Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1)

by Nancy Gideon

  “The men. Did you get a look at them?”

  “Not a good one. One of ′em was real tall and lanky. The one that had hold of the woman, he was big. Then a little guy, the one in charge. Couldn’t see much, but there was something strange I remember. Made me think they might not be street types, so I kept my mouth shut when the police came ′round asking.”

  “Strange how?”

  “The big one, he was wearing diamonds in his ears. Saw ′em clear, catching the light off the fire. Musta cost a fortune.”

  Terriot diamonds. All the princes in the House of Terriot wore them. As he had, until necessity had forced him to pawn them to fund his plans. That meant his brother Cale, the annoyingly resourceful and hard to kill little bastard, had burned his future down around him with the help of one of their other half-brothers—Colin, Rico or maybe Turow, who’d been dogging his footsteps since he’d left Cale for dead in their Lake Tahoe compound. It didn’t matter which one.

  And they had Sylvia.

  “What about the mother?”

  “Didn’t see her.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t home.” Could he be that lucky?

  The old man shook his head. “She was there. Saw her locking up earlier. She never came out. Heard they found a body. I’m thinking it was hers.”

  James’s hopes guttered out like the last spark in the rubble next door. Martine was dead, and with her the secret to his ascension as their clan’s new king.

  Unless Martine, that crafty bitch, had shared her knowledge with her daughter.

  Daddy’s girl.

  The words whispered against her ear, filling her with pride. Special words, just for her alone. Something not measured against her older half-brother’s status as a prince in the House. Signifying what even her beautiful mother couldn’t claim. Absolute adoration.

  When in her father’s company, she was a fairytale princess on her own envied throne. Every wish met, every desire fulfilled, she was pampered and outrageously spoiled by one parent who showered her with love, even as the other regarded her as more of a threat with each passing year . . . because she wasn’t a beauty in just her father’s eyes.

  As the soft chubbiness of childhood gave way to what her mother feared, a gorgeous butterfly had emerged from its cocoon, ablaze with fiery hair, flashing green eyes and red, pouty smile. Not just an annoyance, but suddenly a rival for the covetous attention Martine Terriot craved.

  No longer was mother indifferent to daughter’s existence. She watched her every move with a care more suspicious than devoted, seeing potential challenge where before there was only innocence. Making the girl increasingly uncomfortable in her presence as the nights filled with raised voices and harsh words from her parents’ bedroom.

  Suddenly, Martine’s interest in her mate’s behavior changed from tolerance to rigid scrutiny, forcing tender father-daughter time, once daily and abundant, into miserably infrequent stolen moments. During those treasured times, Sylvia was again the reigning monarch, the center of the universe, whether they shared stories, games or just talked of frivolous things as fond friends might have . . . if she’d had any.

  Wrapped in the familiar comfort of his cologne and the secure curl of his arm, head upon his chest as his heart beat that rhythm both steady and sure for as long as she could remember, she listened to the quiet drone of his voice while he read to her until eyes grew heavy and figure lax. In the dark silence that followed, she felt his kiss upon her brow and the lingering stroke of his hand along her hair.

  Then a shock of piercing light intruded, and with it, a fierce snarl.

  Get away from her!

  The sound of slapping wiper blades startled Sylvia to wakefulness. Body tense and wary, she opened her eyes slowly to scan her surroundings. The truck’s interior was dark, the night beyond the reach of faint headlights like the end of the world. Movement stirred a rattling of chains, instantly reminding her of her circumstances.

  A prisoner on her way to judgment day.

  She glanced at the driver, making a face even though he wouldn’t see it as he stared straight ahead at that wet stretch of road, paying her no attention. With justified concern, he’d tethered her cuffed hands to the passenger door at the start of their journey so he wouldn’t have to worry about her grabbing for the wheel or adding more bruises to his throat and face. Caution better late than never.

  She had no idea what time it was or what state they were in, and neither really mattered. She was in no hurry, until movement stirred another urgency.

  “Could you pull in at the next rest stop?”

  A nod toward the solid blackness surrounding them. “Let me know when you see one.”

  There were no lights hinting at civilization, no crowding shadows of hospitality on the shoulder of the road, just the faint reach of their headlights into drizzly gloom. They must have crossed into Texas while she slept.

  Sylvia shifted in her seat, trying to ignore her discomfort, but wasn’t one to suffer long in silence. “Unless you want to clean up a mess, I suggest you pull over.”

  Without comment, he eased the rattling vehicle off onto the uncertain shoulder and put it in park. What had he been thinking, renting this POS for transportation when they could have taken a charter jet or leased a Mercedes?

  She stiffened as he slid his arm along the seatback behind her to tug up the door lock. Impatiently, she shook the short length of chain he’d looped through the armrest, securing her there with cuffs about her wrists.

