Captive on the High Seas. Christina Rich

his nails biting into his palms. The maid lifted her chin as if to defy his anger.

      Shaking his head in disbelief at the woman’s misplaced courage and never-ending fight, he laughed. If the men accompanying him when they’d encountered the evil seafarers had had half her courage he never would have been captured, not even against the ten ships that had surrounded him, forcing him to surrender. And never would have been taken to Delos and suffered the shame of slavery. Nor would his father have suffered the loss of his daughter.

Chapter Three

      The captain’s jaw hardened, his fists clenched at his sides. She tore her gaze from his angry glare only to lose her breath at the sight of his broad chest and thick arms. The contours glistened beneath the droplets of water sliding down the smooth skin of his arms. Ada swallowed the knot forming in her throat and blinked her eyes against the sting of tears. As much as she wanted to blame the sea, she knew better. The captain’s cruel laughter had pierced the layers of brick and mud she had used to protect herself against her sisters’ taunts. His laughter should not cause her this much pain, especially given he was nothing more than a stranger, but having gone from the daughter of a wealthy and much respected merchant to a slave and near drowning in a matter of hours was wreaking havoc on her emotions.

      Certainly he had been kind enough to risk his life to save her. However, that reason alone was not enough for her to take offense at his mockery. Not when she’d learned as a small child to keep such things from hurting her.

      Taking a step closer, he knelt and reached his hand out. She shrunk against the wall as he brushed her hair from her eyes. The warmth of his hand against her cooled skin sent another round of chattering to her teeth. And more despised tears.

      “I will not hurt you.” His slow, soothing tone and the rough pad of his thumb against her cheek as he wiped her tears made her want to believe him. The muscles in her shoulders even began to relax, but then he pulled a silver dagger with an intricately jeweled hilt from a sheath attached to his belt. “All right?”

      Tensing once again, she darted her gaze around the small room in search of a weapon. A bench with brightly colored silk pillows and a small table, quite clearly attached to the floor, was all that decorated the room. Air refused to enter her chest as the knife neared her throat. The cold silver slid beneath the rope and against her skin. A different sort of fear gnawed at Ada’s insides. Was this how she was to die? Why save her from drowning only to mess his tidy sanctuary by slitting her throat.

       Because he thinks to offer you as a sacrifice to one of his false gods.

      Uncontrollable tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. The edge of the knife pressed against her neck. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

      “Hear my plea, Adonai, God of Heaven and earth.”

      The blade stilled. Ada opened her eyes. Nicolaus’s dark eyes stared into hers. Where they had once been dark and cold, they now held curiosity and warmth. Like she thought they would. Droplets of water dripped from his curls and down into his thick-bearded jaw, before plopping onto a well-defined arm honed, no doubt, in battle if the scars marring it and the rest of his upper body were any indication.

      His lips twitched as if he were about to say something, and then he refocused on her neck. His blade tugged against the corded rope. Slicing downward, the knife broke through the rope. He pulled it from her neck and then cut the binding from her wrists before sheathing his knife. Ada swallowed, and salt from the sea continued to invade the inside of her mouth.

      Nicolaus grabbed hold of her wrists and turned them in his hands. His eyes darkened to match the night sky as his fingers trailed over the chafed flesh. He glanced at her neck. Lifting her hair off her shoulders, he murmured a few words she did not quite understand. He settled back on his heels and took her hands in his once again, his thumb smoothing over her wrists in a gentle motion. “These need tending.”

      Ada blinked several times, pretending she did not understand and pulled away from his touch before cradling her folded hands against her chest. She prayed he would leave her alone. His anger she could accept, but his gentle touch and the concern in his eyes reminded her of her mother’s love. A love she would never again know. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face against her knees.

      If her mother had not gone to be with her ancestors, her father never would have left her to the care of her sisters and Ada would not be on a boat surrounded by increasingly violent waves.

      The captain stood, raking his hand through his hair, sending bits of water splattering all around her. His jaw clenched. The creases at the corner of his right eye twitched together, and his nostrils flared. “You stay.”

      Ada feared to even breathe in his presence given he seemed to be angered easily at the sight of her, not to mention every time she inhaled she caught a whiff of sandalwood and wet leather. A heady combination to her sensitive emotions, especially considering she had wanted to throw her arms around him in gratitude when he released her bindings. However, his command, as if she were a dog, left a metallic tinge on her tongue as she bit back the rebuke.

      His chest expanded as if he were about to speak, but he took a step back and then disappeared down the ladder.

      Waiting a few breaths, Ada scrambled across the floor and peered down the opening. Nicolaus stood below her with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He was so close that if she reached out her fingers she could touch his hair. Rolling his shoulders, he turned his head, and she jerked back before he caught her.

      “Large swell to the west.”

      Ada stood. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her but she pushed forward toward the window and wrapped her hands around the edge for support. Strong winds tugged at her hair. Rain or bits of the sea stung her cheeks. The man Nicolaus had called Xandros stood on a platform at the front of the boat. Beyond him was nothing but gray sky and rising waves.

      The gurgling in her stomach bubbled into her throat. She fought the sickness, but it continued upward. She knew there was nothing here to catch the contents of her stomach—if there was anything left—and she did not wish to dirty Nicolaus’s pristine abode.

      Gathering the hem of her sodden tunic, Ada climbed down the ladder and raced toward the back of the boat. She leaned over the rail and heaved. And heaved. With her arms against the top rail, she rested her head and fixed her thoughts on trying to breathe past the sickness overtaking her stomach.

      The boat rolled to the left and she dug her nails into the wood railing. No sooner had it gone one way, it rolled the other. Seawater rushed over her bare feet as the boat tilted. Ada’s feet slipped from beneath her and she found herself sliding, once again, between the rail and the decking.

      A strong arm snaked around her midsection and jerked her away from the edge. Sandalwood, leather and sea salt engulfed her. She leaned her head against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank You, God.”

      The sinewy arm banded around her waist flinched. “Your god has naught to do with your rescue, foolish woman.”

      Her relief quickly dispersed at his words. This Greek barbarian and his language grated her frayed nerves. Was her illness foolishness?

      “I told you to stay.” He tossed her over his shoulder. Her sensitive stomach rebelled and heaved. Fortunately for Nicolaus, her stomach was now empty. Although it would have served justice to soil his tunic. Her condition seemed to go unnoticed as he trudged across the deck.

      “I should let the sea have you.”

      She stiffened, frightened he would carry through with his threat. However, she would not respond, would not give him a hint that she knew his language, a language her father often spoken when conversing with traders.

      “Save me the trouble. Good coin spent on saving you from disgrace. Should have let the procurer have you. I would have been richer.” He halted beside the ladder leading to the room and deposited her onto her feet. She noticed he had donned his outer tunic and