Enslaved (2 page)

“Only one week left of this?” he asked, his sensual mouth quirking as he gestured to the luxury of the large, soft bed. “Then we must be certain to enjoy every moment we have left, Lady Hampstead. For very soon, we shall be sharing our nest with monkeys and butterflies and the other many-legged creatures of my home.” His voice dropped low on the word
home
, and she reached to touch his dear, handsome face. She knew how much he missed Madagascar—the freedom, the wildness, the beauty.

And what an amazing transformation he’d made in the last nine months—from his appearance, to his speech, to his understanding of the world in which she lived and he now belonged.

When she first encountered him in the jungle, his nut-brown hair had hung well past his shoulder blades, and had formed long, soft coils from lack of combing and cutting. He’d been naked except for an animal skin he wore around his waist, and the long, sleek, tanned muscles of his arms, torso, and legs had been enough to make her mouth go dry. Never—even when she’d visited Michelangelo’s
David
in Rome—had she encountered a more breathtaking image. Certainly not when she thought of the pale, stringy fops back in London, with their padded-shoulder jackets and breeches.

She’d found Zaren’s initial appearance both unique and attractive, but now that he’d had his hair cut and combed and wore it tied back into a short tail at the base of his neck, she thought him just as handsome. And she was the only one in London who knew precisely how broad and muscular his shoulders were beneath the tailored coats and crisp white shirts he wore in public. Her Zaren was the perfect combination of wild jungle man and proper, well-dressed gentleman.

“I love you,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his sensual lips. “More than you can imagine.”

Before he could reply, there was a sudden odd lurch, as if the ship had come to a sudden stop. The telescope that Zaren had found so fascinating tipped over and rolled off the dresser. The sound of shouting, alarmed and urgent, reached their ears.

Jane looked at her husband, whose expression had changed from that of a tender, intimate lover to a sharp and prepared hunter. In the jungle, he’d been able to best any beast with hand, speed, or weapon…and though he looked civilized in his gentleman’s dress, he was still the wild man of the jungle.

“I know you won’t stay here,” he said, yanking on a pair of trousers with less grace than a man who’d been wearing them for decades would do. “But I will ask nonetheless.”

“I cannot agree more,” she replied, pulling on a loose shift that required no corset. “I shan’t stay here. But I shall take care and stay close to you. Is it a storm coming? Or perhaps we’ve struck something? Or a sail has torn. Or…”

She dared not say the word
pirate
. Surely not. Surely not in this day and age…

“Be still and safe and do as I say,” Zaren ordered as he took her hand. “I do wish you would remain here, but if you won’t do that, then at least promise to listen to me.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, bumping into the wall of the narrow corridor as the ship gave another sharp lurch. Had they run aground? Struck some land or rocks somehow?

But Captain Morris was a seasoned sailor. Surely he wouldn’t make such a mistake…

The shouting had ceased by the time Jane and Zaren were making their way up the short set of steps that would take them to the main deck. The door that led to the outside loomed just above them when he paused, listening and, as was his way, sniffing at the myriad of scents in the air. All was strangely silent, and then suddenly there was the sound of thudding footsteps just above them, followed by the definite noise of altercation.

When it became quiet again, Zaren began to ease open the door that led to the deck.

“Where is she?” demanded a voice.

Zaren reacted instantly, spinning Jane around and shoving her behind him—for she was the only
she
on the ship. She felt his muscles quiver with tension as he looked about, and could read his mind as he searched for a way to protect her, hide her—

Someone shouted on the deck above, and then there was a sound…a sound that made the hair on Jane’s neck stand on end. It was…violent and wet and…

Zaren stiffened against her, his nostrils flaring as he drew in whatever new smell was on the air. She felt rage and fear shuttle through him—fear, she knew, not for himself or for anyone else on the ship but her.

For Jane smelled it now too: blood.

“Bring her to me, or this man is the next to die,” proclaimed the voice. “You have until I reach the count of three. One…!”

