A Bride for the Taking Page 14

  Where was Jake now? she wondered as she washed herself with a bar of sweet-smelling soap. He’d been right about the food and the soap and water making her feel better. But—but had those same things been in store for him? She, after all, was being gift-wrapped. But Jake—Jake could be nothing but a detriment to these men, and he’d insulted them, too, he’d challenged their power…

  ‘The hell with this!’ she said, and she rose abruptly, sending a cascade of water sloshing on to the carpet. Her guard rushed forward, waving her hands while she barked commands, but Dorian ignored her. She stepped from the tub and snatched a towel from the hands of one of the girls, who’d gone from giggling to gaping.

  ‘I want to see Jake,’ she demanded angrily as she dried herself. The woman looked at her blankly, and Dorian said something sharp and pointed as she tossed the towel aside and snatched the clean jellaba from the girl holding it. She pulled it over her head, fluffed her fingers through her wet hair, and stalked through the hanging curtain.

  Her stunned guard caught up to her at the tent door. She said something and grasped Dorian’s arm, but Dorian wrenched free.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ she demanded. ‘I want Jake.’ The woman looked blank, and Dorian stamped her foot. ‘I don’t know how to say it in your language, dammit. I want my man!’

  ‘Do you, kitten?’

  She whirled around at the sound of Jake’s voice. He was standing in the open doorway, and she hesitated only a heartbeat before she flew to him and threw her arms around his neck.

  The woman said something in a sharp, high voice, but Jake ignored her and gathered Dorian close.

  ‘Oh, Jake.’ Her voice quavered a little. ‘I was afraid—I was afraid…’ She drew back and clasped his face between her hands. ‘Did they hurt you?’ she whispered.

  He smiled. ‘Well, the razor they gave me felt as if it’s been used to shave a regiment.’

  Dorian smiled back at him. ‘Lady Macbeth over there probably used it to shave her moustache.’ Her eyes swept across his face. ‘Are you really OK?’

  ‘Yes, kitten, I’m fine. They gave me a bowl of lamb stew and a bucket of soapy water, and—why are you laughing?’

  Why was she laughing? Considering what might await her, there was nothing remotely funny about their situation. But Jake was here, she was in his arms, and that was all that mattered…

  ‘Lamb stew and a bucket of water, indeed,’ she said lightly. ‘I guess it pays to be the Tagor’s gift.’

  Jake’s smile faded. ‘The Tagor,’ he said softly. He waited a moment, then clasped her shoulders. ‘Remember what I told you about not saying a word and letting me do all the talking?’

  ‘You mean, you want me to pretend to be mute? But all these people know I can—’

  ‘What I mean is that you’re to speak only when spoken to and take your cues from me. Can you do that?’ She nodded, and he put his hand under her chin and lifted it. ‘Listen to me, kitten,’ he said softly. ‘You mustn’t underestimate this guy’s intelligence, or his power. He’s absolute ruler here—’

  ‘Like the abdhan,’ she said, her eyes on his.

  Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘No,’ he said harshly, ‘not like the abdhan at all. The abdhan is trapped by his power. If he weren’t—if he weren’t…’

  His mouth dropped to hers with a sudden wild hunger. Dorian’s lips parted beneath his; she rose on her toes and pressed herself close to him—and suddenly a beefy hand clamped down on her arm and dragged her from Jake’s arms.

  The bearded behemoth glared at the two of them with fury in his eyes. He snarled a command and pointed to the door.

  ‘OK,’ Jake said softly, ‘this is it, kitten. It’s show time.’

  It seemed a strange way to describe what lay ahead, she thought. But once they’d stepped inside the tent of the Tagor Jake’s choice of words seemed to make absolute sense.

  The tent was large, draped inside with billowing lengths of crimson silk that added to the sense of enormous size. The Tagor seemed even more enormous. He sat on a carved chair that stood on a elevated platform, his huge body wrapped in what looked to be yards of embroidered cloth.

