His gaze fell on the twelve-sided dice resting on the palm of the goddess of fortune. Inspiration struck. The odds were long, but if Kasan agreed, it might be possible to free Alex without pledging his future to Maduri. “Your Highness has a reputation as a great sportsman. Will you let me play the Lion Game over the woman’s fate?”
Shocked, the sultan said, “You’d risk your life in the Singa Mainam for a slave? You are a brave, honorable fool, Captain.”
“Not entirely. I won’t attempt the Lion Game if it means certain death. Does it?”
“Death is possible, but hardly inevitable. While some of the tasks require warrior courage and skill, others test the mind, and two are activities in which men find great pleasure.” Gorgeous and exotic in his flowing silks, Kasan paced along the elegant pointed archways that divided the terrace from the interior, his brow furrowed. “This would be a Lion Game unlike any other. Special rules must be devised.”
Gavin folded his arms and leaned back against a pillar, wondering what he was getting into. “I don’t even know the regular rules. You said five throws were made?”
The sultan nodded. “In a challenge for the throne, you would have no choice but to accept each cast of the dice. However, one or two of the tasks would be unfair to ask a man not bred in the Islands, so I will allow you one refusal.”
That seemed reasonable. “When a task involves competing with another man, who would my opponent be?”
Kasan’s teeth flashed white against his black beard. “Me, of course. I will welcome the opportunity to battle an opponent willing to try to defeat me. Few Maduris would so dare.”
“Would there be combat to the death?”
“No. I want you alive.” The sultan obviously did not expect to lose.
“What constitutes winning? Completion and survival of the dangerous challenges, and defeating you in any that are direct competition?”
“Exactly.” Kasan frowned. “A neutral judge is needed in case of dispute. I suggest Tuan Daksa, the head of the Maduri Buddhist temple, who is known for his wisdom and integrity.”
Gavin wondered if that would give Kasan an edge before deciding to agree. He knew other Buddhist monks, and all had been fair-minded men who would make good judges. “I accept Tuan Daksa.”
“If you win, the woman is yours to do with as you will. If you lose, you serve Maduri at my pleasure for the next twenty years.”
The thought of giving up control of his life for so long made Gavin ill. “Five years only. Trying to plan too far into the future tempts fate.”
The sultan smiled like a leopard seeing prey. “Ten years. I will accept no less.”
Ten years. Still a large chunk of his life, but he’d do no better. “Ten years, then. In return, whether I win or lose, Mrs. Warren is freed and you attempt to discover where her young daughter was taken after their capture.”
Kasan shrugged. “Very well. I have no interest in her apart from the fact that your strange honor has tied you to her fate. Have we a bargain?”
For a moment Gavin contemplated the insanity of risking so much of his life to help someone he’d just met. But damnably, he could not turn away from a woman in need. His father had taught him that it was a man’s duty to protect women, and that belief was as much a part of him as his heart and mind. Helena had laughingly called him her knight errant. “We do.” He offered his hand. “I might win, you know.”
Kasan’s hard brown hand clasped his. “You will not, Captain.” He gave his flashing, dangerous smile again. “But it’s worth the risk of losing for the sake of such a grand game!”
Chapter 6
IT WAS hard to pace in an enclosure less than ten feet across. Nonetheless, Alex did her best during the hours Gavin Elliott was gone, trying to decide whether his prolonged absence was good or bad.
When he finally returned, she sped across the cage and clutched the bars, trying to interpret his expression. “What has happened?” When he hesitated, she said with a sinking heart, “The sultan won’t let me be sold to you.”
“Not exactly,” Gavin admitted, “but he’s giving me the chance to win your freedom by competing in a Maduri tradition called the Lion Game, Singa Mainam. A special twelve-sided die is cast five times, and I must attempt whatever feat is indicated. I’m allowed one refusal for something beyond my skills, so the odds of winning your freedom are rather good.”
