Prince Incognito

Excellent. Ears were particularly susceptible to primary-blast injuries. The fact that they’d sustained no damage reduced the likelihood that he’d been hit with enough concussive force to injure his lungs or his brain. She’d heard horror stories of those with blast-force injuries to the brain who’d lost their memories, and developed short tempers as well as ongoing headaches. Only time would tell the extent of the soldier’s injuries, but for the time being, Lillian’s hopes were buoyed by her discovery.

With her attention focused on the soldier, she hardly noticed the progress of their 52-foot vessel as they left the marina and reached the open sea.

“Did you want something to eat, Lily?” Her mother climbed up from the below-deck cabins and handed her a bottle of water.

Surprised, Lily realized the sun had already sunk low on the horizon. “No, thank you. Water’s fine.”

Her mother sat on the bench near the man’s feet. “Your father’s very upset.”

Lily gestured to the soldier as she placed her otoscope back in its case. “He asked me to help.”

“I know. And I’m glad you want to help again. But he’s not an injured animal. He’s a person.”

“Doesn’t that make him even more worthy of my help?”

Her mother sighed.

Lily changed the subject. “Can you help me try to get him out of his suit jacket? There’s blood on his shirt. I just want to make sure it came from his face. I don’t want to miss an injury.”

Her mother agreed, propping up the soldier’s torso while Lily tugged the suit jacket off his arms. She wasn’t sure if it was the humidity or a sizing issue, but the jacket didn’t want to come off. The soldier had been wearing a dark olive dress uniform—maybe he’d been en route to the state dinner. His choice of apparel certainly seemed too formal for an ambush attack. A cluster of medals decorated the garment at the chest, topped by a badge bearing one name. “Lydia.”

When Lillian finally pulled the man’s arms free, Sandra ran her fingers over the name as she folded the jacket neatly. “What do you suppose this means?” She held out the badge for Lily to see.

Lily was already working on the soldier’s shirt buttons, praying silently that he’d be okay. If a shrapnel wound snuck past her, the soldier could bleed out overnight. “Lydia is the name of the country.”

“But the other soldiers we saw in Lydia didn’t have the name of the country on their badge. They had their last names.”

Lily tried to think. If she was honest with herself, she felt uncomfortable checking the soldier’s chest for injuries because he was attractive—wounded or not. “Maybe Lydia is his last name, then.”

“Why would his last name be the same as the name of his country?”

“I don’t know.” Lily focused her attention on inspecting the man in the dying evening light. One thing was for certain—he’d been in fine physical shape before the attack. Lily felt herself blush as she checked his torso for any sign that shrapnel might have penetrated his uniform. Cleaning off the residual blood on his chest, she determined it had soaked through from the outside, no doubt originating from the injuries to his face.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“There wasn’t time to ask.” Lillian reached for the man’s side pants pocket, where a squarish bulge indicated something was stowed. “Maybe he has some ID on him.” She pulled out the contents of his pocket—a wad of unfamiliar bills, secured with a pewter money clip.

“Those aren’t euros,” her mom observed.

“I don’t know what they are.” Lillian flipped through the banknotes, looking for anything that would indicate which country they originated from.

“Why would a Lydian soldier be carrying foreign currency?” Sandra Bardici mused aloud.

Lillian wondered the same thing. Lydia, a small Christian kingdom squeezed along the shoreline between Albania and Greece, traded in euros, the official currency of most of Europe. “It does seem a little odd.” She shook off a shiver.

“Do you suppose he’s working for a foreign nation? He might have been part of the group that staged that attack.”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for him to wake up so we can ask him.” Lily stuffed the money back into the soldier’s pocket. Satisfied that she’d done all she could for him, she watched his chest rise and fall. He seemed to be breathing easier without the restrictive suit. From what she’d observed, she guessed he wasn’t terribly old, maybe mid- to late-twenties, hardly any older than she was. And in spite of the bandage covering half his face, he was handsome, with sandy brown hair in a military cut, and a strong, square jaw.

