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  The captain had proven his worth time and again. In normal circumstances she enjoyed discussing the voyage, the ship, the crew, the weather; but this night she willed him to leave, filled with a compulsion to challenge Kon.

  Lupomari picked at his food nervously as if he sensed her reluctance to respond to any of his efforts to begin a conversation. He finished his sardines and stiffly declared his intention to ensure the night watch was in position.

  There were many things she wanted to say, but once her captain had left she didn’t know where to begin. A dreadful premonition that whatever she said would change both their lives seemed to have rendered her mute. As a faithful adherent of the Church, she should condemn him, but she was unaware of the reasons for the dire change in his beliefs. If she pried too hard…

  After long minutes he got up, collected the discarded fish-heads and tails and threw them into the flames. “Rats,” he muttered.

  She murmured her understanding.

  He walked across the pebbles to the water and knelt to wash his hands in the rippling waves. He wiped them on his shirt then retrieved her boots and brought them to her. “Should be dry by now. Better not to sleep barefoot.”

  She obeyed as he dropped more wood on the fire then sat to put on his own boots.

  Hoping her judgement hadn’t failed, she got up and went to sit beside him. He moved over slightly and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. She pressed her hip against him, taking courage from his solid strength. She inhaled deeply then put her hand on his broad back. It was the most daring contact she’d ever initiated with a man and the heat of his body flooded her veins. As longing spiralled into her womb, she prayed desperately that her words wouldn’t alienate him. “I am an excellent judge of character, Konrad von Wolfenberg. You are a good man. You may have turned your back on God, but He hasn’t abandoned you.”

  He tossed a tiny sliver of driftwood into the flames. “If only it were true,” he whispered.

  As if he needed more proof of his worthlessness, Kon’s rute was insisting forcefully he should simply have his way with the woman pressed against him. Her warmth, the scent of the sea that clung to her, the gentle caress of her hand rubbing his back, all conspired to fill him with longing. He was about to rob her of her ship, why not her maidenhead?

  But such a travesty would entail the loss of his own virginity and the prospect held him back. He raked his windblown hair off his face and sat up straight. “I am a miserable sinner.”

  To his surprise, she chuckled. “How can you believe in sin if you don’t believe in God?”

  He was still searching for the answer when she meshed her fingers with his. “Tell me your story.”

  He looked into her emerald eyes and let the floodgate burst open.

  He told her first of his part in the invasion of Italy by the imperial army.

  “You were forced to be a soldier when you wanted to be a priest,” she said softly, never letting go of his hand.

  “Yes, but I was honored to do my duty, to represent my family and fight for my Emperor.”

  He told of the battle for Salerno, and the surrender of Termoli, then eventually of his outrage at the slave market after the army occupied Bari, and of his attempt to free the young girl.

  “It was noble of you.”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps, but I lusted for her body.”

  After a long silence, she asked, “Was she the first female you’d seen naked?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Yes, and I wanted her despite her degradation.”

  “You were young. Her beauty moved you.”

  He snorted. “In more ways than one, but I paid for my foolishness with a beating. She paid too, despite having done nothing. The only thing I achieved was more pain. The slavers branded her.”

  His gut churned at the hideous memory. Zara’s fingers had turned white in his grip. “Duke Heinrich disciplined me in front of my men for causing a disturbance in the market when my responsibility was to keep the peace.”

  She startled. “Heinrich of Bavaria was your commander?”

  “Ja. He’s probably been elected Holy Roman Emperor by now. Lothair handed over the regalia to him before he died during our retreat from Italy.”

  She shook her head. “Heinrich is dead.”

  He must have misheard. “What?”

  “It’s believed the Electors deemed him too proud to be emperor. The man they did elect, Conrad Staufen, stripped him of both his duchies. He was in the midst of fighting to get Bavaria back when he died unexpectedly.”

  Guilt surged. He wasn’t sorry a man he hated was dead. “He was known as Henry the Proud, but how do you know this?”

  “Venezia is the crossroads of the world. Not much happens we don’t hear news of.”

  Something she had said echoed. “Conrad Staufen is the Emperor?”

  “Yes.”

  Memories surfaced of his father’s diplomatic dealings with the Staufens. “I don’t know if my father is still alive,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “He may have died while I’ve been away, no doubt bitterly disappointed in me.”

  “Where have you been that you’re not aware of these events?”

  “Wandering,” he replied. “Trying to find…something, though I’m not sure what it is. After the avalanche in the Pale Mountains…”

  “Avalanche?”

  He told her of his head injury from the rockfall and the growing feeling of worthlessness on the long journey home.

  She put her arm around him.

  He inhaled deeply. “And then my mother died.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “When I lost my mother I cried for sennights,” she confided.

  The swell of her breast against his back gave him courage to tell the worst part. “I loved my mother dearly, but I’ve never shed a tear over her death.”

  Zara sensed she was sitting next to a volcano on the verge of erupting. Kon trembled as whatever demons he held inside seethed to get out. It was humbling he’d shared a great deal with her, but his inability to cry over his mother’s death had to be addressed. Perhaps he came from a stoic family who didn’t let emotions show. “Did your brothers weep at your mother’s funeral?”