  Their bearded escort thrust them into the centre of the tent, bowed, then backed out of the door, leaving Jake and Dorian alone with the Tagor.

  Jake glanced at Dorian. ‘Get your head down,’ he whispered fiercely.

  ‘Why? You’re not bowing to him. Why should—?’

  She caught her breath as Jake put his hand on her head and shoved it down.

  ‘You’re female,’ he said sharply.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t take brains to figure that out, Jake. If I weren’t female, nobody would have bothered offering me up to him,’ she muttered, eyes on the lush rugs that carpeted the floor.

  ‘Dorian, dammit, shut up!’

  The Tagor barked something at Jake.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Dorian asked.

  ‘He says you are very beautiful.’

  She sighed. ‘That’s only because I don’t have a moustache.’

  ‘He says, too, that you need to have some respect beaten into you.’ Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘I told him that I agree.’

  ‘What? Listen here, Jake…’

  The Tagor spoke again and Jake laughed politely.

  ‘What’s he saying now?’

  ‘He says he will be happy to do the job for me. He will make you into a loving, obedient woman.’

  ‘And? What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him that he would need God on his side to succeed where I have not.’

  Dorian’s head came up sharply. ‘I thought you told me everything would be all right.’

  ‘It will be, dammit. Get your head down and shut up!’

  ‘It won’t be, if you play along with him.’

  The Tagor growled a command. Jake caught Dorian’s arm and drew her forward.

  ‘Sit,’ he said, pointing to a small, low stool before the throne.

  ‘I don’t want to sit, I want to—’ She gasped as Jake shoved her on to the stool. The Tagor gave a booming laugh and motioned Jake closer.

  The men entered into a long conversation. Dorian kept her head down, but every now and then she risked a quick glance from under her lashes. The Tagor kept pointing at her and Jake kept shaking his head. She could tell, from his tone and demeanour, that he was being politely but coldly firm about something.

  About her, she thought with a little shiver. But—but this was ridiculous. The twenty-first century was on the horizon, and here she was, sitting like a polite lump of dough while her fate was being debated, and no one had yet asked her what she thought about it.

  ‘Jake? Excuse me. Jake?’

  Jake spun towards her, his eyes dark with barely suppressed anger.

  ‘What is it now?’ he snapped.

  ‘I think I have the right to know what’s going on. I mean, this discussion is about me, isn’t it?’

  ‘Dorian, dammit to hell, what did we agree?’

  ‘I know,’ she spat. ‘I said I’d keep quiet. But you speak his language, Jake. You could translate for me. You could explain to him that—that no one does this kind of thing where I come from—’

  ‘Listen to me. If you don’t want to end up as his newest toy, you’ll look down at the floor and keep still!’

  She stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t let that happen to me,’ she whispered. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jake snarled. ‘I damn well would. It would be no more than you deserved. It would…’ He fell silent. ‘All right,’ he said grimly, ‘here it is without any sugar coating. If I can’t talk my way out of this, he’ll kill me and give you to his men.’

  ‘What? You’re not serious!’

  ‘I’m dead serious. I’ve explained that we’re from America—’

  ‘Doesn’t he wonder why you can speak his language?’

  ‘I told him that I was born in this part of the world, that you were my fiancée and I was having trouble with you so I took
you to the bridal market as a joke.’

  Dorian gave the Tagor a sidelong glance. ‘Some joke,’ she said shakily.

  ‘I said I’d hoped it would scare you into behaving as a woman should.’

  ‘I just don’t see how that’s going to get us out of this,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Why would that keep him from—from…?’

  ‘Because,’ Jake said patiently, ‘I’ve presented it all as if it were a puzzle to solve. He’s bored, Dorian. Hell, who wouldn’t be, when all you have to do is snap your fingers to get whatever you want?’

  For just a moment she forgot everything but Jake.

  ‘Power can be exciting,’ she said softly, ‘it can be a challenge.’

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s simplistic nonsense.’

  ‘It isn’t. If you—’

  The Tagor snarled. Jake turned and listened.

