Night of a Thousand Stars (26 page)

She turned to Sebastian, and I was relieved to see she looked unnaturally pale. If she was not entirely comfortable with her son’s violence, there was a chance for us yet.

“That was...regrettable,” she said in a broken voice. She paused and gathered up her composure, unlike her son, who was cleaning off his knife with a twist of scrubby grass and whistling a dull tune. “The colonel expected us to share the wealth evenly, and that would not do. I have taken all the risk, and all the reward shall be mine,” she said, her voice a little more resolute.

Sebastian shook his head slowly. “You’re not very good at this, are you? It’s quite apparent that as soon as we help you find the gold, you’re going to let that little brute have his nasty way with us. What possible incentive do we have to help you? And stop with the threats of mutilation, will you? It’s unseemly and not very elegant,” he told her severely.

She smiled a little in spite of herself. “I do not like it this way, you are right. But Armand is correct. We have suffered enough at the hands of others. The war, your war, took everything from us—my husband, our money. This treasure is our one chance to regain what we lost. Nothing will bring my husband back again, nothing will give Armand his father again, but with it I can buy back his patrimony. I can secure his inheritance in France, the inheritance his family have held for four hundred years. I can give him that.”

“But at what cost?” Sebastian asked gently.

“At whatever cost necessary,” she said. I saw regret in her eyes, and I think if it were not for her son, she might have shown us a little mercy then. But Armand was not merciful, and so the
comtesse
could not afford to be.

She drew in a deep breath. “You will help us because for every minute we are moving closer to the treasure, you have another minute of life. And you are a creature of hope, I think, Mr. Fox. You will plot and plan and wait for your chance, the chance that will not come. But you will spend your last hours hoping, and that will be enough for you.”

Sebastian’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “In that case, I am yours to command,
comtesse
. Take us to Sidon and we’ll find your gold for you.”

* * *

And so we turned our backs on the western horizon and Cairo and safety and set our faces to the north, to Sidon and Djoun and the broken-down home where Lady Hester had lived out her days in decaying wealth. That was the lowest point for me, the moment when my spirits began to falter, and I wondered if we would come out of this adventure alive. Until then, even through Hugh’s death, it hadn’t seemed entirely real. Perhaps because I hadn’t been there to see it. But I had seen the others, and I would never forget them. There was an element of game to it all, like a chess match with an unseen opponent, pitting one’s wits against another’s. But there would be no civilized handshake at the end of this, no cordial goodbyes. There would be winners and losers, and the stakes were death.

My hands began to shake, and I looked at Sebastian. His unshaven jaw, dark and unkempt, was lifted high, and his expression was one of thorough boredom. Did he fully understand the depths of our predicament? I wondered. There was a touch of insouciance about him still, a casual coolness that meant he was either blithely hoping for the best, or simply refused to dwell on the unpleasantness awaiting us. I turned away, hotly impatient with his optimism. I would have to find a way out of this. For both of us.

The
comtesse
and her son took us to a little cove just south of Ashkelon where we boarded a private boat under cover of darkness. They had skirted the town, waiting until the local folk were tucked up in their beds before cloaking us in dark, muffling robes and leading us through the stony streets. Armand had made a point of brandishing his knife at us while his mother draped us in our robes.

“I would be only too happy to use this. Do not give me a reason to do so,” he warned.

Sebastian yawned widely, earning him a quick slap from Armand, but I was careful to keep my eyes downcast and give him every appearance of obedience. We approached the little cove with a series of whistles and signals from the
comtesse
to the crew of the small boat. They did not appear to know each other well. The
comtesse
kept her face closely veiled and the captain addressed her only as
sitt
or lady. He and his crew were remarkably lacking in curiosity, scarcely looking at us as we boarded, and I theorised they were no doubt smugglers, such as roam the coast of every sea, trading in any sort of endeavour if it brings them coin. He had probably been born to the trade and owed no allegiance to anything save his own pocket. That meant there was no hope for Sebastian or me to persuade them to our side. The
comtesse
had undoubtedly paid them well for their services, and more importantly, for their silence. After they landed us at Sidon, they would promptly forget about us, and in the meantime, nothing but trumping the
comtesse
’s fee would win us their loyalty. Between us, Sebastian and I had our papers and a few miserable bank notes, but nothing near enough to pay for a crew to turn on the
comtesse
.

