“Have you explored your accommodations? Made the changes you require?”
“I made some changes,” she acknowledged. “There are more I intend to make.”
“Of course. I want you to feel at home here.”
“Ha.” She created a starburst that both patched the base material and made the patch look like part of the original design.
“What a world of mockery you put into that one little syllable.” Her long, slender fingers moved with deliberation and dexterity as she exhibited her skill and distracted him from her true passions.
What she had been before when in England— so young, so pretty, so proud— was nothing to the dimensions he could see in her now. She’d put her years to good use, exploring countries, learning languages and accounting, sharpening her skill at managing her employers and her students.
Yet she didn’t try to manage him. Oh, they played a game of manners and incivility, but those were merely words, for it seemed as if the two of them saw each other stripped of any charade. To pretend any different would have been an insult.
“Did Thompson perform proper introductions?” he asked.
She selected a new color of thread from her kit. “He did.” A pause. “You have a great many relatives.”
“When the men come in, you’ll have many more to meet.” He had no doubt she would handle the courtesies with aplomb.
“You come from a prolific family.”
“It is a matter of fact that while the de Guignards believe they’ve wiped us from the face of the earth, we continue to grow. You see, in old Moricadia, when a woman was widowed or a man lost his livelihood through calamity, they became part of the king’s family.”
She glanced up sharply. “And by extension the king’s responsibility.”
“Precisely. And because over the years the de Guignards have so blithely and indiscriminately butchered and maimed the men of this country— ”
She finished his sentence. “You’re related to everyone.”
He inclined his head. “It gives me a very large and talented pool from which to pull my commanders, my sergeants, and my soldiers.”
“I can see that it would.” She observed as more and more men and women poured in from their day of training in the forest. “That’s a great deal of responsibility for you.” Lifting her hand, she said, “I know— such a large family makes the task of recruiting and training your army easier.”
“Exactly.” He gestured Prospero over. “Prospero is not of my blood, but he is a fierce warrior, one of my top commanders, and worthy of honor.”
Prospero swaggered over to them…but then, Prospero swaggered everywhere. He was squat and broad shouldered, with legs bent as if he’d grown up with a horse between his knees. His face was round, and flat; his nose looked as if someone had smashed it with a frying pan; and a gold tooth winked in his mouth when he sneered. He wore a wide-brimmed hat tilted rakishly to the side, but he didn’t remove it when he placed his fist over his heart and bowed to Raul. “Saber, my prince.”
“Prospero, this is Miss Victoria Cardiff, the young lady you, um, met last night.” Raul scrutinized her as she absorbed the fact that this was one of the masked men at the ball.
“The one with the needle.” Prospero rubbed the back of his hand and glared.
“I didn’t realize that was you.” She smiled tightly into Prospero’s face. “But then— if I had it to do over, when you grabbed me I would stab you again.”
“I thought you were that kind,” Prospero said.
“What kind is that, Mr. Prospero?” She injected a chill into her voice.
“Stubborn and saucy. Why else would Saber have wanted you?”
Raul appreciated the fact that looks could not kill, for if they could, he would right now be a shriveled corpse.
With great precision, Victoria said, “Mr. Lawrence tells me he brought me here to keep me from making trouble for him with the de Guignards. And I told him, and I tell you now, if you could convince him to get me out of the country, I promise never to return; nor will I remember one moment of my stay here.”
“Convince him?” Prospero gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Not likely.”
“It would be so much easier if no one had to watch me,” she said.
“Yes.” Clearly, Prospero considered her a liability.
“But I take my orders from Saber.”
Raul observed the exchange without a hint of anxiety. “You see, Miss Cardiff, my people obey only me.”
How irritating to find he had set her up to discover one man’s undying loyalty, and how even more irritating to suspect the attitude was prevalent among all his subjects. “They obey you because they fear you!”
“No, lady, I don’t fear him.” Like Hada, Prospero didn’t hesitate to interrupt. “He’s my commander. My king. He’s going to free me, my wife, and my children from the de Guignards . For that, I owe him all my loyalty, and if necessary, I will pay with my life.”
“Admirable,” she said sourly. She had imagined she could bribe one of Raul’s servants to help her escape.
But how could she fight that kind of fervor?
A man of about thirty years joined them, and his resemblance to Raul was marked in the shape of his face and the color of his hair. Only his eyes were different, large, golden brown, and warm. He greeted Raul in the same manner, with his fist over his heart and a bow, but he also bowed to Victoria, and smiled. “Welcome, Miss Cardiff. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”
Raul introduced him. “Miss Cardiff, this is Zakerie, one of my blood kin. The men are going to give me a report on the day’s progress. Perhaps you’d like to join the women in the great hall proper?”
“If it makes no difference to you— and I don’t know why it would; I know little of warfare and have no one to tell if I did— I’ll stay here as long as I have the light.”
“As you wish.” Raul didn’t look at all surprised.
