A Bride for the Taking

Jake glanced at her. ‘Keep that scarf up.’

‘I thought you said there were blondes in Barovnia.’

‘What did I tell you about giving me a hard time?’

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Dorian said pleasantly, and she pulled the shawl high up on her head.

He gave her a glowering look. ‘That’s better.’

Of course it was, she thought gleefully. It was perfect! Not her ridiculous compliance: if he thought she’d believed all that stuff about the horrors that awaited her in Quarem, he was crazy.

No. What was perfect was the story she was bringing with her—and the fact that Jake, in his pitiful male arrogance, still thought she had no idea that he was the abdhan.

Did he really think she was that simple-minded? Was she supposed to accept the explanation that he’d been talking about his buddy, Jack Alexander, and not about himself when he’d said all those things about why he didn’t want to be abdhan?

And the things he’d said… Dorian rolled her eyes. She’d almost fallen for that touching little speech he’d made—all that stuff about freedom and responsibility. But once she’d been marching down the trail after him again, all the loose ends had begun to knit together.

Jake had not been flying to Barovnia aboard that private little jet. He’d been fleeing from it, in a last-minute panic.

It was so obvious, once she thought about it. He had never wanted to give up his easy Western lifestyle for the rigours of being abdhan, but somehow the Dark Suits had talked him into it. And then, midway to Kadar, he’d balked.

‘Land this plane,’ he’d demanded, or something like it, ‘and have a small jet fuelled and waiting for me.’

And the Dark Suits had done it. Of course they had! Who among them would have dared argue with the next abdhan—the abdhazim—even if he was trying to refuse the throne?

Jake’s voice intruded on her thoughts. ‘Quarem is just ahead,’ he said. ‘You are mute, Dorian, remember?’ When she said nothing, he cursed softly. ‘Dammit, do you hear me?’

‘I can’t speak if I’m mute,’ she said sweetly.

He caught her by the shoulder and spun her towards him. Her pulse thudded when she saw the dark fire in his eyes. This trip wasn’t over yet; she had to be careful not to push him too far.

‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? You have to make up your mind, Jake, if you want me to speak or not.’

A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘You’re to answer me if I ask you a question,’ he said finally. ‘Just keep your voice down and that scarf over your mouth, and no one will know the difference.’

She nodded and they began walking again. Oh, yes, she thought, it was easy to see why the Dark Suits would have felt cowed by Jake Prince. And it was a cinch to figure out why they’d looked so unhappy as he talked to them on that runway in the middle of nowhere.

‘I’m leaving,’ he’d said, and there they were with a planeload of reporters and no Crown Prince. Heaven only knew what story they’d fabricated to explain his disappearing act. They were probably stonewalling it like champions.

As for Jake’s rage at finding her on his heels—well, it was one thing to do a disappearing act, but having a journalist peer over your shoulder when you were doing it guaranteed notoriety. Just what a man who loathed personal publicity would want, she thought wryly.

Because of her, he’d had to rewrite his script. And it wasn’t finished yet. That was why he was determined to travel incognito. Who knew what story the Dark Suits had come up with? Jake would have to contact them just to make sure their stories coincided, which meant that he’d have to use the telephone once they reached Quarem.

Well, that was right down her alley. Let him phone Kadar as fast as his fingers would dial. When he was done, she would call Walt. And then—

Jake’s hand closed around her wrist. ‘We’re coming into the town.’

She looked up and her stomach did a funny lurch. She had expected—what? Houses. Roads. Something not terribly modern, but recognisably Western.

But Quarem didn’t meet that description. It looked, she thought, exactly as a town in Eastern Europe might have looked five hundred years before. Half-timbered houses lined narrow, dusty streets. The men she could see were dark and rough-looking, and the women had an air about them. They looked worn, almost defeated.

The realisation made her feel frightened—and rebellious.

‘Remember,’ Jake said, ‘no talking, except to me.’

‘Oh, yes, master. I understand.’

‘Keep that shawl over your head.’

‘Certainly, sir. Is there anything else, sir?’

Jake cursed softly and pulled her against him. ‘Yes. Remember to keep a civil tongue when you speak to me.’