  ‘He says,’ he translated, ‘that he permits us this behaviour only because you are a foreigner and a barbarian. He says he allows us to behave in his presence as we would behave in the presence of our own king so that he might learn something of our country.’

  ‘I hope you told him that he’s given the word “barbarian” a whole new meaning.’

  Jake sighed wearily. ‘The bottom line is that he’s given us permission to stand in his presence and to look towards him. Not at him. Don’t push our luck.’

  The Tagor grunted and motioned Jake closer. After a long time, Jake inclined his head, made his way back to Dorian, and took her arm.

  ‘Smile and curtsy.’

  ‘Curtsy? Americans don’t—’

  ‘Just do it, dammit! That’s it. Now walk with me—backwards, backwards! Good girl.’

  She took a deep breath as they stepped outside. Night had fallen: the meadow was black, except for the blazing lights of a hundred camp-fires.

  ‘Jake? What’s going to happen now?’

  As if in answer to her question, the bearded giant stepped towards them. But he didn’t touch them this time; instead, he motioned them towards the tent opposite the Tagor’s.

  The tent’s furnishings were sparse. Except for a tumble of blankets, and a hissing kerosene lamp atop a small table, it was unadorned.

  Dorian turned to Jake as soon as they were inside. ‘Well? What will he—?’

  Jake clamped his hand over her mouth and pointed to the shadow of their guard, silhouetted on the tent door. She nodded and followed him through the tent’s shadowy depths.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘tell me what happens next?’

  ‘He was very understanding, kitten. He told me he’s dealt with some difficult women himself.’

  She tried to laugh, although the sound she made was, despite her show of bravado, choked and false.

  ‘What did he do, have them beheaded?’

  Jake put his arms around her. ‘He assured me that all such a woman needs is a Barovnian husband.’

  ‘Yes. I can imagine.’ Dorian shuddered. ‘Shoeless in the winter, pregnant in the summer, and an occasional beating as a reminder of who’s boss.’

  Jake laughed softly and tilted her face up to his. ‘I’m not sure about the shoeless thing, and the beating is ridiculous—but the rest isn’t a bad idea.’ He bent and kissed her, a long, sweet kiss that stole her breath away. ‘Not a bad idea at all.’ His hand slipped down her spine, lightly tracing her vertebrae. ‘As for bringing a recalcitrant woman into line, I’ve always found that long, slow loving is the best method.’

  Dorian shuddered beneath his touch. ‘I can’t—I can’t think when you—when you—’

  He smiled. ‘Exactly. That’s why the Tagor reminded me of an old Barovnian proverb: “A husband who wishes his wife to behave sees to it that she can feel but not think.”’

  ‘And—and what did you say?’ she whispered.

  His mouth took hers again in a kiss that grew deeper and more passionate as it went on, until finally he cupped her face in his hands and drew back, just far enough so that he could see into her eyes.

  ‘I said that he was absolutely right,’ he whispered, ‘that it was clear to me that what you needed was a good Barovnian husband. We agreed that you must have one.’

  Dorian’s heart plummeted. ‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘Jake, how could you? If he—if he tries to take me as his wife, if—if—’

  She fell silent. Outside the tent, the sound of soft drums and flutes began rising on the cool night air.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, kitten. The Tagor told me he thanked his men for their thoughtful gesture—’

  ‘For me, you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. He hated to turn down such a gift, but he says he has far too many wives already.’

  ‘Then—then what…?’

  Jake lifted her face to his and kissed her until she was breathless.

  ‘But he will see to it that you have a Barovnian husband,’ he said softly. ‘In fact, he’s determined to take care of it tonight.’

  She knew what he was telling her—it was in Jake’s eyes, it was in the sudden leap of her blood. Still, she had to put the question to him.

  ‘And—and who will my husband be?’ she whispered.

  Jake smiled, just as he had the night they’d met, when he’d asked her to go away with him and—for the swift beat of her pulse—she’d wanted to say that she would.

