Sayyid Saïd bin Sultan al-Busaidi, referenced in this chapter, was the fifth sultan of the Busaid dynasty controlling Oman and Zanzibar, with the main capital in Muscat. For his merciless climb to power that often brought him in direct opposition with family, along with securing borders and fighting off competition, Said bin Sultan is called the "Lion of Oman." Cheers!

Winter, 1815

"Surely you cannot mean for me to-"

Anthony's words abruptly died in his throat as Miss Carney pressed a hand over his mouth and forcibly pushed him against the earthen wall. His breath whooshed from his lungs on a surprised gasp as Anthony felt her body fall against his in a semi-collapsed position, with Miss Carney's head ducking down to lay against his chest. His eyes widened at the abrupt shift in posture and proximity, but he remained quiet, mirroring Miss Carney's crouched posture as the pair waited for the prowling guards to move past their tiny alcove.

Only once the voices and footsteps of the guards died away did Miss Carney pull her hand away from his mouth and shift back, giving him enough space to accept the bundle of clothing she'd offered just moments before. She was already clad in traditional Omani custom with colorful layers of veils dripping from head to toe, with the only skin visible that of her hands, barefeet, and a small portion around her eyes. This disguise was one reason Anthony had nearly shouted with alarm when she'd jerked him off the main street, interrupting his escape from the enraged guards, and shuffled him into this darkened corner of the alley.

"I, in fact, do mean for you to wear this." She was less polite in the handoff this time, using her free hand to grab one of his so she could force him to accept the bundle. "Precious few white men are roaming these streets; by now, all the harbor guards will be looking for a white man." She pushed his hand up against his chest, the clutched bundle pressing against him. "Survival cares nothing for pride, Mister Bridgerton. And you must understand that they will care nothing for your statements of nobility here. You are worth more to them as a slave or dead, and considering what just happened, I think they'd rather you dead."

Miss Carney stepped back and twisted away to look out into the narrow alley. The amber hues of the setting sun made the orange tones of her veils all the more vibrant, and for a moment, it seemed as if she was a ray of the sun itself, pulsing energy from the alcove's entrance. Anthony blinked. It was the stress of his circumstances. His heart was still racing from his life-or-death sprint, and the day's oppressive heat was only beginning to mercifully recede.

"Surely there is a British consulate here, someone who could-" Anthony stopped speaking when Miss Carney turned to glare at him. He could not see her face, but he felt the burn of her gaze nonetheless. "How could I have known it would be considered thievery to help the woman? I didn't know she was a thief." Miss Carney continued to glare at him until Anthony sighed and began to unravel the bundle of woman's garb Miss Carney had brought him. "I had heard that this sultan loved justice and was known for his clemency. If he could be made to hear the whole story then-"

Anthony didn't wait for Miss Carney to interrupt him with more glares. This time he knew his words would mean nothing even without her saying so. Instead, he grimaced as his fingers made a mess of the strings that secured the skirt. He'd never been in a position of putting on women's clothing, only taking it off. Glancing up, Anthony found his companion already close by, as if waiting for his permission to take over. Sighing, Anthony held the strings out for Miss Carney. She quickly took over, deftly secured the skirt, and moved on to the next layer in the time it took Anthony to recall the misunderstanding in the marketplace.

While Mister Morris had entered the harbor market to secure the off-loading and on-loading of their cargo, Mister Beebe and a few of the seamen had offered to show Anthony around. Muscat was a profitable city, frequented by many foreign powers, including his own royal navy. With reassurances from the captain that aside from the one brush with the mercantile captain—who'd not even been Omani—they'd never had an issue in port, Anthony had agreed to the shore party. Once on land and exploring the streets with the men, many sights and smells reminded Anthony of India, yet there were so many new exotic splendors to entice him. He'd been content to peruse the vendors' wares up and down the curving market streets, losing all track of time and place. Until Anthony realized he'd been separated from the men and had little recollection of how to return to the harbor where they'd disembarked the shore boat.

This startling moment was followed by a quick succession of misjudgments on his part and misunderstandings between himself and the locals as Anthony made his frenzied way through the streets in search of the harbor. When he finally found it, he'd already been in an irrational panic, far more excessive than he cared to admit to. And this was where everything coalesced into the terrible debacle that found him now dressing in women's garb. Still not seeing any of the men from the Spirit, Anthony had no context to go on when he saw a group of men roughly handling a scantily clad woman. The resulting fistfight between himself and the men—later known to be harbor guards—was perhaps the most extraordinary cultural faux pas he'd ever committed, namely, because it could lead to his death. Anthony realized too late that in interrupting the situation, he'd allowed a convicted thief to flee and was to stand in her place for punishment.

He'd been half tempted to stay, reason with the guards, and explain the misunderstanding. But with their daggers already drawn and eyes eager for more of a fight, Anthony had fled on instinct. He knew he'd been lucky that Miss Carney had intercepted him first instead of the guards, even if her manner of interception had nearly stopped his heart in fear. Yet, looking down at the maroon-colored veils he now wore, Anthony wasn't so sure he quite liked her manner of escape. Anthony carefully studied what he could see of Miss Carney as she moved closer, bidding him with silent gestures to lean forward so she could better secure the headdress on him for the final layer of veils. A heavy perfume, not unpleasant but strong, wafted off her clothing as she moved. When she stopped her movements, Anthony realized he'd jerked back, stalling her efforts.

"The cloth vendor likes to store his wares with frankincense," she explained as she resumed her work and finished quickly, briefly covering Anthony's eyes with the last veil before helping to tuck into the correct areas to allow for clear vision, "the scent is pleasant but strong, I agree. It will wear off with time." She stepped back, her gaze moving from his head to his feet. Anthony could tell she was smiling from the crinkle at the edges of her eyes. "Though I doubt you'll want to wear this for much longer than necessary. Are you ready?"

