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  When the order came, he gritted his teeth and pulled hard, strengthened by the resolve to free the wretches languishing in their own filth.

  Amid the grunts of toiling men, the splash of oars, the creak of wood on wood, the eventual flapping of the unfurled sails, it came to him there was something unusual about the voice calling the command to pull.

  As the wind toyed with the mainsail, he turned on the thwart to face the forecastle. An icy hand gripped his gut when he beheld Zara Polani. Her face was in shadow but he felt her gaze on him. Then she turned, lifted her chin and was transformed into a living figurehead etched against the rising sun, proudly guiding her ship into the unpredictable waters of the Adriatic Sea. She was the embodiment of the siren goddess of his dream.

  Guilt and confusion gnawed at him. Had Zara joined the voyage because she suspected he intended to rob her of the ship she obviously loved? If the dream foretold true and she was the one who might save him from his despair, he cursed the fate that had made them enemies.

  Zara relished the glow of the rising sun on her face, but a chill lay across her nape. She gripped the railing, determined to be rid of the wanton sensations rippling through her body as she watched Wolf heave on the oars, the muscles of his broad back tensed beneath the thin shirt.

  She was drawn to a man she didn’t trust. She hadn’t intended to join the voyage, but an insistent inner voice she couldn’t silence forced her to be aboard the Nunziata when the ship sailed.

  She’d been wooed by many handsome men, the majority interested only in the Polani fortune and the power it brought. None had appealed, until now. But Wolf wasn’t a suitor, only an ordinary seaman—except she knew in her heart he was much more.

  She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the salty air she loved, glad of a respite from the stench at the rear of the ship. Four days to Bari and they’d be rid of the slaves and their loathsome keepers.

  Long days afloat with Kon Wolf loomed like a giant rock she’d have to steer clear of—an impossibility. Perhaps she’d cut him loose in Bari. Keeping an eye on his activities without wanting to get to know him threatened to be exhausting.

  She whirled round, sensing a presence though she’d heard no one approach. Such carelessness at sea could prove deadly, especially for a woman. Her heart raced when she set eyes on Kon.

  He effected a courtly bow. “Forgive me, Signora Polani, it was not my intention to startle you.”

  She raked windblown hair off her face, struck again by his manners and educated speech. “I wasn’t startled,” she lied. “And it’s Signorina Polani.”

  She clenched her fists, perplexed she had deemed it necessary to tell him she had no husband.

  His eyes smiled, but his jaw remained clenched. “I request permission to remedy the wretched conditions the slaves are forced to endure.”

  Unreasonable disappointment pricked. He’d come to talk about the slaves. Zara the blushing virgin turned quickly back into Zara the shrewd woman of commerce. “I am aware of their plight, but the Fatimids will not allow any of us near their wretched cargo.”

  He frowned. “But you own this ship. Surely they will obey.”

  She held up a hand to silence him. “I can do nothing. In four days they will be offloaded at Bari and you won’t have to worry on their account any longer.”

  Anger blazed in his blue eyes. Taken aback by the unexpected vehemence in his gaze she gripped the railing behind her. She stopped breathing when he leaned towards her, his mouth inches from hers.

  “I wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, but slavery is a sin against God.”

  He turned on his heel and jumped down the steps into the hull.

  Fury at his mutinous behavior warred with a longing to hear his deep voice whispering of her beauty. The confining tunic was suddenly too tight. No man had ever been foolhardy enough to criticize her. She looked to the stern-castle and wished she had the courage to challenge the Fatimids. But they paid handsomely for space aboard Polani ships and there were many in Venezia who stood ready to steal the business.

  Kon fisted his hands and brought them down hard on the wood of the wale, determined to ignore the mocking voice in his head. But the memory of Zara’s enticing lips refused to leave him.

  You should have kissed her while you had the chance.

  He’d probably alienated her completely and would most likely be told to leave the crew, or thrown overboard for mutiny.

  The inability to hide his feelings concerning slavery had landed him in trouble before, yet he seemed incapable of containing the indignation seething in his throat.

  Now along had come the added complication of Zara Polani and her tempting body. Why did she refuse to acknowledge the atrocity being perpetrated under her nose?

  But he recognised he shouldn’t blame her. She was a woman who’d survived and prospered in a man’s world, and success in trade often depended on turning a blind eye.

  He admired her though he despised what she stood for.

  If he still believed in God, he might think he was being tested.

  “Job von Wolfenberg,” he whispered to the wind, then shook his head at the selfishness of the notion. His trials were paltry compared to the captive child and his compatriots. He simply had to learn to have the patience of Job and not betray his emotions.

  BODYGUARD

  The Nunziata was a well-built vessel, yet a surprising amount of seawater managed to seep through the tarred moss used for caulking under the wooden laths.

  Kon and two others were assigned the job of bailing out the water by means of a bucket passed from one man to the next and dumped overboard. It seemed an easy task until he’d spent over an hour doing it under a blazing hot sun. His hands were blistered and he had a raging thirst.

  “This ship isn’t as sturdy as I thought,” he panted to the other three.

  One beamed a toothless grin. “Isn’t too bad. Most ships are worse. Only two more hours and we get victuals.”

