Her Highness, My Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  From another pouch, he selected several of the thick wicks he had fashioned to fit his bottles. Normally, the wicks would already be mounted in the containers but today he had not planned anything more than a quick ascent, short and simple and private. He’d considered not even inflating the balloon today given the low cover of the clouds. Even so, at the moment, he was grateful he’d filled the bottles.

  “Although we never flew freely like this, did we? I do not recall ever going farther than the end of a rope. It is an entirely different sensation altogether.”

  Fifteen bottles were arranged in a circular cluster, somewhat broader in diameter than a wine bottle. Once he inserted the wicks, he planned to light the five that comprised the innermost section. He could see a clearing in the distance and they would not need much additional heat to provide the lift necessary to reach it.

  “And the winds in Paris always seemed so calm.” She moaned.

  He tugged a bottle free from its carriage and it nearly flew out of his hands. Unease gripped him. The bottle was far lighter than it should have been. He jerked out the cork, leaned over the side and carefully upended the bottle. No more than a drop trickled out. Quickly he checked the rest of the containers. Each and every one had been drained.

  “This just gets better and better,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “Matthew?”

  “In a minute.”

  He needed to think, calmly and rationally. And while he fully expected Tatiana to be calm and rational as well, who knew how the turmoil in her stomach would effect her ability to be either calm or rational? Now was not the time for emotional outbursts.

  They were not in dire straits yet, but their situation was not particularly good. They were moving at a high altitude, at a brisk speed and he had no idea exactly where they were. They could be miles from Effington Hall or literally just down the road. The balloon was descending, but slowly; that was in their favor. On the other hand, the sun would soon set, and that presented their biggest problem.

  “Matthew?” Tatiana’s voice rose.

  If he didn’t put the balloon down before dusk, there would not be enough light to land safely.

  “Do any of your Avalonian traditions involve luck?”

  “None that come to mind.” She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the rail with one hand and clutching her stomach with the other.

  “This would be the appropriate time to invent one.”

  “Why do we need luck?”

  “We have no fuel to heat the air in the balloon and we are descending. However, we are also moving quickly. If we are extremely lucky”—he blew a frustrated breath—“we will travel fast enough to miss the trees below us and land in the clearing beyond.”

  She stared at him as though he were insane. “No fuel? Why not? Is that not, well, stupid?”

  “It would be if I had planned on traveling across the country,” he said sharply. “All I had intended to do was go up and come back down, never straying farther than the end of a rope. This, my dear princess, can be laid firmly at your feet.”

  “My feet?” Her eyes widened with indignation. “This is your balloon. I have nothing to do with it.”

  “The fact that my bottles have been emptied, when I filled them myself, means the fact that the tether was not secured, something else I checked personally, is no accident. Coupled with the destruction of your room and the missing letter means someone else is looking for your blasted jewels. And if you had seen fit to tell me the truth before now, I would have taken the proper precautions.” His voice rose. “As it is, we do not even have bags of sand on board for ballast.”

  “I am not to blame because you are unprepared!”

  He gritted his teeth. “I am not unprepared for what was planned, only for the circumstances we now find ourselves in.”

  “Perhaps they can put that on our gravestones!” Her voice was sharp, edged with anger and probably fear. “If they can find our bodies!”

  “They’ll find our bodies, upright and walking,” he said with a hard confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “All we need is a bit of luck. You don’t, by any chance, have a flask of that foul brandy hidden away on you?”

  She cast him a look of disgust.

  “Let me think.” He ran his hand through his hair and voiced his thoughts aloud. “If we continue along the course we are now on, given the slow rate of our descent at the moment, we shall crash among those trees. Possibly a good hundred yards or so from that clearing.” He pointed to the tree line in the distance. “If we could get a bit of lift, it might enable us to reach the clearing, whereupon I could release the air and bring us to earth.”

  She squinted into the distance. “It is not a very big clearing.”

  “It scarcely matters. We probably won’t make it.” He stared up at the balloon.

  There had to be something he could do. “I can think of no way to increase the lift. We have only the necessities on board and nothing we can discard.”

  “You could jump,” she said in an overly sweet manner. “Fling yourself over the side to save me. It would make you a national hero in my country.”

  “Posthumously, of course.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Then it would certainly be well worth it,” he said absently, still studying the balloon. “I think I shall pass, but I am grateful for the offer.”

  “Can you not get rid of all of this nonsense?”

  “What nonsense?”

  She gestured at the mechanics in the center of the basket. “This.”

  “I most certainly cannot.” He huffed with indignation. “This nonsense, as you call it, represents a year’s worth of work.”

  “Come, now.” She grabbed the bottle closest to her with both hands and yanked it from its support. “It is extraordinarily heavy and would probably do the job well.”

  “I don’t care.” He snatched the bottle from her. “I had those bottles made to my specifications. They are irreplaceable.”

  “Matthew.” She stepped to him and grabbed his jacket with both hands.

  Determination shone on her face. “I will not lose my life or yours because of some silly bottles. They are delightful, I suppose, but they are still only glass and cork wrapped in—whatever you wrapped them in.”