Her mother had given up her inquiries. “Don’t put his bloody shirt back on him. I’ll get him one of your father’s old T-shirts.” She retreated back into the cabin, and Lily could hear her footsteps carry her below deck.

As she lowered the man from his propped-up position, Lily’s hands grazed something rough on his back. Afraid she might have missed an injury in the fading light, she traced the ridge with her fingers, then propped him up higher to get a better look.

A network of healing scabs crisscrossed his back, as though he’d been beaten or whipped. As Lily surveyed the extent of the damage, her sympathy for the soldier increased even as she wondered what had caused the marks. It reminded her of the horrors of slavery, and yet, even this far from America, she couldn’t imagine the man having been enslaved, not in the twenty-first century.

She thought of the uniform jacket her mother had carried downstairs. The man was a soldier. “Were you a prisoner of war?” She voiced the question in a whisper, not expecting a response.

Settling the man’s torso back gently onto the cushion, Lily let his head rest on her lap for just a second as she held the edge of the boat, preparing to scoot out from under him.

The man moaned and shifted his head.

Lily froze. She’d been thinking that he ought to drink something, but she didn’t want to shove it down his throat and risk drowning him. She figured if he was reviving, however slightly, now was her chance. She grabbed the water bottle her mother had brought her.

* * *

A dark blanket of pain settled heavily across his face. He wanted to push it away, but it felt so heavy, and his mouth was dry. So dry.

“Water?”

The word came from somewhere beyond him, a gentle, feminine voice.

“Can you sit up a little and drink?”

Who was this creature who knew exactly what he longed for? She’d soothed the pain on his face. She had water. He tried to obey her instructions, to lift his head.

He opened his mouth. Couldn’t she just pour it down his throat? He couldn’t see. There was too much darkness, and too much pain. His head throbbed.

“Can you swallow?”

Something touched his lips, and he felt a tiny pool of cool liquid. “More.” He tried to speak, but it came out as a groan.

“Here—slowly.”

He gulped too much, and sputtered. Afraid the woman would remove the water before his thirst was remotely quenched, he felt relieved when the bottle touched his lips again. He focused on each cool swallow that soothed his parched tongue and dry throat.

Then the water was gone, and he moaned, wanting it back.

“You’ve got to have a horrible headache.” Gentle fingers touched his forehead. “Can you swallow a pill? It will help with the pain.”

If the woman with the water could make his headache go away, he would know God had sent her. He tried to answer, to nod—anything—but the blanket was too heavy for him to push past. Gratitude swelled within him as he felt her place something just inside his mouth.

And then more water. Ah, sweet water. He swallowed it greedily until the bottle held no more.

“That’s enough for now. We don’t know if you’ve sustained any internal injuries, and we don’t want to overwhelm them.”

The gentle voice hinted at something. Injuries? That would explain the pain. Who was this gentle woman who eased his pain?

Come to think of it, who was he? Fighting back against the throbbing in his head, he tried to think, but the pain only pounded louder, the blanket of darkness heavier. He tried for a moment to resist it, then gave in to its pressing darkness.

TWO

Lillian left the soldier sleeping on the cushioned bench and headed for the pilothouse, where her father was bound to be sulking at the wheel, resenting her for rescuing the man. After helping her squeeze the soldier into an old T-shirt, her mother had gone belowdecks, where the 52-foot sloop housed three cabins, two bathrooms and the freshly stocked kitchen. Night had fallen, and Lily knew her mother was tired from the events of the day. No doubt she’d gone on to bed.

Padding silently up the steps to the pilothouse, Lily heard her father’s voice and realized he was on the phone. Not wanting to interrupt him, she held back, trying to evaluate how long he might spend on the call.

“Ha! I wish it had been a dolphin. I’d even take a shark. No, this time she rescued a human. What’s that? Yes, you heard right. A person. A soldier, actually. He was injured in all those explosions. Now he’s passed out on deck with some sort of concussion.”

Lily listened intently, hoping to discern how upset her father really was about her new project.

“If he has a name, I haven’t heard what it is. His uniform said Lydia. Yes, right above his medals, like it was his last name.”