In any event, we had no opportunity. We were taken below and promptly locked into a bare cabin without light or food and left there for the duration of the journey.

“Sebastian,” I began.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Just go to sleep. One of the first rules of this game, love. Rest when you can. You don’t ever know when you’ll get another chance.”

I did as he told me, curling myself into as comfortable a position as I could manage. But sleep was elusive, and I could hear the occasional movement that told me Sebastian was wakeful, too.

“I know you don’t want to talk, but I can’t sleep. And all I can think about is that knife of Armand’s,” I told him miserably.

He gave a sigh. “Come here.”

I felt along the floor until my fingers brushed against his boot. Using that as a guide, I pulled myself along until I was beside him. He lifted his arms and lowered them over me, tucking me under his shoulder, resting his chin atop my head.

“What do you suppose happened to Peeky?” I asked.

I felt his chest rumble under my cheek. “We’re for it, and you’re worried about the bloody dog?”

“I hope they left him with the
comtesse
’s maid. She seemed a nice enough girl. I think she would take good care of him,” I said, more to convince myself than anything else.

“I’m sure the dog is fine,” he told me.

I raised my bound hands to poke his chest. “Do you really think we’re for it?”

“It’s not so grim,” he said.

I gave a short, bitter laugh. “It is. We’ve got twelve hours to sail to Sidon and a few hours after that to reach Djoun. And when we do and you can’t find the gold, they’ll kill us.”

“They’ll try,” he said lightly.

I turned, muffling a sob on his chest. “I don’t want to die,” I told him. “There are too many things I haven’t done. Plus, I quite like living.”

“Well, so do I,” he replied. “There, now, stop snivelling. You’re getting my shirt wet and it’s already foul enough as it is.”

I raised my wet face, and somehow—I never understood quite how he managed it—he was kissing me.

After a long, intoxicating moment, he drew back, smacking his lips. “Salty, but delectable,” he murmured.

“Sebastian, be serious,” I told him sharply.

His tone was wounded. “I am serious. Your tears are stinging the cut he left on my lip. But as kisses go, it wasn’t half-bad. I imagine it could be quite good indeed if you applied yourself.”

I opened my mouth to blast him, but he had other ideas, and I discovered Sebastian could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it. I found myself kissing him back, far more enthusiastically than I had ever kissed Gerald, and the results were staggering. I was hot and then cold, shivering and breathless one minute and panting the next.

“Move just a little to the left,” he instructed at one point.

“Do you like that?” I asked huskily.

“No,” he said in a rasping voice. “You were grabbing my bullet wound.”

I started to apologise, but he smothered it with another kiss and I gave myself up to it. There was every chance this was going to be our last night on earth, and if it was, I argued with myself, why not make the most of it?

The fact that our hands were still bound slowed us down, but only a little. Sebastian proved to have boundless ingenuity, and although the corset was immovable, he managed quite nicely in spite of it.

When we had finished, in a tangle of robes and ropes and garments still half-fastened, he collapsed, his head pillowed on my chest. I touched his hair lightly. “Are you quite all right?”

“Mmmm.” He groaned. “Rather. Do apologise for the sleepiness. I expect my sex-tides are just low,” he said with a snicker.

His weight was slack and from the movement of his chest, I could tell he’d fallen asleep. I gave him a good shove, but he didn’t move, and I did not entirely mind. His silky beard brushed my neck, and his warm breath flowed in and out over my skin as he slept. I cradled him and I felt a new tenderness for Sebastian. He had been my partner in this adventure, and while he had been grim and boorish at times when things were going well, our present predicament seemed to bring out the best in him. He was cheerful in the worst possible circumstances, buoying my spirits with his optimism and sunny disposition. And just when I had felt at my lowest ebb, defeated and worn, he had distracted me with warmth and companionship.