‘Or what?’ She glared at him. ‘Will you sell me at the bridal market?’

His smile chilled her. ‘Don’t be stupid. You’d bring a lot more money from the Tagor.’

She laughed. ‘You’re getting desperate, Jake. The Tagor, indeed! You’re making all this up!’

‘Behave yourself,’ he said softly, ‘or you just might get to meet him.’

Dorian grimaced. Who was he kidding? No matter how backward Barovnia might be, slaves, bridal markets, and bandit kings just didn’t exist any more. Still, it was hard not to feel a growing sense of unease as he led her deeper into Quarem. Close up, it looked even more uncivilised and menacing—like Jake.

Two days of travelling on foot through rough terrain had honed his appearance to a menacing edge. Dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and dust covered his once-shiny boots. He looked like a man who had squared off against trouble more than once and had yet to find out what it was to lose. And yet—and yet she had to admit that none of that detracted from his good looks. If anything, it only emphasised them.

He was sexy and dangerous-looking, and it was a powerful combination. That was probably why she’d made such an ass of herself this morning. Jake, the bastard, had surely counted on it. How better to control a woman than to kiss her into submission? And how better to make a journalist forget her objectivity than to make her your lover?

But it would not happen again. Two more days, Jake had said, and then they’d reach Kadar. And when they did…

His arm slipped around her waist. ‘Stay close to me,’ he murmured.

She blinked, then caught her breath. They had reached the centre of Quarem, and, despite what she’d already seen, the reality of the market itself was staggering.

The square was cobblestoned and thronged with people and animals. Staked-out pigs and sheep competed for space with wooden cages of squawking chickens and ducks. Smells filled the air, cardamom and cinnamon and coffee mixed with the muskier tones of goat and horse. And the noise, the overwhelming cacophony of voices haggling in a language she’d never heard before…

Jake seemed to sense her confusion. He slipped his arm lightly around her shoulders.

‘It’s all right,’ he said softly.

‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘It’s so—so—’

‘Different? Yes. But I warned you it would be.’ He drew her closer and she let him. ‘Just keep moving. That’s it. We want to look as if we belong here, remember?’

She nodded as she walked along beside him, her eyes taking in everything she saw: women, some in Western dresses years out of fashion, others dressed as she was, and some few bundled head to toe in shapeless jellabas; men, dark-eyed and fierce, most of them looking as if they’d just laid down their weapons to come into town…

But no telephones. Not that she could see, at any rate.

‘Jake? Isn’t there a phone?’

She felt him stiffen beside her. ‘So you can contact your magazine?’

‘So we can let people know we’re all right.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dorian, but there’s no phone here.’

None for her, at any rate, she thought grimly. But surely Jake would find a way to contact the Dark Suits

and warn them, not just that he was still alive, but that he was en route with a journalist in tow.

Well, two could play that game. If he found a phone, so would she. And, when she did…

‘What we need is food. And horses. Then we’ll take care of getting you a change of clothing.’

She looked at him as if he were crazy. ‘With what? We have no money.’

‘I have a pocketful of czelnys—more than enough to buy what we need. Just stay close to me.’

Stay close to him? She almost laughed. What else would she do? she thought as they went from stall to stall while Jake purchased provisions for the trip through the Valley of the Two Suns. She still wanted to find a telephone, but she wasn’t about to dash off on her own to do it, now that she’d seen Quarem. The place was—it was alien. And—and…

A whisper of alarm danced along her skin. Someone was watching them. She looked up carefully. A huge man with a beard and turban was looking at her from across the narrow street.

She bowed her head quickly and drew her scarf closer around her. It had slipped a little, and she wondered if he’d seen the paleness of her skin or the colour of her hair. There’d been something in the way he’d looked at her…

When she looked up again, he was gone. Dorian let out a sigh of relief.

‘Dorian?’ Jake’s voice was low. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Are we—are you almost finished?’

He nodded towards the next stall. ‘We’re just going to stop here to buy a change of clothing.’

The sense that she was being watched returned. Her gaze flew beyond Jake—and there was the bearded man! Dorian clutched at Jake’s arm.

‘Please—can’t we leave now?’