Mr. Deverill said, “One of the finest pieces of lands in Legend. Plenty of acreage, good soil, and more importantly, fresh water runs right from the mountains through the land year round.”
“Then I definitely will want a look at it. Although, seeing what you have accomplished here, I can tell you understand the business. And if you recommend it, sir, I’d buy it without question before seeing it.”
“I highly recommend it, Noor. Even considered purchasing the plots once I learned the McFarlands have it up for sale. They are good people, elderly with no children, and Ferris is ill so his wife Charlotte wants to go back home to the city to aid him. She can’t handle the ranch by herself, even with several able bodied hands.” Mr. Deverill frowned. “You’re going to have a fight on your hands from Matt Graham, though. The rumor is he wants the property desperately. He doesn’t like to lose.”
“Especially since you killed his son,” Allura said briskly.
She was hurt, and he understood why she went for the jugular. He refused to entertain her and remained silent.
“Don’t act as if he murdered him, sis. Noor helped defend me. Harland tried to hang me if you recall.”
“As if that will make Mr. Graham more agreeable to anything, as we all know he is bristling to see you finally relinquish your bachelorhood and marry Caroline for getting her with child, if rumors are to be believed.”
Channing said, “Who put a cactus in your bed?”
“I was merely making an observation, brother.”
“A damned serious one, though false. Besides, I have dodged marriage this long and don’t intend to take a bullet anytime soon.”
Allura was quick to retort. “If you can avoid a bullet, one would think you could keep the many paternity suits father is saddled with monthly at bay too, or is that not a concern? You feel it is decent to run around and sow your wild oats and not take any responsibility for being impetuous, if not rash, in your actions with women?”
Channing scowled. “When did you become such a martyr of virtue? I mean in reference to other women, of course.”
Fawn raised her hand, refereeing, and commanded silence. She spoke using her maternal voice, which meant she was serious. “We have a guest, and both of you know it displeases me to hear you squabble in disagreement.” With her firm chastisement, she quieted both Channing and Allura. She turned to Noor, saying, “I hope your accommodations meet your satisfaction?”
“Yes, Allura was thorough and even provided me some background on your uncle Strong Wind. I feel honored you would allow me access to his quarters, Mrs. Deverill.”
“Please call me Fawn. We will say grace, and then begin supper before Consuela has a fit about the food getting cold. She labored over the meal for you, Noor, and I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure everything will meet with my approval,” he offered graciously while doing his best not to stare at the plate in front of him, all unidentifiable food he knew would test his palate.
Noor listened to Mr. Deverill give thanks to this god they worshipped. There was a round of amen that he didn’t understand, but he said it anyway when everybody looked at him expectantly. He stared at his plate, not sure where to begin. He followed Channing’s action when he cut into the thick brown meat on his dish, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it in his mouth. An earlier search of the database shockingly revealed they were eating their pets, who roamed freely on the property. This information sufficiently killed his appetite.
“Are you not hungry, Noor?” Fawn asked politely.
The thought of eating flesh didn’t appeal to him, but surrounded by the Deverill family, he knew there was only one possible response. “I’m starving,” he said, recalling Channing had said something similar. He assumed it was appropriate because nobody blanched. He cut into the meat and put it in his mouth, chewed, and forced himself to swallow. He was surprised. It wasn’t as distasteful as he believed. The flavor was an acquired taste, but he would manage, especially under scrutiny.
Mr. Deverill said, “Do you have any idea how many heads of cattle you want to purchase?”
“I’m afraid not. But my father left all the decisions up to me. I believe he considers this trip a learning adventure, which will hopefully keep me busy for an indefinite amount of time. I’m not sure if this arrangement isn’t more of a, ah, distraction and opportunity for me to reflect on actions as of late that I’m afraid have my father displeased, so to speak.”
Channing grinned. “To keep you occupied and out of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble are we talking about, son?” Mr. Deverill asked, wiping his mouth. He sat the linen aside and studied Noor with careful observation.
“Channing didn’t mean that literally. I’m not running from the auth—law or anything of an unscrupulous nature.” Mr. Deverill continued to stare as if his answer wasn’t satisfactory, a paternal frown of annoyance on his face. Clearly, he was only interested in an acceptable explanation. “I would respond, but I’m afraid it might raise the conversation again about, ah, paternity, and I believe Channing said avoiding the nuptial bullet.”
Allura glared at him as if to say, “I knew it,” and he wanted to tell her he lied. His father never bothered with whether he fathered a child out of marriage because it never happened. He was diligent, if nothing else, and made sure he blocked his seed from impregnating a woman. He couldn’t explain such without having to clarify the scientific explanation behind how he was capable of controlling the technique without aid of drugs or anything medical. Being part Magnus had its advantageous. He simply didn’t allow the blunder, no matter how many times he released inside a woman.
Mr. Deverill nodded, understanding.
Channing wouldn’t let it go. He glanced at Allura. “Why aren’t you starting in on your lecture with Noor?”
“Channing, you will not antagonize your sister,” Fawn said quietly, yet firmly.
