Merlins Maidens - Secuced by Spy - Pickens, Andrea

by Seduced by Spy (mobi)

  “We have already covered Boadicea and her fight to defend England from the Romans.”

  “Ah, but that bold Queen had a great many sisters-in-arms throughout the ages.”

  “Sh—she did?” Shannon tried to recall her own classroom experience. “I’m afraid I did not pay as close attention as I should have to the history lectures. Our instructor was a dry stick, making the past sound dead rather than alive.” She twisted a blade of grass between her fingers. “I was always more comfortable with steel than scholarly abstractions. Weapons were something I could get a grip on. While ideas…”

  Surprised at the note of longing in her voice, she let the words trail off. Her roommates Sofia and Siena had always seemed so much smarter when it came to books and abstract concepts—like cause and effect. They seemed able to exercise logic, while all too often she allowed her explosive temper to get the better of her.

  Orlov was regarding her oddly. “While ideas… ?”

  “While ideas always seemed harder to hold,” she admitted. No doubt she was an idiot for admitting to such a shortcoming. One of the basic rules of engagement—both physical and mental—was never show the enemy any weakness.

  But strangely enough, Orlov did not seek to take advantage of her slip. “Most likely you had a good teacher for fencing and marksmanship. And a dull one for academics.” He settled himself a bit more comfortably against the outcropping of rock. His shoulder pressed up against hers, and along with the frisson of sexual awareness that his touch always sparked, Shannon was aware of a mellower warmth, a bond of camaraderie.

  “You might begin with such mythic figures as Rhiannon, horse goddess of the Welsh,” he mused. “Or Queen Maeve, the Celtic sylph whose cunning and courage were matched only by her lust for…” His mouth curved upward for an instant. “On second thought, you will not want to mention that particular detail to Emma.”

  “Lady Octavia does believes in plain speaking,” she murmured with an answering twitch of her lips.

  He gave a mock grimace. “Emma’s father is an expert in ballistics—I would rather not have my body parts blown from here to China.”

  “True—such comments might ignite his wrath.” This good-natured teasing was a new tone between them. It might even pass for… flirtation? Their gazes held for an instant and she saw the same ripple of awareness. “Do go on,” she added quickly, unsure of whether to feel embarrassed or amused.

  “History holds a great many real women whose exploits are worthy of study.”

  Fascinated, she leaned in a bit closer. “Yes?”

  “Take Catherine the Great of Russia. Voltaire was a great admirer, and in his letters, he called her the Semiramis of the North. Like her ancient namesake, she was hailed as a great sovereign and a great lover.”

  Shannon shifted slightly. Though the sun had dipped below its zenith, her limbs were suddenly suffused with heat. “The amorous exploits of these Queens always seem rather exaggerated.”

  “Exaggerated? Ha!” Orlov chuckled. “You have not heard the stories surrounding her death?”

  She shook her head.

  “I shall not go into all the gory details, but they involved a stallion and a complicated creation of pulleys and scaffolding that suddenly collapsed.”

  “You are joking,” she sputtered, once her laughter had died away.

  “Even I could not make that up.”

  “Thank you for the suggestion. It was quite entertaining. And interesting.” Her palm slid along the leatherbound spine of the book. “You are an excellent teacher. You make me want to know more. About… about a lot of things.”

  “Learning is for a lifetime.”

  Curious, she ventured a question. “So you were not lying when you told Lady Octavia that you attended Oxford?”

  “That was all true. My family did indeed suffer some severe financial setbacks. My father, you see, was an inveterate gambler, whose lucidity and luck were slowly stretched to the breaking point.”

  “I see. And the part about the acrobats?”

  “Again, all true. It was only when I came to the part about my infatuation for the young lady that I bent the facts a bit. I did not leave the circus on account of a broken heart, but a broken neck. I did not mean to kill the fellow, merely to stop him from asserting his conjugal rights over his new bride with the help of a bullwhip.”

  “She should have murdered him herself.”

