains and Taipan of Elliott House, will attempt to win the freedom of the beautiful Iskandra, a highborn lady of England. He will risk his life for the sake of honor and the lady.”
After an approving roar died down, the sultan shouted, “Let the Game begin!”
Chapter 7
THINKING THE ceremony rather flamboyant for a New England sailor, Gavin stepped up to the obsidian pedestal when Sheng Yu said, “Make your first cast, Captain.”
The ivory dodecahedron was warm, like a living body. Gavin caged it between his hands and shook while he closed his eyes and imagined the result he wanted: escorting Alex Warren and her daughter from the Helena in London. When the image was so vivid he could hear the seagulls, he opened his eyes and tossed the die onto the shining obsidian. It spun tipsily before settling into one position.
Sheng Yu examined the symbol that came up. “The first task for Tuan Elliott is to climb the Cliff of Sorrows.” There was an excited murmur.
Kasan gestured to the great cliff which made up the back wall of the arena. “You must climb that, plant your banner, and descend, Captain.”
Gavin studied the cliff, which was nearly vertical and made of dark volcanic stone. “Why is it called the Cliff of Sorrows?”
“Twice invaders sought to attack the palace by scaling the cliff. Many men died.” It was Sheng Yu who replied, and his expression implied that he wouldn’t mind if Gavin suffered the same fate.
“If a banner is needed, I must send to my ship for the American flag.”
“Take this.” Face white, Alex unwound the narrow selendang which was draped from right shoulder to left hip, then offered it to him like a medieval lady giving her favor to her champion. “Be careful, Gavin.”
He accepted the length of scarlet fabric, then bowed over her hand. “Don’t worry, lass,” he said softly. “I’ve spent a good part of my life scrambling through rigging on pitching schooners. Climbing is one thing I know.”
She gave him a shaky smile, but her eyes were still worried. He took off his coat to free his arms, then wrapped the selendang several times around his waist like a sash. “Your Highness, I shall begin.”
“Climb well, Captain,” the sultan said. “I do not wish to see you die.”
“I’ll do my best to make this trial as boring as possible.” Gavin crossed to the foot of the cliff, glad it would be in shade until midday. The full force of the sun beating on the stone would make the climb much harder. Having chosen a promising route, he began to climb, ignoring the watchers who would find it much more entertaining if he fell and broke his neck.
Rock climbing was slow, patient work that couldn’t be rushed. The surface was irregular enough to allow climbing, but the crumbly volcanic rock made it necessary to test each hold before transferring his weight. While easier than ascending a mast during a gale, it required strength and total concentration.
A gamelan orchestra began playing, presumably to entertain the audience during his slow climb, but he never looked down to see. What mattered was the slide of bare hands and booted feet across the stone—searching, testing, shifting—when one misjudgment could mean his life. Once a lizard stuck its head from a crack and spat its tongue at his face. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. Luckily, the little beast disappeared back into its den without further challenge.
By the time he pulled himself over the top edge, he was panting, drenched with sweat, and every muscle in his body trembled with strain. The summit was a narrow volcanic ledge with a spectacular view of the island and the azure seas surrounding it, as well as ominous storm clouds in the distance. On the far side, the jumbled roofs of the palace were only a stone’s throw away. He could see why the cliff had been attempted for an assault, and also why the attackers had failed.
Looking down into the arena, he picked out the forms of the sultan and Alexandra, who had moved from under the protection of the pavilion to watch. Unwinding the selendang, he raised his arm, letting the wind whip the scarlet banner. “For America and Alexandra!” he shouted to the sky.
As drums pounded below, he allowed a moment to savor the triumph of achievement. Then he knotted the selendang around a stone pinnacle and began his descent. Because of fatigue and the danger that overconfidence would make him careless, this was the most dangerous part of the climb.
The descent took increasing concentration. He was so intent that he didn’t notice that the sky had darkened until a fierce gust of wind struck when he was halfway down. Caught in the act of transferring his weight from one set of holds to another, he became unbalanced. A blast of rain slammed into him and he lost his grip. As he slid out of control down the rock face, shocked cries rose from the arena.