“Mother, I merely was curious why my actions are deemed licentious behavior, and Noor doesn’t get as much as a slap on the wrist.”
Mortimer shot a glance at his son. “Don’t make your mother repeat herself. Besides, I think the entire topic should be dropped. Our focus should be on educating Noor about what he could potentially be getting into with Matt Graham.”
“He isn’t a likable fellow, I’m afraid. He treats us with indifference, as if we don’t have a right to be on our own land,” Fawn said.
Mortimer patted her hand soothingly. “Matt Graham is set in the old ways, dear.”
“I understand that and his propensity for using violence to get his way,” Fawn added.
“That’s because father has been a gentleman and did not pay him a visit with his guns. At least not yet, and actually, I look forward to the day when we ride over to his spread and settle matters the old-fashioned way,” Channing said.
“Surely you don’t mean you are going to mount forces on Matt Graham?” Fawn eyed Mortimer concerned.
“Channing is talking hypothetically.” Mortimer looked at Channing, giving him a silent caution to not speak.
Allura said, “You know Channing speaks in generalities and has a tendency to overexaggerate the matters and his preference for violence, mother. I’m sure he didn’t intend to unnecessarily upset you by talking about guns and danger,” she said, unsmiling.
“Is it a reason you are suddenly bitter with me, sis? You seem rabid,” Channing said, and then looked at Noor, as if he already guessed the answer to his question.
Noor remained focused on nothing in particular, preferring not to get into a sibling rivalry he knew he was responsible for and unsure if he spoke, Allura wouldn’t turn her wrath on him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t want two guns or three barrels—he remembered Allura carried a weapon—sticking in his face. He couldn’t be sure if Mrs. Deverill had a pistol, but the thought didn’t seem farfetched, as his mother could shoot a stunner with accuracy that equaled the males in his family.
Like his fam
ily, the Deverills seemed close, and they fiercely protected one another when they weren’t politely arguing among themselves.
It was the nature of a tight-knit clan. The Deverills’ bond reminded him of the Rynoirs, and the sudden thought made him uneasy about his mission. Not only would he be taking Allura away from her home, but her family. Suddenly his conscience began to bother him.
The mother of the intended of Oridus had to abide by rules and regulations and suffer under restrictions. Life as she knew it would be outdated, and her place at the helm of the Agaci legacy would demand constraint and obedience to the planet’s laws. The guardians would dictate her existence until her child came of age to take over the throne. A nation of people would watch and analyze her actions and destroy any chance of having privacy. Allura had a spirit that made him exuberant. It was refreshing to witness. However, as soon as he delivered her into the hands of the agency, her world of doing as she pleased would fade into the background and be snuffed out. They would likely kill the fire within her, destroy the fight, and possibly the woman who didn’t seem fragile but was delicate in his eyes.
Noor shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the revelation surfaced.
Mr. Deverill looked unsettled. “We are not here to bicker with each other, Channing and Allura. Lord knows Matt Graham will incite enough chaos into our lives that could conceivably last a lifetime. I will attempt to handle him civilly, however. If he pushes the issue, my actions will take another turn.”
Fawn looked at her husband. “Are you speaking in theory, dear?”
“I’m speaking eloquently.”
There it was said, well spoken and handled with the aplomb of a man familiar with settling matters with polished poise.
* * * *
Mr. and Mrs. Deverill retired to bed. Allura walked out of the room without giving Noor a backward glance. He wanted to go after her and smooth things over, but Channing offered brandy and cigars, and he felt obligated to accept his hospitality. They retired to the drawing room, and when they were barely over the threshold, all pretense evaporated, and Channing got straight to the matter of the contention he knew was building between them.
It was bound to come down to this eventually, and he hoped they could have a politically correct discussion. “What the hell did you do to my sister?”
“I don’t care for cigars, but I wouldn’t mind a brandy.”
When Channing handed him a glass, Noor said, “You brought me to your home, remember?”
“Not to take advantage of my sister.”
“Contrary to your belief, nothing happened between me and Allura that should alarm you.”
Channing knit his eyebrows together. “I’m not sure your answer is pacifying and too damned subjective for my taste.” He sipped his drink, brooded. “I know my sister, and she wants my head for a reason. Maybe she blames me for me bringing you home and something else ridiculous. I stopped trying to figure out the female illogical thought process a long time ago. What I do know is she is simmering about something. She was vicious tonight, more so then usual, and I was the motivation behind her attack.”
“She does have claws,” Noor said.
“Mother and Father dote on Allura to excess. Rarely, if ever, does she hear the word no. She isn’t a brat, mind you, but reared with more freedom than most females in these parts. Because of this, she tends to be reckless, I’m afraid, and does things without thinking her actions through.”
“I have two sisters, twins, actually, and Allura appears to be like Lyric. So, trust me when I say I understand your assessment completely. Lyric keeps my parents on their toes. She is strong willed, infinitely determined not to be governed, and thus, repeatedly finds herself in avoidable situations if she were to stop and think before reacting. My father had hoped marrying her husband Solomon would squelch some of her reckless tendencies.”
“What is the other one like?”
