A Spy to Call My Own: A Ravensdale World Book

by Rebecca Paula

  But wasn’t that a sight to see—Owen MacKenna swinging a blade that could cleanly decapitate a man. It shouldn’t be something that spurred on Vera’s feelings toward the infuriating man, but it strangely did. His body possessed such sheer power, and he carried it with ease. If comparing him to a God was cliché, she would gladly do it, because he was in fact a man who was unlike any other she had ever met.

  She handed back the cutlass, her eyes meeting his with the same measured coolness. Like that strong back of his, his manner toward her was cast in stone. But to admit anymore wouldn’t do. It was bad enough he didn’t seem remotely interested in her in return. For her to be honest with him, to say that she had long dreamed of seeing him again, of kissing him, of dare she admit it—marrying him—would gut her. Her life was built on fighting the failures that kept arriving at her doorstep. One day, she would be published. One day she would see women secure the rights equal to that of a man. One day, she dared to be happy.

  But for now, she was stuck in the jungle with Owen MacKenna, following a map of her brother’s, a day after being swept down river and getting shot at. She much preferred her tiny room back at Girton and the companionship of .

  “Are you sure we are headed in the right direction?” she asked, slipping her foot into her now heel-less boot. She sunk awkwardly to the ground, but at least she wasn’t having to pull her boot out of the soft earth.

  “I saw the map,” he answered grimly. “After yesterday, we have maybe another day added to the trip to head back in the right direction. We’ll get there.”

  She secured her right foot into the second boot and nodded, not agreeing with him. It felt as if they had spent the morning walking in circles. The jungle floor was dense with overgrowth—layers of green upon green. Shades of the color she had never dreamt possible.

  Vera thought to give him the map once again, to be sure of their destination. But she didn’t trust the man so concerned with seeing her off to England.

  “How long until we get there?” she asked, gesturing for him to continue hacking his way through the jungle. If there wasn’t a path, he saw to making one.

  “We were swept downstream for a few miles. We ran off course.” With a violent swing, he raised the cutlass and cut a swath of palms, striding forward as they showered down to the ground. “If I had to guess, we have seven days ahead of us. We’ll try for five if you can keep up.”

  They continued on for another two hours before they reached the top of another hill, stopping as a rope bridge stretched before them above the river far below. The towering limestone cliffs exaggerated the height as the jungle growth thinned.

  A group of birds soared through the sky, flying together in a feathered rush, cutting through the hot afternoon with ease. Owen removed the canteen at his hip and offered it to Vera. She took it, grateful to satisfy her thirst.

  “We’ll go across.”

  Vera took a few swallows of water, then handed the canteen back to Owen. “It doesn’t look like it’s been used in years,” she said, skirting around him to get closer. The rope was weathered to a dark gray and frayed at the posts by her hips. The bridge boards appeared soft, a few even missing. “We can’t cross this. There has to be another way.”

  “We’d have to hike down, find our way to the river and try to cross, then hike up the other side. Trust me, this is the fastest way.”

  She toed closer to the ledge’s edge, peering over to see the angry white water of the river. It was waiting for her, no matter their plans. “We could hike down and head in another direction. Why does this country have so many rivers?”

  She startled, glancing over her shoulder to hear what sounded a lot like laughter from Owen. She tried to wipe the answering smile away from her own face, but failed. His laugh was rich and intoxicating. It made his tired eyes spark with a brief glimpse of life.

  And suddenly she was back there in his arms, smelling the fresh clove of his aftershave, lost in a dizzying waltz beneath the chandelier light of the ballroom. Eighteen and she had so quickly fallen for her brother’s best friend that summer. Like the way he swung that cutlass, she had known the world with then without him in the blink of an eye. But that night, that lovely splendid night...

  She watched his lips move now as he spoke, not registering the world, instead missing the feel of them against her mouth. She had spent years remembering their kisses, remembering what it felt like to be so consumed—wholly. Vera was completely his that summer. And then he was gone.

  She knew now that it was only a passing fancy, some schoolgirl’s daydream of what love could be. It was a one-sided affair, and she’d be best served if she buried what feelings her heart harbored for him there in the depths of the jungle.

  “Do you hear me, lass?” he asked, shrugging on his pack again. He held a map in his hand, tracing his index finger of the river. The light hit his hair, striking it with gold. His skin was tinged from too much sun, and it was pulled tight over his cheekbones, reminding her again of a hungry wolf. “We’re going across. You’re going first.”

  Once, there had been softness in his voice and reverence in his touch. Once, he hadn’t been so hard to the world around him. At least then, it had held some wonder, some enjoyment. Now, it was as though he marched through the world, hard and barren of feeling.

  She nodded, inhaling a great breath. Vera held on to the two wooden posts, surveying the bridge in front of her as it swayed from side to side.

  “I’ll be behind you.”

  His nearness startled her again. If she survived this country, it wasn’t going to be because of him. She swallowed, stretching out her right foot to test the strength of the bridge. The added weight made the floorboards wobble. The bridge shook before her.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her hands whitening around the posts. “No.”

