A Bride for the Taking

by Sandra Marton

‘Dorian—I don’t know if you realise how different things will be, once we reach Kadar.’ She heard the rasp of his breath. ‘You’ll be Dorian Oliver again, WorldWeek’s reporter on the scene—’

  ‘WorldWeek?’ She smiled into the darkness. ‘What’s that?’

  Jake kissed her. ‘And I—I’ll be—I’ll be…’

  ‘You’ll be the abdhazim.’

  He went still in her arms. ‘You know?’

  She sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When…?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. I thought that’s who you were, at first, and then you convinced me otherwise. But when we were on the way to Quarem…’

  Her breath caught. Quarem. The telegram. She had to tell him about the telegram…

  ‘Dorian.’ He stroked the hair back from her face. ‘These last few days with you—they’ve meant everything to me. I never dreamed my last hours of freedom would be so sweet.’

  ‘Your last hours…?’

  ‘Yes. My advisers almost went crazy when I told them I was going to fly into Kadar alone, but—’

  ‘Is that what you were doing? I thought—I thought you’d changed your mind about becoming abdhan.’

  ‘How could I change my mind about a responsibility?’ He kissed her gently. ‘I just wanted the luxury of being Jack Alexander a little while longer.’

  Dorian touched his cheek. ‘Or Jake Prince.’

  ‘No, love. I never expected to be lucky enough to be a man named Jake Prince—or for these days to have been so special.’

  Her heart lifted at those simple words. ‘Have they been?’ she whispered.

  He rolled to his side and took her with him, holding her close in the hard curve of his arm. There was a silence before he spoke again.

  ‘When I was eighteen, I met a woman. I met her at a party, one of those university madhouses where there are too many people, too much noise, and too much booze. I wasn’t much for that kind of thing, but I’d let my room-mate talk me into going.’ He drew in his breath, then expelled it. ‘I’d been having a bad time. I’d just lost both my parents in an accident—’

  ‘At eighteen? How painful that must have been.’

  ‘I suppose I was feeling sorry for myself, and very much adrift. I’d always had this strange division in my life because my father was a Barovnian diplomat, part of the royal family, and my mother was an American. Losing them made me feel as if I’d lost the only solid ground I had. So there I was, vulnerable as hell, and there she was, this woman, a little older, very beautiful—and very understanding.’

  ‘But she hurt you, didn’t she? I can hear it in your voice.’

  ‘We became lovers. We were inseparable for a couple of weeks.’ He drew his arm from under Dorian’s head, sat up, and wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘And I trusted her. I told her things—I talked about how hard it was to live in two different worlds, about the tragedy of the poverty that still plagued my father’s birthplace…’

  Dorian sat up, too. ‘And?’ she asked softly.

  ‘And,’ he said, his voice hardening, ‘about a month after the affair ended, everything I’d said was splashed across four columns in the sleaziest of the tabloids—including some not-so-subtle references about what it was like to go to bed with—I think her phrase was “a magnificent savage” like me.’

  ‘Oh, Jake!’ Dorian put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his back. ‘It must have been horrible.’

  ‘Yeah.’ His voice was gruff. ‘But it was a lesson, and I never forgot it, a lesson about reporters—and about women.’

  His words drove a knife into her heart. The telegram, she thought, the telegram!

  Perhaps it hadn’t been sent.

  ‘Jake—are we—are we going to Kadar through the Valley of the Two Suns?’

  He turned and took her into his arms. ‘Just listen to this woman,’ he said, drawing her down beside him. ‘She wants a geography lesson at a moment like this.’

  ‘Jake, please—it’s important.’

  The old woman hadn’t spoken English very well, had she? Perhaps she hadn’t really understood.

  ‘This is more important,’ he whispered.

  Perhaps there wasn’t a telegraph office in Quarem after all. Perhaps…

  Jake bent to her, and she was lost.

  * * *

  When she awoke next, grey light was filtering into the tent. Jake was fully dressed and leaning over her.