Instinctively he scrabbled at the cliff, clutching at a tuft of weeds that pulled loose, a scrawny shrub that broke, anything to slow his fall. A terrifying lifetime seemed to pass before the clawing fingers of his left hand caught a jutting knob of stone. The jolt of his full weight exploded painfully along his arm, but his grip held long enough to find a narrow ledge with one foot, then the other.
He clung there, panting, as rain hammered unmercifully. Despite a passionate desire to be on solid ground, he didn’t resume his descent until he recovered his breath and composure. Finally, cautiously, he began working his way downward again.
The squall ended as abruptly as it began. By the time he reached bottom the sun was shining and his drenched garments were drying. Trying to look as casual as if he were returning from a stroll in the park, he crossed to the pavilion and bowed to the sultan. “Your Highness, I have conquered the Cliff of Sorrows, and raised my lady’s banner.”
“Well done!” Kasan’s smile seemed genuine. “Until tomorrow’s trial, Captain.”
Gavin glanced at Alex. She gave him a warm, relieved smile, looking as tired as he felt. “Well done indeed, my lord captain.” Her soft words made him understand why medieval knights had risked their lives to win a lady’s favor.
Then his gaze fell upon the ivory die where it waited silently for the next day. Triumph faded at the knowledge that surely his next trials would be worse.
Alex was pleased to be returned to the cage in Gavin’s rooms. He’d been delayed by men wanting to congratulate his success, so she was waiting when he entered the sitting room. For an instant his expression was unguarded, revealing weariness and anxiety. Then he saw her and his face lightened. “They brought you back! I’m glad, though the women’s quarters were probably more comfortable.”
Heart lifting at the sight of him, she reached through the bars, ignoring the clank of her chains against the gilded metal. “Thank God you’re all right! I lo
He took her hands, and she felt a startling jolt of emotion tingle between them. Not wanting to examine that, she said quietly, “It’s hard to believe that we’ve only just met. The circumstances have taken us so far beyond social pleasantries.”
“I know. I feel the same.” His deep voice was perilously close to a caress.
Uneasy, she released his hands and found blood on her palms. “You’re injured!”
He inspected his hands as if surprised. “Only scrapes from the stone.”
“They need to be cleaned. Infection can flare quickly in this climate.” She bit her lip. “As mistress of my household, I was always prepared for emergencies—salves, bandages, pills, and teas as needed. Now I have nothing to work with.”
“I have some salve here, I believe. The longer I stay, the more Suryo moves up from the Helena.”
“If you bring a cloth and a basin of water, I’ll clean the lacerations.” Perhaps it was foolish to offer when it would be easier for him to tend himself, but she wanted to do something for him, no matter how small. Words weren’t enough to express how she felt.
He brought a basin of water from the bedroom, along with folded rags and a small jar of basilicum ointment. Taking a cushion, he extended one hand through the bars. Gently she washed away grit and blood, then spread ointment on the raw skin. Faint, long-healed scars showed that his hands were those of a working man, but they were also strong, well shaped, and capable. Hands that could be trusted.
Gavin seemed to be dozing against the bars, but when she returned one hand and took the other, he murmured, “It’s nice to be pampered.”
“I suppose that usually the captain sees to others, and no one sees to him.”
He shrugged. “Suryo takes good care of me.”
Though his steward was a fine man, it sounded very lonely. Once again she felt profound regret that Gavin’s wife had died. With his patience and warmth, he was obviously born to be a doting husband and father. He deserved a pure and loving wife. Instead, all he had at the moment was her, a battered and ruined slave. But at least she could do her best to ensure his hands didn’t become inflamed.
She frowned when she noticed scraped areas along the side of his forehead and cheekbone. Rinsing a cloth, she reached through the bars to gently clean the abraded skin. His eyes opened, only inches from hers. Her heart accelerated at the intimacy of his nearness. It took a strong man to be so unguarded.
But what she felt wasn’t attraction, no. Attraction was something that the old, preslavery Alexandra might feel. It had no place in her present or future. Breaking her gaze away, she finished cleaning his forehead and applied the ointment. “What you need, Captain, is a bath and a good night’s sleep.”
“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 glit
“You have the advantage over me, Sir Dragon,” Gavin said. “I can’t kill you, but I’ll bet you don’t feel 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.