  “Go on,” he said forcefully behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder, shaking her head as their eyes met. “I can’t. I can’t move.”

  Owen stood still for a moment, then approached, placing his hand over hers. Carefully, he removed it from the post and leaned into her, stretching her forward to hold on the rope banister.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  Her heart drummed in her ear and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was so close or because if she opened her eyes, she’d be leaning over the cracks of the boards. The river seemed too far below, some 200 yards if she had to guess. She slammed her eyes shut, focusing instead on his hand over hers, the weight of his front against her back. She was nearly enveloped by him.

  “Now, take a step.”

  Hesitantly, she reached her foot in front of her, feeling for the solid footing of a board. It shook below her as she settled her weight on it.

  His breath was warm on her neck and for a moment, she swore she felt the trace of his lips there, etching their way up to the nape of her hair. “Now another.”

  Vera shook her head. It felt as if her stomach were lodged somewhere in her throat. She had come all this way for Tom and now...now a bridge stood between her and the answers she was so desperate to get.

  “You’ve come this far, Vera.”

  She swallowed, then took a step forward, pulling herself along with her left hand. The bridge swayed beneath her feet as she opened her eyes, three boards away now from the cliff. Owen stood by the post, tucking the map into his shirt.

  “I can’t go unless you do. We’re in this together.”

  Something in her heart hitched as he said “we,” as though there was ever such a thing except for that brilliant night. With his lips upon hers, she had once believed such an extraordinary thing.

  Vera exhaled, looking ahead to the end of the bridge. She chanced another step, then another, the bridge widening its swing. She peeked over her shoulder to Owen, then continued another two steps, the halfway point in the bridge still so far off.

  “Keep going.”

  She quickened her pace, stretching her stride to
skip two boards that were missing, her heart leaping against her chest at the sight of the river below her. Feeling bold, she quickened her pace, jumping from step to step with big strides.

  “Slow down,” she heard shouted from the other ledge. The wind carried the rest of Owen’s voice away. She paused, feeling the tension increase in the bridge with his added weight. With another wide swing to the left, Vera panicked, increasing her speed until she was running over the rest of the rope bridge, ignoring the loud sounds as the stress increased with her strides.

  With one giant leap, she collapsed to the ground, thankful for something solid beneath her. Then, a loud snap cut through the air. She sat in time to watch as the bridge crumbled beneath Owen and fell out of sight.

  Vera jumped to her feet. “Owen! Mr. MacKenna!”

  The bridge that once spanned the two hills was gone, and so was he.

  “Don’t you ever fucking listen?” she heard, in between a string of curses. She crept to the ledge and looked over, breathing a sigh of relief as Owen scaled the side of the cliff, the bridge acting as a ladder.

  He looked up, his mouth set in a firm line as he propelled his body upward, quickly. “This damn bridge isn’t going to hold.” He slipped a step as a board broke under his weight. For such a large man, he moved with grace, grasping the cliff in time before the rope at the posts snapped and the bridge fell down to the river.

  Vera backed up, giving him room as he pushed upward and stood, now on firm ground. And then, without another thought, she ran and threw her arms around him.

  Chapter 6

  The fire snapped, sending sparks up into the inky night sky. Owen watched, transfixed, on the way the light washed over the sleeping figure of Vera. She was curled up into herself, her head resting on her bent arm. The golden hair she had worn up was loose, softly cascading down her shoulders and waist. She was a picture and he was a greedy bastard, taking it in while he could.

  They were three days from town. Just three days before he had to put her on a steamer ship and say goodbye, again, because it was the safer thing to do. It was what Tom would have wanted. Wasn’t it?

  She stirred with another pop of the fire, her nose scrunching before her eyes fluttered open. In the dark, they were midnight pools. And somehow, they drove straight to his heart.

  “You should be sleeping,” she said, her voice rough.

  His body responded, his pants becoming uncomfortably tight as she stretched and sat up. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair. He remembered it feeling like silk. He remembered when it was coiffed and smelled of honeysuckle. That night now lifetimes ago.

  Men like Owen didn’t deserve a place in the life of women like Vera. His hands had blood on them, his heart too full of violence.

  He looked away, adjusting himself before returning his stare back to the fire. “I’m keeping watch.”

  The night was loud, a welcome distraction. Overhead, bats flitted through the trees as the steady drum of humming insects lulled the jungle to sleep.

  “I can take over. I’m sure you must be tired.” She reached out, pulling back her hand before she touched his.

  “That’s all right, lass. Close your eyes.”

  She had impressed him, not slowing down at all three days into the trek through the jungle. It wasn’t easy. They were well away from any trails or villages. The river carried them further south than he thought possible. But then again, it had all happened so quickly. He hadn’t time to reconcile having her back in his life, then she was nearly ripped away from him.

  Her body in his arms, lifeless as he pulled her out of the river. She wasn’t breathing. And her lips were too blue.

  She reached over, gently pulling the pistol from his hand. “I insist.”

