deck, the sudden tension that had gripped him eased. But not by much.
Striding down the deck, he swung open the slatted door of the companionway, and brusquely gestured the women down.
Emily glanced at him but went. Even through the mask of the burka, he felt her disapproving gaze.
But eventually, of their party there was only him, Mooktu, and Bister left on deck, with the captain calling orders to cast off.
The lift and roll of the Red Sea under the deck was comforting. Reassuring. From the stern, Gareth watched Mocha recede.
Saw the cultists gather on the dock, saw them point-at the schooner.
They’d got away without the battle he’d feared. No one placed that many watchers in such a small town without some definite intent, some plan of engagement.
They’d slipped away, but someone had been clever enough to put two and two together-to add up the respective members of their parties. Six men, three women. Given the cultists standing on the dock and pointing, he felt reasonably sure their schooner had been the only one to put out that day with such a complement of passengers.
They’d escaped before they’d been challenged, but they’d been noted.
The Black Cobra’s minions knew where they were.
Once again she joined him as dawn lit the sky.
The deck of the schooner was empty of all others except for the night watchman yawning by the helm. Coming to stand beside him at the railing in the bow, she shook back the tendrils of hair that had come loose and, eyes closed, lifted her face to the morning breeze.
Gareth seized the moment to study her face. Not intentionally. He simply couldn’t help it. Couldn’t tear his gaze from the gentle curves, the delicate features.
He sensed the morning zephyr flow across her fine skin-nature’s kiss, one he longed to mimic. The thought of his lips cruising the rose-tinted curves, dipping into the shadowed hollows…
Silently clearing his throat, he straightened, refixed his gaze on the waves ahead. Closed one hand about the upper railing and gripped hard. He wished she’d worn her burka…but then he wouldn’t have been able to see her face. Still…
“There’s a surprising number of ships around-I didn’t think there would be so many.”
He glanced at her. “There’s a lot of trade done up and down the Red Sea. Goods brought from lower Africa and India-even China-destined for the markets of Cairo and beyond.”
She wrinkled her nose, eyes on a junk tacking on a parallel course some hundred yards away. “I suppose, in that case, we should wear our burkas, even on deck.” She looked at him inquiringly.
“I was about to suggest it,” he admitted. “However, I imagine it must get quite warm under them. At least these”-he gestured to his new robes-“are cooler than our ordinary clothes.”
She nodded. “That’s the problem-the burkas go on top of everything else.” She paused, then went on, “Perhaps if instead we restrict our walks to either after dark or when we can see there are no other ships close enough to make us out, it will serve as well.”
He nodded. “Most likely. By any reasonable estimation, it will take the cultists a day or two to catch us up.” He met her gaze. “They spotted us as we pulled out of Mocha.”
She grimaced. “They will come after us, won’t they?”
“I fear so.”
Silence of a sort enveloped them, punctuated by the slap of waves, the creak of the sails, and the lonely cry of a gull. It should have felt awkward, but instead was companionable-a shared moment.
Glancing at her face, at her serene expression, he knew she felt that enveloping comfort, too. It was natural, he told himself, that he and she would gravitate together like this. For each, the other was the only member of their social class aboard, natural to turn to for…company.
Companionship.
That’s all this was.
“You-and the other three-you’re doing this in memory of Captain MacFarlane, aren’t you?”
The question caught him off guard. “Yes.” The sudden surge of emotion, the memory of James, shook him. He drew in a breath, shifted…but then tightened his grip on the rail and went on, “It’s our mission, and so of course we’re determined to see it through-we would have done the same if James had lived, and with equal resolve. But…” For the first time he truly looked, and saw. “You’re right-each of us is doing this in part to avenge him.”
He felt her gaze on his face, sensed her approval before she looked away. “I’m glad. Given Captain MacFarlane died while escorting me, I feel I have an interest in avenging him, too.”
Her comment, however, again raised the niggling question of whether-strange though it seemed-she’d changed her plans to follow him. But why him, and not Del, or one of the other two?
The question made him uncomfortable, and how on earth could he phrase it without sounding entirely too full of himself?
“So.” She turned to face him, leaning back against the rail. “What do you plan to do once this is all over and you’re back in England?”
He stared down at her. “I haven’t really thought.” He hadn’t, not at all. His mental slate should have been blank, but to his considerable surprise his mind was thinking now, supplying all manner of desirable images…all of which involved her. He blinked, turned aside. “I should check the decks. I’m supposed to be on picket duty.”
A frown showed more in her eyes than her expression. “But you would hear any other vessel draw close.”
“They might swim. I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“Very well-I’ll walk with you.”
“No!” That was the last thing he needed. It wasn’t just his mind that was reacting to her nearness. He scrambled to find a cause for his vehemence. “The light’s strengthening, and you’re not in disguise. And”-he pointed to the group of slower ships they were steadily coming up on-“we’ll soon be close to those ships. No telling how far ahead of us the cultists have reached.”
She stared-all but glared-at the ships ahead. Then her lips firmed, one step away from a petulant pout.
His errant mind suggested he kiss the expression from her lips…
“Oh, very well.”
She turned to the companionway, but bent a sharp glance his way. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
