The Lion's Daughter (19 page)

“Don't
say that.” He turned toward her. “You can't leave it up
to me.” He grasped the back of her head to make her face him.
“You can't.”

“You
can't leave it to me,” she said shakily. “Not when you
look at me so, not when you touch me. I am not made of wood, Varian
Shenjt Gjergj,
and
I am not a child. Nor is this a child's game you play. It is a man's
game, one I am certain you always win. Must you win it with me?”

His
hand strayed to her shoulder, then trailed lightly down over her
breast, to her waist. She caught her breath, but that was all. How
could she push his hand away when it made her desperate, made her
ache for him to complete what he'd begun?

“Yes,”
he said, “but not against your will.” His hand moved to
her belly and rested there. Heat washed through her and sank to throb
in the private place he'd touched moments ago.

“Against
my will?” she murmured. “Ah, Varian, you are so foolish.”

Esme
tugged at his shoulder, to bring him closer, but he didn't seem to
understand. With a gasp of impatience, she pulled him to her and
shamelessly pressed her mouth to his. He made the faintest
resistance, then, with a sigh, succumbed.

Their
tongues met and coiled, and Esme took his kiss even more greedily
than she'd done before. She knew where it would lead. She wanted it.
She wanted to be driven again into the dizzying darkness, but farmer
than before. Much farther. She touched him now, as he'd done to her.
He trembled and moved restlessly under her caresses, his breathing
shallow, hurried. His body answered her touch as hers had done his.
Half in wonder, half in triumph, Esme let her hands wander freely and
grew giddy with power when she heard him moan.

He
pulled back slightly. “Stop it.”

Oh,
no. Not yet. Esme slid her hand down the opening of his shirt, to the
waist of his trousers. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his
chest. His heart thundered like a crashing sea.

“No,”
he groaned. “You don't know what you're doing.”

“Then
show me.”

“No.”
He broke away abruptly and hauled himself up to a sitting position.
“No. I've shown you a great deal too much. Damnation.” He
looked at her. “Don't ever,
ever
do that again. I'm not Sir Galahad,
dammit. It nearly killed me to be noble once
—
but
twice
—
in
a few minutes
—
in
the most aggravating circumstances?”

“You
should not have touched me again,” she said. “I told you
how it was.”

“You
didn't have to
demonstrate.
Do
you have any idea what you're doing to me?”

“What
you do to me?”

He
flinched as though she'd slapped him. “I didn't mean
...”

He
stared bleakly about him. “But I did, didn't I? Not against
your will, I said. That was bloody chivalrous of me.” His gray
gaze, bitter now, returned to her. “I'd better leave,” he
said.

Chapter
10

THE
DAY AFTER THE BANDIT LEFT HIM WITH THE priest, another huge man came
and took Percival away. His name was Bajo. According to the priest,
Bajo was Uncle Jason's most trusted friend. He'd been following the
bandits, waiting for a chance to get Percival safely away. Last
night, Bajo had stood guard outside the priest's house. Though he was
a great bear of a fellow who spoke in growls, Percival felt entirely
safe in his company.

After
a very wet, long journey, they reached Berat
—
a
largish village stuck to the sides and top of a mountain
—
and
went to stay with a man named Mustafa.

To
Percival's relief, die old man understood some English, though he
spoke to Percival mainly in Greek. While they talked, Mustafa's
mother, Eleni, plied Percival with food. Then the kind old lady took
him away and put him to bed.

Percival
slept through the night, most of the following day, and a good part
of the day after. He was so miserably weary he might have slept away
another week if, on his fourth day in Berat, the news hadn't come.

He'd
just finished picking at his supper when die two men entered the
small bedchamber, and a smiling Mustafa announced that Cousin Esme
was alive and with Lord Edenmont in a village called Poshnja, about
forty miles north of Berat.

Even
while he was digesting the wonderful news, Percival was aware that
Bajo didn't seem pleased.

“Bajo
says he knew Esme was not dead,” Mustafa said after a brief
exchange. “He spread the lie so that she would not be pursued.
He's sorry for deceiving us, but with spies everywhere, he had no
choice. But word is out now. In a few more hours, all Tepelena will
know.”

Bajo
growled something else.

“He
is vexed with your cousin,” said Mustafa. “He ordered her
to remain with the ship. Not only has she disobeyed, but she has been
most indiscreet.” He explained that one of Esme's escort had
been wounded, she'd raised a fuss on his account, and it appeared
she'd remain in Poshnja until the man recovered.

No
wonder Bajo was cross. Now that people knew Cousin Esme was alive
—
and
still in Albania
—
she
was in danger again.

“Good
heavens!” Percival jumped up and grabbed his pouch. “We'd
better go after her
—
before
Ismal tries
—”

Mustafa
waved him back down. “Do not vex yourself. Ismal is closely
guarded in Tepelena, for Ali is greatly annoyed with him. Ismal is
too busy preserving his own neck to trouble your cousin. He has
blamed the abduction on overeager followers, who acted on their own.
It is said the ringleaders confessed under torture. Of course, it is
only coincidence that these men were very wealthy, with beautiful
wives,” Mustafa added drily. “Their possessions,
naturally, are now forfeit to Ali.”

Percival
couldn't believe his ears. “Ismal's only under guard? Does this
mean he's still under suspicion? Is he awaiting trial? It wasn't just
abduction, after all. That is
—
well,
surely the two events were connected. I mean, Uncle Jason's murder.
That couldn't be a coincidence. Ali can't believe that.
No
one can believe that.”