And a culmination that would have impressed Marie Stopes herself, if I were honest. If Sebastian were capable of that sort of result with his hands tied together, I shivered to think of what he might accomplish with a proper bed and a bottle of champagne for encouragement. I sighed and stretched a little, feeling a warm surge of well-being and sleepiness. And lulled by the rocking motion of the ship and Sebastian’s steady, even breathing, I felt myself slipping into sleep.

At the last moment, without quite intending to, I poked Sebastian lightly in the shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“Why does Gabriel call you Slightly Soiled?” I whispered.

His voice was thick with sleep. “Because I once hid in a cart of donkey manure to avoid capture,” he told me. “And if you ever repeat that, I’ll deny it. Now go to sleep,” he ordered.

And I did.

* * *

I woke to the rasp of a key in the lock, and I bolted up, horrified to realise Sebastian and I were still in a state of disarray. I barely managed to shove him awake before they came, but not before Armand noticed our clothing and made several crude remarks for his own amusement. The
comtesse
pretended not to hear, but she gave me a sour look that showed precisely what she thought of young ladies who consorted unbecomingly. I didn’t care. No doubt a better woman would have spent the night in prayer and contemplation, but I didn’t have the makings of a martyr. I struggled to my feet and Sebastian did the same, hurriedly straightening our clothes as they shoved us up onto the deck. It was morning, perhaps the last morning of my life, I thought, and I stopped a moment to watch the sun glittering on the sea.

“Are you composing a sonnet?” Armand demanded. “Get off the boat.”

I looked around. “There’s no dock,” I protested. The crew had brought the boat in as near to the shore as they dared, in a small cove like the one they had used near Ashkelon. In the distance I could just make out the profile of the citadel of Sidon, shimmering under the rising sun.

Armand smothered a retort and reached out, sweeping me into his arms and dumping me into the sea. It was frigid and I sank for a moment, flailing wildly as my heavy robes dragged me down. The salt water was like a slap to the face, shocking and numbing, and as I sank, lower and lower, my hands grew heavy with the cold. And then I felt it, the bottom of the sea, as I sat down hard. I shoved my feet under me and stood up to find the water at my waist and Armand laughing uproariously.

He moved to Sebastian who lifted a hand in an obscene gesture and leapt from the boat under his own power. Armand slid carefully over the side, and followed us, leaving his mother to make her own way, carried by one of the crew as delicately as a baby. I struggled along, soaked to the skin and weighed down by my sodden robes, until we reached the sandy shore. The sailor who carried the
comtesse
collected his purse and she stood staring at me in distaste. She hadn’t even got her shoes wet, and I gave her a nasty look as she swept past.

“Come along. I want to reach Lady Hester’s house by midday,” she called.

Sebastian and I walked behind with Armand following us. I watched closely for any opportunity to make a move, but for the first few hours, I was too hampered by my wet clothes to do much of anything. I tried to hold the robes away from my legs, but they wrapped around, clinging with each step, tripping me up so often that the
comtesse
finally gave a sharp sigh and told her son to cut them off.

He leered a little as he hacked at the wet cloth, but it seemed more for form’s sake than anything else. He kept looking to see if Sebastian noticed his hands lingering on my calves, and when he saw Sebastian was studying his fingernails instead, Armand applied himself to the job at hand. He made a mess of it. The beautiful Circassian gown was shredded just below the knee and the undergown cut off a little below that. I wasn’t sad to see it go. The gown had been the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn, but I’d had it on for the better part of a week and I would have cheerfully burnt it myself at that point.

He hacked the extra length of the hanging sleeves as well, and freed from them, I walked more quickly, keeping pace with the
comtesse
as she led the way up into the hills. She skirted the village of Djoun, keeping well away from inquisitive villagers, and winding us around the deserted goat tracks dotted with scrubby bushes. The comtesse knew the area well. We were walking near the edge of the steep path, a sheer wall to one side and a long drop on the other.

“You’ve been here before,” I said conversationally.