by Cheryl Holt
“You’re so sweet.”
“Yes, I am, and you spend too much time worrying. Relax, would you?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
He lifted the hem of her chemise, worked it up and over her head so her breasts were bare. For a second, she squealed with distress and attempted to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her.
He pinned her arms and tipped her away so he could study her. The moon shone on them, painting her smooth skin a silvery color. With her brunette hair down, she might have been a mermaid, and he was positive she was singing a siren’s song aimed directly at him. No doubt he would crash on the rocks before she was finished with him.
He leaned in and sucked on her nipple again, and he kept on and on, shifting from one to the other, going back and forth, back and forth. Gradually he carried her to the rear of the pond and sat her on the stone bench. He was still on his knees and wedged between her thighs.
He slipped his hand into her drawers, quickly finding her lush center. He slid a finger inside, then another, and she was such a sexual creature, and so incredibly titillated, that he didn’t need to stroke them in and out.
He’d scarcely touched her, and she was pitched into a violent orgasm. Her body tensed, and she moaned with dismay and astonishment, being so loud that anyone who’d heard her would definitely assume misbehavior was in progress. They wouldn’t have to speculate.
Laughing, merry, joyous, he clamped a palm over her mouth to stifle the sound. She spiraled up and up the ladder of desire, then she reached the top and tumbled down. She was laughing too, sputtering with amazement.
“What did you do to me?” she asked when she could speak again.
“Quiet down or you’ll rouse the whole camp. They’ll rush in to see what we’re about.”
“What happened to me?”
“It’s carnal pleasure, Kat. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” She scowled. “Am I still a…a…”
“Yes, you’re chaste as the day is long. Well, mostly chaste.”
“I’m not with…child, am I? There’s no chance of that?”
“No, no. Don’t fret. We’ve just had a spot of fun.”
Her frantic queries made him feel awful. She was twenty-five, and he’d been wondering if she was a virgin, or if some young man in her past had pushed the issue with her. But she was naïve and innocent, and clearly he was much too experienced for her.
At the same time, he was delighted to realize she was untried and untrained. If he was shrewd and clever, he might win the ultimate prize she would ever bestow.
Yet it wouldn’t be here, in a pond in her uncle’s desert camp. No, if Bryce was ever lucky enough to have her for his own, it would be in a grand bedchamber, on a feather mattress with sheets covered in rose petals. He wasn’t typically a romantic fellow, but she inspired that sort of devotion.
“You are so wicked,” she whispered.
“Not usually, but you draw out my worst impulses.”
“Can that occur more than once?”
“Yes, it can occur over and over. It’s a secret of the marital bed, but we don’t inform you females in advance. If you learned how exciting it is, you’d be ruining yourselves all over the place.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “We’re not married though, so how can we engage in marital conduct?”
“It’s just physical behavior. All of it is physical, and people don’t have to be wed to enjoy it.”
“Obviously not,” she murmured. “Have I told you that it’s dangerous for me to fraternize with you?”
“I believe you might have.”
“I want to do it again. I want to do it all night.”
“We can’t. Someone is certain to stroll by, and if I don’t get you back soon, the guards will notice how long we’ve been gone—and who you were with.”
“Drat it. I imagine you’re correct.”
“I could sneak into your tent later.”
She looked scandalized, but intrigued too. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would—if you ask me nicely.”
She snorted and assessed him with a keen eye, but in the end—as he might have predicted—she couldn’t take the leap.
“I’m not ready to have you sneaking into my tent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly sure.”
“No, you must declare that you’re absolutely sure. Otherwise I’ll convince myself to barge in and surprise you.”
“I am by and large absolutely sure,” she said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“If you came to my tent, would we…would we…”
He nodded. “We’d do things we probably shouldn’t.”
“That’s what I figured you’d tell me.”
“It would be thrilling though. You’d like it. I promise.”
“You’re a man so you would promise that.”
“True, but I’m not lying. You would love it. But…”
“We shouldn’t.”
“I can’t control myself around you.”
“And I can’t control myself around you.”
“Yes, you Jezebel. At heart you’re loose as a doxy.”
“If that’s supposed to render me more amenable, you’ve misplayed your hand.”
“I never misplay my hand, because I never bet more than I can afford to lose.”
“Could you afford to lose me?”
She asked the question in a flirtatious manner, as if she was teasing or jesting, but he thought, deep down, she might be seriously inquiring.
He smiled, letting all his affection shine through. “I could never afford to lose you.”
She sighed with pleasure. “It’s why you make me happy. You always say just the right thing.”
“Of course I do.” He pulled away and pointed to her basket. “Let’s dry you off, put some clothes on you, and get you back before the guards deduce who was moaning and groaning.”
Her blanched with horror. “They wouldn’t suspect it was me, would they?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll never be able to show my face among them again.”
“Then they’ll really know it was you.”
“You’re so hazardous to my moral character. I have no idea why I’m spending time with you.”
“You’re crazy about me. You can admit it.”
“I might be crazy about you. But just a little.”