  “Not every female possesses your indomitable strength and courage.”

  A compliment from Orlov—one that sounded sincere? She nearly slipped from her seat.

  “In any case, the young widow was suitably grateful, but I found that my eagerness to don a leg shackle had waned considerably. So I took my leave, crossing the border of Prussia into Russia.” He shrugged. “From there, my exploits went along pretty much as I told the dowager. I spent the last few years in Austria and Poland, but recently… well, you are aware of my recent assignments.”

  “Yes.”

  “What of your past?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “You grew up in London?”

  She didn’t answer.

  No doubt he would take her silence as one of their usual competitive challenges. Gritting her teeth, she prepared to defend herself from his scathing wit.

  But rather than come at her with a verbal attack, Orlov reached out and touched the tensed muscles at the back of her neck. “A sensitive subject, I take it.” His fingertips began a gentle massage. “Sorry.”

  There was nothing sexual in the intimacy. It was more a gesture… of friendship? She found herself relaxing under the light, swirling pressure.

  “I grew up in the slums of St. Giles.” The words slipped out in a soft sigh. “While you were roaming through Europe and Asia, my world was a few acres of filthy alleyways. The stories of those days are not half so entertaining as yours.” She shrugged. “I was lucky—Lord Lynsley plucked me from the legion of other orphans and gave me a home at the Academy. My fellow students are my friends, my family. There is not much more to tell.”

  “I should like to hear about your roommates,” he said.

  “You have met Siena. She is perhaps the most… introspective of the three of us.” Shannon made a wry face. “Or so it says in the report I found in the headmistress’s private files. Sofia is by far the most ladylike. She has a natural grace about her. Indeed, I would not be surprised to discover she was the daughter of a duke and some poor servant girl, turned off without references.”

  Orlov looked thoughtful. “There seem to be few of the world’s sordid realities that you have not been exposed to.”

  “In comparison to yours, my life has been very sheltered.”

  He choked back a laugh. “I doubt that many people would agree with your assessment. Trust me, it is highly unusual for a young woman to be trained in the expert use of weapons and explosives. Not to mention the equally lethal arts of intrigue and seduction.”

  Anxious to turn the talk from her past, Shannon saw her chance. “Look at the party from London. It seems to me that the ladies and gentlemen of the ton know a thing or two about the latter subjects.”

  “Polite Society is a perilous world unto itself,” he agreed. “Lives can be ruined by a small slip in propriety, reputations slain by malicious gossip.”

  “It sounds daunting.”

  “The same could be said of what you do.”

  “There is a difference.” She thought on it for a moment. “We fight as we do for principles.”

  “Lynsley must be very proud of you.”

  “Hah.” The snort slipped out before she could help it.

  His brow quirked in question.

  “The marquess thinks me rather hot-headed,” she admitted. “I have had a number of disciplinary problems at the Academy. His patience has frayed. I am hanging on to my rank by a thread.”

  “If we fail here?”

  Her laugh held little mirth. “Perhaps the Tsar could use
a freelance agent.”

  “Yet the marquess chose you for this assignment.”

  “He had little choice. As you pointed out, I am very good with weapons. It’s just when it comes to authority that I sometimes run into trouble.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Stubble the sarcasm, if you please.” However, a reluctant grin pulled at her mouth. “I suppose I tend to be a bit headstrong. But only when I am convinced that I am right.”

  “Which is more often than not.” He grinned.

  She rubbed her wrist. He was teasing, of course. But his banter was a painful reminder of how she had fallen short of the Academy’s lofty standards. She had let herself down as well. “I can’t say I blame Lord Lynsley for putting me on probation. He’s extremely fair, and he is right to demand discipline and a steadfast devotion to duty.”

  Wind rustled through the oak trees, and a scattering of leaves floated to the ground. Shannon closed the book in her lap. What was it Orlov had said the other evening—that one must know history in order to avoid repeating it. It was, she supposed, another way of saying that one must learn from past mistakes.

