A Captain and a Rogue

She shook the memories away.

His vision locked on her and the muscles of his face hardened.

‘Swim?’ She leaned her head forward.

‘You cannot imagine how much it would mean to me.’

‘I cannot.’ Oh, but she knew what it would mean in her life. If she shed her clothing and moved into the water with him, she could have no recourse if he took her body. Stephanos would be enraged if he discovered it and the sea captain and his entire ship would be at risk—not that she cared at this moment. ‘You ask an improper thing.’

‘I know. But you are like the art on the walls of my London home, yet you are alive. I’ve never seen a woman such as you. Your sister doesn’t even come close. When I look at you, I see something I never saw before. When you swam it was as if you were free of the restraints of the earth, much like I feel when Ascalon is moving in a brisk breeze.’

She laughed. ‘A Frenchman told me I was an angel on earth and I didn’t take his offer either.’

‘He wasn’t wrong.’

‘You’ve been away from a woman too long.’

He paused, words low. ‘I always think that.’ She noted a faint apology in his eyes. ‘But this is not the same thing.’

She stood and pointed to the trail. ‘Go back the way you came. Take the second path in the direction of your right, and then—’ she waved her hand in the direction ‘—and then again right. You’ll see two houses close. The smaller one is the one you want. The woman there will swim with you, for as long as you wish if you have enough coin.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re the only one.’

She clasped her hands in front of herself. ‘I think not.’

‘I’ll be proper. You have my word as a...a sea captain.’

She touched her chest. ‘I have always thought the word of a sea captain quite...quite like the word of my father, a man who could forget his promises as soon as they left his lips.’

‘I only wish to swim with you.’

She raised a brow. ‘And nothing else.’

He snorted. ‘I’d have to be dead not to think of something else with you, but, no, I will expect nothing more.’

‘No.’

‘You can return with me. I’ll take you to England. Your sister, too. My brother will make a home for you both. We have a town house in London we hardly ever use. You could stay there.’

‘No. Never.’ She turned her head and, to show her distaste at his words, spat on the ground. ‘My father left us for England. A painter who valued paintings more than the people in them.’

Even in the darkness, when she turned back to him, she could see his lowered jaw. ‘You... Women don’t...’

She reached down, grasped the sides of her skirt and lifted. His eyes locked on her legs. She took two large steps to close the distance between him. His gaze never left her calves and he stared.

She kicked his shin hard and then let her hem flutter down.

He jumped back, raising his eyes to her face.

She asked, ‘Women don’t spit and they don’t kick. Are you cured of wanting to swim with me now?’

He half frowned, and half smiled. ‘I doubt I will ever be cured of that. But you can kick me again if the next time you raise your skirt another inch.’

Storm-like currents of air exploded inside her body, but the air pressing into her touched nothing else on the island. She wondered if his gaze had somehow brought spirits alive and they danced around her. He wasn’t the only one with senseless thoughts. Now he was making them explode in her head. She had to make him hate her and to make herself dislike him. That would be the only way she could have a haven from his presence and make sure she didn’t do something foolish.

‘You senseless man,’ she said.

He raised his shoulders and held a palm up. ‘My pardon, Sweet. I wasn’t made to be a vicar.’

She raised her chin and stared at him. He truly didn’t seem offended by her actions. ‘I would say you chose well.’

‘I agree.’

The smile he gave her near took her legs out from under her. Her jaw lowered.

‘Are you certain you won’t just step into the water with me?’ he asked.

Something inside her screamed to say yes. ‘No.’

‘Uncertain?’ he asked and his eyes widened for a heartbeat with too much innocence, but then they changed again and he seemed to look into her. And his gaze promised her something she could not name.

Thunder that only she could hear pounded in her ears. She could even feel the lightning flashes burning into her skin from the inside out. She knew the lore of mermaids being able to create weather. But he was the unsafe one. He was the one who could call up storms.

Chapter Five

Thessa turned and started on the trail back to her home, leaving him to dig or not. It didn’t matter to her. She had to leave his presence and return to her home so she could shut the door behind her.

The captain unsettled her.

In the night, she kept dreaming of storms, full of violence and thunder, and waking into a world of silence.