  “Buckets. Even Johann who is actually my half-brother, my father’s son by a first marriage. He’s probably Count von Wolfenberg by now.”

  Her suspicions had been correct. “Your father is a count? I sensed you were of noble blood.”

  He shook his head as he turned to look at her, his blue eyes full of pain. “I am so noble, my head is full of the notion of kissing you.”

  The certainty she was gazing into the eyes of her destiny sprang to life deep inside Zara’s core and blossomed like an exotic flower inside her body. She wanted his kiss, longed for his touch. “There is nothing ignoble in that.”

  She trembled when he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face. His lips brushed hers and the spark of desire ignited a fire within. She held her breath and traced her tongue over his lips, savoring the salt and something unique she’d never tasted before. The taste of a man. Her heart careened around her ribcage when he growled and deepened the kiss. It seemed natural to open her mouth to his coaxing tongue and suckle him.

  He breathed his need into her, taking everything she gave, but giving of himself in return as he held her tightly in his strong arms. His lips were on her neck, one hand cupping her breast, his thumb brushing the nipple as he embraced her. It was wrong but very right at the same time. She had never allowed a man close, yet wasn’t afraid. She lay her palm on his warm neck and let the astounding sensations of physical need take hold of her body, surprised to realize she was the one making the strange mewling sound.

  He broke them apart and rested his forehead against hers. “I want more than a kiss,” he rasped, taking hold of her hand.

  Panic surged when he pressed her fingers to his hard maleness. She tried to withdraw, but he held firm. She wanted to join with him, but not on a beach, wit
h her crew…

  Suddenly, pebbles crunched as he fell to his knees and took hold of both her hands. “I have frightened you, and such wasn’t my intent. You had to see how much I want you.”

  “I want you too,” she murmured. “But…”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Hush. I have a confession to make.”

  CONFESSIONS

  Feeling the bite of the pebbles beneath his knees, Kon cursed himself for a fool. As usual, he was his own worst enemy. Having tasted Zara, filled his hand with her breast and felt her response to his touch, he recognized he could never endanger her life nor steal anything she held dear. Revealing the truth would likely toll the death knell for any relationship between them, but…

  The flames of the dying fire flickered in her jewelled eyes and he resolved to hold her gaze while he bared his soul. “You should not put your trust in me, Zara. I am a pirate.”

  She tried to pull her hands away but he held fast. “I was sent as a spy by Drosik, the captain I was arguing with on the dock. It was a ruse to get me aboard your ship.”

  She stared, her lips pressed together in a tight line, her shoulders rigid. “You are nothing but a thief, then? A man who lies about being of noble birth? Will you rob me of my innocence as well?”

  He shook his head. “My purpose in joining forces with Drosik was solely to rescue the captives.”

  Her mocking laughter took him by surprise. He eased his hold and she struggled to stand. “You are a fool to believe a man like Drosik would go along with such a plan. If you deliver my ship to him he will take everything, including the slaves.”

  He got to his feet. “But he has given me his word.”

  She braced her legs, fisted her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. Her defiant stance emphasized the splendor of her breasts and only increased his need of her. “The word of a pirate?” she spat.

  It hit him like a bolt of lightning. She was probably right. He’d been naive to trust Drosik. “I swear to you, I no longer intend to fulfill my part of the bargain with him.”

  “And why should I believe you?” she taunted.

  He replied without hesitation. “Because I am drawn to you.”

  She glared at him with such vehemence that for a moment he feared she would call for the captain and have him clamped in irons, but then she slumped onto the rock where they had kissed and whispered, “And I to you.”

  Zara didn’t want to need Kon’s comforting embrace, yet when he sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, she sobbed against his chest. “You must be a priest,” she lamented with a hiccup, “why else would I confess such a thing?”

  “I have caused you pain,” he murmured into her hair, “and I am heartily sorry. I will do everything in my power to protect you and your ship, but we must free the slaves.”

  She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed. “It’s impossible. I understand your feelings regarding slavery. I’ve never been comfortable with the practice and I will undertake not to carry human cargo on Polani ships in the future. However, the Fatimids will kill you if you try to free these men.”

  He made no reply. His silence worried her as they clung together. She listened to the steady thud of his heart and wondered what he was thinking.

  “You are tired,” he said at last. “Let me wrap you in your blankets and bid you goodnight.”

  She let him lead her to the shelter of the rock where she’d slept on previous voyages, a safe haven discovered by her father. He tucked the blankets around her and pecked a kiss on her nose.

  “Will you lie with me?” she whispered, sifting her fingers through his soft hair.

  He shook his head. “You are too tempting. I will keep watch.”

  Her emotions in knots, she watched him walk away until the darkness swallowed him up.

  FOG

  Lupomari emerged from the mist the following morning, carrying what looked like chunks of real bread. Kon’s belly growled.

  “All’s well?” the captain enquired.

  Propped against a large rock a few yards away from where Zara lay, he had watched her sleep fitfully, regretting he was the reason for her disquiet. “All’s well,” he replied, getting to his feet.

