by Robyn Donald
Jacoba didn’t dare discount the whole horrifying, mediaeval idea. Lexie was methodical and practical; she’d have done the research. If she said blood feuds were a problem in Illyria , they were.
After failing to get through on the phone to Lexie, she dashed off an answer, indignantly asserting that she loved her sister and not to be such an idiot, and for heaven’s sake, stay in the Outback until they’d worked out what to do…
She spent the next few hours researching on the internet. It was definitely true, so she then tried to come up with plans to protect her sister. In the end the only thing that made sense was to let Marco know.
But what if he believed in blood feuds? No, she thought, surely he didn’t. She got to her feet and strode across to the window, staring sightlessly out. Her turmoil eased.
She’d accept that he was ruthless, but she couldn’t conceive the sophisticated man she knew indulging in something as primitive and violent as a feud to the death.
Besides, he’d been born and grown up in France, that most civilised of countries. If anyone would know how to deal with this situation, it was Marco, and for Lexie’s sake she’d ask. Mind whirling, she switched on the television. And there, smiling aloofly, was the prince.
‘You’re haunting me!’ she muttered, unwillingly sinking into a chair.
She spent the next half-hour listening and watching. He handled the interview brilliantly, like the pro he was, his natural charm and authority and intelligence almost outdoing his physical splendour.
Her heart clenched; why, of all the men in the world, did she have to want this forbidden one?
She’d only been back in London a day when her telephone rang. ‘It’s Marco Considine ,’ he said. ‘Let me in.’
Pulse racing, she activated the lock and stood tensely, waiting for him to come through the door. The moment she saw him she knew he was angry. Even though it was fiercely controlled, it emanated from him like an ice-cold aura.
He knows, she thought, apprehension flooding her. He knows…
Shivering, she said, ‘What is it? Why are you here?’
‘What do you have to tell me?’ Marco’s English was faultless, the accent impeccable, but beneath it she heard the same intonation that had underlined her mother’s English.
Unable to think, she stalled, falling back a step or two to say, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ he said contemptuously, and held out an envelope. ‘Read this.’
Nervously she took out the document inside and glanced at it. The first words drove the colour from her face; she groped for the back of the chair with one hand and clung, her eyes searching the page.
Oh, how Gregory Border must have laughed when Marco warned him off. Well, he’d got his revenge. How long had he known who she and Lexie were? She read further, colour storming into her face as the story unfolded.
When she’d finished she lifted her head and said furiously, ‘This—this is a farrago of lies! How dare he?’
In a voice totally devoid of intonation and warmth, he said, ‘It is the truth. As you must know.’
She didn’t even realise he was speaking in Illyrian. She said fiercely, ‘My father was not Illyrian—he was a Scotsman who died fighting Paulo Considine ’s forces in the mountains.’
‘He certainly died in the ambush that killed my grandparents, but he was an Illyrian doctor,’ he stated with cold precision. ‘And your sister is the daughter of Paulo Considine .’
A huge fist of pain clenched inside her chest, and she turned her face away hastily in case he saw it reflected in her eyes. ‘I know that. But the rest is total lies.’
His lip curled. ‘What part do you not believe? That your mother was Paulo Considine ’s mistress and then his wife? What did she tell you?’
Furious, Jacoba cried, ‘Nothing—nothing! But I know she wasn’t his mistress!’
‘I have proof,’ he said mercilessly.
The whiplash of disgust in his tone told her all she needed to know. Angrily she demanded, ‘What proof?’
‘Photographs of them together—not many, but there are some. Photographs of you and your sister—newspaper headlines. It was no secret; he boasted of his lovely wife and his child.’
She shook her head so violently that the room whirled. ‘No,’ said again, but this time more quietly. Her huge, desperate eyes searched his, and she read the hard truth in their chilling depths.
‘I think perhaps your mother didn’t want her children to understand the situation,’ he said courteously. ‘Perfectly natural on her part.’
