A Bride for the Taking

Dorian hesitated. ‘What—what will happen to us?’

She felt him draw a deep breath. ‘I suspect we’ll be cleaned up a bit and then taken to see the Tagor.’

She smiled for the first time. ‘Cleaned up a bit? What for? I mean, judging by the way our escorts look and smell, soap and water isn’t a priority item around here.’

‘I know. But the Tagor prides himself on his civility and sophistication.’

She tilted her face up questioningly. ‘You sound as if you know him.’

‘No. We’ve never come face to face. But I’ve heard of him.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘He’s rather well-known in this part of the world.’

‘Well,’ she said, trying desperately for a light touch, ‘he can’t be very sophisticated if he believes in stealing women.’

There was nothing light in Jake’s reply.

‘He’d never dream of stealing you, kitten,’ he said grimly. ‘But accepting you as a gift from his men—well, that’s different.’

Bitter-sweet laughter rose in her throat. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘The Barovnian version of Emily Post, right? Lesson One: Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’

Jake blew out his breath. ‘I guess you could put it that way.’

‘But he won’t really—I mean, surely not even in Barovnia…’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t keep saying things like that. I know that we’re talking about a bandit here, not a typical Barovnian.’

‘There’s no reason to pick your words now,’ Jake said gruffly, ‘not when we’ve just been kidnapped so you can be presented to the Tagor like a Christmas present.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Hell, who have I been kidding? My country has one foot planted so firmly in the past that it will take everything short of dynamite to blast it loose.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And I’ve always known it. It’s just that I’m uncomfortable admitting it, even to myself.’

‘I understand.’

Jake sighed. ‘No,’ he said after a pause, ‘no, kitten, you don’t.’

I do, though, she thought. I know who you are, Jake, I know that it wasn’t selfishness or cowardice that sent you fleeing your duty—it was desperation. I know how torn you’ve been by the decision you had to make…

‘Then explain it to me,’ she said softly.

A bitter smile flashed across his face. ‘Why? So you can write an exposé about the doubts of—of one of Jack Alexander’s advisers?’

For a moment it was hard to think why he would think that. WorldWeek, and the articles she’d been sent to write, were the last things in her mind.

In the real world, the one that lay beyond these mountains, she would have given him a clever answer, one that would have made him smile even while it established the adversative relationship of reporter and subject.

But this wasn’t the real world; it was a place where life had suddenly taken on special meaning, and there was no room for anything but the truth.

‘No,’ Dorian said softly. ‘I—I just—I just want to know about you, Jake.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Kitten…’

‘Javai!’

The sharp command caught them both by surprise. The little column was coming to a halt; they had entered a broad meadow pocked with canvas tents and grazing horses.

‘Javai!’

The behemoth was standing beside the stallion, glaring up at Dorian with his massive arms outstretched. She couldn’t understand his words, but his message was precise and clear.

‘Get off,’ he was saying. ‘Get off and I’ll catch you.’

Jake slipped from the saddle before she could move and said something sharp and authoritative. Dorian held her breath while the two men stared at each other. Then, with an unpleasant laugh, the bandit waved his meaty hand in the air and stepped back.

She felt her heart begin to beat again as Jake looked up and held out his arms. She dropped into them without hesitation.

‘Jake,’ she whispered feverishly, ‘I beg you, don’t do anything that foolish again. I’d have survived—’

‘But I wouldn’t.’ His voice was raw. ‘If that son of a bitch so much as touches you—if anyone touches you—’

He fell silent, but not before the same electric message flashed between them again.

‘Sinza!’

The giant stepped forward and so did Jake, but before either man could make a move a woman covered head to toe in a black jellaba pushed between them, barked something as she clamped a hand around Dorian’s wrist, and began tugging her towards a nearby tent.

‘Wait a minute,’ Dorian said quickly. ‘Hey! Did you hear what I said? Just wait a—’

Jake shoved past his guard. ‘Go with her, kitten,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s only going to give you a chance to eat something and get cleaned up.’

Her lip trembled. ‘But—but where will you be?’

‘In another tent, doing the same thing.’ He touched his hand to her cheek and she fought back the desire to bury her face in his warm flesh and sob out her fear. ‘Hey,’ he said with a little smile, ‘just this morning, you couldn’t decide if it was a bath or a meal you wanted most. Now, our host is about to provide both. Besides, a little soap and water and some food will help you regain your strength.’