  ‘I’ve been out scouting,’ he said quietly. ‘Our pals are still sleeping off the party. I want to get going before they awaken and change their minds about letting the guest of honour leave.’

  She dressed quickly, then crept after him out of the tent and through the silent encampment. A herd of horses was grazing just beyond the tents. Jake held up his hand and Dorian stood still while he moved in among the animals. Minutes later, he emerged on the back of a white horse.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ he said, and he swung Dorian up behind him.

  ‘Jake?’ She put her arms around his waist and leaned close to him. ‘When will we get to the Valley of the Two Suns?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking me that?’

  Because I’ve betrayed you, she thought. No. She hadn’t, not really, she’d only been doing her job. But it was too much to explain now.

  ‘Dorian?’

  ‘I must talk to you,’ she whispered. ‘Before we reach the valley.’

  Jake hesitated. ‘We’ll make a stop before then, OK? Now, hold on tight, kitten. We’re going to ride hard.’

  They rode for what seemed like hours. How could she tell Jake about what might be waiting for them? What could she say? No matter what she said, he wouldn’t like hearing it, but he’d understand. He had to understand.

  The mare reared wildly as a shattering roar filled the air. Dorian ducked as an enormous dark shadow swooped over them.

  It was a helicopter.

  ‘Jake,’ she shouted, ‘Jake, look…’

  But he’d already jumped to the ground. He clasped Dorian around the waist and brought her down beside him, and then he began waving his arms over his head.

  The ‘copter dipped down for a closer look, then settled slowly to the ground ahead of them. The engine whined to silence as a handful of men tumbled out and trotted to where Dorian and Jake stood.

  ‘My lord!’ The tallest of the men dropped to his knees. ‘Thank God you are all right!’

  ‘Get up, Kasmir. I’m happy to see you got my message.’

  ‘From Quarem. Yes, it reached us yesterday.’ The man smiled. ‘It is good that you remembered this ridge.’

  ‘How is my cousin? Is he—?’

  ‘He lives, my lord, but in a coma. The surgeons say we must wait.’

  Jake nodded. ‘Well, then,’ he said briskly, ‘let’s get going. I’ll want to see him as soon as possible.’

  Dorian moved closer to Jake’s side. ‘You told them to meet us here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then—we’re not going through the valley?’

  Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘No.’

  ‘But you told me—’

  ‘I know what I told you. But it made more sense to arrange to be met here.’

  She nodded. ‘Because—because you didn’t trust me.’

  He thrust his fingers through his hair. ‘Dammit, Dorian, does it really matter now?’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ she said. She thought of the anguish she’d suffered, thinking he was going to walk into the trap she’d set. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth when I asked how we’d be entering Kadar?’

  His mouth turned down. ‘As long as we’re asking questions, why did you keep asking?’

  ‘My lord.’ Kasmir stepped forward. ‘I would suggest that Miss Oliver had a very special interest in your point of entry.’ He looked at Dorian, his eyes as cold and flat as a serpent’s. ‘An army of reporters and photographers awaits you at the Valley of the Two Suns, my lord. They have been there since last night, at Miss Oliver’s direction.’
/>
  Dorian shook her head as Jake swung towards her. ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘that’s not so.’

  ‘It is, my lord. I myself saw a copy of the wire.’

  ‘Well, yes, I mean, I sent it.’ Dorian flung out her arms as Jake stared at her. ‘But—but I sent it before—before—Jake, don’t look at me like that! I was going to tell you.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ He caught hold of her and drew her aside. ‘When the first flash bulb exploded in my face?’

  ‘No!’

  He thrust her from him as if she were something evil and poisonous. ‘Keep the hell away from me,’ he said in a soft, terrible whisper. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Jake, please, you have to listen. After—after last night…’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘After what we shared…’

  ‘What we shared was a bed,’ he said coldly. ‘And if you plan on detailing the more intimate aspects of our adventure for WorldWeek’s eager readers, I’d suggest you remember that every word you write about me will only make you look like the whore you are.’

  The blood drained from her face. ‘You can’t really think…’

  ‘Jaacov?’