She pushed off the bench and brushed by him, grabbing her drenched chemise out of the water and walking to the sandy beach. He followed her, liking how relaxed she was, her limbs rubbery and languid. She didn’t try to conceal her breasts, but wrung out her chemise and tugged it over her head while he watched. Her dress was next, and she spun and let him help her with the buttons.
“I want us to come here often,” she said.
“All right.”
“We have to be careful though.”
“Certainly.”
He doubted caution was possible, but he pretended it was. She didn’t realize how rapidly passion could spiral out of control, and he wouldn’t explain the risks. He would ride out the affair and see where they landed at the end.
She rose on tiptoe and kissed him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being you. For forcing me to become someone else. I need to become someone else.”
“I will try my best, Katarina, to make you into someone entirely new.”
“I hope so, for I hate the person I have been.”
“We’ll work on her together.”
He yanked on his boots, picked up his shirt and drew it on too. He found his knives and stuck them in the various spots where they were always hidden. Then he linked their fingers and they started off.
They’d reached the main path when a scream rent the air. Isabelle shouted, “Nicholas! Nicholas!”
“Oh, my Lord,” Kat murmured. “What’s happened?”
They sucked in a sh
ocked breath and raced for the tents.
* * * *
Nicholas wasn’t quite asleep when his kidnapper snuck in.
He’d been lying quietly, thinking about the marvelous day he’d had, tagging after his Uncle Cedric. He was an odd duck, but Nicholas liked him anyway. While Kat yearned to be welcomed back to Parthenia, his country was beginning to seem very far away. He couldn’t imagine how they’d ever return.
In the meantime, he was twelve years old, and it was wrong to have Kat supporting him. A female shouldn’t have to support a male. Since Nicholas wouldn’t be a king, he had to consider the type of life he’d like to live instead. Digging for antiquities would suit him.
As he’d been worrying about the future, he’d heard a peculiar tearing sound, and he’d glanced over, astonished to see a knife slicing through the canvas. Very quickly a man slipped in the opening and proceeded straight to Nicholas.
Nicholas called to his sister, managing only a simple, “Isabelle!” before a palm was clapped over his mouth. He was rudely jerked out of his bed and carried off. Isabelle jumped up and clasped hold of the man’s arm, but he was very large and very strong, and she couldn’t stop him.
Nicholas was stunned by the violence of the assault, by the swiftness of it, so he was outside before he remembered that he had to fight his attacker. He kicked and struggled, as behind them, Isabelle was screaming, her voice exploding in the dark.
“Mon dieu,” the man cursed in French.
It was the main language of Parthenia, and the bandit was wearing the wool trousers and embroidered vest favored by the citizenry. Nicholas’s mind was awhirl with questions as he tried to figure out why one of his own subjects would steal him away.
What was transpiring? Who had ordered it? Where would he be taken? If the destination was Parthenia, he wondered if he shouldn’t offer to go along peacefully. He’d be glad to go home, but he’d never depart without Kat and Isabelle.
Nicholas bit the man’s hand very hard, and the criminal yelped and nearly dropped him.
“Put me down!” Nicholas spoke in French too. “As your king, I command it.”
But his decree had no effect. The man firmed his grip and continued on.
They were headed toward the Nile. Was there a boat? Would he be whisked away? If the sails were raised, the oars at the ready, he might never see his sisters again.
“Kat! Kat!” he cried. “Mr. Blair! I need you! Where are you?”
He reached up and jabbed his thumb in the kidnapper’s eye. The man bellowed with outrage. Nicholas poked him again and wiggled away, and he ran—only to be seized by two others who’d been lurking in the shadows. They hurried him toward the river.
The camp was coming to life, Isabelle still screaming, people yelling. He kicked and wrestled, but couldn’t halt their forward progress.
Suddenly Mr. Blair appeared in front of them, blocking their route. The kidnappers pulled up short, glared at him, glared at each other. For a moment, all of them were frozen in place.
“Going somewhere gentlemen?” Mr. Blair casually asked. They didn’t reply, and he said, “You have something of mine. Release the boy.”
“Merde!” one of the brigands cursed. In heavily-accented English he added, “If you would be so kind as to move out of the way, Monsieur? We are leaving and taking him with us.”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Blair responded.
Seemingly from out of nowhere, he produced a pistol and a sword. He looked very calm, but very dangerous too, as if he wasn’t afraid of any hazard in the world. Nicholas realized he’d spent entirely too much time around his sisters, and females never understood the importance of knowing how to brawl.
He decided—after the incident was over—he would have Mr. Blair instruct him in battle skills. If Nicholas ever expected to protect himself and his sisters, he had to learn how to fight and win. He had to learn how to stand as Mr. Blair was standing and face down murderous adversaries without blinking an eye.
“I’m not scared of them, Mr. Blair.” He proudly exuded the same calm audacity.
“You shouldn’t be scared,” he agreed.
“I believe they’re trying to kidnap me.”
“Well, we won’t let them, will we?”
“No. I have no desire for them to succeed.”
“They haven’t a chance of succeeding,” Mr. Blair said, “and they won’t bother you much longer.”