‘You’re so wrong.’ But her voice faltered and she rubbed a shaking hand over her mouth.
He watched her keenly, his handsome face hard and remote as some granite monolith. ‘It is not your sister’s fault that she was born to the wrong parents. Nor yours,’ he added with scrupulous fairness. ‘I have already set things in motion to dampen any media interest.’
Stung into indiscretion, she retorted angrily, ‘I don’t believe my mother was his mistress—or if she was, it was under duress. She hated Paulo Considine ! She was terrified of him.’
‘She may have been, but she betrayed her first husband—your father, and the partisans—to him.’ Marco was implacable, his handsome face stern and judicial.
‘She did not,’ she said between her teeth, hands clenching at her sides as she stared at him, sudden fear crumbling her composure. Surely he wasn’t bound by the strictures of the blood feud?
Dry-mouthed, she went on desperately, ‘She would never have betrayed anyone—she was the most honest, upright, loyal person I’ve ever met.’
‘Even honest, upright, loyal people can be manipulated,’ he said, his steely tone not giving an inch. ‘Did she not tell you anything about her life in Illyria?’
‘She rarely spoke of it,’ she admitted, adding when she saw his eyes narrow, ‘and she was terrified the secret police would find her.’
Marco’s abrupt gesture signified a complete lack of interest. ‘Whether you believe me or not makes no difference. Your sister is a Considine,’ he said with icy, unsparing clarity. ‘You are both the daughter of a woman who betrayed about fifteen people to the dictator’s forces. They all died—some cut down by bullets, some at his hands, some at those of his torturers.’
Shattered, she stared at him. ‘As soon as my mother was able to, she took us and fled. Doesn’t that tell you anything?’
‘It tells me that even the most power-hungry women can sometimes be good mothers.’ He held up a hand to stop her instant objection. ‘And that she was clever enough to see that since she was no longer able to give him a son—’
‘What do you mean?’
Straight black brows rose. ‘There were such problems at the birth of your sister that your mother could have no other children. The dictator wanted a son. At the very least he would have divorced her; most probably she saw a drastically curtailed future for both herself and her children. So she ran.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ repeated numbly, unable to reconcile her gentle mother with this bloodstained drama of the past.
‘Your loyalty does you credit,’ Marco returned with that chilling courtesy. ‘But none of this is particularly important. I want you to ring your sister and tell her to prepare for a journey to Illyria.’
Suddenly afraid, Jacoba asked harshly, ‘Why?’
‘Because it is possible there are Illyrian refugees in New Zealand or Australia who still harbour a grudge,’ he admitted. He paused, then went on, ‘Did your mother speak of the blood feuds in Illyria, especially among the mountain people?’
‘I—Yes,’ she whispered, cold fear scrambling her brain. ‘But not a lot.’
‘That is what she was afraid of,’ he said. ‘The secret police, yes, but also that relatives of one of the people she betrayed—possibly your father, who was much loved—would hunt her down and kill her.’
‘And us?’ The words sounded stilted.
He shrugged. ‘It
is possible,’ he said.
Terrified now for Lexie’s sake, she shook her head again. ‘Do they—the Illyrians—really believe that my mother betrayed all those people?’ She scanned his handsome, ruthless face with something close to horror, her wide eyes alert to anything that might indicate he was lying.
‘It was no secret,’ he said bluntly. ‘Paulo Considine made sure everyone knew—probably his way of being certain she had no allies. So there is a possibility that someone might seek revenge. That is the last thing I want.’
She shook her head. Inside she felt dead, but stubborn will-power drove her to say, ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘It is everything to do with me.’ Jacoba shook her head, but he continued, ‘If Illyria is going to become a modern country the hunger for personal revenge must be wiped from the national consciousness. So we—all Illyrians—must learn to forgive. Also, your sister is a Considine, and we protect our own.’