She contained the gasp, barely covering her mouth in time to smother it. Eyes wide, she pushed at Zaren, trying to free herself from his powerful grip. “No,” she said, “no, I can’t let them—”

“Two!”

“Jane, don’t be a fool,” he hissed. “Don’t even
think
I will let them—”

“Three!”

There was another dull thud, this time directly above her head. She heard the sound of something heavy falling, and then rolling across the deck. Nausea surged in her belly, and Jane stared at Zaren in horror. “No,” she said. “There’s no other choice. Let us see…let us see what it is they want.”

His eyes blazed down at her. “I know what they want. They want
you
. I won’t let them have you, Jane, I cannot.”

“But there is nowhere for us to go, nowhere for me to hide…they’ll find me—and after how many others? How many others will die? What about
you
?”

“Jane,
no
,” he began, but it was too late.

“I’m
here
,” she shouted, trying to push her way out of his arms.

“Jane,
no
,” he roared. “No!”

But the door was open and figures stormed down the stairs, filling them with their shadowy bulk. One of them lunged for her, and Zaren roared, blocking him with a powerful upthrust of his forearm.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped as the man slammed against the wall, then tumbled to the floor. “I shall come up, and you do not need to lay one finger on me.” She gripped Zaren’s arm, felt the muscles trembling beneath his skin as he fought to control himself.

His face was a black mask of fury as they climbed the steps. Jane’s heart thudded, and she reminded herself to hold her head high and proud. Zaren would allow nothing to happen to her.

On the deck, a terrible sight greeted them, and for the first time, her confidence was shaken. The crew of
The Racing Gull
had been taken captive by a group of men who could only be described as pirates. A second ship, close and dark and threatening, loomed next to the
Gull
, and Jane was quick enough to spy the gangplanks that had been dropped as two narrow bridges from vessel to vessel.

Two distinct pools of blood, along with the heads and headless bodies from which they sprang, decorated the wooden deck in a grisly fashion. Captain Morris stood to the side, his arms bound behind him, and a man Jane vaguely recognized as one of the
Gull
’s mates had a gun shoved into his chin.

“Take him!” cried a voice as soon as Jane and Zaren came into view. “Quickly, for he is a beast!”

Zaren had only a moment to give Jane a desperate look followed by a wild cry before three men launched themselves from above, landing on top of him with a heavy black net, just as a fourth man grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of reach.

She shrieked and began to fight, kicking and clawing as she watched the three men and their heavy black net imprison Zaren. He roared like a feral cat, the sound so lifelike and fierce that several of their attackers looked around as if to see a four-legged feline ready to pounce. And though her husband was magnificently strong and fast, the three subdued him with the help of the tangling net and the heavy wooden clubs they brandished. They slammed and thudded into him over and over, even as he roared and lunged while hampered by the heavy covering.

“Stop!” she shrieked, whirling in the grip of the man who’d grabbed her. “Stop it! Whatever it is you want, you shall have…only cease beating him!”

“Of course I shall have what I want,” said the man…who looked vaguely familiar to her. “And you are indeed the prize I was promised. I have no doubt you will easily snare Zenovia’s attention, and put me in a most welcome position.”

Jane felt the blood leech from her face. “You! I know you… You were…you are a friend of Darkdale.” Her head was light, and the world spun a little as she remembered the faces and—more worrisomely—the cocks and hands and tongues employed by those who called Kellan Darkdale friend. He had no name, but she remembered him well.

“Indeed. And you, my lovely, delicious darling, will be coming with me.”

Zaren roared and lunged again, this time dragging the heavy weight of the net. He slammed into her captor, knocking both of them heavily to the ground. She pulled away, running, stumbling, dashing
somewhere
, looking for a weapon, something,
anything
to use to save herself, to save her husband and the good captain, but when she spun back around, she stopped as if slamming into a brick wall.

“No!” she screamed. “
No!
”

But she was too late. As she watched, the kicking, bucking, black-wrapped bundle of her beloved husband was lifted by no fewer than six men and heaved over the side of the ship…

The resulting splash acted like punctuation to the sentence of her life: a short, sharp period. An end.
The
end.