  The woman’s voice was as soft as silk, but it silenced them both. She stood in the open door of the ‘copter, a slender figure swathed in gold silk, her dark eyes fixed on Jake.

  ‘Alana,’ he whispered. He moved towards her quickly, a smile curving across his mouth. ‘Alana, sweetheart, what are you doing here?’

  The woman smiled, too, a smile that lit her beautiful face.

  ‘How could I not come to you, Jaacov, when you have been away so long?’

  Jake swept her into his arms and she wound her slender arms around his neck as he lifted her off the ground.

  ‘Alana,’ he said—and Dorian turned away.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.

  Beside her, Kasmir smiled coldly. ‘It is a sight to warm the heart, is it not, Miss Oliver?’

  ‘Who—who is she?’ Dorian asked unsteadily. But she knew. In her heart, she knew! ‘Things will be different when we reach Kadar,’ Jake had said…

  ‘She is Alana Vadrovna—the betrothed of the abdhan.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘YOU,’ the grey-haired RBC-TV anchorman said, raising his glass of red wine in Dorian’s direction, ‘are one hell of a reporter.’

  ‘Indeed she is.’ The TNT-TV news commentator smiled. ‘You’ve pulled off quite a coup, Miss Oliver.’

  The leggy brunette from the Pyramid Network flashed her perfect white teeth. ‘If you’d just give us a hint about the real Jack Alexander,’ she said coyly, ‘just a little colour for background information, of course…?’

  The TNT-TV commentator shifted as close as the minuscule table in the bar of the Hotel Kadar would permit. ‘Just some background material from an “unnamed source”. We wouldn’t violate your confidence.’

  ‘No.’ The brunette showed her white teeth again. ‘You can count on that, Dorrie dear.’

  ‘It’s Dorian,’ Dorian said.

  The brunette’s silken eyebrows lifted. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘My name.’ Dorian’s smile was all sweet innocence. She was tired of being buttered up by everybody from a stringer for Der Spiegel to the publisher of The Times. They, at least, had been less obvious than this trio. ‘You keep calling me Dorrie—I’m called “Dorian”. And I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until WorldWeek prints my article. I know my boss would be as livid as yours if I gave away an exclusive.’

  Dorian’s colleagues looked at each other. The fatherly gentleman from RBC frowned, announced his sentiments with a word that would have shocked his nightly viewers, and then belted down his third Scotch and soda of the evening.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this damned news blackout can’t last forever.’

  ‘It can last as long as Jack Alexander wants it to last,’ the brunette said grumpily.

  ‘You mean Jaacov Alexandrei,’ the TNT-TV commentator said. ‘Hell, now that he’s ensconced in that medieval pile of stone up the road, he’s sure as hell not Jack Alexander any more.’

  ‘He’s not even Jaacov Alexandrei,’ the RBC anchor muttered. ‘He’s the abdhan, and he’s not about to let us forget it.’

  ‘He’s not the abdhan,’ Dorian said. They all looked up, startled, as if they’d forgotten her presence. ‘He’s still the abdhazim.’ The three faces remained impassive. ‘I mean, his cousin is still alive.’

  ‘We know what you mean,’ the brunette said with a condescending smile. ‘What we don’t know is why the bastard’s clamped a lid on all information coming from the palace.’ Her smile took on a crafty edge. ‘But we suspect it might have something to do with you, sweetie, and that little sojourn in the wilderness you and he had.’

  Dorian looked at the expectant faces. The false smiles were gone now, replaced by looks of sly speculation. She cleared her throat, then pushed back her chair.

  ‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’

  Was it her imagination, or did conversation pause as she made her way out of the hotel’s café to the lobby? She couldn’t tell any more; after a week of being her colleagues’ centre of interest, Dorian had begun to feel mildly paranoid.

  She stabbed her finger at the lift button. It had started the day she and Jake had been found. By the time the helicopter had whisked them to Kadar, the clutch of newspeople who’d been waiting at the Valley of the Two Suns had somehow been alerted to the fact that they were to be denied the story of the abdhazim and the reporter, so they’d been waiting to pounce on Dorian as she entered the hotel.