Impersonal, without warmth, his scrutiny hurt. She pressed the back of her hand to her dry lips, then let it fall limply to her side. Tonelessly she said, ‘I don’t know whether I can trust you. If what you say is true, then you and your brother—and Prince Alex—are the ones who are most likely to want to kill Lexie.’
‘And you,’ he said ruthlessly. ‘You are not safe either. You inherit the burden of your mother’s treachery.’
She flinched, and he went on, ‘Blood feuds are a response to a society where justice is rare and flawed. They have no place in the modern world. Part of Alex’s task—and that of all of us who escaped the dictator’s cruelty—is to convince the people of the mountains that they can safely leave justice to the state.’ He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘Do you believe that you and your sister are safe from any sort of revenge attempt by us?’
Words trembled on her lips, silenced by the intensity of his piercing regard. This man had taken her to paradise in his arms, but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure. Then she thought of his reputation in business—ruthless but fair—and his gentleness when they’d made love, his concern for her pleasure, his tenderness afterwards.
She swallowed and whispered, ‘Yes. I do.’
He nodded. ‘Once the Illyrians see that we Considines have accepted you, any fuss will die down and you and your sister will be safe.’
The assured, uncompromising words hit her like stones. She stared at his formidable face, searching for some sign of the warmth they’d shared. There was nothing. He was watching her with a cold detachment that tore her heart to shreds.
In the end she turned away. ‘Is that the only way to deal with it?’ she said thinly.
‘I believe so. Our relationship has been noted, so it is a simple step to becoming engaged.’
‘What?’
Stunned, his deliberate words dancing crazily around her head, she stared at him. His transparent eyes were icily commanding, and his mouth set in lines that told her he wasn’t joking. He looked perfectly sane, as much master of this situation as he was of all others, while everything was careering out of her control.
‘No,’ said, her heart a heavy lump in her chest. ‘That’s a crazy idea.’
‘It may save the sister you profess to love from a degree of unpleasantness,’ he told her bluntly. ‘Or worse.’
‘I—’ Mind scurrying for objections, she stared at his unyielding face. In the end she whispered, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you think I want this?’ he asked with cold scorn.
She flushed. ‘No.’
‘Becoming engaged to me will signal that as a family, we Considines don’t intend to pursue any feud.’
‘But how is that going to protect us if someone else decides to satisfy their desire for revenge? I can’t prove my mother didn’t betray the partisan group.’ looked into his stern, autocratic face with rising desperation. ‘Nobody can, not now.’
Marco shrugged negligently. ‘As the family commonly supposed to have suffered the most, our right to pursue a feud is paramount. Once we make it clear that we don’t want any more deaths, any more killing, it will finish.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
He nodded. ‘The custom was barbaric, but it had rules and regulations. I am not lying, Jacoba—this is too important for lies.’
She hesitated, unsure of whether to trust him or not.
His mouth sketched a sardonic smile. ‘And even when feuds were a part of life, there was a well-known way of ending them.’
Some note in his voice whipped her head around. ‘Which was?’
‘Marrying a daughter of the house to one of the antagonists often sealed the peace.’ His smile was tight and humourless, his eyes guarded and watchful.
CHAPTER NINE
‘M ARRIAGE ?’ Jacoba’s heart leapt, and then sank as she searched Marco’s inflexible features. Of course he didn’t mean it.
And she wouldn’t marry him even if he did. Because, she realised bleakly, somewhere, somehow—she didn’t even know when or why—she’d fallen in love with him. He’d taken over her life in a thousand subtle ways, and while she’d been trying to convince herself that she was only physically attracted to him, her heart had slipped from her keeping and found another home.
Sure enough, he said decisively, ‘We will not need to take it so far. An engagement will be enough. Eventually, when emotions have died down enough to make you and your sister safe, we can end it amicably.’
‘But…’ Jacoba paused, her heart shredding inside her. ‘What about your brother?’
‘What about him?’ Marco demanded, black brows drawing together.