She dressed, not wanting to be alone, and went into the other room of the house where her sister slept. Thessa lit the lamp and began to sew, trying to forget that they’d never see their eldest sister again.

* * *

As morning closed in, someone rapped three precise times on the door. Bellona didn’t wake, but Thessa rose. The captain would be outside. No one of Melos would rap so gently and with such purpose.

‘You didn’t bring more men?’ she asked, opening the doorway.

He nodded. ‘They’re at the longboat. I can get them if I need them. I’ve asked them to wait.’

Lips shut, she let out a long breath, then spoke. ‘It will go faster with more men.’

‘I can get them later,’ he said, turning, taking a quick step down the stairway. ‘We can’t sail anyway until the tide is right and there is wind.’ He spoke over his shoulder. ‘And I don’t want you having them dig up half the island because you don’t want to part with a statue that you’ve let stay under the ground.’

He grabbed the shovel at the base of the house and moved towards the trail.

She followed him. ‘You will need help.’

He stopped and let the tip of the shovel clunk against the ground. He leaned on the shovel. ‘You can stay here if you wish. At least if I start digging on my own, I’ll know there’s a chance I might find it.’ He trudged along, in front of her, ducking olive branches.

‘Englishman,’ she muttered to his back and her feet made rushed sounds on the earth behind him.

‘Woman,’ he responded in kind.

‘Thank you for the kind word.’ She kept her voice overly sweet.

He pushed aside a small limb and couldn’t let it go quickly because it might slap her, so he settled it back into place, but he didn’t turn to her. Instead he kept his eyes forward.

‘Only an Englishman would sail so far for a few broken rocks,’ she said.

‘Only a Greek woman would not take him straight to the place, show it to him and not go back to her home to leave him to dig in peace.’

‘I am Greek and I am woman.’

‘So, are you going to show me where the statue lies?’ he asked as they stepped into the clearing.

She sighed. ‘Of course. I know my sister wants her. I suppose I was angry and not wanting to give the statue away because I wanted to punish my sister for not returning to us.’

His eyebrows slanted to a V and he shook his head. ‘If the rocks are as you say they are, I think the most punishment would be to give them to her. I wouldn’t like to receive a crate of broken rocks. By the time I get them to her, she might realise her mistake.’

She shook her head. ‘Not Melina. These rocks... She whispered of them day and night.’

Thessa walked the rubble, looking, kicking aside smaller stones. Finally she stopped. ‘I really am not certain, but I think it is under where I stand now.’ She pointed to a boulder. ‘The three of us rolled that as her headstone.’

Stepping so close he could scent the spiced air that flowed around her, he thrust the shovel into the dirt.

‘Careful,’ she said, her hand shooting out, resting on his arm. Even through the coarse cloth of his shirt, she could feel the muscles. Quickly, she pulled her hand away. ‘She’s near the surface.’

He used the shovel more to push earth aside than to dig and in seconds he revealed a torso.

‘She’s...not wearing a dress?’

‘No.’

He turned to her, tilting up one side of his lips. ‘She might be worth more than I thought.’

‘Dig,’ she said.

The shovel slipped. He gave a shake of his head and looked up at her, apology in his eyes. ‘I broke off a sliver of nose.’

‘I would not care at all, except she does look like our mother.’ Thessa knelt beside him and used her hand to clean more dirt from the face. She pulled her hand away and stared. ‘I know Mana was beyond others in good appearance. Father loves beauty. He would never, ever marry a woman who didn’t appeal to an artist’s eyes. Art. Not one piece of it is worth one moment of my mother’s sadness.’ She looked at Benjamin. ‘If the stone in the ground did not have my mother’s face, I would take a chisel to it myself if I thought my father wanted it. But I cannot destroy my mother’s face.’ She looked at him and her voice faded into the wind. ‘And you broke her nose.’

‘I did not mean to, Thessa.’ He stepped closer to her. ‘It was an accident. There are men who can restore these statues.’