“Lovey is opposite Lyric in every way. Timid, fragile, more apt to overanalyze a situation and proceed with unwarranted caution to the point I’m afraid her life is stuck in tedium. She lacks an adventurous nature and any spontaneity, guarded to a fault. Sometimes I wish Lovey would try to live a little. You are so not her type, Channing.”
Channing grinned. “You told her no, didn’t you?”
He was fully prepared to take all the blame if it came down to it. “Things didn’t go that far,” he said noncommittally.
“Jesus, I’m not sure I want to hear anymore.” Channing finished off his drink and sat the glass aside on a nearby table. He folded his arms, leaned back, and rested against the console. He gave Noor a forbidding glare. “I don’t expect whatever didn’t happen to occur again. Allura can be impulsive and unmindful of what a scandal you two could cause. We are not in the city, and here a bad reputation sticks with a person, especially females. The last thing I want for my sister is an entanglement that will result in endless gossip because you can’t or won’t control yourself. There is Suzy and a number of other females at your disposal. Allura is not one of them.”
Noor put down his drink and stood up. His expression implacable, he said, “I understand your concern for your Allura. However, the last person who lectured me was my father and it was a while ago for me, to my recall. I don’t take orders very well, just so you know. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to finish some business before it gets too late.”
“Keep your hands off my sister, or we will have a major problem, Noor.”
Noor paused at the door, turned around, and said, “We already have an issue, Channing.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Noor spoke with quiet restraint. “That is the last time you will threaten me.”
Chapter Ten
A faint bleep sounded from his saddle satchel, which he had tossed carelessly on the couch and forgotten about until now. He went and retrieved it, rummaged inside, and found the small oval device the size of an egg tucked in the inner lining where he had hidden it.
He sat on the sofa. He put the communicator on the table and touched the flat tip with his finger. Compartments opened like wings. In the center was a raised surface and an illuminant dial with symbols.
He punched in the coordinates to call the authority command center on Sanguine. While he waited for a connection, he thought about his assignment. He didn’t think for one minute it would be easy, but what he hadn’t counted on was Allura. He had envisioned the Agaci legacy, appearance, persona as things someone would normally imagine about a person. Everything he thought was dead wrong. A sassy-mouthed, fiery, lovely had no part in his imagination.
The dial blinked and connected. He sat forward—the device disconnected.
His preference was to travel with all the modern equipment Sanguine offered, technical gadgets including his interlink implant, which helped keep him connected to his family’s network and had frequencies with the authority offices. There was no way he could have kept it without drawing suspicions and a hell of a lot questions, so he had it surgically removed.
What that left him with was an ancient, unreliable transmitter with problems holding an open line, which stalled and sometimes froze. Then he would have to reboot the damned thing often.
“Come on…” He glanced at the dashing lights running through a sequence.
It was his fault for not thinking the mission through. He focused on the technicalities—at the forefront, not becoming plastic wrap—he foolishly didn’t consider anything else major. This wasn’t the first time he went undercover and had to assimilate into another environment and perform out of character, so he hadn’t realized traveling back in time had other nuances that would present a problem. Being inconspicuous was the easy part. Legend was innocently uncomplicated compared to his world. What the era had to offer was sufficient and one-dimensional for the time, everything unhurried and taken in stride. There were no great ego-powers trying to overtake their lives. The menaces of this world paled up against Sanguine’s mayhem and the
chaos that habituated Sanguine daily.
Then there was the result of completing his assignment. What it entailed left a sour taste in his mouth. The more time he spent with Allura and her family, the more bitter the pill became to swallow. The effort of it left a huge lump in his throat just to think about it. He would be responsible for ripping Allura from her world and putting her into the arms of strangers, and he hadn’t quite figured out whether they had her best intentions at heart. Something else he missed or overlooked, he thought wearily. Either way, he was solely responsible if this entire endeavor turned out to be another underhanded government deal, which meant Allura would become collateral damage, a pawn to barter in the power struggle between planets.
Allura was the intended to Oridus. Her child held the power to dethrone Emperor Agaci. An unborn child, he thought sourly, realizing somewhere within the scheme of things she would be impregnated. What bothered him more than anything was how the guardians intended this to happen—artificial insemination or the good old-fashioned way?
The device connected.
Sterns’s voice came through the microspeaker. “You were expected to check in hours ago. What fucking delayed you from making contact?”
“I had technical difficulties. I’m not working with state of the art equipment, sir.” He lied and didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.
“What about the target? Have you identified her or not?”
“I can’t confirm the target at this point.”
“Meaning what, Rynoir? Don’t you dare try to jerk my chain with half-assed responses.”
“Surveillance is tedious in this time period. A brain scan isn’t possible. You have to ask strangers many questions, and some become instantly suspicious, not to mention tight-lipped. Their nature is protective, sir. The townspeople are serious about a right to privacy, especially when questions are being asked by a stranger.”
Sterns was breathing heavy and hard before sighing disgruntled. “Do I have to remind you your window of opportunity is short, Rynoir? You don’t have days to dick around.”
Pure Desire [Pure 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 8
