A Bride for the Taking

by Sandra Marton

  Dorian sighed. Actually, hers hadn’t been too dependable lately. Kadar, by the looks of things, was certainly more than a couple of hours’ walk. And if she’d waited for the search party she’d been sure was coming, those men would have found her by now.

  But staying behind hadn’t been an option. Jake had come back prepared to take her off the plane by force, if necessary. Would he have done that? she wondered. Her gaze moved over him as he strode along the road ahead of her. Yes. Yes, he would have. He would have tossed her over his shoulder or tied her and gagged her: he would have done whatever he damned well had to do to get what he wanted. For all that earlier sophisticated polish, Jake Prince was a man clearly in his element. Dorian smiled a little, remembering that she’d thought he might be Jack Alexander.

  He wasn’t, of course; she knew that now. Not just because he’d denied it—if Jack Alexander had been travelling incognito, he’d never admit it to a reporter—but because the last few hours had been convincing proof. The head of Barovnian Exports would be a man at home in skyscrapers and penthouses, a man used to the power of the boardroom and the pleasures of the bedroom, and the thought of him enduring in surroundings such as these was almost enough to make her laugh out loud.

  But Jake—Jake was at home here. Not that she wasn’t damned sure he was as familiar with the boardroom as Jack Alexander. That air of cool authority could only belong to a man accustomed to being in charge.

  As for women—Dorian’s gaze moved over him again. The afternoon had grown warm, and he’d taken off his leather jacket and stuffed it into the sack he carried. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his body, moulding itself to his shoulders and back so that it accentuated the play of muscle beneath his skin.

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, she remembered how it had felt to be in his arms, to taste his mouth, to feel his heart beating against hers…

  ‘…what you’re feeling, Dorian.’

  She looked up, startled. Jake was standing dead ahead, his hands on his hips, watching her with a narrow-eyed intensity that sent her pulse rocketing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, if you don’t answer my questions and let me know how you’re feeling, you won’t be able to blame me for pushing you too hard.’

  The breath puffed from her lungs. ‘Did you—did you ask me a question?’

  He nodded. ‘I asked if you wanted to take a five-minute break.’

  Tell him you don’t need to, she thought—but what was the sense in being stupid? She nodded, and Jake pointed to some flat rocks off to the side of the road.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said when he sank down beside her.

  She wasn’t. There was a persistent ache in her right foot, but somehow the thought of admitting weakness to Jake was worse than enduring the growing discomfort.

  ‘Fine,’ she said with a quick smile.

  She watched as he slipped the sack from his shoulder and unzipped it. Water, she thought, please, let there be a Thermos of water inside.

  Jake held his hand. ‘Have a piece of chocolate.’

  She shook her head and opted for honesty. ‘I’d rather have something to drink.’

  ‘Later. For now, eat the chocolate.’

  She had a sudden vision of that moment when he’d packed the sack. ‘Soda,’ she said. He looked up. ‘There are some cans of Coke in there. I saw you put them in.’

  He nodded as he unwrapped the chocolate. ‘Yes. Maybe we’ll open one later.’

  ‘Why? I mean, if we’re thirsty now—’

  ‘We are not thirsty now,’ he said coldly.

  Dorian drew in her breath. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘OK, we’re not. I am. Do you want me to—to prostrate myself for a miserable drink?’

  His expression grew very still. ‘That’s the second time you’ve accused me of being a petty dictator,’ he said softly.

  Her eyes met his. ‘If the shoe fits…’

  ‘The fact is, we may have a better use for those cans.’

  She laughed tiredly. ‘Be sure and let me know what it is when you figure it out, will you?’

  ‘There’s a village just ahead,’ he said, ignoring her gibe. ‘I want to be long past it by nightfall.’

  ‘Nightfall?’

  ‘Yes. We’ll camp in the foothills.’

  ‘But—but…’

  ‘But what?’ He smiled unpleasantly. ‘Surely you didn’t think we’d cross those mountains and reach Kadar today?’