Anthony glanced at his feet, frowning at his boots, "Must I remove my boots?"

"It will be dark soon. So long as you shuffle, the skirts should keep your feet covered. Those are quality boots, Mister Bridgerton; I would hate for your impulsive desire to champion strange women to rob you of them." Miss Carney turned her back on him to look into the alley again, motioning for him to come close to where she remained poised to flee. "I saw the whole ordeal but could do little else than buy another set of veils and find you first. It was very noble of you, milord."

Anthony frowned as he shuffled to her side, "How is it I missed your pithy wit before now, Miss Carney?"

She looked over her shoulder, eyes bright with an emotion he couldn't discern, "It seems you weren't paying close enough attention." She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers when he merely stared at the appendage as if it were a snake, "Women walk hand-in-hand here, Mister Bridgerton. Especially if they are unaccompanied by a man. Do I need to remind you that survival cares-"

Anthony grabbed her hand, cutting off her words, and squeezed it tightly, perhaps harder than necessary. But if it hurt, Miss Carney said nothing. Instead, she dipped her head in his direction before tugging him alongside her as they moved back into the deserted alleyway. They had to go a few steps further before being enveloped back into a busier market street. The crowds were in their favor, though, Anthony noted, they were dissipating as the sun disappeared over the horizon. With each torch lit along the streets, more people, especially women, disappeared further into the city or their dwellings. He knew it would not be long before they would be the oddities walking the streets.

"Keep your head down," he heard Miss Carney's firm whisper at the same time he felt her sharp grasp of his hand, "unaccompanied women never walk with their heads high. Not unless they want to attract attention. And we do NOT want attention, Mister Bridgerton."

Following her instructions, Anthony lowered his head and slumped his shoulders. While he'd seen other tall women moving about the city streets, none had been quite as tall as he. instinctively, Anthony angled his torso to face more toward Miss Carney as they walked, hoping he was signaling to onlookers his complete disinterest in engaging with anyone other than his companion. His hands were sweaty, as were hers, but they couldn't afford to let go to wipe them off. The veils made his face itch. The heavy perfume of the frankincense from the clothing made his head swim. Glancing up at Miss Carney, he couldn't help but wonder how she fared. As if sensing his gaze, she squeezed his hand, darting a brief look in his direction.

"We are nearly there, Mister Bridgerton."

Daring to feel a smidgen of relief, Anthony sighed as they rounded a bend in the road and could see the harbor itself. Though dusk was rapidly settling over the waters, he could see the Spirit bobbing up and down in the port. He moved his gaze from the dark shape of the trimaran to the docks, his eyes darting rapidly as he searched for the Spirit's shore boat or the other crew.

"Where are the others?" He bent closer to whisper as they passed a vendor closing his fruit stand.

Miss Carney waited until they were further away from the stand before she answered, "I told them to return to the ship." She squeezed his hand as if to keep him silent so she could finish uninterrupted, "The guards only know that a white man did something foolish today. They do not know which ship he came from, though they will likely start a round of searches in the morning if they cannot recapture the thief." Her voice hushed as a group of debating merchants neared them and then passed them by. "Our best chance for escape is to find our own way to the ship under cover of darkness."

Anthony felt he would not like her way back to the ship any more than her way to the harbor. But he said nothing, not wanting to create more opportunities for mishaps. He dutifully walked hand-in-hand—somewhat marveling that this was the longest he'd held anyone's hand—until they were a few yards from the docks. Miss Carney stopped, and after a moment, Anthony thought he heard her mutter a French curse from beneath the veils.

"What is the matter, Miss Carney?" Anthony dared a look around, not seeing any harbor guards between themselves and the docks that would cause her to stop.

Turning abruptly and jerking on his arm to mimic the turn, she moved in a parallel path to the docks, keeping her head down and angled toward Anthony. "You remember the mercantile captain we disagreed with some time ago?" It took Anthony a moment to recall the conversation about slaves and the "issue" the Spirit had had in the Omani port. Swallowing the building dread, Anthony nodded. "He and his men are blocking our way to the docks. Even with these veils, I know for certain he will recognize me."

"How do you know?" Anthony whispered back, doing his best to slouch further as they quickened their pace away from the men. "There is very little to see for any man to recognize."

He heard her snort under her veils, "How soon would you forget the gaze of someone who had a sword to your throat, Mister Bridgerton?" She took a breath before explaining further on a sigh, "He and his men boarded our vessel during the night after our 'disagreement' and did not expect the American-style reception, which included my sword to his throat. Although he promised not to attack the ship in exchange for his life and that of his crew, he proved his treacherous nature by opening fire on us as soon as we were outside the harbor's safety zone." With a shack and stacks of crates between themselves and the docks, Miss Carney stopped and took in another steadying breath, finally letting go of Anthony's hand. It felt strange for it to be free after so long being confined. Almost naked. Anthony blinked away the thought and concentrated on Miss Carney's words. "Men like that never forget a face and never give up a grudge. He knows our ship and likely suspects that if we are not already onshore, we soon will be. He cannot openly attack us in port, or even in the streets, without risking a loss of profit. So he will look for other ways to sabotage us." He felt her gaze move again over his entire personage before she added, "And I fear you would suffer greatly as collateral for an old grudge, Mister Bridgerton."

"So," he too sucked in a steadying breath, "how are we to get to the ship without running into this pirate of a man?"

A heartbeat passed before he heard her ask, "How good are you at swimming, Mister Bridgerton?"