Heart thudding hard, Lily wondered if her father might learn something that would help identify the man she’d rescued. She and her parents had sailed to Lydia to visit her uncle David, who was a general in charge of the Lydian Army. If that was who her father was speaking to, he might well know their mystery soldier’s identity.

Her father sucked in a breath. “But, Dave, we’re already twenty miles out to sea, and he’s unconscious. If I throw him overboard, he’ll drown.”

Lily clutched the doorframe and ducked back, suddenly aware that her innocent intentions had turned into serious eavesdropping. Her uncle David wanted the soldier tossed overboard? Surely her father would talk him out of it.

“I understand. Yes, yes, I see your point. I don’t know much about those kinds of injuries myself, but we don’t want him lingering for days just to die on our boat. No, she didn’t have any luck with the horses, and she’s still torn up about that. I suppose it’s better this way.”

What? Was her father actually planning to push the man overboard? He’d die for sure! Lily tried to think. Her father was upset with her for rescuing the soldier in the first place. She’d overreached his favor already, so there would be little use begging him to change his mind. Besides, she’d learned over the course of their visit to Lydia that her father’s older brother had tremendous influence over her dad—far more than she had.

As Michael Bardici went on about the soldier’s injuries, and his fears that the soldier might awaken in a terrible rage and murder them all in their sleep, Lily tiptoed back to the injured man’s side. He’d roused earlier, when he’d taken the pain relievers she’d given him. If those had gone to work, maybe she could wake him up all the way. He’d have to defend himself against her father. She didn’t see any other way out of the situation.

Crouching by his side, she patted his uninjured cheek. “Excuse me, sir? You’ve got to wake up!” He emitted a low moan, but didn’t move. She shook his shoulders. If she could just rouse him, surely the strong soldier would be able to ward off her father, even in his injured state.

“Please—you’ve got to wake up.” She bent close to his ear. “My father wants to toss you overboard. We’re way out into the Mediterranean. There’s nowhere to go if you go overboard. You’ve got to wake up!” She shook him hard, her alarm increasing as she heard footsteps crossing the deck behind her.

“Lillian.” Michael Bardici’s voice was stern. “What are you doing?”

She turned to confront him, not caring if desperation showed on her face. “This man is under my protection.” She wished her voice wouldn’t tremble.

“He’s injured. He probably won’t live more than a couple of days. Your uncle explained to me about these blast injuries. They explode a person from the inside—”

“His ears were fine. That means the impact of the blast wasn’t strong enough to cause internal injuries.”

“Then why won’t he wake up?”

Lily groaned. The man behind her on the bench was rousing. She’d watched his eyelids flutter. Given another minute, he might be able to pull himself from his pain-filled sleep. If she could buy him another minute.

Backing against the bench, she spread her arms wide as though to physically block Michael Bardici from reaching the prone soldier. “He’s recovering. He just needs time.”

“And then what? He’ll awaken in a fit of terror and kill us all.”

“No, he won’t.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know him. Your uncle David recognized the name from his uniform. He was part of the insurgent uprising that caused all that commotion in Sardis. Don’t you see, Lillian? We can’t trust him. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s a human being. If you toss him overboard, he’ll die. That’s called murder, and it’s illegal.” She didn’t bother to mention that it went against the Bible’s teachings. Her father didn’t share her faith, and she’d learned not to try to foist it on him.

“It’s not illegal if it’s done in self-defense.”

“He’s not threatening you.”

“Not now, but if he wakes up and tries something, he could overpower all three of us. Besides, if I don’t do it, David said he’d drop everything and take care of the man himself. You saw the explosions in town. Your uncle has his hands full. He shouldn’t have to come out here and clean up the mess I never should have let you make in the first place.” The words sounded more like something her uncle David would say, and Lily realized her father was likely quoting his older brother. “One little push, Lily. That’s all it will take.” He advanced slowly until he was less than an arm’s length away.

Lily could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the rising helplessness that had overcome her when her father’s horses had begun to die. She would have done anything to save the horses, but there had been nothing she could do.