  A wise lesson.

  “We had better be getting back to the castle.”

  “And face the battlefield of spilled flour and sticky batter?” said Orlov.

  “You have vanquished far more formidable foes.”

  “Yes. However, sometimes it is wiser to avoid the direct line of fire.”

  “Cook is already a conquest. She may let you lick the spoon,” replied Shannon.

  “Tempting.” He gave a lazy smile. “I am inclined to rest here for another little while.” Seeing she was already on her feet, he rose, too. “Very well, if you are determined to charge into the fray, I can’t very well let you do so alone.”

  “You need not stir. I know how much this enforced alliance goes against your principle of every man for himself.”

  “Whether we like it or not, we are comrades for the moment.”

  A fleeting friendship. A reminder not to get too comfortable with him. Whether the mission ended in victory or defeat, life or death, one thing was certain—they would go their separate ways.

  Not so very long ago, she would have heaved a sigh of relief. Now, as she watched his wind-ruffled hair dance against his open collar, her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

  “Comrades in arms,” he amended, offering her a hand over the rough stones.

  “Don’t worry about me.” Shannon didn’t mean to sound quite so hard. “I am used to going it on my own.”

  As the afternoon remained gloriously clear and warm, Shannon suggested that they cut short the afternoon lessons and take a hike in the surrounding hills. Orlov readily agreed, and as they packed a picnic for teatime, she saw him slip a brass spyglass into the basket. His weapons, she knew, were hidden on his person. As were hers. If the enemy attacked they were armed and ready.

  “Let us head for the top of Beinn Moran,” he said. “I have not yet had a look at the far side of the valley.”

  “The choice is yours, sir.” She added her sketch pad and pencils. Another detailed map of the surroundings might prove useful. Already she had memorized several possible escape routes through the rugged moors.

  Once they had passed by the loch and started up the steep slope of wild meadow, the children raced ahead to chase the sheep. Emma scrambled to keep up with her brother, her skinny little legs tangling with her skirts as she climbed over the stone fence and tumbled into the grass. Orlov could not keep a straight face, though there was some hint of deeper emotion in the baritone chuckle.

  “Fearless, isn’t she?”

  Shannon felt a ghost of a smile form on her lips, the sight bringing to mind a long-ago little orphan, undaunted by a challenge.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “The imp reminds me of you, save that she is so tiny. She has the spirit of a lioness, though I fear her limbs will never quite catch up.”

  Shannon experienced a painful squeeze of her chest. “She may grow like weed in another few years. I was very small at that age.”

  He looked askance at her, allowing his gaze to linger for some moments. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It is true.” She closed her eyes. Darkness brought no relief, only a rush of long-fought memories. Without her quite realizing what she was saying, the words slipped out in a ragged whisper. “Delicate might be a more apt description. Like a china doll. At least, that is what the drunks and dippers used to call after me in the alleyways. Said I’d earn a pretty penny if I put myself under their protection.”

  Strange how despite her hardened muscles and deadly fighting skills, the echoes of anther age still sent a frisson of fear down her spine. “I learned early on that the only hope for survival was to fight like hell. Even in the face of overwhelming odds.”

  She opened her eyes to find him studying her intently. “Were you…”

  “Raped?” She shook her head. “No. But when you grow up alone in the stews, you don’t remain an innocent for long. There are other lewd acts that a very large man may force upon a child.”

  “I am sorry,” he said simply. She saw sympathy in the set of his jaw, the press of his lips. An understanding, born of a firsthand experience, that life was often not just or fair.

  Yet another bond they shared.

  “Don’t be. He won’t be subjecting any other young girls to such horrors.” Realizing that she had stopped, Shannon turned quickly and forged ahead, determined to make up for her momentary weakness. The conversation was revealing too much, too fast. Anger, antagonism was an armor of sorts. Stripping away such defenses could leave her far too vulnerable.

  “Is that what drew Lord Lynsley’s eye to you?” asked Orlov softly as he caught up to her.