  Two hours!

  Scooping up more seawater, he gritted his teeth. His lot was easy compared to the horrors the slaves must have suffered since being taken from their homeland. At least he was free to come and go as he pleased. He suspected from their language the captives might be from Croatia. It was of some consolation there were no women among them, but the boy couldn’t be more than seven or eight. The likelihood he would be sold into the Mamluk slave armies of Egypt churned his gut.

  He avoided looking over in their direction, afraid he might be tempted to once again cause a ruckus, one he wouldn’t survive. His dagger was no match for the curved scimitars the Fatimids carried on their hips.

  Zara stayed on the forecastle, but had several animated conversations with Lupomari. It was impossible not to hear his name mentioned and it was clear they were arguing over the slaves. Perhaps their plight was of concern to her.

  He worried about the route they were taking. Zara had confirmed they were headed for Bari, which meant they were hugging the Italian coast, far from the islands of Dalmatia. “Where will we drop anchor tonight?” he enquired of his comrade.

  The man licked his lips and swiped the back of a filthy hand across his brow as he scanned the horizon. “Polani ships often stop in the bay at Scardovari.”

  He was none the wiser and simply had to hope Drosik did know the trade routes well enough to intercept them. His people had been pirates in the Adriatic for hundreds of years.

  They were eventually given food. The salted pork filled his belly but aggravated his thirst, hence he guzzled the ale, knowing he’d regret it later. He discovered something in the millet biscuits he hadn’t noticed in the pre-dawn darkness. They teemed with weevils.

  His belly rebelled. He offered his to another deckhand who grabbed it eagerly. “Weevils is the only fresh meat you’ll get,” his comrade jested.

  For the afternoon watch he was assigned to various tasks from learning how to repair ropes, to keeping an eye out for tears in the sail, to scrubbing the plankin
g with holystones. As they worked their way from stem to stern, he fervently hoped he wouldn’t be required to scour the area occupied by the slaves. The Fatimids brandished swords when they got too close, urging them away.

  Daylight was waning when Lupomari guided the flat-bottomed Nunziata into the shelter of what Kon assumed was Scardovari Bay. To his surprise the captain pulled him away from the scrubbing gang. “You’ve worked hard this day,” he said gruffly. “I’m assigning you to Signorina Polani’s bodyguard. You’re not to let her out of your sight while she is ashore.”

  While it was preferable to smoothing splinters out of wood with stones, he wondered how Signorina Polani felt about Lupomari choosing him. He looked up at the forecastle. The slight inclination of Zara’s head and the trace of a smile indicated that the captain perhaps hadn’t been the one to choose him.

  It was folly to appoint a stranger she was attracted to as one of her guards, but Zara reasoned it was the best way to keep an eye on him.

  She’d watched him as the afternoon progressed. No matter what he was doing his attention was never off the slaves for long.

  He’d smiled broadly when the child fell asleep in the arms of a man she assumed was his father. The depth of his caring for these unfortunates touched her heart, but it was troubling. He seemed to be obsessed with their plight and she hoped he didn’t intend to do anything rash.

  Fate had dealt the captives a cruel blow, but if it was God’s will…

  She shook her head, unwilling to accept such inhumanity as part of God’s design. The sleeping child should be playing in a field full of flowers somewhere. His mother must be frantic at his loss. She’d never given much thought to motherhood, nor to the devastating effects the kidnapping of breadwinners and children must have on the women left behind.

  Preoccupied, she watched the sun slowly sinking and again failed to hear Wolf’s approach. She was startled when he spoke.

  “I’m to be your escort.”

  A ludicrous image sprang up behind her eyes—she and Konrad Wolf parading arm in arm into the Doge’s palace, dressed in fine raiment, the envy of all.

  She lifted her chin, cursing herself for a fool. “Lead on then, Wolf.”

  Smiling, he offered his hand and led her down the steps of the forecastle, then helped her over the side into the shallows.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing to an area of the cove she knew would provide protection from the elements.

  She was glad of the strength of Wolf’s hand as they made their way across the pebbled beach. His solicitous behavior confirmed her belief he was no ordinary seaman. She perched on a rock, intending to ease off her wet boots as two of the crew brought kindling and lit a fire. “Where are you from?”

  Wolf toed off his boots. The breath hitched in her throat when he hunkered down in front of her, and helped pull off the reluctant boots while he watched the flames cling to life in the light breeze. It was the most intimate thing any man had ever done for her, yet he seemed to expect nothing in return.

  “I told you. Saxony.”

  “You are no sailor,” she replied as he set her boots to dry.

  Even in the twilight his eyes betrayed a wistful longing. “Wolfenberg is far from the sea.” But then he clenched his jaw and watched her wiggle her toes in front of the fledgling fire. He was the first man to see her bare feet—a daunting and exhilarating notion.

  She feared she might be pushing him to reveal more than he wanted to. “You’re Wolf from Wolfenberg?”

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered, gazing into the flames once more.

  “We have the whole night.”

  She instantly regretted the suggestive words.

  He glanced at her toes again but made no remark, confirming her suspicion he was a gentleman.