And that surprised her. He was very much the imperious commander. Would he not assume that a woman shouldn’t be exposed to the activities of war?
Then they started speaking … in Moricadian.
Oh. Mr. Lawrence thought he was so clever.
But she was even more clever.
Once more she picked up the tapestry.
Chapter Twenty-one
When the men were finished, Prospero flashed Victoria a grin that ridiculed her ignorance of their language, bowed, and walked to the sideboard. He bumped Hada out of the way and helped himself to a piece of bread.
She scolded, but poured him a goblet.
Zakerie also bowed to Victoria, but without the mocking grin, and went to greet the steady stream of soldiers entering the great hall.
Raul waited until they were out of earshot to ask,
“How much did you understand of our conversation?”
She slanted him an artful glance. “What makes you think I understood anything?”
“I heard you with the children, and I know that one of the reasons the Johnsons hired you was for your language skills.”
She paused, her needle in suspension. “And how do you know that?”
“I told you.” He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and enjoyed matching wits with the one woman he knew to be his intellectual equal. “Gossip about the pretty new governess in town.”
“I don’t like being gossiped about.” She used the needle to stab the tapestry.
“Few of us do, but if you’re aware, you can bend the gossip to your own liking. It’s a skill I developed in England, and I’ve made much use of it here, misdirecting the de Guignards ’ suspicions.”
“I see.” As her hair dried, a strand slid free and hung by her cheek, its natural wave a charming hint of enticement. In an unconscious sign of anxiety, she took it in her fingers and twisted it. “What else did this gossip tell you?”
“That for two long years, as you’ve traveled through Europe, men of all sorts— handsome men, wealthy men, nob
le men— have tried to entice you with jewels, with property, even with wedding rings, and you would have nothing of them.”
“I assure you, the accounts are vastly exaggerated.”
“I think they are not.”
“The few who did pay me attention were not welcome.” Her generous mouth became a thin, strained, straight line. “I didn’t want them.”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“No.” She clipped off the word.
“That you were waiting for me.”
“Think differently, sir.” Her eyes flashed blue fire, and she tucked the poor stretched and tortured strand of hair into her chignon with a briskness meant to erase all sign of softness from her persona. “I have no wish to ever again be under the thumb of a man as his unpaid servant and dogsbody. I am independent. I intend to stay that way.”
He could not doubt her vehemence. “You hate being here.”
“You have a conceit if you think I welcome this time, trapped here with you.”
“I do have a conceit. Because whether or not you like it, you catch fire in my arms.”
They were both nettled, snapping at each other until he wanted to catch her up and make her cease talking and start … burning.
“It has been a very long time since I caught fire in your arms.” She belittled their kisses with a withering scorn.
But he wouldn’t allow that. “A very long time.” He leaned toward her, put his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her there. “Yet all the long nights since, I’ve been haunted by the memory of your essence, begging for me to release it.”
She didn’t look away from him. Couldn’t look away from him. “My essence, as you call it, does not willy-nilly call forth across time and miles to any man.”
“Only to me.” He leaned closer, inhaled deeply.
She smelled like lavender and defiance and long, slow nights of heated desire.
“Yes,” he said. “It calls forth only to me.”
Her hands rose, ready to box his ears.
He gazed at her in warning.
Their eyes locked.
The two of them froze.
Memories and desire rose between them, palpable as heat and smoke rising from a fire.
He wanted her. He wanted to grab her, take her away from here, away from the great hall, away from his people, his war, his world. He wanted to entrap her in a place where only the two of them existed. He would feast on her. He would make her realize what lust was, what life could be when the two of them tasted each other, loved each other… .
Her arms relaxed. Her hands fluttered and settled in her lap. And she said, “I didn’t understand much.”
“What?” What was she talking about?
“When you were speaking to Zakerie and Prospero. I didn’t understand much of your language.” She spoke quickly, leaned back hard in the chair, her color high. “ ‘Men’— I understood that. I think I caught a few names. And you kept saying one thing— it sounded like the Bulgarian word for ‘knife.’ I thought perhaps you were actually talking about knives.”
“Very good.” He wasn’t complimenting her about her translations. He was admiring her quick change of subject, of atmosphere, her skillful diversion of his attention from her and what would happen when she yielded to him.
She knew what he meant, but stubbornly didn’t acknowledge it. “So noz means ‘knife’? I translated correctly?”
“That’s right.” Again he leaned back, releasing her from the prison of his body.
There was, after all, time for that later.
He continued. “Prospero, Zakerie, and I were discussing our defense class. The de Guignards have hired skilled mercenaries equipped with swords. Of course, most Moricadian men don’t know how to use swords.”
“Because they’ve never handled them?”
“That’s right. The de Guignards don’t even like to allow their subjects to own knives. But what can they do about that? Since time immemorial, men and women have carried their own short, sharp blades for use with each meal. So to counter the mercenaries and their swords, Prospero is working with the men, teaching them to smash through any attack and get in close, and then … well … Moricadians know how to use knives.”