She wasn’t going to let it happen again, especially not to a human being. “You can’t. You just can’t. We’ll put in at the next port and I’ll leave him off there. I don’t care where it is. Find me a beach somewhere, and I promise I’ll leave him, but you can’t just push him over in the middle of the sea.”

Even as she spoke, begging for her father’s mercy, his expression hardened. He reached past her, getting his hands under the soldier’s shoulders.

“No! You can’t!” She tried to pry his arm away. The soldier groaned and blinked. He was waking up!

But he was too late.

Her father shoved his shoulder between her and the half-conscious soldier, scooping his arm under him, tilting him toward the rail.

“No!” Lily held the soldier’s shoulders, fighting to keep him on the boat.

“Let go.” Michael pulled her hands free and got an arm under the man’s torso, leveraging him up even as the awakening man grasped the air in front of him.

“Don’t do it!” Lily pounced atop the bench, throwing all her weight into the tug-of-war.

Her mother gasped from the direction of the below-deck stairs. “Lily! What are you doing?”

Startled, Lily looked up just as her father caught her by her shoulders, plucking her up and tossing her back toward her mother. She scrambled back, shocked by her father’s behavior. He’d thrown her across the boat! She found her feet as her father got his arms under the soldier and, with one giant heave, tossed him over the side.

“No!” Lily screamed as she leapt across the deck. Kicking off her sneakers, she bounded onto the bench and leapt over the rail, diving into the Mediterranean water. A moment later she rose and looked frantically about. The sea was fairly calm, but they’d been cutting through the water at a good clip, and had no doubt passed the spot where the soldier had gone overboard.

Spotting something white—his T-shirt, perhaps—she kicked her legs out and swam toward it, just as her mother’s screams carried through the air, and a life preserver flew past her head, its rope unfurling behind it.

The rope splashed across her just as her right leg kicked down, catching the cord in a tangle. For one terrified instant, she realized it had twined around her leg. Then the dogged progress of the boat through the water pulled the line taught, dragging her backward with it. She tried to scream, to gulp a breath, anything, but the overwhelming force pulled her through the sea, poring water into her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

She tried to reach the rope to untangle it, but the press of the water was far too great for her to fight against. With sinking terror, she realized there was nothing she could do to free herself. The sun had set and the night was dark. Would her parents even be able to see what had happened? Even if they quickly realized they needed to haul her in, by the time they got the boat stopped, she’d likely be drowned.

* * *

Shock rippled through him as he hit the water, snapping him into the full consciousness that had evaded him as he’d tried to pull himself from sleep moments before. Where was he? What had happened? Acting on instinct, he clawed upward for air, and saw the stars twinkling down from the night sky above.

A scream caught his attention, and he saw a woman throw a life preserver. It fell just short of him, and he cleared the distance to it in a couple of strokes. Grabbing hold, he got his head up enough above the water to see.

There were arms in the water.

No, more than arms, there was a woman. Her leg was caught on the rope to his life preserver, and the moving boat hauled her backward through the water, facedown, helpless.

He recognized her brown hair, her pale pink top. He’d glimpsed her before through pain-dulled eyes. It was the woman who’d given him water and made his pain go away!

Pulling on the rope, he hauled her toward him, and looped one arm under her torso. Gently, he lifted her up and shoved the flotation device under her head. He peeled back the long brown hair and found her face just as she gasped a breath and belched up seawater.

“Can you hold the ring?”

She coughed, but clutched the flotation device with white-knuckled fingers.

“Hold tight.” He knew he had to get her leg untangled, or risk her being pulled back under again. Fighting the current created by the moving boat that tugged them relentlessly forward, he pulled himself along the loose length of rope, caught hold of where it had pulled taught, and held it behind her, creating enough slack to allow him to squeeze it back past her heel, and work her foot free.

He dropped her foot and swam back to her head, balancing himself above the life preserver, level with her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She coughed and looked like she was trying to nod.

He peeled back more of the sodden hair that covered her face. She really was beautiful, even half drowned.