  “He did not witness that particular example of my prowess with a blade. Our paths crossed later, when I was fighting off a pair of pimps who were trying to drag away two of my friends. I expect he thought my savage instincts could be channeled to a more useful purpose.”

  “The marquess would likely describe those qualities as courage and loyalty.”

  Her lips quivered. “On the contrary, Lynsley is likely regretting the choice. While he values strength and skill with a lethal weapon, he puts a higher premium on discipline and devotion to duty.”

  Orlov had not yet answered when a high-pitched cry rang out from above. Drawing his pistol, he sprinted for the crest of the hill, motioning for Shannon to circle around the rock outcropping to their left.

  Attack what they love first. How had she let Sun-Tzu’s principles slip her mind, even for an instant? She had tried to make herself invincible. And had failed miserably.

  The scrape of stone against her hand pushed aside all thoughts of self-pity. Nothing mattered, save Emma and Prescott. A silent, spinning leap brought her to the top ledge. D’Etienne would not find it easy to outwit or outfight Orlov. There would be an instant, an opening—and when it came, she would swoop in for the kill. Pistol cocked, she clamped her throwing knife between her teeth and dropped lightly into a narrow crevasse. From there she inched forward, muscles coiled, ready to spring into action.

  “Damn!”

  Shannon spotted the jagged gap in the footpath at the same moment as Orlov. Loosened by wind and rain, the shale and soil must have given way under the children’s footsteps.

  He reached the spot first and flung aside his weapon. “Hold on, sweeting,” he called as he flattened on his stomach and peered over the edge. “Don’t try to move. I’m coming for you.”

  “I’m lighter—let me go,” said Shannon, her teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. The drop was quite steep, broken by only a few narrow juts of rock as it tumbled nearly one hundred feet down into a slivered ravine filled with rushing water, shattered stones, and splintered pine. Emma had somehow managed to come to rest on a narrow ledge some thirty feet below them.

  Her demand seemed to have been swallowed by the swirling gusts, for O
rlov was already peeling off his coat. “That goes for you too, Scottie.” The boy had bravely started down after his sister, but another shard had broken off, leaving him trapped just out of reach. “Stay still, lad. I’m going to knot my sleeve and lower it to you.”

  Shannon inched out for a better view of the situation. It was not looking good—

  “For God’s sake, stay back,” snapped Orlov. Sweat was beading his forehead despite the wind. “If another piece breaks away…”

  Rather than finish the sentence, he gave a last twist to his jacket sleeve, then slowly slid the garment down the rock face. “I want you to grab this, Scottie, and hold on tight. Miss Sloane will anchor it on this end while I come down and get you. Understand?”

  The lad looked up, and though his face was ashen, he nodded.

  Shannon saw what Orlov had in mind and quickly took hold of the tail end. “I’ve got it.” Fisting the fabric, she added a silent prayer. “Go.”

  She held her breath as Orlov found a handhold and swung his weight over the edge. He was so solid, so strong, yet the rock was so fragile… Her own self- control started to crumble. If only she had kept her mind on the mission. If only she hadn’t distracted him with talk of her past.

  If only, if only. Perhaps Lynsley was right to question whether she was capable of learning from her past mistakes.

  The wind stung her cheeks, bringing tears to her lashes. But she would not let them fall, she vowed. A tug tightened the cloth in her hands. Not when there was still a shred of hope to cling to.

  “Hold fast!” Orlov’s voice swirled.

  Shannon dug deeper for a foothold in the wet earth.

  After what seemed like an eternity, a hand appeared at the rim of rock, then a face… two faces. Reaching out, she grabbed Prescott’s collar and pulled him to firmer ground.

  Orlov loosened Shannon’s hold on the boy. “No time for sentiment.” He set Prescott in the shelter of a large boulder. “Stay here.” He had meant the order to include Shannon, but she stayed right on his heels as he scrambled around to a different vantage point. He didn’t waste his breath in ordering her back.