  She’d begged off answering any questions, but her swollen eyes and trembling mouth had not gone unnoticed. And when word had come down from the palace that the abdhazim had decided that all news would from now on be cleared through his ministers the rumour mill had gone to work full tilt.

  ‘What went on out there between you two?’ people kept asking, although their nudges and winks made it clear that they really didn’t require answers.

  The lift doors opened and Dorian stepped inside. Walt had asked, too, during their first phone conversation, in words less subtle. It had been his very first question. Dorian had closed her eyes wearily and before she could answer the line had gone dead.

  The lift shuddered to a stop and she stepped into the hotel corridor. Walt would be phoning soon for an update and she didn’t want to miss his call. She was going to tell him what she’d been telling him for three days now.

  She wanted to go home.

  Not because of the rumours circulating around her; she was a big girl, and she could survive those. And not because she couldn’t bear being in the same city as Jake. No. It was nothing as foolish as that.

  The key trembled in her hand as she inserted it in the lock. She just—she just wanted to go home so that she could get started writing her story.

  That made sense, didn’t it? Everyone was waiting around to see if the abdhan would survive or if the abdhazim would be enthroned in his place, but she was weary of waiting. It wouldn’t change her story: she had the goods on Jake Prince, and she’d tell it to the world as soon as she sat down at her word processor.

  Her room was dark and quiet, and she sighed as she closed the door and tossed her room key on the desk. There was a tiny balcony, and she walked slowly to it and stepped outside.

  Kadar lay softly lit and silent around her. Jake had said she would find the city with one foot in the past and one in the present, but he had not told her that she would also find it beautiful and exotic—but then, that depended on your perspective, didn’t it? If you were virtually a prisoner inside the grey stone walls of the castle, as Jake was, exotic beauty didn’t have much meaning.

  Not that she felt the least bit of compassion for him. Why should she? Only a fool would feel compassion for a man like Jake Prince. Jake, or Jaacov Alexandrei, as he was now called, had no soul. And no heart.

  And she had never loved him.r />
  It had taken a lot of pain before she’d realised the truth; she’d wept into her pillow that first night in this room, wept until she’d had no tears left, but somewhere between the last fading star and the rise of the sun it had come to her.

  Jake had hurt her pride, but not her heart. She had fallen in love with love, but not with him.

  She’d been thrown into a dangerous yet romantic situation, with a handsome, virile man—a man to whom she’d been physically attracted, and the result had been inevitable. Who could blame her? Exhaustion, fear, the disorientation of having gone from a world she knew to one she’d never imagined had warped her perspective.

  She had let him make love to her, and she’d romanticised it by telling herself it was love.

  But it hadn’t been love. It had been sex.

  Dorian sighed as she stepped back into her room. How she could have let herself think, even for a moment, that she loved him was beyond her. What was there to love in a man like that? He was an arrogant, egotistical bastard who didn’t care about anybody’s feelings but his own, a man with an appetite for women and a hatred for reporters. As for the story he’d told her about the woman who’d betrayed him—who cared? Even if it were true, it didn’t give him the right to treat people as he did, nor to treat her as he had.

  He was, in short, an insolent barbarian who’d been given power by the fortunes of birth. He had no scruples about using people and then discarding them, but her turn was coming.

  The pen, she thought with a little smile, was a mighty instrument indeed.

  Jake could keep the lid on the news while she was here in Barovnia, but as soon as she reached the States the ball would be in her court. She was a reporter, and she had one hell of a story to tell. And, while she would not pepper the column she wrote with personal details, no matter what Jake thought, she would write about the man as he really was.

  Selfish. Vain. Imperious. Unfeeling.

  Jake Prince, A Scoundrel Among Men: A First-Person Account, by Dorian Oliver.

  Yes, she thought as she brushed her teeth, that headline would do for a start. And the sooner she got started on writing the article that would accompany it, the better. Walt could fly someone in to replace her. He could—