Raul looked as satisfied as a cat that’d been into the cream.
“What about firearms?”
“Firearms are expensive. I’ve invested in rifles, but we have enough to arm only a third of our troops. So Zakerie is training the women in their use.” His gaze sought and found his cousin in the open space of the now-bustling great room, and observed him thoughtfully. “He’s very good, and the women show remarkable marksmanship.”
“The women? Really? How progressive of you.” Victoria didn’t know what she thought of the idea of women in battle, or of seeing them dressed in men’s clothing.
“In my family and my country, women are fierce defenders of their homes and themselves.” Raul’s lip curled in disdain for the de Guignards . “So many have lost their husbands and brothers and fathers that they’ve had to be.”
That Victoria understood, and admired. Women always did what was required. “So the women shoot as well as the men?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He smiled, inviting her to join him. “They shoot better. I can’t begin to tell you how much the men resent those occasional shooting matches where they discover their wives and daughters, their aunts and nieces, can hit the target at three hundred yards.”
“That is very impressive.” She did smile, imagining a group of Moricadian men sulking as the women made them look like fools. “I can shoot a pistol.” She didn’t know why she offered the information. Probably it was foolish to warn him. But he so admired these women and by extension must think Englishwomen were silly puffballs.
She didn’t want him to think that about her.
“Can you? Can you shoot with any accuracy?”
“Mr. Johnson, who taught me, told me to make every shot count, but he also explained I had to be close enough to aim. He said pistols are notoriously inaccurate and if the distance was farther than thirty feet, I might as well throw the weapon.”
“Then Mr. Johnson was a good teacher.”
“Yes. I’m good for a distance of forty feet.” She warmed when he laughed, then asked, “Do Moricadian women handle swords and knives, too?”
“Not in this battle, they will not. Women are naturally not as strong as the men. In hand-to-hand fighting, facing the mercenaries and their swords, we’d lose them. We’d lose them all. So our strategy is to allow the women to hide in the trees or behind rocks, for them to use the natural cover of the land, and from cover, to pick off the soldiers the de Guignards send after us.”
She understood and appreciated his tactics. “You’re imitating the kind of fighting the English colonists did in America.”
“Exactly.” His eyes admired her in the most flattering manner. “We hope to enjoy the same success as the American Revolutionists.”
A chime sounded.
Rising, he offered her his hand. “I’d be honored to be your dining partner.”
There was little she wanted less. To be the cynosure of all eyes— she, who had been the governess, who had practiced the fine art of pinning on a spinster’s cap and disappearing while in plain sight!
But she had no choice. She had to eat, and Raul would insist, and better to face his people behind a facade of composure than to have anyone, most especially Raul, realize her fears.
So, rising, she took his arm and walked with him toward the tables.
Chapter Twenty-two
The great hall had filled with men and women in rough clothing. The men stood in clumps, drinking ale and wine, laughing, comparing old scars and new wounds. The women, even the ones who had come in from training, helped set the table and pour the drinks.
“You’re nervous,” Raul said.
Victoria had been so proud of her calm demeanor, but he must have felt the slight tremble in her fingers.
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She was used to having men ignore her, and now this man—handsome, accomplished, and by all accounts royal— paid attention to her. Close attention.
She hated that. Hated that he knew her so well. Irritation made her snap, “What did you expect? I don’t know this place. I don’t know the language. I don’t know these people.”
“They’re good people.”
“That makes it worse.” She looked down at the polished wood planks beneath her feet. “I’m foreign, and an object of curiosity. But more than that, among good people, your sleeping arrangements are guaranteed to cause gossip and laughter … at my expense.” Bitterly, she said, “This kind of scandal is always at the expense of the lady.”
“That is an unfortunate truth. Nevertheless, I’m keeping you in my room.” He halted at the ornate, high-backed chair at the center of the head table.
“I never doubted your heartlessness.” She stopped beside him.
“If you believed I was truly heartless, would you not be a fool to confront me?” His deep voice was musical with amusement.
“I am a fool.” For more reasons than he could imagine.
The people turned, saluted Raul with their goblets, and cheered and laughed. “Drachon! ” they called. “Drachon!”
Victoria’s gaze fell on the embroidered cushion that decorated the back of his chair.“Dragon,” she translated. “My family’s heraldic seal, and the symbol of Moricadia.”
Victoria gazed at the mythic creature that flew on broad and mighty wings, breathed fire from its nostrils … and stared at her from glittering green eyes.
Yes, the dragon did remind her of Raul. Perhaps, if she had known of this creature, she might have been more cautious, and the kidnapping might never have taken place.
But she knew that was foolish, for she didn’t believe in dragons.
Of course, until yesterday, she hadn’t believed that Raul was a prince, either.
Raul lifted the pewter goblet Hada handed him and returned the salute to his people.
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