Jane ran to the side of the deck, slipping through spilled blood and evading the hands that grabbed for her. “Zaren!
Zaren!
” she screamed.

The empty black net fluttered against the side of the ship, hooked on something that had caused it to unfurl as Zaren was pitched overboard.

Even as strong hands dragged her away from the edge, Jane searched for something, for a shadowy head to emerge or a hand…

And just as a heavy black cloak enveloped her, Jane saw him.

Zaren. Erupting from the sea like furious beast.

Relief and hope surged in her, and then everything went black.

— II—

Jane arched in a long, lazy stretch
and reached languidly for her husband.

The bed next to her was cool and empty. She opened her eyes, expecting to see him sitting in the chair, looking out the porthole with his spyglass.

That was when she realized it
wasn’t her bed.

And she wasn’t in their small chamber.

She bolted upright, suddenly assaulted by the memories and terror of the attack on
The Racing Gull
.

“Zaren,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, Zaren…” Her heart thudded harshly and her stomach roiled. “What have I done?”

Then Jane shook her head. No. She’d saved the lives of any number of sailors who would have been beheaded—or worse—if she hadn’t stepped forward. But had her stubbornness caused the death of the man she loved more than anything?

Jane bit her lip, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had seen his head bobbing in the ocean. She
had
.

If anyone could have survived that fall, that attack, it was Zaren.

And if he were alive, he would stop at nothing to find her…wherever she was. And so she must do everything possible to stay safe and alive until he did.

She sat up and looked around the chamber. It was smaller than the one she’d shared with Zaren, but the gentle rolling of her environment told her she was on another ship. She was still dressed in the shift she’d pulled on before leaving her room with Zaren…and it boded well for her virtue, such as it was, that she was still clothed.

Just then, the door opened.

“Ah, then. You’re awake, lovely Jane.” The man who’d taken her—the man she recognized as a friend of the controlling and masterful Kellan Darkdale—stood in the doorway. “I’m very glad to see that, for you’ve been sleeping for three days and we are very nearly at our destination.”

Three days?
She vaguely remembered a pinprick in her arm and realized she must have been drugged.

“I am Lady Hampstead to you, you disgusting cur,” she said haughtily. “And I need not tell you what fate awaits you when I return to London and inform the Met that you’ve abducted a lady of the peerage and attempted to murder my husband. However, your immediate cooperation may possibly lighten your sentence.”

When his eyes raked over her, she made a move to cover herself with the flimsy blanket. He laughed, stepping inside the chamber. The door closed sharply behind him. “You need not bother, my dear Lady Hampstead. I have no interest in you in that way—at least at the moment. However, it’s the rest of the crew about which you should worry. And that is what I’ve come here to tell you.”

She drew herself up, aware of the picture she must make: disheveled, half dressed, and with her reams of fiery hair tumbling over her shoulders and the blanket. This nameless man was probably the first one she’d ever encountered who did
not
wish to touch, probe, stroke, taste, or otherwise enjoy her body. But she shivered at the reminder of the rest of the sex-starved crew, and what might happen if she were given over to them. Jane pulled her courage and every bit of strength about her. “Return me to London immediately, whoever you are. If you are lucky, my husband survived being thrown off the ship and you will only be charged with
attempted
murder and kidnapping—”

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I am remiss in not introducing myself. Captain Bradley Holt, at your service. And unfortunately, my lady, your request must be denied. You see, I do have plans for you, but they do not involve returning to London.” He smiled and gestured to the sea beyond the walls of the chamber. “We are headed for the Lost City of Amazonia, which is on an island in the Atlantic not far from the coast of Nigeria, but well off the normal trade routes. It is a place with which I’ve been desperate to do some trading—for they grow the most valuable of all hallucinogenic substances there, called
blinkalo lobia
—known more commonly in the opium dens as heather-hash. It can only be found in their gated city, and the Amazonians are very shrewd trading partners. You are going to be the key to my new arrangement with them, for I am certain they will find you quite fascinating.”