She stared, trying to absorb the information. “That is…bizarre. But then, my whole life has been bizarre ever since I was captured. What sort of tasks?”
“I’m not sure about all of them, but Kasan mentioned unarmed combat, swimming, diving, marksmanship, and chess.” Gavin smiled a little. “One was called fighting the dragon. I haven’t the faintest idea what that is.”
“This sounds dangerous for you. Too dangerous.”
“There are no duels to the death, so I imagine this Lion Game will be quite interesting, and no more dangerous than being a sailor.”
Slavery had sharpened her ability to read people, and she recognized that Gavin was deliberately downplaying the dangers. Disturbed, she said, “It isn’t right that you should risk yourself for my sake.”
“I appreciate your concern, but this is the way Kasan wants to do it. Neither you nor I have any choice in the matter.”
Not true—Gavin could sail away at any time. Instead, he was choosing to stay and engage in some barbaric game to save her. “When does the contest begin?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning. The sultan intends to make the event into a court festival. A Buddhist judge, crowds of courtiers, music, food, and drink.” Gavin smiled. “Lions and Christians to amuse his people.”
She shuddered. “I sincerely hope not.”
“Actually, this is more like the labors of Hercules than a Roman arena, and Hercules survived quite well.” Gavin tugged uncomfortably at his collar. “Do you mind if I remove my coat? It’s a warm day.”
“An understatement. Please, make yourself comfortable.” She gestured to her sarong. “The native garments are so much more practical in this climate.”
“It’s a nuisance having to dress as a Western taipan all the time.” He peeled off his dark tailored coat and loosened his collar with relief. “The best news is that I asked the sultan if he could trace Katie, and he’s starting that immediately.”
“Thank God! He’s in a better position to do that than I’ll ever be.” Alex folded onto a cushion, weak with relief.
Gavin crossed the room to stand in the breeze that wafted through the arches. “Do you need anything?”
“No, both Suryo and the palace slaves have been going out of their way to be helpful.”
As a stronger gust passed through the room, she noted how his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his shoulders and torso, emphasizing the strength and fitness that were usually concealed. She couldn’t ask for a better champion to fight for her freedom. Or a more handsome one. A woman would have to be dead not to notice how attractive Gavin Elliott was—but then, that part of her was dead. What mattered far more than his appearance were his kindness and his courage.
Turning from the window, he said, “I need to visit the Helena this afternoon to let my chief mate know what’s happening.”
She suppressed a stab of fear that he wouldn’t return. “Can you spare a book for me?” she asked lightly. “Living in a cage is rather boring.”
Recognizing what she wasn’t saying, he said quietly, “You don’t trust easily.”
Her hand gripped a gilded bar as she remembered the days when trust had been natural. “I used to. I’ve…lost the habit.”
He enclosed her hand in his. “It won’t be much longer.”
Warmth flowed from him to her, more emotional than physical. A little flustered, she said, “I’m beginning to believe that. You’re a good influence. But…”
When her voice trailed away, he asked, “But what?”
“Even if the best happens—I’m freed, I find Katie unhurt, we return to England safely?
??I don’t know how I can ever regain the life I knew. The only life I wanted.” Despite the heat, she shivered. “If what happened to me becomes known, society will gasp with sympathetic horror, then fastidiously withdraw, afraid of being tainted. The shame of this will follow Katie her whole life.”
“Your perfect mother—will she cast off you and her granddaughter?”
Alex thought of Catherine, whose arms were always open with welcome. “Of course not.”
“Will your stepfather condemn you?”
She had to smile. “The colonel will have to be restrained from sailing here and personally administering justice to the pirates.”
“Society begins with your family. If they accept you, the rest don’t much matter.” His hand tightened around hers. “Be grateful you have a loving, supportive family. Many people don’t.”
She realized that he’d said very little about his own relatives. “Do you have family, Gavin?”
“None that I know. My parents are dead. I have no brothers or sisters.”