  He watched in wonder as she fingered the metalwork on the pistol, her brows furrowed. Sleep wracked his body, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Or maybe it was just the sight of Vera holding a gun that was his undoing.

  He took the pistol back and held his flask up to his lips, thankful for the whiskey inside as it warmed him.

  “Tom would be proud of you.” The words escaped him before he could think better of it.

  Vera’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it, nodding instead. She scooted closer, her leg brushing against his. He couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey warming his body after that. She had the remarkable power of setting him on fire.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper finally.

  He nodded, handing her the flask. She took a draining swallow, then shook as the whiskey settled in her stomach. “I think I prefer gin.”

  “You drank what I had,” he admitted, taking the flask back. He motioned for her to move closer.

  Vera froze, her eyes meeting his as she assessed him. She grabbed the army blanket she had been using, her eyes full of questions. Owen remained still before she crawled forward and tucked her head against his chest.

  “You’re a hard pillow,” she admitted, spreading the blanket over them both.

  He chuckled, finding it strange he had done so again. In just a few days, he found himself laughing more than he had in years. Had service robbed him of that much?

  A series of loud crashes echoed around them. They both bolted upright, before Owen positioned himself in front of Vera. A shadow emerged from the jungle with a deep rumble.

  “It’s just the elephants, lass,” he said, as his heart rate slowed. “If we stay where we are, they won’t bother us.”

  Her hands bracketed his shoulders, her chin propped up on his shoulder from behind. She was just a small thing compared to his hulking mass. Then the soft sound of her wonder curled around him, melting his resolve.

  As she moved to the front of him, his hand drifted to her waist. She glanced up, resting her weight on one arm, her other splayed on his stomach. “I’ve never seen an elephant,” she said, her voice trailing off as she eyed his lips.

  As the elephants retreated into the brush, he couldn’t tell if it were their rumblings or his heart that made the noise filling his head. His hand dragged her closer, his palm fitting to the small of her back. “Vera, girl, I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, leaning forward.

  He sealed his mouth of hers, tentative at first. Thankful once again to be savoring the mouth he so often dreamt of. She answered, licking the seam of his mouth with her tongue, sending a spike of lust through him.

  Dear God, this woman.

  The world could burn down and he wouldn’t care with her by his side. His fingers traced her waist, then skirted up to cup her breast, filling his hand with her. She sighed against his lips, their kiss deepening. Owen lost himself to the pleasure of it. The sheer madness of what he was allowing himself to do. One slip tonight, but tomorrow they would march forward so he could get her on a ship home. But tonight, they could share this at least.

  For the briefest moment, he actually felt as though he deserved to be kissing her, and he was greedy with the want of such a thing.

  This lovely woman in his arms, his body ready to show her so much pleasure. Just as her teeth nipped his lower lip. Vera tested his control.

  Owen pulled away, saying nothing as she sank lower and rested once more on his chest.

  “I’ve missed you,” he confessed.

  She was already asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Though she hadn’t much experience, Vera knew undoubtedly, a kiss was never simply a kiss. They held an unspoken narrative, a dominance over the more logical side of her brain, and they were especially dangerous when connected to one Owen MacKenna.

  She awoke the next morning wrapped snugly in his arms, her face tucked against his shoulder, his chin resting on top of her head. And in that brief moment, it all felt as though it was meant to be. She was meant to be trekking through the jungles of Africa with a broody Scottish engineer set on picking apart the seams of her carefully constructed life, one heated kiss at a time.

  But that kiss never
happened, or so he wanted her to believe, because three hours had passed since they had woken and he had spoken little since a curt “good morning.”

  “If I’m right, there’s a cottage we can stay at tomorrow.”

  Vera watched his body move forward, low and deadly like the jaguar they spotted prowling the banks of the river yesterday. “So we’re close?” It was absurd that such a sight stirred her belly with some deep yearning she didn’t quite understand.

  “Should be there in two days if we keep up this pace.”

  Disappointment spiked through her. She wasn’t ready to face what they would find. And she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. Her fingers reached up and traced her lips, the memory of last night flashing before her.

  “Vera?”

  She looked up, meeting Owen’s gaze over his shoulder. She looked away, blushing at getting caught. “What’s that?”

  “I asked if you needed to rest.”

  “No,” she said, quickening her pace. Her body had grown used to trekking through the pain. Her head still throbbed, her side still sore. And yet it didn’t matter, not when he was near. She didn’t fear what might happen with him near.

  Her daring explorer.

  “What do you think we’ll find?” She rushed to catch up to him, tripping over a tree’s knotted roots. Owen spun and caught her, setting her back on her feet with little effort.

  “You’ve got to get there in one piece to find out.”

  She shrugged, flashing him a quick smile. Vera nearly lost her footing again when he returned a smile in kind—a brilliant, deadly smile aimed straight at her heart. Her chest fluttered, her skin growing as she looked away, focusing on her footfalls instead of how she could get lost in those amber eyes of his.

  “When was the last time you had contact with my brother?” she asked.