  She hadn’t thought, and she didn’t want to, even now. A night, spent in this desolate place? A night alone, just she and Jake? A tremor went through her, of fear and of something more.

  ‘Tomorrow, then. We’ll be at Kadar tomorrow,’ she said quickly. ‘Right?’

  Jake gave her a long, steady look, and then he zipped the sack shut and stood up.

  ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘No…’

  Dorian sighed. He was already striding down the narrow road. She rose slowly and dusted off the seat of her trousers with her hand. ‘If you don’t answer my questions…you won’t be able to blame me for pushing you too hard,’ he’d said, but he hadn’t meant it. She stared after him, tempted, for the moment, to call him back and tell him she needed a longer rest.

  But she had no wish to show any signs of vulnerability to a man as unfeeling as Jake Prince. Instead, she firmed her jaw and fell in behind him.

  * * *

  She was debating whether it would be better to take off the miserable shoe and go barefoot by the time Jake announced another halt. She smothered a groan as she collapsed to the ground and kicked off the offending shoe.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  His voice was sharp. With concern, she thought in surprise—but then she looked up and saw the way he was watching her. It wasn’t concern at all. Not for her, anyway. He was just worried that she’d put them off schedule.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, defiance glinting in her eyes.

  Jake cursed as he dropped the sack to the ground and squatted beside her.

  ‘Let me see your foot,’ he said angrily, pushing her hand aside.

  She caught her breath when he touched his fingers lightly to the tender flesh, and then he sat back on his heels and glared at her.

  ‘When did this happen?’ he demanded.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I asked you a question, dammit.’

  ‘You asked me one before, too. “Are you ready to go?” you said, but you didn’t wait around to hear my answer.’

  Jake looked at her in silence, then got to his feet. ‘Get up.’

  She moaned softly. ‘Not yet. Please, let me just—’ She gasped as he swung her up into his arms. ‘What are you doing? I can walk.’

  ‘And you will,’ he growled as he strode into the trees that grew beside the road, ‘after we take care of your foot. The village I told you about is just over that rise. I’m going to leave you for a while and go on ahead.’

  ‘Leave me?’ The thought was terrifying. ‘No. Don’t do that.’

  He shifted her weight in his arms. ‘I won’t be gone long.’

  ‘Jake, please—let me go with you.’

  ‘It’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why?’ Her gaze swept across his face, taking in the grim set to his mouth, the harsh thrust of jaw, and those cold, determined eyes. ‘Just give me one good reas—’

  ‘OK. One, your foot hurts and you might as well rest now as later, and—’

  ‘But I’ll manage.’

  ‘And two,’ he said, ducking his head as he made his way through a thicket of flowering wild cherry, ‘we made a deal, you and I. I said I’d take you with me to Kadar—and you promised to do as you were told.’

  ‘I did not. I said I’d do what seemed sensible,’ she said quickly. ‘And it isn’t sensible to leave me alone here.’

  He came to a stop and looked down at her, his eyes steady on her face.

  ‘Are you afraid?’ he asked softly.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, of
course not. I just—I just…’

  ‘Nothing will happen to you here, Dorian.’

  ‘You can’t guarantee that, Jake. Anyone might—’

  ‘I’ll check the area thoroughly.’

  ‘But why must you leave me here?’

  He smiled. ‘Do you speak Pragavic?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  He smiled again. ‘I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Yes, but—but I could keep still. I wouldn’t have to say anything.’

  His smile became a grin. ‘You? Somehow, that’s hard to imagine.’

  ‘I would, though. They’d never suspect that—’

  ‘Of course they would.’ His hand slipped up and cupped the back of her head. ‘Your hair, Dorian. Your eyes—you’re different. Everything about you is different.’