‘He’ll hate Lexie too—and me, if he thinks my mother betrayed your grandparents.’ No longer able to contain it, she heard her hurt pour out in a torrent. She dragged in a sharp breath, achieving enough control to be able to finish, ‘And how will Prince Alex react?’
‘I have discussed it with both Gabe and Alex,’ he said curtly, ‘and they agree that this is the best way to tackle a very difficult situation.’
‘But it might not be necessary.’ The very idea of blood feuds was outrageous in this gracious room, so civilised and sophisticated in the English way. She pushed a shaking hand through her hair and tried desperately to convince him. ‘You don’t know that some Illyrian filled with fantasies of a blood feud is going to lose his head and come gunning for Lexie.’
‘And I don’t know that one won’t,’ he returned implacably. ‘That is the stark truth. You find it hard to believe because such things don’t happen in your nice, safe New Zealand.’
‘It has villains too,’ she said miserably. She cast another anguished glance at his implacable expression, and felt the steel jaws of a trap closing around her. Everything he said made sense.
‘But in New Zealand the villains don’t subscribe to outdated ideas of honour and revenge,’ Marco said unsparingly. ‘For many years the Illyrians have had nothing but their own indomitable spirit and the stories of the heroes of their past to sustain them, and part of that history was the blood feud. If we do not do this, I cannot guarantee your safety.’
‘That’s not your responsibility,’ she said bleakly.
‘My brother and I are agreed that it is.’
He scanned her downcast face, an odd sensation gripping him. There was much to admire in her loyalty to both her dead mother and her sister. He found himself wondering if she was as loyal to her lovers.
Making up his mind, he said harshly, ‘Only a year ago a man was killed in a suspected blood feud. Prince Alex stated that the perpetrator would be hunted down and face a trial for his actions.’
The colour left her skin. ‘Was he caught?’
‘Yes. And tried. He admitted it, but the jury acquitted him.’
‘Acquitted him?’ She stared at him, her eyes huge. Hands knotting in front of her, she said quietly, ‘So it’s deeply ingrained in the national psyche.’
He’d known her quick mind would catch the implications. ‘Exactly. Because Alex
is trying to introduce the rule of law he was forced to release him, but after conferring with the council and parliament, he decided that in future he, with the aid of two senior judges, will try anyone else accused of a revenge killing. But as yet no one knows if this will be enough to stop them.’
His words wore Jacoba down. She looked down at her fingers, held still by will-power. For the first time in her life she wanted to fling herself onto the floor and scream and have hysterics—utterly impossible in the face of his iron composure. ‘Tell me truly—if I say no, do you think Lexie will be in danger?’
His answer came instantly. ‘I believe it is possible you are both in danger. So do my brother and the trusted men Prince Alex has consulted.’
Jacoba’s heart sank as she read the truth in his uncompromising expression and the tough line of his mouth. Briefly she closed her eyes.
He went on calmly, ‘And if you refuse I will have both you and your sister transferred to Gabe’s castle in Illyria, where you’ll stay until I decide that it’s safe for you to resume your ordinary lives.’
He meant it. Jacoba’s heart lurched. ‘You’re an arrogant bastard,’ she flared.
‘But you know I will do it.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted wearily. ‘And I’m sure that you wouldn’t be going so far if you didn’t really believe what you’re saying.’ Eyes aching with unshed tears, she finished, ‘But I want you to promise that you’re prepared—at the very least—to accept the possibility that my mother was incapable of betraying anyone. You didn’t know her; I did. She couldn’t have done it.’
He shrugged, his gaze very cold and blue. ‘I have already said that I don’t believe the sins of the fathers should be visited on their children. I know she was a good mother, that she worked long hours and sacrificed everything for you when you were young. The rest is not important.’
‘It is to me,’ she said, not giving an inch.
His icy scrutiny didn’t spare her. Tension flashed between them, swift and strong as lightning. After a few moments he said shortly, ‘Very well. As it is so important to you, I accept your terms.’