“I’ve got lots of family, so you can borrow some of mine,” she said impulsively. “And you only have to take the nice ones, I promise.”
“You’re kind. Perhaps I shall do that when we reach London.” He drew her hand through the bars and brushed a light, courtly kiss on her knuckles. “Everything will turn out all right for you, Alexandra. I feel it in my fey Scottish bones.”
His confidence left her optimistic even after he left to go down to the harbor. The afternoon was long and boring, except when children peeped around the door and giggled. She tried to coax them in, not minding that she’d become an object of amusement to the children of the palace, but they were too shy to enter the room.
The bright eyes and cheerful faces reminded her of what Gavin had said about Katie’s probable treatment in captivity. Even if she was never rescued, she might live a happy life here—she had a happy nature—but Alex wanted to be the one to guide and guard her daughter. No stranger, no matter how kindly, could possibly love Katie as much as her own mother.
Such dismal thoughts made her glad when Gavin returned. He had two books: a collection of Byron’s poetry and Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe. “If these don’t appeal, I can send for others.”
“Bless you, Gavin!” She stroked the leather bindings greedily. “I expected a book of sea charts, and even that would have been a pleasure.”
“I have too many books in my cabin. I’m glad you like these.”
As he withdrew to change his clothes for another palace dinner, she opened Ivanhoe. On the flyleaf a bold, masculine hand had written: To Helena on her 22nd birthday, with all my love—Gavin.
Her throat tightened at the inscription. How generous of him to lend his wife’s own book which he’d kept for all these years.
Opening the Byron, she found Helena Elliott in clear, delicate handwriting. What had Helena been like? Surely pretty and sweet, adoring her handsome young husband as much as he’d adored her. What a tragedy that she’d died so young.
Offering silent thanks to Helena for the use of the books, Alex began to read Ivanhoe. She hardly noticed Gavin’s departure. After the light became too dim to read, she ate the rice, curry, and fruit Suryo brought. Then she wrapped the ikat coverlet around her and settled down behind the screen, the books resting by her pillow as symbols of the life that was almost within her grasp again.
For the first time in months, she was happy.
The glare of a torch awakened her. She sat up, blinking, and saw four armed palace guards standing outside her cage, one of them quietly undoing the triple locks with a set of keys. Frightened, she tried to remember enough Malay to ask what was happening, then stopped when the leader frowned and made a slashing gesture for silence.
Guessing they didn’t want to wake Gavin, she held her tongue. If they meant to take her away, Gavin couldn’t stop them, and it might be dangerous if he tried.
The door to the cage opened, and she was beckoned out. Expression stony, she obeyed. Outside the sun was rising, but the palace was dark as she was escorted through a maze of corridors. Why was she being moved? Not to be executed, since Kasan wanted Gavin’s goodwill. Most likely she would be placed in a prison cell until after the Lion Game was finished.
Several levels lower and in a distant wing, the leader stopped to knock on a carved door. A slave opened it, revealing a tiny, richly dressed woman with gray hair and great dignity. A swift exchange of words followed before the head guard bowed and withdrew with his men. Before leaving, he caught Alex’s glance and patted his kris significantly. She understood: he and his men would be outside, and she would be very, very sorry if she caused the old woman trouble.
As soon as the door closed, a flock of women of all ages swarmed into the room through the inner door. They chattered with curiosity as they surrounded her, patting her hair, stroking her pale skin, clucking over her bruises and rubbing salve on her gouged wrists. Small boned, graceful, and exquisitely dressed, they made Alex feel like a great clumsy ox, but it was a relief to be in the women’s quarters rather than a dungeon.
The older woman said, “Mandi.”
Alex understood—they wanted her to take a bath. Could they be preparing to set her free? The women were friendly, and she was being treated like a guest, not a slave. To be clean again…“Ya, mandi,” she said fervently.