  He was different, too, she thought suddenly. She had never known a man like him, a man at home in two such different worlds. She had never known a man who looked like him, either, with a hard masculinity that seemed only to enhance his beauty. Because he was beautiful. That tall, regal bearing. The handsome face, with its faint layer of dark stubble. And his eyes—she could see them clearly now. She had thought they were black, or even brown, but they weren’t. They were something in between, a dark, midnight hazel that—that…

  Say something, she told herself. Say anything.

  But it was Jake who spoke, his voice low and intimate.

  ‘Do you really want to be with me?’

  It seemed hard to draw breath into her lungs. She had been afraid of being left alone when she’d made her admission, wondering who—or what—was in the woods. But Jake’s whispered question had given her words an entirely different meaning and suddenly the air became charged with electricity.

  That he’d still try and play such a game in the midst of danger infuriated her.

  But that she felt herself responding to it infuriated her even more.

  ‘I—I…’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Of course. That way, I can get some background information about—about the people in this place. For my articles, I mean.’

  Jake’s face changed to stone. ‘How conscientious you are,’ he said coldly. He lowered her to her feet and stepped back. ‘Stay here and don’t move. Not an inch, do you understand?’

  ‘But—how long will you be gone?’

  His smile was quick and humourless. ‘As long as it takes,’ he said, and then, like a shadowy ghost, he melted into the trees and vanished.

  * * *

  In truth, he wasn’t gone very long at all. And when he did reappear he seemed to materialise out of nowhere.

  ‘Here,’ he said, dropping a bundle of clothing in her lap. ‘Get those things on, and be quick about it.’

  She frowned. ‘What is all this?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ he snapped. ‘A skirt and blouse. A shawl. And a pair of sandals. Come on, will you? We’ve only another couple of hours of daylight.’

  She rose slowly. ‘Where did you get this stuff?’

  ‘From one of the village belles.’ A cool smile twisted across his lips. ‘Not your style, hmm?’

  ‘But why? My clothing is torn, but it’s still wearable.’

  Jake laughed. ‘I know this is going to break your heart,’ he said, ‘but truthfully I didn’t give much thought to whether or not your outfit needed replacing.’

  ‘Well, then…?’

  ‘You look different from the women we’ll see.’

  That was what he’d said just a little while ago. But the words had had a softness then. Now, it was an indictment.

  ‘We haven’t seen anybody yet.’

  ‘We will, once we reach the mountains, and the fact that you don’t speak either Pragavic or Barovnian—’

  ‘Barovnian?’ She shook her head. ‘Why would anyone expect me to speak that?’

  ‘I can take care of that by saying my wife is mute,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘But the rest is impossible.’

  Dorian’s eyes widened. ‘Mute?’

  ‘Maybe we can get away with the colour of your hair and eyes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘My country is small, and has been invaded often.’ His eyes swept over her and a look of faint distaste settled on his face. ‘But there’s no way to explain your Western clothes—especially that trouser suit.’

  ‘Jake, for heaven’s sake—why will you have to make excuses for anything once we get to Barovnia?’

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Change your clothing.’

  ‘But—but you haven’t explained anything.’

  He caught hold of her shoulders. ‘Dress yourself, Dorian, or I’ll do it for you.’

  Their eyes met and held. A flush of anger rose along her cheeks and she shrugged free of him.

  ‘You really belong in this part of the world,’ she said coldly. ‘It suits you perfectly.’

  His smile was grim. ‘Does it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. All that charm is just a cover-up, isn’t it? You’d much rather give a woman orders than anything else.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  Dorian tossed her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But you are.’ He laughed softly as he reached out and caught her face in his hands. ‘Giving a woman orders is sometimes necessary, but there are other things I much prefer doing.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks again. ‘I wonder,’ she said evenly, ‘does Jack Alexander know what kind of cold-hearted bastard you are?’

  Jake’s smile vanished, like a light suddenly extinguished.

  ‘He knows all there is to know about me, Dorian.’