Whoever was running the boat had gotten it slowed down considerably, and voices were yelling something, but he couldn’t make out what.

“Here.” He eased the woman onto his shoulder as he held tight to the rope. “I’m going to pull us up.”

She clung to him, her head slumped against his neck, her rattling breath easing as she tightened her grip on his shoulders. “Stairs,” she said, and coughed again. “Stairs—at the stern.”

He didn’t doubt there were stairs at the back of the boat, but he wasn’t about to let go of the rope to go looking for them. The night was too dark, the sea too vast and the boat was still cutting through the water, though more slowly now.

“I’ve got you. Just hold on tight.” Pulling hand-over-hand up the rope, he moved them closer to the boat, until he kicked the hull with his boots and fairly walked up the side, rappelling against the sailboat.

The woman clutched him tighter as they rose out of the water and the ship tipped slightly from their combined weight.

“Can you climb aboard?” he asked the woman as he got one hand on the rail.

“No. You first,” she whispered. “If I get onboard, he’ll only push you over again.”

Unsure of whom the woman referred to, he nonetheless heaved one shoulder over the rail.

Hands pulled at the woman in his arms, but she held on to him tightly as he rolled them both over the railing and scrambled to standing on the deck.

“Lily.” An older woman reached for the girl he’d rescued, but she shook her head and shoved him toward a doorway that led down stairs to the lit cabins belowdecks. He obediently headed in the direction he was pushed.

“Lillian.” A man stepped in front of them, barring the way.

“He can have my room.” The waterlogged young woman pleaded, her voice trembling. “Let him be. We can leave him at the next port.”

But the man looked angry, and regarded him with a scowl.

Straightening to his full height, he returned the man’s glare. He couldn’t remember who he was, but he was nearly certain he could take the older man if it came to a fight.

The man must have realized it, too, because he stepped aside, his mouth set in a grim line.

She pushed him ahead of her, down the stairs, and guided him into a comfortable-looking full-size berth and en-suite bathroom.

He spotted a waterproof chair and slumped down on it.

“Lily?” The older woman was at the door again. “What are you thinking, letting that man in your room?”

“He’s too big for the guest room. And this way, he’ll have his own private bathroom.” Lily left the door open a crack and addressed her through the gap. “I’m just going to re-dress his bandages. I’ll move to the guest room for tonight.”

“Fine.” The woman shrank away with a resigned sigh, and Lily closed the door.

He caught his breath as Lily approached him, her movements cautious.

“Do you mind if I remove your bandages?”

“Please.” He sat still as she peeled the soaking wet red-stained gauze from his head.

“I need to run upstairs and get the first-aid kit. I’ll be right back. If you feel light-headed, you can lie down.” She disappeared, and returned quickly with a suitcase-size first-aid kit. Perching on the edge of the bed beside his chair, she gingerly dabbed his face with ointment, her touch gentle.

“Your name is Lily?” He repeated the name he’d heard the other woman use.

“Lillian Bardici.”

He tried to think. Bardici. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. But then, he didn’t even know who he was. Everything had happened so quickly, and he had far more questions than answers. “Do you know who I am?”

“No. Don’t you remember?”

He closed his eyes and tried to think, but the throbbing in his head drowned out all his thoughts. “I don’t. The last thing I can recall is being thirsty, and you gave me a drink. How did we end up in the water?”

“My father threw you overboard. I jumped in after you.”

“To rescue me?” He couldn’t imagine that the slender woman would have had much success dragging him aboard if he hadn’t awakened, but at the same time, he felt grateful that she’d tried.

“Yes.” She squeezed more antibacterial ointment from a tube. “To try, anyway.”

“Why did your father throw me over?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” Lillian sighed as her gentle hands eased the salt-sting on his wounds. “My parents and I have been living on this boat for the past month—that’s a long story, too. We sailed from New York to Lydia to visit my father’s older brother, David. He’s a general in the Lydian Army. I don’t like my uncle at all. He’s extremely bossy, and he pushes my dad around. My uncle told my parents that we needed to leave Lydia before the state dinner tonight.”