  “Padding and rubber,” he said without thinking.

  “The genius is not in the bottles but in the creation. You created all this and you can do so again. They are most certainly replaceable.” She fisted her hands in the cloth and pulled tighter. “You are not. And, my lord husband, I vow I shall not let you rest in your grave for a single moment if we end our days together without truly being, well, together.”

  “Indeed.” His gaze slipped from her eyes to her inviting lips and back. “That would be a shame.”

  “I did not mean that.” In spite of her obvious fear, the corners of her lips curved upward. “Or rather, I did not mean that alone.”

  “That alone is more than enough reason to live. Very well.” He sighed, disengaged her hands and handed her the bottle. “Be my guest.”

  She cast him a heartfelt smile and heaved the bottle over the side.

  If there was any difference at all, it was negligible. They tossed another bottle, and another, until more than half of them had vanished into the trees below. They had not gained any significant altitude, but they were no longer dropping.

  “Will we make it or should we toss the rest?” She looked at him in the way of women who are fully confident in the abilities of their companions.

  “Of course we’ll make it.” The lie came without hesitation.

  It was only in the last few minutes that the true desperation of their situation had struck him. He had always thought of himself as a man who accepted the realities of life, even his own death, and it was not in his nature to panic. Yet the thought of Tatiana’s possible demise filled him with a desperate dread and an absolute determination to ensure her survival—even if he had to rip apart th
is aerostat, and all that went with it, with his bare hands.

  “You still do not lie well.” She cast him a resigned smile.

  “I do not lie at all.” He grinned. “Or rarely.” He caught her hand, pulled her close, twirled her around until her back rested against his chest and pointed. “I do believe, Princess, that we might just make it to the clearing.”

  “Then what?”

  He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Why, then it’s easy.

  “We just have to survive the fall.”

  Chapter 14

  “Survive the fall?” Tatiana swallowed hard. “What do you mean, fall?”

  “A misstatement.” She felt him shrug behind her. “Drop is what I meant to say.”

  “Oh, survive the drop sounds ever so much better.”

  “It will be as controlled as possible.” Matt’s voice was cool and calm. If the man was frightened, he certainly did not show it. Of course, she was scared enough for them both. “I have done it any number of times before.”

  “Well, I have not.” She grimaced. “Besides, I do not believe you. And should you not be doing something?”

  “I am. I’m determining exactly when to start letting air out of the balloon. At the moment I am calculating the distance…”

  He continued, and as much as she wanted to listen to him, it was impossible to concentrate on such matters as speed and altitude, although admittedly every time he rambled on about his heating system or those annoying bottles of his, her mind tended to drift. It was not that she was uninterested. But so much else occupied her mind these days that there was no room left for the intricacies of his work. It was difficult to pay attention to anything that did not involve recovering the Heavens and reclaiming the affections of her husband.

  Right now all she wanted was to be safe and sound and firmly on the ground with Matthew by her side, and she did not care what process he took to get her there.

  “All right, then.” He spun her around, kissed her hard and fast and released her. “Now stand out of the way, and be prepared to sit down and grab tightly to the ropes.” He stepped in close to the mouth of the balloon, reached up and did something she couldn’t see. “I’m going to start releasing the air through a valve. The wind might make this a bit rocky.”

  He glanced at her and raised a brow. “I must say, though, you’re looking better. This sort of thing must agree with you.”

  “Terror always tends to put color in my cheeks.” She grimaced. “Although I admit, I have quite forgotten about my stomach.”

  “Excellent.” He grinned. “Now hold on.”

  She gripped the rim of the basket and braced herself.

  He was wrong about the wind. They were not buffeted any more now than before. But they did seem to be dropping rather quickly. The word fall was definitely appropriate, although plummet was even better.

  “Damnation, I must have miscalculated.” Matthew muttered a few colorful oaths and moved quickly to toss the remaining bottles overboard.

  Tatiana couldn’t help but peer over the edge of the basket, even as she knew it was probably a mistake. The trees below were rushing past them and drawing closer at the same time. It was a dizzying sight that matched the sensation in her stomach.

  “Get down and hang on,” he yelled.

  At once she slid down to sit on the base of the basket and looped her wrists around ropes stretched from the railing to the floor. She pulled her knees up, planted her feet against the bottom of Matt’s contraption, closed her eyes and prayed. A moment or an eternity later she heard the sickening sound of leaves and branches against the bottom of the basket. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she thought of all the things she had never done. All the things she had never done with him. And she promised herself, if they survived, she would do everything in her power to make certain she and Matthew spent the rest of their lives together.

  And prayed the rest of their lives lasted rather longer than the next few minutes.

  The sound of rushing leaves beneath her vanished and a moment later they dropped quickly but smoothly. Perhaps they would survive after all.

  Just then the basket lurched horribly to one side. The awful sound of snapping branches filled the air. The basket tumbled downward ever faster. Matthew’s voice rang out in the bedlam and she realized she was screaming. Chaos filled her senses, terror gripped her and she clung for dear life. Time lost all meaning. It stretched a second or a lifetime. Without warning, there was a sharp jerk and all movement stopped. The cessation of motion was as terrifying as everything else.

  Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The basket slanted at an odd angle. She was in the higher end and peered around the contraption in the center to Matthew’s body, crumpled in a heap below her.

  “Matthew?”

  “Yes?” The word was as much a groan as anything else.

  “Are you—”

  “Don’t move,” he said sharply, then carefully untangled himself from the ropes, lines and debris surrounding him. He moved in a gingerly manner, but every motion shifted the basket and struck fear into her heart.

  “Matthew?”

  “Hold on,” he snapped. He struggled to his feet, leaned over the edge of the basket and… vanished.

  “Matthew!” she screamed.

  An odd chuckle greeted her cry. A moment later, his head popped up from outside the basket. He grinned with obvious relief. “It’s all right. We’re on the ground.”

  “Are we?” She struggled to stand, but the basket still swayed. “It does not feel overly solid.”

  “Well, I am on the ground. You are still dangling from the trees.” He reached out his hands. “Come on.”

  She scrambled to the lower end of the basket and fairly threw herself over the side and into his arms. “Oh, Matthew, I thought surely we were done for.”

  He held her tightly against him. “I must admit, for a moment there, I thought the same.”

  She buried her face in his chest. “I should not like to lose you like this.”

  “I should not like to lose you at all.”

  For a long time he held her and she wondered that in the midst of all this, she could think of nothing more than how very much she loved him.

  “However, we are in something of a pickle now.” He heaved a heartfelt sigh and released her.

  As one, they looked upward. The basket, or rather what was left of the basket, dangled at a precarious angle a scant few feet above the ground, its ropes and lines hung up in the trees. Above them, in the deepening twilight, long stretches of taffeta hung in ghostly strands, pale and ethereal against the branches.

  Her heart sank for him. “Oh, Matthew, your balloon. It is ruined.”

  “Yes, well, that’s that, then.” His words were clipped as if it did not matter. “We did the best we could. We hit at the very edge of the clearing. Another ten feet or so…” He shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped. It’s entirely my fault. I should have checked the tether and the fuel again before we went up. Furthermore, I know better than to ascend at all without someone on the ground to assist in cases of difficulty.” He shook his head. “I have been exceedingly stupid and should be grateful that we managed to survive at all.”

  “Can you rebuild it?” she asked hopefully.

  “Look at it, Tatiana.” He grabbed a section of the wicker and yanked. It came away easily in his hands. “There are gaping holes in the basket; the basic structure of the thing was weakened by our slide down the trees. It cannot be rebuilt, only replaced. As for my heating system…” He waved angrily at the tangled mass of ropes and wires now settled on the downward slope of what remained of the basket’s floor. “There’s little there that can be salvaged. And the balloon itself…” He shook his head. “It is hopeless.”

  “Surely you can start over?”

  “I have invested everything I have in this. I don’t have the funding to start over.”

  “But with the money I had planned to pay—”


  “I’m not going to take your money. Did you really think I would?”

  “Why not?” She laid her hand on his sleeve. “It is only money. I certainly do not care about it.”

  “I do!” He shook off her hand and moved a few steps away, gazing out into the distance. “It may well be difficult for you to understand, but I have a desire to succeed on my own. Make my fortune with my own two hands. It’s an absurd idea, I know, and in my youth I would have scoffed at the very thought of it. But now”—he shook his head—“I don’t know. I should never have spent these last years on something as absurd as balloons, aerostats, anyway. There’s no future in flight of this nature. You’re at the constant mercy of wind, there’s no way to sustain altitude for any length of time and there are a myriad of other problems I can’t even begin to list.

  “And even if I were to win this ridiculous competition—out of the question now, by the way—it would only provide me with the funding to invest in a ship. Not purchase, simply invest.”

  “Matthew.” She had never seen him like this. Her heart twisted at the sight.

  “There comes a point in your life, Princess, when you have to take stock of who you are and what you’ve done.” He turned back to her. “I am the youngest son of a man whose wisdom and affection I did not appreciate until it was too late. I am a man who is not afraid to fly but fears facing his own family. I am a dreamer with nothing left of his dream but tattered wicker and a handful of torn taffeta.” He laughed harshly. “I am six and twenty and I have little to show for my years upon this earth. I am nothing more or less than a fool.”

  Abruptly anger, swift and unreasonable, surged through her. “You are indeed a fool, Matthew Weston. I cannot believe I did not see it before.”

  He stared with surprise. “Your sympathy is overwhelming.”

  “You do not need sympathy, you need to be shaken. Or smacked. Or hit over the head. I shall not waste my sympathy on you.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Poor Matthew. All he has done with his life is flown the skies in search of a dream. Certainly it was not a practical dream—indeed, some might say it was absurd—but most people do nothing about their dreams. Most of us live the lives that have been laid out for us, the lives others expect of us, without regard for our own desires. For what, in our hearts, we truly wish to do.