Page 104 of Barbarous

Daphne laid a hand gently on his chest, which was rising and falling faster. “We do not need to speak of this.”

“Yes.” He inhaled deeply and expelled the breath. “We do. I don’t wish to keep things from you, my love, but neither do I wish to sully your mind with the depths to which men will sink—not that you haven’t already experienced the worst of it, yourself.” His jaw was so tight it hurt just looking at him. “They wanted to know who was involved and who was helping on the outside. I had shared the plan with our group, but the guard whose family was helping us—well, only me, Delacroix, and a very old Portuguese man named Alto knew the guard’s name.”

Daphne realized his forehead and neck had become sheened with sweat.

“They tortured us all together, forcing the others to watch.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It was an incentive and it would eventually pay off.” His hand tightened until it hurt and his eyes blazed with hate, fury, pain. “The things they did to us—” His gaze flickered to Daphne. “You know better than most what some men will do when they exercise utter dominion over another human being.”

Daphne cocked her head and squinted, for a moment unsure of what he meant. And then the truth came like an avalanche, crushing the air from her chest, the thoughts from her head, until she was pinioned, the horror of what he’d endured as heavy as a mountain of stone.

As Daphne stared into his cold, hard face, she understood his earlier fury at what Malcolm had done to her. It had been the outrage and anger any decent man would exhibit at such news—but it had also been the murderous wrath of a fellow victim.

Oh, Hugh.

“I don’t know how many days it lasted. I lost consciousness more than once during the ordeal. It was after a particularly gruesome interlude with our torturers, an episode which four of our number did not survive, that Calitain entered our chamber of horrors.” His lips twisted. “No, he was not dragged in bleeding and in chains. His fat, rosy face was, in fact, the very picture of health and his new clothing proclaimed him to be a sailor, rather than a slave—a member of the Barbarossa’s crew, to be precise. It seemed one man’s decline—or nine men in this case—was another man’s means of ascension. Calitain bought his way out of slavery using his friends as currency.” His expression was both stricken and confused, as if he still couldn’t believe the betrayal. His eyes became glassy. “This man had been like a brother to me, Daphne. Like a brother!”

Daphne squeezed his hand and he gave her the corpse of a smile. “Even in my reduced condition, the sight of his well-fed face incited me into a lamentably animalistic state. By the time they pried me off him, he was minus an earlobe.” He shrugged. “It was better than nothing, but it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the loss of my friends.”

Tears ran down her face; hot, tiny rivers Daphne wished could carry away his pain.

“Barbarossa took my eye and told the others he would continue taking eyes until those of us who were left were blind. I was not surprised when Alto broke down.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t blame the old man, he’d suffered the punishments of the damned. The Barbarossa killed him anyhow.” He exhaled a long, slow stream of air from between pursed lips.

“The three of us who remained—me, Delacroix, and a Hessian named Wüstenfalke—were thrown back into the cells. Without their help I would have lost more than an eye. Delacroix stitched me up as best as he could and saw me through a fever that would have taken my life. While Delacroix doctored me, Wüstenfalke did most of my work because the sultan expected us to keep working, no matter that we were half-dead.” Hugh snorted. “Babba Hassan had a palanquin bring him out to the pits especially to watch me work.”

Daphne shook her head. “Why? Why did he hate you so much?” It was a question she’d wanted to ask ever since he’d told her about the ransom and how the sultan had lied.

“I brought it on myself, of course. You see, I was foolish when I was captured, and fought—taking any opportunity to resist. During one of those fights I killed two men—one happened to be a younger brother of the sultan.” He gave a humorless laugh. “The sultan never forgave me. Not because he cared about the man—in fact, Babba Hassan had been systematically killing off his male relatives for years, just in case they might challenge him. No, he punished me because I was a slave who’d had the audacity to attack one of his masters.” He shoved his hand through his hair and Daphne saw it was shaking. “That kind of defiance set a bad precedent. He could never reward me by letting me go free—no matter how much ransom money my uncle’s agent offered.”

Daphne’s mind reeled at the sheer violence the man before her had undergone.

Hugh stared up at her, his expression oddly taut. “Have I frightened you away?”

She took his face in her hands. “You silly man. You could never frighten me away. I’m afraid you are stuck with me forever.” She kissed his mouth. “I adore you, Hugh. I can’t wait to fetch the boys home and begin our life together.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll be happy if I don’t see London or a society invitation for a decade.” She kissed his chin. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

Hugh cleared his throat almost nervously. “Uh, I’m glad to hear that.”

Daphne pulled back and stared at him. “What is it? Why are you looking like that?”

He opened his mouth. And then closed it.

Daphne frowned. “Hugh, you are worrying me. What is it?”

He laid his hands over hers and squeezed gently. “Oh, it’s nothing to be worried about. Or, at least, not very much. It’s, er, about the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Our wedding?”

He gave her a smile that was more of a grimace. “Yes, that would be the one.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well, it appears my Aunt Letitia is in charge of organizing it.”

Daphne dropped her hands and sat back. “Oh?” She shrugged. “Well, that is probably best as I have neither the interest nor skill to organize even a small wedding.”

“Ah, that’s the thing.”