The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
Exasperated by his offering her such an unearned compliment, she blurted out, “I know the terms of your bargain with Kasan. Dear God, Gavin, how could you pledge away ten years of your future for the sake of a woman you scarcely know? In the middle ages, men like you were called saints.”
“I’m no saint, Alex,” he said, taken aback. “It’s just that…how could I live with myself if I abandoned a woman of my own people in slavery?”
“To me, that’s sainthood. Or at least courage and honor above and beyond the call of duty.” Her mouth twisted. “With all you’ve been through, have you wished that you hadn’t passed the slave market when you did?”
He hesitated, too honest to lie. “It would have been easier if I hadn’t seen you, but who says easy is better? Most things of value require effort.”
“Losing control of your life can’t be better.”
“Even if I end up working for the sultan, my situation will be very different from yours. I’ll have wealth, authority, and considerable freedom.” He shrugged. “I might even be better off staying in the East. This could be God’s way of keeping me away from London, where I may fracture my skull by banging it against walls.”
“You expect trouble there?”
He ran stiff fingers through his hair in a rare gesture of uncertainty. “Not exactly trouble, but—I hate Britain as much as I love it. Going back is something I’ve longed for, and also a great piece of idiocy.”
“If the walls are too hard, you can return to America. From what I’ve heard in your voice, your love for your adopted country isn’t complicated at all.”
His expression eased into a smile. “You’re right. When I finish laying my English ghosts, I’ll go home.”
Thinking of all he’d done in the last days, she said, “I imagine you’ll deal with those ghosts as capably as you deal with everything else.”
“Ghosts are a little out of my usual line. Chests of tea, now, or typhoons—those I can manage very well.”
His teasing tone dissolved the tension between them, leaving intimacy. She gazed up into his shadowed eyes, almost regretting that this rare, strange interval was nearly over. If all went well, in two days they’d be on the Helena. Surrounded by his crew, they’d resume their real lives as captain and lady, even though inside she’d changed irrevocably. There would be a safe emotional distance between them.
But there was no distance tonight. In the last days and nights she had learned the rhythm of his breath, the texture of his skin, the wryness of his humor. They had become comrades in a great and strange adventure, and she would never forget him, no matter what lay in her future. Her effect on him could never be as profound for he was a man who had lived many adventures, but perhaps the risks he’d taken for her sake would lay some of the sorrow he carried for his lost beloved.
Pulling her mind back to the mundane, she said, “I hope that your last trial is swimming, Gavin.”
He laughed. “So do I. It would be a fitting end to the contest.”
Any finale that had them both sailing safely away from Maduri was fine with her.
Gavin’s left arm still ached from the punishment suffered at pentjak, but otherwise he was well and as prepared for the last task as possible. Alex stood to his right, tense as a drumhead and heart-catchingly lovely in a new kebaya and sarong of shimmering patterned silk. Kasan looked sardonic but composed, having mastered his anger of the day before.
As Gavin scooped up the ivory dodecahedron for his last cast, Kasan remarked, “I shall rather miss the excitement when this is over, but Sheng Yu will be glad to have me return to the affairs of the kingdom.”
“Personally, I’ve had quite enough excitement.” Mentally uttering prayers, Gavin rattled the die in the cage of his hands one last time, and threw.
Sheng Yu peered at the symbol. “Worshipping the goddess.”
Before Gavin could ask what it meant, Kasan said coolly, “Your luck holds, Captain. The gods have given you the test that is one of man’s great pleasures.”
Gavin frowned. “What does worshipping the goddess mean?”
“You must have sexual relations with your slave woman.”
Gavin’s first reaction was stunned disbelief. No, surely he couldn’t have heard that correctly. But Alex was staring at him with horror that matched his. He was supposed to force her down and…?
Stomach lurching, he said, “You can’t be serious. This is appalling. Obscene. Against the laws of God and man.”
“You mean that, don’t you, my Puritan?” Kasan snorted. “Such naïveté. The laws of the Singa Mainam are more ancient than those of your Christian god. The leader of a tribe must be potent, able to breed sons and enrich the land with his fertility. That is why this test is part of the game. You must publicly fornicate or forfeit.” His expression turned malicious. “Given the effort you have devoted to liberating the lady, I’d think you would welcome this opportunity.”
By the primitive rules of male strength and conquest, Gavin had earned Alex, but hell and damnation! His grandfather had been a Scottish vicar, his mother a woman of unimpeachable virtue, and he’d been raised to live by higher standards. “If the test is for virility, summon a girl from one of the flower boats in the harbor.” He’d rather risk disease than do this to Alex.
“It must be Mrs. Warren, or no one,” Kasan said implacably.
Gavin appealed to the Buddhist priest. “Tuan Daksa, what is your ruling? Doing this would be a crime by the customs of my people.”
The priest hesitated as he thought the situation through. “The entire Singa Mainam is about this woman. You have taken great risks on her behalf, your fates are bound together. For you she is the goddess, and the only possible choice.”
Gavin understood the priest’s reasoning, but this was not about reason. “If it must be her, I will forfeit.”
“Gavin, no!” Alex’s voice cut through the babble of voices. “Look at me.”