  Suddenly he got to his feet and picked up several pebbles. “Can you skim stones?” he asked.

  IMPERFECTIONS

  A cherished memory of her beloved father warmed Zara’s heart. “I was good at skimming when I was a child.”

  He grinned, walking gingerly across the pebbles barefoot. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  Never one to back down from a dare, Zara laughed. “Perhaps it is, but you’ll have to carry me to the sand.”

  Her sister would be appalled at her behavior, but Ottavia was in Venezia, whereas she was on a beach watching the moon rise with an intriguing man who was both serious and playful. What harm in giving rein to feelings suppressed for too long for the sake of the family business?

  Wolf looked back at her bare feet. “Ah, of course. A gentleman would have realized.” He threw his cache of stones to the sand then scooped her into his embrace and cradled her against his chest. She slid her arms around his neck and giggled when he exaggerated the discomfort of walking on pebbles to the sand. When was the last time she’d giggled like a girl?

  She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the warm zephyr. Surrendering to his strength was a momentous step, yet she felt freer than she had in years. When he set her on her feet and moved away to gather up stones she wanted to wail like a spoiled child.

  Perplexed as to what had become of Zara the ruthless, independent woman of business, she embarked on the search for her own arsenal.

  “The secret is in the shape,” he shouted.

  “Thin and light,” she agreed, recalling her father’s advice.

  He returned to her side, brows arched. “I’m impressed. My record is seven skips, what’s yours?”

  “Six,” she lied, having once achieved eight, much to her father’s delight.

  He drew back his arm, ready to throw. “My sister, Sophia, can do eight. It’s astonishing.”

  His words irked her. “Why? Because she’s a woman?”

  He shrugged. “No. Because she’s my sister, and brothers don’t like to be bested by sisters, especially younger ones.”

  She laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t know, I have no…”

  Then she sobered, mortified by what she’d almost blurted out. Bruno might be an imbecile but he was her flesh and blood.

  Wolf’s stone skipped five times before sinking. He wrinkled his nose in an endearing way she’d noticed before. Somehow it was safe to reveal the truth to him. “I have an older brother, Bruno, but he is…he cannot…”

  He came to stand facing her, opened his hands to reveal the stones in his palms. “Each one of these is perfect in its own way, but some are skimmers and others are not. It doesn’t mean they are good for nothing. Some are simply pleasing to look at.” He poked one with pits marring its surface. “You might be of the opinion this ugly thing won’t work well, but I’ll wager it will fly the farthest over the water precisely because of the imperfections.”

  He turned to the water, bent his knees, leaned back and threw the pitted stone.

  He counted the skips out loud, the rising excitement in his voice infectious. She laughed with joy for him when he thrust his hands in the air and strutted like a rooster after it splashed eight times. “Ja! A new standard for Konrad von Wolfenberg.”

  She was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. His sudden frown betrayed his regret at the disclosure of his true name, but the nobility in his simple words had freed her from a lifetime of confusion regarding Bruno. “You are right. I haven’t appreciated my brother’s strengths. He is still a child in many ways, innocent and trusting.”

  He came to her and brushed a calloused thumb across the tear trickling down her cheek. “If only everyone was that way.”

  “I haven’t trusted anyone for a long time,” she admitted, drawn into the depths of his blue eyes, “but I have faith in you.”

  The warm breeze turned chilly when he averted his gaze. “You know nothing about me, Zara.”

  She trusted him! The lying scoundrel who intended to rob her of all she held dear. He had an urge to fall at her feet and beg forgiveness for his duplicity.

  But his regret wasn’t solely that he was no longer his father’s son. He was plotting to rain de
vastation on a woman he was drawn to in a way he’d never experienced. He admired her spirit, the things she’d achieved, and he craved her body, despite his resolve to control his male urges.

  And he’d once aspired to a life of celibacy!

  She had wandered off and was throwing stones into the water, but in a half-hearted way. He regretted he’d disappointed her, failed to respond to the trust she’d admitted to placing in him. He sensed she wasn’t a woman who confided in others. Perhaps if he told her a little of himself…

  He growled out the painful truth. “I was supposed to become a priest.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the water. “Most younger sons end up taking the path of religion.”

  “No. I wanted to be ordained. I had a true vocation.”

  She glanced at him. “You would have made a good priest. You care deeply about people.”

  He snorted. “Problem is, I no longer believe in God.”

  Such an admission would result in his arrest in many places, and he marveled he had told her the truth. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders, but when he betrayed her she would question his sincerity. He was relieved when Lupomari arrived in the clearing, accompanied by the cook, both carrying food that smelled temptingly like…

  “The men have netted a bounty,” the captain cried. “Sardines!”

  FLOODGATE

  Lupomari brought good news as well as sustenance. “I persuaded the Fatimids to allow the slaves to bathe in the sea, but not before they forced them to clean up the filth.”

  Zara hoped the tidings would bring a smile to Kon’s face, but he merely grunted as he perched on a rock and ate his meal.

  She finished her portion of the roasted fish, babbling about how much she loved sardines. She couldn’t get her thoughts off Kon’s assertion he had lost his faith.