bunk in a small cabin. A porthole admitted enough light to illuminate her stark surroundings. She was rumpled, bruised, and her mouth was dust-dry.
She swung from the bunk and lurched to the porthole. A distant dark line marked the coast. The ship was well out to sea—too far to swim even if the window were large enough for her to escape. From the angle of the sun, she guessed it was late afternoon.
The cabin was so small that she could stand in the middle and touch all four walls. The bunk was built in, along with several storage cabinets and a tiny washbasin that was set into a counter. Next to it, a pitcher was set into a well to protect it during rough weather. Mercifully it was filled with water. She drank greedily and felt better.
The cabinets were mostly empty, probably cleaned out in haste by the prior inhabitant. The cabinet under the bunk contained several worn but neatly folded male garments with her battered bonnet stuffed in on top. The area under the washbasin contained two threadbare towels and an irregularly shaped bar of soap. There was also a chamber pot tucked into another cabinet. No weapons or other interesting items had been left behind. Nothing to tell her more about the ship or its crew.
The lock on the door was solid but simple. She could probably open it with a hairpin and a touch of magic, but there was no point in doing that now, when she had no place to run. Even if she crept out and stole a ship's dinghy, she'd be recaptured in no time. Either that, or used as target practice.
The slim knife that she wore sheathed on her inner thigh was still in place, so apparently she hadn't been searched carefully. It probably hadn't occurred to her captor that such a demure and useless maiden might be armed.
She took the two steps back to the bunk and sat down. The last thing she remembered was the man who called himself Nicholas Gregorio. He had taken her hand, there had been a rush of energy, and everything had gone black. She ran a palm over her head. No bumps or pains. She had been knocked out by magic.
Gregorio must be a mage. But why the devil had he kidnapped her?
Her stomach lurched again, so she stood and opened the porthole, breathing deeply of the fresh air. Ordinarily Guardians didn't talk about themselves to mundanes, and Gregorio would have been only a boy twenty years ago.
But he had power, so he was probably a Guardian himself. If he had Guardian parents, her father might have visited the household of the young Gregorio. Her father and Sir Jasper Polmarric had toured the Mediterranean about twenty years ago, calling on Guardians everywhere they visited. Such tours were a way of maintaining bonds among Guardians of different nations.
If Gregorio was a Guardian, why would he kidnap her? Guardians almost never injured other Guardians, except for the rare rogue mages. Perhaps Gregorio was a rogue. That was more likely than that he was a white slaver—she wasn't so dazzingly beautiful that he would instantly feel a need to steal her away to be sold in Barbary. Though Captain Gordon had commented on the rarity of her red hair, today it was heavily powdered and she looked thoroughly bland.
More likely the kidnapping had to be related to Gregorio's knowing her father. Anger had blazed from him when he took her hand. But why on earth would he be angry at her father after twenty years? James Macrae had been a calm man, well liked by everyone. Jean and Duncan had inherited their tempers from their mother.
She relaxed and tried to scan the ship, but the cabin must have been shielded. She could detect only the faintest traces of the crew. For the thousandth time, she wished she was a more powerful mage.
Did she still have her scrying glass? She always carried it in a hidden pocket sewed into her gowns. She patted a seam on the left side of her gown. Yes, like the knife, the glass had been overlooked. She retrieved the quilted pouch and removed the polished disk of obsidian. She and her
She swung from the bunk and lurched to the porthole. A distant dark line marked the coast. The ship was well out to sea—too far to swim even if the window were large enough for her to escape. From the angle of the sun, she guessed it was late afternoon.
The cabin was so small that she could stand in the middle and touch all four walls. The bunk was built in, along with several storage cabinets and a tiny washbasin that was set into a counter. Next to it, a pitcher was set into a well to protect it during rough weather. Mercifully it was filled with water. She drank greedily and felt better.
The cabinets were mostly empty, probably cleaned out in haste by the prior inhabitant. The cabinet under the bunk contained several worn but neatly folded male garments with her battered bonnet stuffed in on top. The area under the washbasin contained two threadbare towels and an irregularly shaped bar of soap. There was also a chamber pot tucked into another cabinet. No weapons or other interesting items had been left behind. Nothing to tell her more about the ship or its crew.
The lock on the door was solid but simple. She could probably open it with a hairpin and a touch of magic, but there was no point in doing that now, when she had no place to run. Even if she crept out and stole a ship's dinghy, she'd be recaptured in no time. Either that, or used as target practice.
The slim knife that she wore sheathed on her inner thigh was still in place, so apparently she hadn't been searched carefully. It probably hadn't occurred to her captor that such a demure and useless maiden might be armed.
She took the two steps back to the bunk and sat down. The last thing she remembered was the man who called himself Nicholas Gregorio. He had taken her hand, there had been a rush of energy, and everything had gone black. She ran a palm over her head. No bumps or pains. She had been knocked out by magic.
Gregorio must be a mage. But why the devil had he kidnapped her?
Her stomach lurched again, so she stood and opened the porthole, breathing deeply of the fresh air. Ordinarily Guardians didn't talk about themselves to mundanes, and Gregorio would have been only a boy twenty years ago.
But he had power, so he was probably a Guardian himself. If he had Guardian parents, her father might have visited the household of the young Gregorio. Her father and Sir Jasper Polmarric had toured the Mediterranean about twenty years ago, calling on Guardians everywhere they visited. Such tours were a way of maintaining bonds among Guardians of different nations.
If Gregorio was a Guardian, why would he kidnap her? Guardians almost never injured other Guardians, except for the rare rogue mages. Perhaps Gregorio was a rogue. That was more likely than that he was a white slaver—she wasn't so dazzingly beautiful that he would instantly feel a need to steal her away to be sold in Barbary. Though Captain Gordon had commented on the rarity of her red hair, today it was heavily powdered and she looked thoroughly bland.
More likely the kidnapping had to be related to Gregorio's knowing her father. Anger had blazed from him when he took her hand. But why on earth would he be angry at her father after twenty years? James Macrae had been a calm man, well liked by everyone. Jean and Duncan had inherited their tempers from their mother.
She relaxed and tried to scan the ship, but the cabin must have been shielded. She could detect only the faintest traces of the crew. For the thousandth time, she wished she was a more powerful mage.
Did she still have her scrying glass? She always carried it in a hidden pocket sewed into her gowns. She patted a seam on the left side of her gown. Yes, like the knife, the glass had been overlooked. She retrieved the quilted pouch and removed the polished disk of obsidian. She and her
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