  ‘Who?’ she repeated.

  He drew her close and kissed her deeply, and then he whispered against her lips.

  ‘Guess.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE HAD kissed her and kissed her, and he was still holding her in his arms. Maybe that was why she couldn’t think coherently. Maybe that was why she’d thought he’d said—he’d said—

  ‘This is—it’s a joke, right?’

  Jake smiled wryly. ‘Life is full of surprises, kitten. For instance, I never dreamed I’d propose to a woman in a tent in the middle of a camp filled with bandits.’

  Dorian swallowed with effort. ‘Come on, Jake. You and the Tagor decided that—that you’d teach me a lesson…’ She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just went on looking at her with that little smile curled across his mouth and a look in his eyes that she could not quite define.

  ‘You’re—you’re serious,’ she whispered after long seconds had crept by. ‘You really told that—that awful man that we’d—’

  ‘I didn’t “tell” him anything, Dorian.’

  ‘I don’t—I don’t understand.’

  ‘The Tagor sees himself as a civilised man. That’s why he’s agreed to let me keep you.’

  ‘Keep me?’ she said, staring at him.

  ‘Yes. I told you, he thinks you’re my fiancée. That means I have certain rights and obligations.’

  ‘My God! If that’s his idea of civilised—’

  ‘But he’s not about to wish us bon voyage and send us on our way.’

  Dorian swallowed drily. ‘He’s not?’

  ‘The way he sees it, you’re a desirable woman. All you need is some taming. If I don’t exercise my rights and perform my obligations, someone else will. You get your choice, lady. Me—or one of the Tagor’s men.’

  She stared at him. ‘But that’s—that’s crazy!’

  A strange half-smile twisted across his mouth. ‘Like it or not, kitten, he holds all the cards. It’s either do as he says—or do as he says.’

  Dorian nodded slowly. Marriage, she thought, marriage—to Jake. Not that it would be a real marriage, of course. But marriage…

  The ceremony would, no doubt, be exotic and colourful, something she could write about for WorldWeek that would probably sell more copies of the magazine than ever before.

  I Was the Bride of the Abdhan, by Dorian Oliver.

  Her heart gave an unsteady lurch in her breast. Jake’s bride. What a ridiculous idea…

  ‘Well?’ She looked up. Jake was watching her, and suddenly she wished the lighting was better so that she could see beyond the shadows and into his eyes. ‘What’
s it going to be, Dorian?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘The barbarian you know—or the one you don’t?’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Why not?’ His voice was brusque. ‘It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’

  ‘Jake, for God’s sake, I’m only thinking that—that getting married is—is—’

  ‘Yeah.’ The air puffed from his lungs. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

  No, she thought, watching him, he didn’t. How could he, when she didn’t know how she felt herself?

  Marriage. Marriage, to Jake…

  ‘It’s a hell of a thing,’ he said as he bent over the kerosene lamp and turned up the flame, ‘being forced to go through a farce like this.’

  There it was again, that little constriction within her chest. But why?

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘The ceremony won’t be binding, of course. We won’t have to bother with an annulment, in case you were concerned about that.’

  ‘I understand.’

  But she didn’t. She didn’t understand why she ached so, why she wanted to take a step forward and touch him.

  ‘We can forget it ever happened, once we get out of here.’ Jake turned and looked at her.

  Why was he making an issue of it? She understood the situation. If they had to go through with a charade to save their necks, then that’s what they’d do. And then it would be over; it would have no meaning in her life or his.

  She nodded her head.

  ‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘In the morning, when we leave—‘

  ‘In the morning?’ A little note of panic threaded through her voice. ‘What do you mean, in the morning? Must we stay the night?’

  ‘We have no choice.’

  ‘But why? If we go through with the ceremony…’

  ‘Use your head, Dorian. What would he think if a newly married couple denied themselves the pleasures of their wedding night?’

  He smiled, and a little stab of pain twisted into her heart. This was a game to him, she thought, a game, but to her—to her…