‘I understand. But it is rock. Hard on the inside as well as outside. Do not worry that you hurt her. Men made her and then they let her fall to the ground alone.’ As her father had done to her mother, quoting poetry and speaking of devotion, and then ignoring her for days while he painted. And finally leaving, with sadness in his words, but his eyes looking to the ship and his steps quick. It was better not to love than to live with a man who didn’t care enough to stay. Statues could be restored. Hearts could not.

Benjamin crouched, one hand moving the dirt, then he brushed back a lock of his hair and left a smudge high on his cheek. His shoulder brushed hers. His coat held a scent she recognised from when she’d walked on board a vessel to tell her father goodbye. Pine, from the material they used to waterproof the boat.

He studied the carving, then her face, and she stilled. She knew he compared the two and rose to increase the distance between them. He stood, wiped his hand across the duck trousers he wore and carefully put a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. ‘You are many times the loveliness of her.’

His eyes moved, tightening as he studied her face.

Wind danced around them, as if spirits caressed them with their breaths, and the air caused shivers on her arms.

He released her face, but the breezes kept tousling his hair.

‘No one could compare the two of you, though. You’ve the dark gift of the islands and skin as flawless as perfectly crafted marble. The statue should be of you.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, shuddering. ‘I want nothing to do with art. It lies.’

‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t smile. Silenced lengthened. ‘But a statue of you would be no lie.’

She wanted to brush away the smudge on his face, but to touch his skin could be dangerous and she must remain true to Stephanos in all ways. She was betrothed to him—a man of her own heritage. One who shared the same soil she had always walked on. Even though Stephanos made his own sea voyages, he never stayed long, and called the same land home that she did. His relatives lived on Melos. He would never desert his children.

‘You must wipe the dirt from your face,’ she instructed, stepping back, pulling herself from his captivation.

He brushed at his face, not taking away the smudge at all. Completely missing it.

She firmed her lips, but her fingertips softened. She wanted to touch him, but could not be so bold. His hand reached out to move the spot away again, but still he did not dislodge it.

‘Stop,’ she said and grasped the sleeve of his coat, enclosing his wrist under her hand, but keeping the barrier of the fabric between them. She guided him to smooth the dirt away. He stilled, as if she had him in some kind of spell, and when his eyes changed, something in them tumbled into her. He no longer looked like a man, but had the innocence of a boy in his eyes.

He turned his face away, and pulled his arm free. He studied the ground with the half-exposed bloodless face looking up at him.

‘I must have the treasure.’ He spoke softly. ‘The treasure.’ He took a breath. ‘That is what I am here for.’

She shivered at the intensity in his voice. ‘You will have the statue if you bargain for her,’ she said. ‘No one here wants her or they could have taken her long ago.’ Thessa leaned forward. ‘She’s rock. Broken and marked with scars. Worthless.’

His smile only tilted at one corner. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. To me she is priceless. She is the coin I need to buy my...world. My world of the sea. I’ll have my dreams if I get her. My brothers will know I am not the infant they remember.’

She turned and knelt at the stone face, trailing her fingertips over the marble, feeling the indentation at the chin, the jagged part of the nose.

He closed the distance between them.

She could feel him every time he stood beside her just as if he touched her, and yet he didn’t.

‘I know you are curious of England,’ he said. ‘I know you wonder what is so good about it that your sister doesn’t leave. That she sends gifts instead of returning.’

‘I am curious of death, too. But I’ve no wish to die.’ And her mother’s grave was on the island. Who would tend it if not her and Bellona, and if they went to England, they would be deserting her as their father did.

‘You must meet Stephanos.’ She put the slightest emphasis on her betrothed’s name and the captain’s eyes flickered in acknowledgement.

‘I would like nothing more,’ he said. Then he looked away and she could hear a smile she could not see. ‘Perhaps I should have said, there are few things I would like more.’

‘You must watch what you say around him.’

He turned so she could see his face again. ‘I suppose. I suppose I should take care, especially if I want the woman.’

Her chest heated when he said woman and even though he looked completely away from her, she could feel him watching.

Chapter Six

Stephanos’s home looked little different than the others he’d seen, two stories with the lower one used as a barn. Chickens pecking and a goat chasing another.