Gavin steeled himself to do as she asked. Though her face was gray under the tan, she held his gaze fearlessly. “If this is the only way to win this damnable game, do it.”
He shook his head, haunted by every sermon he’d ever heard, every spoken and tacit lesson on gentlemanly behavior he’d ever absorbed. “I…I can’t.”
“Gavin,” she said with harrowing precision, “there is nothing—nothing—that you can do to me that would be as bad as what has been done already.”
The humiliation and pain she’d tried to suppress blazed in her eyes, confirming his worst fears about what she had endured during her months of slavery. He hadn’t wanted to think of her being ravished as well as beaten, but he could no longer deny the knowledge. She had already survived the unspeakable. By her own will, she was choosing to be violated again as a price she was willing to pay for his freedom, just as he had risked much for hers. Alex’s furious struggle against her captors had proved she was a kindred spirit, and was much of the reason he’d felt compelled to free her from slavery.
He hesitated, revolted at the thought of her making such a degrading sacrifice. If he was the saint she claimed, he would refuse, but bleakly he realized he wasn’t that selfless. Despite what he’d told her earlier about the easy life he’d have if he stayed in Maduri, the prospect of working for Kasan was suffocating. He needed freedom as a falcon needed wind and an endless sky. Being tethered to another man’s will would lead him to batter against his bars as frantically as Alex had.
He moistened dry lips, and yielded to fear and selfish desire. “Very well, I…I shall do it. But not in public.”
“That is part of the sport of it,” Kasan said with wicked amusement. “Performing in front of a crowd is not for the faint of heart.”
Gavin was going to have to dishonor Alex in front of hundreds of avid eyes? No!
“The captain and his lady are not of our people,” Tuan Daksa interjected. “There must be witnesses, of course, but the trial need not take place in the arena.”
Kasan scowled. “If that i
“Two. You, because you are sultan and part of this game.” The priest grimaced. “And me, because I am the judge and cannot avoid it.”
An audience of two was better than a full arena, but was still too many for what should be private. The thought of ravishing a woman who had already suffered too much at the hands of men turned Gavin’s stomach. He would never be able to look her in the eye again.
Alex said tautly, “Ten years of freedom are worth a few minutes of shame.”
She was right, but her role was passive. He would have to act against all his principles, and wasn’t sure he could. Trying to match her pragmatism, he asked, “Where will this trial be performed?”
“In a royal guest chamber,” Kasan said. “Come.”
Gavin’s gaze fell on Alex’s golden bonds. “Take the damned chains off.”
“She is still a slave,” Kasan pointed out.
Gavin looked at the priest, hoping for agreement, but the old man said only, “The ankle chains should be removed. The manacles later.”
The head guard who carried the keys knelt to unlock the ankle chains. Alex shivered away from him, trying unsuccessfully to hide her distaste when he touched her slender ankles.
As they trooped through the palace, Gavin tried to imagine a way out, but there was none. Alex had cut through shock and revulsion to the heart of their situation: a few minutes of appalling wrongness, or years of him serving a decadent and capricious master while she carried the burden of his sacrifice. Together they must endure this final degradation in order to win their freedom.
The spacious bedchamber was pleasant but neutral. He was glad not to be in the rooms he and Alex had shared. “Enjoy the final test of your Lion Game, Captain.” Kasan’s voice was edged. “Make sure it is obvious that you mount her properly. Otherwise, I will be forced to join you in the bed to be sure.”
The bastard. Gavin had a brief, violent image of breaking Kasan’s neck and escaping from the palace with Alex, but they’d never make it through the city to his ship.
Kasan positioned himself on one side where he’d have a clear view. Expression conveying distaste, Tuan Daksa chose a stool on the other side of the room, as distant as possible. The atmosphere was as chilling as a courtroom.
Reminding himself how much was at stake, Gavin came up behind Alex and placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched as if he’d hit her. Wishing he were anywhere but here, he said softly, “I’m sorry, Alex. This is all so…so cold. So wrong.”
She visibly collected herself before turning to face him. “It will be over soon. Close your eyes and pretend I’m a jolly pleasure girl you’ve found at some port.”
Knowing honesty was essential, he said, “There have never been any pleasure girls. Only Helena.”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “No other woman ever?”
“Never.” His smile was wry. “Aren’t I a poor excuse for a sailor? I was raised to believe that physical intimacy belongs between man and wife, and spending many of my earlier years at sea reduced temptation.” Though he’d seen his share of attractive women, admiration had always been detached, except with the one girl he’d made his wife.
She smiled wistfully. “Helena was even luckier than I realized.”
Knowing he must begin, he steeled himself to draw her into his arms. Her tall frame was unyielding as carved wood. For all her common sense and mental toughness, this was as excruciatingly difficult for her as it was for him. No, surely more so.
Gently he stroked her back until she began to relax a little. What next?
“You have beautiful hair.” He undid the combs that secured her elaborate coiffure and loosened the coiled locks with his fingers. The silky cascade created a veil of privacy over her face and released a teasing floral scent.