  ‘And he still wants you around?’ She grimaced. ‘But then, why wouldn’t he? He’s probably the same kind of rat you are.’

  ‘No.’ His voice was very soft, almost a whisper. ‘He isn’t. He’s far worse than I am.’ He looked at her for a long moment, and then he let go of her and turned away. ‘You have two minutes to get out of what you’re wearing and into the clothes I’ve given you.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘Two minutes, Dorian.’

  She stared at his back, at the straight spine, the arrogantly held head, and she knew that he meant what he said.

  Her fingers flew over buttons and hooks, until her khaki suit lay at her feet and she was dressed in the soft black wool skirt, embroidered blouse, and dark leather sandals Jake had brought for her.

  The clothing fitted well enough; it was even handsome, in its own way. Why, then, did it make her feel so uncomfortable?

  ‘Thirty seconds, Dorian. Twenty. Ten—’

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said quickly.

  Jake turned around, his gaze moving slowly over her. She felt it linger at the slight swell of her breasts visible in the scooped neckline of the blouse, felt it feather across the narrow waist of the skirt. When he looked up, he was smiling.

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘yes, you’ll do. You’ll do fine.’ She watched as he buried her khaki suit and shoes underneath a rock. ‘Now, let’s see that foot.’

  She started to tell him that her foot would be OK in the thick-soled sandals, but one glance at his determined face and she knew it would be useless to argue.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, propping her foot on his knee as he knelt before her.

  Jake pulled a strip of soft flannel from the sack, made a pad of it, and slipped it between the sole of her foot and the sandal. His hands were strong, yet surprisingly gentle. Without warning, she thought of how they would feel on her breasts…

  ‘All right.’ He rose quickly. ‘Let’s go. I don’t think we’ll cross anyone’s path until morning, but, if we do, remember who you are.’

  She stiffened, reacting as much to the unexpected vision of a moment ago as to his air of authority.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to—’

  ‘You are mute.’ His voice was harsh. ‘And you are my wife. Do you understand?’

  ‘No, dammit, I do not understand.’

  ‘There’s no time for e
xplanations. Just do as you’re told.’

  ‘Why?’ Her eyes flashed green sparks. ‘Because that’s how the men of your country treat their women?’

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s as good a reason as any.’

  ‘Well, I have news for you, Jake Prince. You may belong in this part of the world, but I don’t. And I am not your woman. I—’

  She cried out as he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth dropped to hers and he kissed her with a harsh, unforgiving passion that left her breathless.

  ‘You are what I say you are, until we reach Kadar,’ he said when he lifted his head. ‘Is that clear?’

  She blinked back the angry tears that rose in her eyes. ‘Absolutely.’

  He gave her a long, steady look, and then he nodded and turned away.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ he said and, after a moment, because there really weren’t any other choices, Dorian fell in behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DORIAN blotted her forehead with a corner of her shawl, spat out a mouthful of dust, and did her damnedest to keep up with Jake.

  None of it was easy. The shawl was getting soggy with sweat, she felt as if she’d swallowed half the dirt road, and Jake—Jake was marching along as if he didn’t care whether she could stay with him or not.

  No. That wasn’t exactly true. He’d asked her, when they’d started, if her foot felt all right, and he’d asked the same question half a dozen times since in a way that implied that he expected her to be the worst kind of burden.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she’d kept saying, which was true enough. The improvised pad, and the thick leather sandals, had solved the problem. Eventually, he’d stopped asking. Now, he simply glanced back from time to time, checking her presence the way you would check to see if a stray dog was still following you.

  ‘Let’s go, let’s go. Can’t you move any faster?’

  She glared at his sweat-soaked back. No, she thought, not without wings. I’m exhausted and sweaty and I hate you for what you’ve done to me, dressing me in this—this cheap costume out of a bad operetta, treating me as if I were your property, making veiled references to danger ahead when the truth was the danger was long past, and all because you’re determined to make me look and feel foolish.