He heard a hammer, and when he scanned the area, saw the bare wood of an unfinished structure that Thessa would some day live in. Windowpanes had not been added.

The new house wasn’t as large as the town house Benjamin owned with his brothers, but in the setting of the gnarled trees and dusty earth it would have a grandness when finished.

‘That is the home Stephanos is building for me. He will be there,’ Thessa said, then lowered her voice. ‘And do not think, because he does not speak your language, that he does not understand. He talks as he wishes. His father supplied goods to the vessels in the harbour, and now Stephanos does the same, and sometimes they sail for what they need. When it is festival time, he tells such tales of what he’s seen and heard, but says no place lives in his heart like Melos.’

A man stepped out of the new doorway, his form lessening the size of the opening by comparison.

He wore a turban head covering, which flowed down to wrap loosely around his neck. His clothing was rough woven and worn to slide with his body. His boots, high to the knees, could have been made by the same man who cobbled Benjamin’s. No waistcoat, just a colourful sash looped twice around his waist. Benjamin instantly noted the handle sticking from the band of fabric. Both men carried their knife in a similar fashion, only Ben’s was in a sheath.

Stephanos took long strides towards Thessa, unhurried, but full of purpose.

The Greek’s eyes stayed on Thessa, but Benjamin had no illusions that the man didn’t see him. Stephanos didn’t stop until he stood close enough to reach out a hand, touching Thessa’s shoulder.

‘Oraios.’ Stephanos’s lips turned up and his eyes rested on Thessa, and lingered.

Benjamin didn’t know what feelings Thessa had for the Greek, but the man’s stance near her reminded him of a rooster preening around a hen. Ben couldn’t blame Stephanos; he was fortunate indeed to be born in Thessa’s world and be the one rooster to catch her eye.

‘I bring this ship captain to you.’ Thessa spoke in English to her betrothed. ‘My sister has sent him back for the things she left behind. She misses our home, but cannot return because she is to have a child.’

Stephanos answered, his words splattering into air. Benjamin didn’t understand more than a few Greek phrases, but he understood the underlying hint of derision. Thessa spoke again. This time her voice soothed in the native language. Calm words. Gentle. Direct.

Then the Grecian turned to Benjamin, his words more fluid than the sea. His tone remained companionable, but his eyes narrowed, and Benjamin knew no friendship was offered.

Benjamin refused to say he didn’t understand, but instead turned to Thessa and flicked his brows upwards.

‘He offers you hospitality, hopes to help you with your needs so you can be on your way quickly,’ Thessa translated, rushing the sentence.

All those words could not have been quite the same neat package Thessa presented him with, but they would do.

‘I too wish to leave soon, though the beauty of the harbour is rare.’ He thought of Thessa’s face. But he didn’t want to lose the cargo waiting in Blackwall and wanted the feeling of owning his own bed, his own world. Staying long on Melos would not do him well.

A hint of redness touched her cheeks. Stephanos said something else and she grimaced, but the frown was the result Stephanos desired because his laugh bellowed out.

White-hot sparks burst into Benjamin’s thoughts. He’d never felt this kind of jealousy. He knew the emotion. On his first voyage, he’d been jealous of the seamen who knew everything there was to know about sailing. He’d been envious when he’d seen a particularly handsome sailing vessel—before Ascalon. But jealousy concerning a woman—an unthinkable emotion for weak minded men.

The stirrings of the unfamiliar feeling hit him in the stomach and anger flared towards Stephanos. The man was a dandy. Granted, not a Brummell version, but all the same, a dandy.

And he had a slashing scar which began above his eyebrow and moved into his hairline. Completely unbecoming and likely from some drink-sodden frivolity gone awry which he turned into a tale of bravery to impress Thessa.

Stephanos waved a hand towards a stone wall, uncompleted, and with stacks of rocks near each side of it, gesturing Benjamin to follow.

Just inside the low wall that would surround the new house, Benjamin saw a rough table, with planked boards for seating. Trees, not big enough for true shade, gave the illusion of coolness.

‘Poto.’ Stephanos raised his hand. His words, while not loud, carried to someone Benjamin couldn’t see until a head darted from the doorway of the smaller house.

