A Bride for the Taking

‘Where I found a weekly pay-cheque that would disgrace a beggar,’ she said with deliberate lightness, ‘and an old-boy system that might just let me wangle a byline in a hundred years or so.’

‘And you decided to stay.’

She smiled wryly as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Of course.’

‘Well, that’s certainly logical,’ Jake said with a little laugh. ‘After all, if the pay’s bad and the chance for advancement’s even worse, what else could you have done?’

Dorian rested her head on her knees. ‘What do you do for a living, Jake?’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘This and that,’ he said finally. ‘I’m in the export business.’

‘And you’re successful?’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose you could say that, yes.’

‘Did you work hard to get where you are?’

His mouth tightened. ‘Some would say no.’

‘But you say…?’

‘I say—I say I took a small, family-owned company and made it into an international firm.’

She nodded. ‘And was it easy?’

Jake laughed. ‘Hell, no. It was hard work.’

‘But you loved every minute of it?’

His eyes darkened with suspicion. ‘What is this, Dorian? The game of twenty questions?’

‘It’s an explanation,’ she said. ‘I love what I do, the same as you. And I want to carve a niche for myself, the same as you.’ She picked up a loose stone and examined it intently. ‘And I will, some day. All I need is a chance.’

Silence fell over them, broken only by the soft whisper of the wind.

‘I suppose you expect these reports you’ll file from Barovnia will give you that chance,’ Jake said finally.

Dorian lay back and rested her head on her arms. She had thought a lot about her dispatches while they were climbing through the pass, and the more she’d thought, the more she’d realised that what she’d write—what she’d really write, not the fanciful copy she’d composed in her head to make the time pass more quickly—would not, when you came down to it, be that different from everyone else’s stuff.

Her assignment had been Jack Alexander. That was the simple truth of it. Walt Hemple had chosen her because he’d hoped she’d catch Alexander’s eye, and, even if she’d balked against setting out to deliberately do that, she’d certainly hoped to interview the man.

But whatever chance she’d had was long gone. She’d spent the past two days a million miles from the next abdhan. He would have said all he had to say to the other reporters by now; they would have filed their stories, enough of them so that the Western Press was probably on overload. Anything she would write would only be superfluous.

Even Jake’s solo flight, which had seemed so mysterious and promising, didn’t seem that way any more. She still didn’t know why he’d made it, but what did it matter? It was too late for it to have any effect on what was happening in Kadar. After all, if death had come to Barovnia’s ruler and Jack Alexander was crowned abdhan, the ceremonies could certainly go on without Jake.

It was only this journey across the wilderness that might prove interesting—but not newsworthy. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the man of the hour.

The bottom line was that she was out of the action, and there was nothing she could do about it.

‘Well? Is this Barovnian jaunt your ticket to success?’

Jake’s voice was rough with impatience. She looked up at him and smiled wearily.

‘To tell you the truth, unless Jack Alexander suddenly fell into my lap with the offer of an exclusive interview, my stuff won’t even raise an eyebrow in New York.’

Jake got to his feet and stood with his back to her. ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ he said softly.

She laughed. ‘Oh, I’m not. What I’m counting on is a hot meal and a hot bath. Or a hot bath and a hot meal—I haven’t decided in what order I want them yet.’

He stuffed his hands into his rear trouser pockets. ‘Well, you’ll have plenty of time to decide. We’ve at least another day’s journey before we reach Kadar.’

‘What?’ Dorian scrambled to her knees. ‘But you said—’

‘I said the city was on the other side of the mountain—and it is, more or less.’

‘Dammit, Jake, why did you lie to me?’

‘I didn’t lie,’ he said mildly. ‘I just thought it best not to let you worry about the distance we had to cover.’

‘Then what is on the other side of the mountain? You said there was a town…’

‘There is. It’s called Quarem.’

‘The place where they have the bridal market?’

Jake nodded. ‘It’s a rough place. I’d skirt it altogether, if I were alone. But I can’t ask you to go without food much longer, and we’ll need horses to get through the valley.’

‘The valley?’ She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘What valley?’

‘The valley of the Two Suns. Crossing it will take us a day and a half or so, and then we’ll be in Kadar. There will be some risks, but they should be minimal, assuming you can remember your instructions.’

Dorian stared at him. Their brief truce was ending; she could hear that clipped, authoritative tone seeping back into his voice as he spoke.

‘What instructions?’ she asked warily.

Jake turned to her. ‘You have an amazingly short memory for a reporter,’ he said softly. ‘Have you forgotten that you’re my adoring, mute little wife?’

Her face coloured. She was his woman. No. Of course she hadn’t forgotten, not after what had happened this morning.

But he never had explained why it would be necessary to keep up the farce once they were safely inside Barovnia.

‘You’re to defer to me at all times,’ he said, bending and picking up the supply sack. He looked at her as he slung it over his shoulder. ‘Keep the scarf low on your forehead. We’ll do something about the way you’re dressed. No respectable man would let his wife be seen in such mud-spattered, torn clothing. Just remember not to talk, not to lift your eyes unless I tell you to, and—’

‘And not to breathe.’ Dorian rose and faced him, her hands on her hips. ‘Listen, Jake, I am not going to be led into that town like a—a donkey unless you do some explaining.’

He glowered at her. ‘Haven’t you been listening? You will do exactly as you are told.’

‘I most certainly will not.’

‘Listen to me. There are things you don’t understand.’

‘Then explain them.’

His face turned cold. ‘They’re none of your business.’

‘Well, then, I’ll tell you what. When we get into town, you go your way and I’ll go mine. I’ll find a telephone and—’

‘No!’ His voice was razor-sharp. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘You will not do that.’

Dorian’s chin jutted forward. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.’

Jake drew in his breath. ‘Dorian, I need—I need time…’

‘For what?’ she said impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, there is no time. You should know that even better than I do. Jack Alexander is probably going to become the tin god in this little part of the world, and—’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what you think he’ll be?’

‘More or less. What would you say?’

Jake blew out his breath. ‘I’d say the man’s been asked to assume an out-of-date responsibility no one in his right mind would want.’

She looked at him, surprised by the impassioned words. ‘Surely that’s not Jack Alexander’s opinion?’

‘Of course it’s his opinion,’ he growled. ‘He doesn’t belong here.’

‘Then why has he come?’

‘What do you mean, why? He’s come because he has no choice.’

Dorian’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s ridiculous. Everyone has a choice.’

‘Everyone has responsibilities,’ Jake said, his eyes blazing into hers. ‘I know it’s not a popular wo

rd in today’s world, but it’s the truth.’

‘Even so—how awful could it be for someone like Alexander to become the ruler of Barovnia? There was always the possibility—’