“You
do not understand these men,” Mustafa said patiently. “Ismal
can be most persuasive. Also, to murder Jason is not in character.
Even I cannot believe Ismal would act so incautiously. I loved your
uncle, and my heart, too, cries for revenge. Yet neither reason nor
feeling points to Ismal.”

Bajo
said something, to which Mustafa answered sharply, which led to a
long debate. Meanwhile, Percival tried to sort out what he'd heard.

Evidently
they believed Ismal hadn't any motive for murdering Uncle Jason. Even
Ali must believe that, if he hadn't executed Ismal already. Which
meant that Percival Brentmor might well be the only person in Albania
who knew what Ismal was up to.

There
was no doubt this was the same Ismal mentioned in Otranto, and the
other night by the bandits. He sounded like the sort of man who might
succeed in overthrowing Ali Pasha: influential, devious, and terribly
clever. Ali must be warned before it was too late and Albania erupted
into bloody revolution.

Belatedly,
Percival realized Mustafa was speaking to him. He stammered an
apology.

“Bajo
must be on his way,” Mustafa repeated. “We agree it is
best that you remain with me. Your cousin and the English lord are
headed to Tepelena, thinking to find you there. But they will stop
here first, for Berat is on their way. From here, you may easily
travel west to
Fier,
thence to the coast. There you
can get another boat, either to take you to Corfu
—
which
is under British control
—
or
directly to Italy. There is no need to continue to Tepelena.”

Percival
fought down his panic. “You mean, I shan't get to
—
to
meet Ali Pasha?”

Mustafa
glanced at Bajo. 'That would not be wise. The sooner Esme is out of
the country, the better.”

Bajo
was already rising, clearly eager to be gone.

Percival
thought quickly. If anyone knew about the conspiracy Uncle Jason had
been trying to unravel, it must be Bajo. Surely he could be trusted
with information about Ismal. But how to tell him? He understood only
Albanian. Mustafa would have to translate
...
but maybe he shouldn't know about
the matter. Bajo hadn't even told him Cousin Esme was alive. Because
of the spies. Everywhere.

As
the large Albanian turned toward the door, Percival bounced up again.
“Please sir, is he going to Tepelena?”

“Aye.
He must explain to the Vizier what has happened.”

“Please
then, would you ask him to wait? Oh, dear, I don't mean to be a
bother, but I must
—
that
is, may I have a bit of paper and pen and ink?”

Mustafa
stared at him.

Percival
realized he was wringing his hands. He hastily composed himself. “I
do beg your pardon
—
but
he's in such a hurry
—
and
I do hope he doesn't mind
—
but
I really
must
write
to Ali Pasha
—
and
express my
—
my
regrets that I can't see him
...”

Fortunately,
Percival hadn't to hold his breath very long. The discussion was
mercifully brief.

“Bajo
agrees it is an excellent idea,” said Mustafa. “Ali will
be most disappointed not to meet you, but a note in your own hand
will please him. It may ease his temper somewhat, which will spare
Bajo a great deal of distasteful flattery and appeasement.” He
patted Percival's shoulder. “You are a thoughtful and courteous
boy. Come, I will take you to my study, where you may write your note
in peace. Bajo and I will bide our time with a cup of
kafe.”

Nearly
an hour later, Percival rejoined the men. His hands
almost
steady, he gave Bajo two folded
notes.

Percival
turned to his host. “Please tell Bajo that the one I've marked
with his name is a present for him. It's a riddle I made up for Uncle
Jason, but
—
but
I should like Bajo to have it. I've nothing else to give him in
thanks. I hope he finds it interesting. And please tell him I wish
him success in
—
in
all he does.”

The
translation brought a rare smile to Bajo's stern mouth. He responded
that Percival was like Jason in more than looks: not only brave but
generous of heart.

With
that, and a hearty handshake, the big man took his leave.

THOUGH
AGIMI DECLARED to one and all that he was strong as two oxen and
fully capable of journey, Esme declared otherwise.

That
took care of that, Varian thought resignedly. It was a great pity
Madam had not been about some years ago to lay down the law to
Bonaparte. England and her allies would have been spared a deal of
trouble.

She
had certainly neatly disposed of his lordship, hadn't she?
You
can't leave it to me. Not when you look at me so, not when you touch
me.
It was the crudest temptation
any man could face. She'd offered herself
...
if he wished to take full
responsibility for ruining her.

She
could not possibly know how fiercely he'd wanted her at that moment.
What Varian had felt before was nothing to what he felt once he knew
she wanted him.

He
was sick with it.

He
wanted to kill her.

He
wanted to kill everybody, and most especially Percival, because if it
had not been for that wretched boy, Varian would never have clapped
eyes on her.

Lord
Edenmont did not, however, kill anybody or even give utterance to a
cross word
—
except
to Petro—during the remaining interminable four days they spent
in Poshnja. In-
.
stead, he took a lesson every
morning in the river and tried to exorcise his frustration with
activity. With his host and Petro, Varian visited every house of the
village, where he spent hours telling anecdotes about his native land
and his countrymen, especially Lord Byron, of whom all had heard.

When
he grew sick to death of Byron, Lord Edenmont played the role of lord
of the manor and offered his woefully limited advice regarding
defenses, architecture, and agriculture. His father had drummed
—
and
occasionally thrashed
—
some
farming wisdom into him, which Varian, when interrogated by his
hosts, scraped out from the dustiest recesses of his mind.