Bahir shook his head. “That is not possible. Tell me what you need to tell her.”
Any notion of giving the information to Bahir first disappeared at that. “This news is for her to hear first.”
“It is not possible.” Crossing his arms, Bahir planted his feet apart as if he would stand as a human barrier between Henry and Alya.
“What is it?” Alya slid from behind Bahir, her beautiful eyes intent on Henry.
“I must speak with you.”
She gave a soft laugh. “You are speaking with me.”
“Alone.” Knowing he would cause it to end, her laughter shook him. Telling her of her father with the entire crew staring on was also not a possibility.
“No.” Bahir stepped between them.
“Come if you must.” Done with Bahir’s ridiculous guarding of Alya’s modesty, Henry shoved past him. “But she needs to know this.”
Alya’s glance flickered from him to Bahir and then Newt. “What is it?”
Henry motioned her to precede him belowdecks.
The air down here clung stuffy and damp to his skin, carrying the smell of tar, sweat and the caskets of precious spices.
Immediately Bahir positioned himself beside Alya, huge fists clenched.
Dear God, give him patience. Did Bahir think he would fall on her in a lust frenzy? Not with the news he had to impart now. Instead he desired to hold her and stand as a barrier between her and the pain he was about to cause. As Henry knew of no other way over difficult ground but at a gallop, he spoke quickly. “It is your father.”
“What of him?” She clenched her small hands together in front of her. “Tell me.”
“We heard in the tavern that he could be…dead.”
Alya stood, so still he could not be certain she breathed. Her eyes above her niqab bored into him as if willing him to unsay his words. She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Where did you hear this?” Bahir stepped up to him, and twisted a hand in his tunic.
“The two men we found.” Henry fastened his hand about Bahir’s wrist. He did not care for the manhandling but Alya concerned him more. “They mentioned him by name.”
“Dear God.” Alya swayed.
Bahir leaped back and caught her beneath the elbow. “We cannot know for certain it is so,” he said. “Men in taverns are drunk and they lie. These men are murderers and we cannot take their word as truth.”
“That is true.” Henry would agree with the devil himself if he could ease the torment from Alya’s face. Chest tight he stepped toward her. Her pain rippled through him as if it were his own. “But the news from Cairo is not good. There is a price on the head of all the Genovese merchants.”
She blinked at him. “Why?”
“I know not.” He held a hand out to her, then dropped it to his side. She was not his to touch. “People are angry. In their anger, they are not always mindful.”
Her breath hitched on a soft sob. “My father?”
“I am so sorry, my lady.” He wanted to say more. To tell her he understood the agony of losing those whom you loved. “If not already dead, your father has been targeted.”
Standing between them, Bahir glowered at him.
Alya crumpled.
Bahir caught her and hoisted her into his arms. “I will deal with this.”
Dismissed, Henry turned and stumbled up the ladder back into the daylight. Everything in him demanded he go back down and comfort her. Like a fresh gash through his chest throbbed the knowledge he had caused her pain.
Newt came up beside him. “Did you tell her?”
“Aye.” Reason shouted down his burning desire to be the one with her now. It was not his place. “Bahir is with her.”
“This is a bad business.” Newt shook his head. “And here we sit with a target on our foreheads.”
Not as long as he had breath. Henry strode to the railing. While his girl on the wall wept belowdecks, he could and would make sure nobody got near her.
* * * *
Alya sobbed but no tears fells. Tears might be a relief from the tearing agony within her.
Bahir continued to whisper that it might not be true. He would send a man to Cairo to find out for sure. Allowing herself a brief flicker of hope, she nodded her agreement at his suggestion.
“But we must sail with the tide.” Bahir assisted her out of her hijab and niqab.
The damp cloth clung to her wet face and nose, and made it impossible to breathe. Alya flung it away from her. “Then how will I know?”
“I will instruct him to follow us to Genoa.” Bahir picked up her hijab and smoothed it over a crate. “But it may be a while before he reaches us.”
In the meantime, her loss seeped, raw and angry within her. Her father. The man she loved above all others. Devoted, funny, loving, indulgent some had said, but her father.
And she had not allowed him to embrace her in parting. She had turned her back on him and climbed into her litter.
Another sob rattled through her. The pain grew so intense, Alya folded her arms about her middle and hunched over. It felt as if it would burst from her and tear her asunder.
Dear God. She should have turned and told him how much she loved him. Now she might never have the chance to do so again.
A long, low wail escaped her.
Bahir drew her to him, folding her in his arms.
Clinging to him with all she had, Alya dug her nails into his tunic. She pressed her face into his chest and cried.
* * * *
Despite Bahir’s protests, Alya spent most of her time on deck. Every morning she would wash as best she could with the water Bahir brought her, dress and go above deck. Huddling in the dark only made her more aware of the gaping hole inside her. She clung to the hope that Bahir’s man would deliver the news her father lived.
She kept her niqab in place but the temptation to throw it off and feel the cool sea breeze against her cheeks grew. The voyage forced her out of her worry for precious moments. The sea never looked the same any two days in a row. Going about their tasks with quiet competence, the sailors fascinated her. Coiling ropes, furling and unfurling the great, billowing sails, scrubbing down the deck. When not working, they sat in small groups, laughing and talking, some of them occupied with hand work, others playing games of dice and stones.
Then there was Henry.
Her