She was a powerfully attractive woman, and he’d desired her since the beginning. The pure line of her profile was poetry. She was his friend, a woman whose strength and character he respected.
And yet his body seemed frozen. On some deep level, he felt that he was betraying Helena. Knowing he must admit what would soon become obvious, he said haltingly, “I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve never felt less…less amorous in my life.”
Alex glanced up from under her hair, first worried, then sympathetic. Blessedly free of scorn. “We’ve both been married. Perhaps if we pretend we still are?”
He closed his eyes, trying to transmute Alex into memories of his wife when they’d been alone in the sanctuary of their cabin. When the image became clear, he cupped Alex’s face in his hands and trailed gossamer kisses across her forehead and temples. Helena had liked that. Alex, he sensed, was doing her best not to bolt.
Under the floral perfume was an alluring female scent, and she felt undeniably female against him despite her thinness. Yet still he felt no desire. The wicked wrongness of what they were doing overwhelmed everything else.
While he was trying to decide what to do next, she shocked him by running a tentative hand down his torso. The manacles jangled as her palm settled on what he’d thought was frozen. Raw lust flamed through him, hazing his mind and judgment. Dear Lord, it had been so long since he’d been with a woman….
“Progress at last,” Kasan said acerbically.
The comment jarred Gavin back to reality, though his blood still throbbed hotly. Thanks to Alex’s caress, he knew now that he could perform as required, but his only carnal experiences were worlds away from this travesty. Ironic that this would be simpler if he was accustomed to taking women for quick, selfish pleasure. “Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you, Alex?”
She hid her face against his shoulder. “I suppose…just be quick about it.”
He took her hand and led her to the low bed. She stretched out on her back, long limbs trembling and the wrist chains draped over her waist like loathsome jewelry. He propped himself on one elbow beside her, shielding her from Kasan’s view as much as he thought he could get away with. “Relax, Alexandra. Close your eyes and pretend it’s the middle of the night and you’re three-quarters asleep. Hardly aware that I’m here.”
“My imagination may not be up to this,” she said shakily. Her eyes closed and she began slow, deep breaths, but her face was sheened with perspiration.
As cautiously as if she were a nervous horse, he skimmed an open hand over her torso. Though he meant to stroke down to her waist, her breast molded to his palm and the softness was too enticing to leave. Letting his hand rest there, he leaned forward for a kiss, but she turned her head sharply so that his lips met her cheek. Had the men who’d assaulted her forced their mouths on hers, half suffocating her?
Since kissing was too intimate, he brushed his lips lightly along the line of her jaw and down her throat. The wrapped neckline of the kebaya had fallen open to reveal tantalizing curves. He bit his lip to stop himself from kissing her breasts, guessing that also would be too much. “Are you all right?”
She gave a tight little nod that cracked his heart. Could any man have been so valiant about accepting a hated invasion of body and soul?
Reminding himself that she wanted this over quickly, he released her breast and stroked down her abdomen, avoiding the profane glitter of the chain. The thin silk of her sarong warmed luxuriously under his hand. For a man who’d hungered too long, she was a tantalizing banquet of femaleness.
She quivered as he approached the juncture of her thighs. Was that all distress, or was there an element of physical response?
Another decision to be made. Would it be more emotionally destructive to coax her body to respond, even if readiness meant there was less physical pain? He swore to himself. Mating was meant to be joyous sharing, not this tortured navigation through reefs of agonizing complications.
Since physical pain was guaranteed if she couldn’t relax, he chose to try to induce a response. Maybe words would help. “In only a few minutes this will be over, Alex,” he
Her tension eased as he painted his picture with words. Encouraged, he continued to talk, spinning stories about his ship, his far-flung business interests, sights he’d seen, how much the crew would enjoy having a little girl on board. He poured a river of positive words and images over her, all the while caressing her with increasing intimacy.
But under the flowing words, his control was fraying. Celibacy had been a way of life for years, but now he wanted to bury his face in her hair and hear ardent gasps when he pleased her. He wanted to sink into her with intoxicated kisses and laughter, lose himself in heedless passion rather than thinking, planning, worrying.
Be quick about it. He slid his hand under her sarong, gliding over shapely calf and knee until he touched intimate flesh. Instinctively she clamped her thighs together, then forced herself to relax. Her breathing was quick and shallow.
Exploring with exquisite care, he found heat and dewy moisture. This was genuine response, and he nourished it with all the skill he’d learned in his marriage bed. There was a subtle change in the tempo of her breathing and her hands began to open and close on the bedspread like the paws of a kneading kitten.
When he felt she was ready, he moved between her legs, supporting his weight above her. Remembering the sultan’s order to make it clear that they actually consummated this obscene act, grimly he exposed himself as he opened the front of the loose trousers. Yet even the knowledge of being watched couldn’t dampen his aching, dry-mouthed urgency. The feel of her legs bracketing his, the rich carnal scent of intimacy, incinerated doubts and conscience.
Be quick about it.
As soon as he pressed into her heated depths, control shattered and he drowned in searing femininity. It was the headiest of drugs, too long denied. Like a boy on his first attempt, he erupted without even moving, arching his back as he gasped, “Oh, Lord, my dearest love…”