  However, all wasn’t well in his heart. He’d spent the night plotting scheme after scheme to free the captives without endangering Zara and the rest of the crew. She was right, it was impossible.

  “Thick fog out on the water this morning,” Lupomari told him. “I don’t like it, but the lookouts haven’t heard anything untoward.”

  Kon looked out at the impenetrable white blanket, hearing only the waves lapping at the rocks and the distant call of seagulls. “Will it clear?”

  The captain shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You’d best go claim your rations before everything is devoured.”

  It was understandable Lupomari considered him no better than a simple seaman but he was disappointed nevertheless not to be breaking bread with Zara. He wanted to assure her once again of his determination to thwart Drosik.

  He waded into the shallows and climbed aboard. It was eerily quiet, the enveloping mist muffling every spoken word, every footfall. There was no creak of wood on wood as the cog sat motionless in the still air.

  “Bad luck,” a ship-mate growled.

  Kon surveyed what was left of the rations and decided to forego the scraps of millet biscuits, hoping his belly would survive on the memory of the sardines from the previous night. He grabbed the last tankard of watered ale. “What is?” he asked in an effort to take his mind off his hunger.

  The man pointed to the wall of white. “Creatures lurk out in the deeps, and how’s a ship to avoid them if we can’t see?”

  Kon was slightly amused as he sipped the ale, though the man seemed genuinely agitated. “Creatures?”

  “Servants of Satan, with arms longer than the mast of this cog and tentacles that can pluck a man right off a ship and drag him to his death.”

  Anxious to be sure Zara got aboard safely, Kon was relieved when she and Lupomari appeared on the forecastle.

  Apparently, the captain had overheard. “No more superstitious nonsense,” he shouted. “Prepare to weigh anchor.”

  The man scowled, then slunk off.

  Kon was taking up an oar when Zara summoned him. He stood at the foot of the steps to the forecastle and looked up, desperate to erase the lines of worry marring her beauty.

  “Wolf,” she said without smiling. “It will be slow going this morning, a good opportunity to learn how the rudder is controlled. Go watch the steersman on the stern-castle.”

  He obeyed, his thoughts confused. Did she suspect his original intention to sabotage the rudder? It was doubtful, otherwise why send him there? Mayhap she wanted to spare him the prospect of more blisters on his already blighted hands. Nevertheless, he tasted the guilt tightening his throat.

  On the stern-castle he’d have a better chance of watching for an opportunity to help the captives, if the mist ever cleared. It was a forlorn hope the Fatimids would drop their guard, and what if they did? He’d have to kill them and the chances of killing three…

  He mounted the steps, relieved the stench from below wasn’t as bad as before. No doubt it would worsen as the day progressed.

  He saluted the steersman known only as Rospo. With a triple chin, warted skin, huge eyes, toothless grin and short bandy legs, the man looked, moved and smelled like the pond creature he was named for. “I’m to learn from you,” he said.

  “Right,” Rospo croaked.

  Suspecting he’d get no more out of the fellow, Kon braced his legs, keeping a close eye on his mentor as the call came to pull at the oars and the cog lurched out of the bay, propelled by the oarsmen.

  The captain and Zara were distant, blurred figures on the forecastle. Lupomari shouted commands as they made their way slowly to the open sea. Rospo echoed the orders and swung the tiller accordingly. He apparently had confidence in Lupomari, but a quarter hour seemed like an eternity. Kon feared t
hey’d run aground at any moment on the rocky shore. “I suppose the captain knows these waters well,” he remarked when his nervous heart stopped racing.

  Rospo shrugged. “Your turn.”

  Kon stepped up to the tiller, though his legs had turned to mush, and took hold, grateful Rospo didn’t let go altogether. He gained confidence slowly as steorbord, and larbord became familiar terms. It was relatively simple. It also became alarmingly apparent how easy it would be to disable the rudder by damaging the tiller.

  Weary of peering into the white fog, Zara looked back at the stern-castle, barely able to make out Kon and Rospo at the tiller. She had prayed long and hard as the night wore on and hoped she had chosen the right path in entrusting him with the important task of steering.

  He’d sworn his loyalty to her and an inner voice whispered she had to trust him.

  Nevertheless, there was no harm in ascertaining his progress from Rospo, though in five years she’d never been able to elicit more than one word responses from the gruff fellow.

  Pulling tight the thong binding back her hair, she picked her way carefully past the rowing thwarts, elated to feel an unexpected breath of wind on her face. Lupomari shouted for the sail to be hoisted. Men eagerly began the task, voices raised as they pulled together, seemingly equally relieved that perhaps the worst was over. Her captain was skilled, but fog had sounded the death knell for more than one Venetian ship.

  She mounted the steps to the stern-castle, delighted to see a broad smile on Kon’s face. “You seem to be enjoying your new responsibility,” she teased.

  “As long as Rospo here keeps his hand on the tiller alongside mine, I’ll be fine,” he replied.

  She arched a brow when Rospo grunted, apparently pleased with Kon’s progress. She’d always loved the sea. In some inexplicable way, sharing the voyage with a man she was increasingly drawn to made it more pleasurable. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the weak sun. “The fog might lift soon. Smooth sailing from here on.”