Nicholas stared at Mr. Blair, wanting him to remember that Nicholas had been very brave, very steady in a crisis as his beloved father had trained him to be. His body weight went slack, the abrupt motion throwing the criminals off balance. As they struggled to subdue him, he raced away.
Behind him, he heard shouting and the crack of a pistol shot. Then swords clanged together. Nicholas flitted into the trees, recollecting that there was at least one other miscreant lurking, and he had no intention of being captured again.
He peeked down the path, and one of his attackers was lying on the ground, while the other was skirmishing with Mr. Blair. Nicholas wished he was courageous enough to barge into the middle of the fracas, but he had no weapon.
Mr. Blair didn’t need any assistance though. He dispatched the second brigand with very little trouble. The oaf emitted a loud woof, then joined his unconscious friend in the dirt.
Nicholas crept from his hiding place and called to Mr. Blair, “Are they dead?”
“I hope so,” he replied. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Nicholas walked over, and though his knees were knocking, he feigned composure, as if he hadn’t been unnerved in the slightest. It was another lesson imparted by his father. A royal person never showed fear or alarm, and it was actually the first time Nicholas had had to practice the skill.
Mr. Blair leaned down and riffled through the men’s vests, but didn’t find anything.
“Do you know them?” he asked Nicholas.
“No. I’ve never seen them before. There was a third man too. He cut his way into the tent with a knife. We were headed to the river. They might have planned to abscond with me in a boat.”
Mr. Blair whipped around, and they peered out at the water. There had been a boat. It was skimming away, the sails just visible, so whoever had captained it, whoever the crew, they’d escaped.
Mr. Blair put his arm across Nicholas’s shoulders. No one was supposed to touch him so there had been few occasions when he’d been hugged in his life, and it felt very grand. At the moment, with his heart thundering like mad, he was safe and protected and very, very glad that Kat had hired Mr. Blair.
“You did really well, Nicholas.”
“Thank you.” He grinned. “So did you.”
“You were very tough, very calm in an emergency.”
Nicholas beamed at the praise. “My father always told me I need to be.”
“He was correct.”
“Will you teach me to fight?”
Mr. Blair snorted. “I doubt your sister would like it.”
“Yes, but she’s a female so I wouldn’t expect her to understand.”
“True.”
“When they carried me off, I hated being so helpless.”
“I know the sentiment. It’s the reason I developed my ability with a sword. I’ve been accosted numerous times in this dreadful country, and I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either.”
Mr. Blair studied him, then nodded. “We’ll begin tomorrow. Even if she disapproves, we’ll proceed anyway.”
“If she complains too much, I’ll simply order her to be silent.”
Mr. Blair seemed shocked by the admission. “Can you make her stop talking?”
“Oh yes,” Nicholas said. “She has to obey me.”
Nicholas had revealed a bit more than he should have about his station, about Kat’s station in regard to his. He spun, forcing himself to look at the men on the ground, forcing himself not to be sorry for them. And he most especially refused to fret over their fate l
ike a silly, trembling child.
He’d been raised to be a king, and they had tried to harm him. The penalty had ended up being death, which meant they’d received the appropriate punishment.
Others rushed up then, servants and slaves, and more of the guards Monsieur Valois had sent with Mr. Blair and Mr. Hubbard.
“Take them away,” Mr. Blair said to a guard and to a servant, “Wake Mr. Webster. Inform him of what’s occurred. Ask what should be done with them. They have to be buried and probably the authorities notified, but I’m not certain of the protocols.”
The servant bowed and hustled off as others picked up the bodies and lugged them away. Again, Nicholas forced himself to watch, to stoically accept their violent demise. Then and there, he resolved—should he ever regain his throne—he would knight Mr. Blair for his brave daring on Nicholas’s behalf.
As the last man passed by them, Mr. Hubbard hastened over.
“I heard there was trouble,” he said to Mr. Blair. “What happened?”
Instead of answering, Mr. Blair asked, “Where were you? I thought you were guarding the tent.”
“Well…ah…”
Mr. Blair’s angry, disappointed glare had Mr. Hubbard stumbling to a halt.
“Don’t bother explaining,” Mr. Blair snapped. “I can’t listen to your excuses.”
“I just slipped away for a few minutes,” Mr. Hubbard claimed. “I never imagined there’d be mischief. You said yourself that it was unlikely.”
“Be silent, Chase! We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
Mr. Blair sounded regal and imperious, like the man Nicholas hoped to become someday. He put his arm across Nicholas’s shoulders again. “Let’s get you back to your sisters. I bet they’re worried sick.”
“Are they all right? Isabelle wasn’t hurt, was she?”
“They’re fine,” Mr. Blair told him.
They walked off, leaving a disgraced, inept Mr. Hubbard alone on the dark path.
CHAPTER TEN
“You can’t stay. Not another second.”
Kat glared at her uncle. She understood his fury, but couldn’t bear it. She was being kicked out by her only kin in the world. It was galling and depressing.
They were in Cedric’s tent, with her sitting and him pacing. He was livid, venting at Kat, and she was trying to remember that she was an unwanted guest, that he was an elder male relative, and she owed him deference and courtesy.
