Perhaps . . . “Oof!” The carriage slammed to a stop and a moment later she was hauled out and tossed over one of the men’s shoulders again. The smell was worse outside the carriage, but now she fought for every breath as she bounced unmercifully on the man’s shoulders. She registered voices nearby and plates clanking together. A tavern? Perhaps if she screamed, someone would—
The hand of the man carrying her tightened on her thigh. Lucia yelped.
“If you scream, mademoiselle, no one will come, and you will only anger De´charne´,” he said in accented English. “Do you want to anger De´charne´?”
Lucia could only suppose the correct answer was that she did not. The man’s footsteps echoed hollowly; with a sinking feeling, she realized they were now on a ship. The man carrying her wound his way around the vessel, making her dizzy until he descended below deck. There were more twists and turns, a door was unlocked, and she was dropped on a cold floor, her hood yanked off. Lucia blinked and squinted.
Two men stood before her, their silhouettes accented by the light from the open door behind them. From her position on the floor, all she saw clearly were their thick black boots in front her face.
“Sit up,” one of them ordered in French.
Lucia staggered to her knees, and the man grabbed her face between his greasy hands. He leaned down, his lips inches from hers. His foul breath nauseated her. “She’s a pretty one, all right. I say we take her above deck and pass her around a bit.”
A cold stab of fear sliced through her. Lucia clenched the muscles of her stomach as the bile rose in her throat.
“Can’t,” the other man answered. “De´charne´ says we can’t touch her yet. She better be worth the wait.” Lucia tried to pull back, to escape the man’s grimy grip, but he pinched her chin more tightly, laughing. His breath almost gagged her. “Don’t worry, pretty one. You won’t escape me long.”
He shoved her back onto the floor, and both men stomped out of the cabin, laughing. At the sudden jolt, the nerves in Lucia’s numb arms woke and howled in protest. Tears came to her eyes as she struggled to sit again.
Then the door closed behind the thugs, and she was alone. In complete darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
The darkness closed in on her, and thoughts of pain subsided as new fears emerged. Where was Alex? Had they killed him, or was he in his own dark hole with rats, insects, or worse? She looked around wildly, unable to see even her hand before her face.
What if rats attacked her? What if the ship sank? What if De´charne´ forgot her? Would she starve to death? It was all too easy to imagine herself dying slowly. Painfully. Alone.
Oh, Lord! What if De´charne´ didn’t forget her? What if those men came back? Lucia dug her fingers into her palm and forced herself to be practical.
She wasn’t in a hole. She was on a ship in some sort of storage area. A moment later, the door opened again, and she jumped in surprise and fear.
Please, God, don’t let them touch me. Then she cried with relief when Alex was shoved inside, and the door closed and locked behind him.
“Alex, thank God!” She scooted toward him.
“Lucia?” His voice was low and muffled by his hood. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” She could hear the tightness in his voice, the concern. Dear man. She would never call him a horrid cretin again.
“I’m fine. Oh, Alex, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Where is here, exactly?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re in some sort of storage cabin, but I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black.”
“Lucia.” They were both bound, and he couldn’t reach for her, but the tone of his voice was almost as good as a caress. “Can you take my hood off?”
“No, my hands are still tied.” She leaned into him, comforted by the feel of him. He pressed into her, too, and they squeezed together for a long moment. Finally he said, “I’m going to work my way behind you, then I’ll lie down and put my head in your hands, and you can pull the hood off.”
A moment later, they were braced against each other, back to back. His bound hands grasped hers, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly, then maneuvered until his head was in her hands. She pulled clumsily at the hood, her fingers still numb from the tight bindings, but finally she felt it come free. She heard Alex take a deep breath, and he leaned against her again.
“Is there any light after your eyes adjust?”
“No.”
He was quiet.
“Where are they—”
“Shh,” he said. “We’ll talk about that later. Try and get out of your bindings.”