Several of the younger women helped her bathe, supplying soap, water, and giggles in profusion. As her hair dried, Alex played a lighthearted game of peekaboo with a toddler. The women approved. Though Alex spoke little Malay and they spoke no English, the language of femininity was universal.
After she breakfasted, she was dressed in bright new garments that actually fit properly. In addition to a patterned batik sarong and kebaya, she was draped with a selendang, a sort of shawl. The women took great pleasure in dressing her and styling her hair with elaborate formality, as if she were a large foreign doll.
Alex’s amusement ended when the head lady brought in what appeared to be handfuls of golden jewelry. Expression regretful, she straightened one golden chain out.
Manacles.
“Ma’af.” Even as she apologized, the woman snapped the manacles around Alex’s raw wrists. Ankle chains were handed to a young girl who knelt to fasten them. They were lovely, the links shaped and interwoven like jewelry, but they were still chains, the gold plate concealing a remorseless alloy. Heart sinking, Alex realized why she’d been brought to the women’s quarters: because the prize in Kasan’s damned game needed to look worth winning.
She was still a slave.
Gavin awoke thrumming with tension at the knowledge that this morning the Lion Game began. It would run for five days, with one die cast per day.
As he washed and shaved, he admitted privately that a small, mad part of him looked forward to the challenge—a merchant didn’t become successful without enjoying competition. But the stakes in this game were too damned high. He hadn’t told Alex the consequences for himself if he lost—she felt enough guilt about the risks he might face. With luck he’d win the game, they’d both leave Maduri, and she would never need to know that he’d risked ten years of his life.
After dressing in clothing that allowed him to move freely, he entered the main room. “Alex?”
No answer. He called her name again without response, then looked behind the screen. She was gone. As his pulse accelerated with shock, the door from the corridor opened. He spun around, ready to do battle, but it was Suryo. “Do you know where Mrs. Warren is?”
“I have been in the guard room, and they say she was taken to the women’s quarters,” his steward replied. “No harm will come to her there.”
“Why the devil did Kasan move her?”
“It is not for common men to guess the ways of kings,” Suryo said dryly. “But I have gathered more information about the Singa Mainam. You are skilled in most of the tests: swimming, diving, chess, climbing, fighting with the kris or with bare hands. You should do well.” H
e frowned. “Information about fighting the dragon, dancing the fire, and worshipping the goddess is less clear.”
“The names sound like elaborate descriptions of something mundane,” Gavin observed. “I hope I don’t have to fight Kasan. Even though he says there will be no duels to the death, I suspect he’s very dangerous with either dagger or bare hands.”
Suryo looked amused. “I myself taught you the art of pentjak and how to use a kris. You will not lose.”
“I wish I shared your confidence.” Gavin checked his pocket watch. “Time to go. I trust you know where the Lion Garden is.”
“Indeed. Follow me, Captain.”
Their route took them through the palace and down a spiral staircase cut from living stone. At the bottom, two guards flanked a massive door. Gavin blinked as he stepped through into glaring sunlight. A roar of voices struck him.
As his eyes adjusted, he found himself in the bottom of a small natural amphitheater. The door they’d just exited was cut from a sheer stone cliff that towered behind him. The opposite side of the arena had been shaped into rows of seating, with a gate that led down to the city. The excited faces of hundreds of onlookers made him feel like a Roman gladiator.
A palace official approached and bowed, then led him and Suryo across the sunbaked arena to a pavilion on the north side. Under the high thatched roof was a peacock throne woven from rattan, plus three similar but smaller seats. All were set in a semicircle around a pedestal carved from shining obsidian. On top of the pedestal rested a twelve-sided die formed from aged ivory, and large as a child’s fist.
When Gavin was escorted to the seat on the left, Suryo positioned himself behind, ready to advise or interpret as necessary. Tuan Daksa, a serene, elderly man in the robes of a Buddhist monk, sat opposite. Gavin bowed courteously to the monk, then to the audience, wishing this business weren’t so blasted public.