She looked past him to the sullen-faced men who had gathered to watch the show, to the swaddled women scattered among them, and to the tents that stood like huddled animals against the overhanging mountains. Her gaze returned to Jake, standing close beside her, and suddenly she knew that she could find all the strength she would ever need deep in his dark eyes.

She would be as brave as he was, she thought, and she lifted her head proudly and smiled back at him.

‘Don’t forget to wash behind your ears,’ she said, and then she turned and followed her jellaba-draped guard to the tent.

* * *

Some food, Jake had said, and a little soap and water, but this interlude was not going to be that simple. Her first surprise came when her escort peeled back the tent flap and shoved her inside.

The interior was surprisingly spacious and not anywhere near as barren as she’d expected. A heavy fall of white gauzy fabric separated it into two rooms.

Dorian looked around slowly. The one she was in was quite handsome. Intricate woven hangings were draped on the walls, their colours rich and bright. This was, apparently, a dining area: a pleasant scent of coffee and spices hung in the air, softly faded carpets lay underfoot, and there was a low wooden table off to the side.

The woman poked her in the back and urged her towards the table. She waited until Dorian sat, cross-legged, on the rug before it, and then she clapped her hands sharply. A girl stepped through the tent door bearing a basin of scented water, soap, and a towel.

‘Fladai,’ her guard barked.

Dorian obliged, washing her hands and face, then blotting herself dry with the towel. The woman scowled at the girl, who scampered off. The flap opened again and a troupe of girls stepped inside, their hands laden with platters, their eyes gleaming with interest as they looked at the mysterious stranger.

The food was placed before her and Dorian stared at it. She wanted to treat this meal with casual disdain. But the sight of it made her realise how hungry she really was. She devoured the warm, flat bread spread with sweet butter, the tiny meatballs, the nuts and raisins, and she drank three cups of hot, sugary coffee before she sat back and sighed with contentment.

The woman in the jellaba clapped her hands and the platters were whisked away.

‘Fladas,’ she said, motioning towards the rear of the tent.

One of the girls hurried ahead and pulled aside the heavy curtain. Dorian rose to her feet and moved forward slowly, gaping at what awaited her.

A little soap and water, Jake had said, and that was what she’d expecte

d—a bucket of water and a bar of coarse soap. But what she found was a huge wooden tub with high, sloped sides. Steam curled from its depths, along with the faint scents of sandalwood and oil of roses.

The woman pointed to the tub. ‘Fladas,’ she said irritably.

Dorian nodded. ‘Yes, I agree. A fladas sounds like a great idea.’ She gave a meaningful look at the woman and the girls. ‘But I prefer my baths in private, if you don’t mind, so if you’d all please get out…?’

‘Fladas,’ the woman snapped.

‘Listen, I get the message. And I’m telling you, just take your little retinue and—hey. Hey!’ Dorian’s voice rose in indignation as the woman grabbed hold of her, but it was useless. The girls swarmed around her like bees, buzzing with laughter as they peeled off her dirty clothing, whispering with delight when they saw her fair skin. In seconds she was naked, and the woman in the jellaba pointed sternly at the tub.

Dorian tossed her head and marched towards it with as much pride as she could manage, considering the circumstances. She stepped in, then lowered herself gingerly into the hot, scented depths. Despite herself, she gave a little sigh of pleasure, leaned back, and rested her head against the rim.

Her guard slapped her hands together and the girls rushed forward and snatched Dorian’s scattered clothing from the floor. The woman looked at Dorian and said something.

She smiled sweetly. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re saying, you old witch.’

The woman put her hands on her hips and stared at Dorian. A moment passed, and then her brows rose.

‘Syet,’ she commanded, putting her hand to her nose. She made a dreadful face, then pointed to the clothing. ‘Octa,’ she said with disdain, and she made a sweeping gesture to the tent door.

‘Throw it out, you mean?’ Dorian had to laugh. ‘By all means. Please do.’ She sat forward quickly. ‘So long as you have something else I can put on.’

As if on cue, one of the girls stepped forward, a long length of white cotton draped in her arms. The woman made a long, harsh-sounding speech, but all that mattered was the one word Dorian understood.

Jellaba. That was what the length of cotton was, and it was for her. It looked clean and soft; even the sight of it lifted her spirits. With a weary sigh, she sank back into the tub and waved her hand, mimicking the other woman’s gesture.