Stephanos took Thessa’s hand, leading her, and guided her to a seat.

Thessa spoke to Stephanos in Greek, reproof in her tone. He laughed and his eyes crinkled at the edges. His head leaned towards her and he said a few soft words, and a blush spread on her cheeks.

Then he turned to Benjamin and perused him. Stephanos’s cheeks puffed, probably because of the thin line of his lips.

Thessa spoke again and the man’s eyes met her face, though his attention had never really left her. She gestured, her arm going towards the harbour.

Stephanos shook his head.

Thessa’s eyes narrowed and the speed of her speech increased. Her voice became more intent. While she talked, rapidly, the man placed his fingertips at Thessa’s arm and the fingers tightened.

‘Polyagapimenos.’ He looked into Thessa’s eyes and spoke the word as if they were alone—an endearment.

Benjamin could feel a grinding in his stomach, and a sudden need for movement, but he forced himself to sit silent and appear unconcerned.

Stephanos spoke again, words quiet and effectively shutting Benjamin out of conversation. Even if the words had been shouted Benjamin couldn’t have understood, but Stephanos knew that well. Then he reached out and brushed back a tendril of hair from Thessa’s brow, one wisp so small the invisible lock could not have distressed her. And his hand lingered, then fell away.

Benjamin felt something crack within him and anger began to war with the good sense in his body.

Thessa was going to be married to the man. But the display of possession was not necessary.

Stephanos’s gaze locked on Benjamin’s and he spoke, but the words were more measured, slow drops in a pail, not the rapid spraying to confuse.

Thessa took a moment before translating. ‘He wishes you to spend the night here. He wants you to have his hospitality, though you will soon be leaving. And discuss the transaction of the stone.’

Her eyes didn’t match her words. And Benjamin had heard tales of the area. And not just the myths or the legends of the women, but of men who could fight until the last drop of blood had been drained. Looking into Stephanos’s eyes, he decided the stories he’d heard had not been yarns. Enjoying the Greek’s hospitality would not be healthy or wise. Ben knew he would stay on Ascalon.

Benjamin felt his chest expand with his breath. ‘I need to discuss the purchase, so my men can begin digging.’

Stephanos spoke, his dark eyes never leaving Benjamin’s face. Benjamin had observed more pleasant looks on the faces of men who’d tried to gut him with a blade. He knew, though, that the man wasn’t thinking of violence. Instead, he was fluffing his feathers for Thessa and doing a little blustering dance.

‘He feels a guest should not have to dig and he wishes to see what is so important to you that you would sail so far to collect,’ Thessa translated.

Benjamin put his forearm on the table, aware of the strain to the sleeve fabric of his coat that stretching his muscles could bring. He would wager his feathers were as bright as Stephanos’s.

Benjamin answered Thessa, but his eyes met Stephanos. ‘It is an old stone with a woman’s face and women can be so sentimental. My brother is besotted with Melina, who wants the stone as a memory of her homeland. My brother’s mind is not clear, so he thinks the folly of my retrieving it will endear him to his new wife. A quest of the heart, if you will.’

Benjamin might—might—have thought Stephanos didn’t understand him, but at the mention of the heart quest, Stephanos’s pupils ascended upwards in a quick dart to show his feelings of such a journey.

‘My brother,’ Benjamin continued, ‘near puts rose petals at his wife’s feet. Sings of his love to her standing under her window at night. Composes poetry for her at all hours of the day. It is the way a true man of my country treats his beloved.’

Well, Warrington had married Melina and he surely had time for the Byron-and-flowers nonsense since a man’s eyes didn’t always close when his head hit the pillow.

Thessa watched Benjamin. She opened her mouth to translate. He continued before she could speak.

‘In fact, she has complained of her fingertips being tired of his kisses. It is such a sincere love. Made all the sweeter by the flavour of her culture that Melina brings to the household. Having a mix of the two worlds makes her all the more fascinating. Even I would never have imagined how the English and Greek could blend to bring the best of each to life. A woman with such a history is a rare discovery, a treasure for an Englishman.’ Benjamin’s gaze flicked to Thessa and back to her Stephanos.