  “I can’t just shoot a stream from here, you know.”

  He leaned across her knees, his heat immediate and disturbing as he warned, “Try anything and you’ll ride the rest of the way in back.”

  She believed him. She’d exhausted his last bit of charity when giving him those bruises.

  He freed one of her wrists and snapped that cuff to his. When he pushed the heavy door open, a cold mist blew in. The glare from the overhead light cut his features into bold slashes of cheekbones and hollows before he sat back and gave her a nudge with his elbow that had her kidneys roaring. “Don’t take all night.”

  “It’s not like I’ll be looking through a magazine.”

  Considering the logistics and lack of conveniences, Sylvia popped the glove box and rummaged inside. He arched a brow as she pulled out a proof of insurance certificate. She glanced at the name.

  “Simon Crawford will have to request a new one. Paper is paper.”

  She slid out onto the squishy dirt and saw awkwardly to her needs. Then he took her extended hand rather gingerly to hoist her back inside where he quickly locked her down again.

  “Where are we?”

  “Heading west.”

  “For how much longer?”

  The peevish tang in her voice had him growling. “Until we get there.”

  “What have you got against the interstate?” What have you got against freaking comfort? Was this his way of punishing her? She’d prefer his brother’s directness to this subtle torture.

  “Are you in a hurry?” he asked mildly as he put the rattletrap in gear and eased back onto the deserted two lane blacktop.

  She clamped her jaws tight. To get to her possible execution? No, not really.

  After several dreary miles of boredom and anxiety, Sylvia twisted on the hard bench seat to stare at the driver, not because she could make out his features in the darkness, but because it would annoy him. She didn’t have to see him to know what she’d see: Chiseled profile, sharp bone structure upon a very masculine squared jaw, close-cropped dark red-blond hair, narrowed lips, and the unyielding line of truly awesome shoulders clad in leather. Occasionally, the faint glow from their headlights flashed in the hefty carat of his ear stud when he moved his head.

  Turow Terriot, middle prince of the Twelve in the House of Terriot. Stoic, loyal to a fault to their new king, mostly silent, and content with his place in the background of their clan’s tumultuous politics. That’s what others would see because they didn’t know him as w
ell as she did, which really wasn’t well at all. A huge sea of complexity roiled beneath surface calm, fooling others into believing the coolly passive effect he offered. But she knew passion beat in the heart of him. She’d experienced it. Enjoyed it.

  Most thought of him as someone who saw to the needs of others but never requested anything on his own behalf. They’d be wrong. He’d asked once. And she’d said no.

  Turow might fool the rest of his family, but he couldn’t fool her. He wasn’t okay with the job their king had entrusted to him. Still, he would do it without complaint or hesitation. Even though they’d shared intimate moments together, he’d deliver her to her clan’s tribunal without pause. But perhaps not without regret.

  After minutes passed, she smiled in satisfaction at the sound of his altered breathing. He twitched under her scrutiny, unfamiliar with such steady attention.

  “You should try to get more sleep.” His surprisingly soft voice broke the silence.

  “I’ve slept enough. What about you? Aren’t you tired?”

  “Did you want to take a turn at the wheel while I counted sheep? And the last few minutes left in my life?”

  She smiled tightly at his wry humor. “I’d just as soon get where we’re going without going into a ditch.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Can we listen to the radio, at least? There must be some kind of music you like.”

  “It doesn’t work. I prefer silence.” Cue, Please shut up and let me concentrate on driving.

  “Did anyone ever tell you you were a wonderful companion?”

  “No.”

  Sighing, Sylvia settled for staring out the side window at the sweep of passing darkness. As her time ticked down.

  “Hey!”

  The sudden shout, accompanied by a kick to his knee, startled Turow back into focus just as the truck’s front tire left the pavement. Instantly alert to the danger, he wrestled the vehicle back onto the secure surface.

  After his heart had a chance to back down along with his booted foot on the accelerator, he muttered, “Thanks,” and knuckled his gritty eyes. “Must have dozed off.”

  “You think?” Fright gave his passenger’s voice a raw edge. “I’d just as soon survive long enough for your family to kill me, if you don’t mind.”

  Turow couldn’t ignore his fatigue any longer, any more than he could shut out her needling and deeper, more dangerous distraction. Daybreak was hours away. The hypnotic slap of the wipers and blur of the center line had been toying with his eyelids for far too long. As soon as he saw the opportunity, he turned off onto one of the rare side dirt tracks and parked the vehicle. Leaving the lights on and the driver’s door ajar to light the cab interior, he stretched across his prisoner’s lap to unlock one of the cuffs and unthreaded the chain. She braced and eyed him warily when he gave the free end a tug.

  “Come on.”

  Pulling her like a reluctant pet, Turow drew her across the bench seat to exit the driver’s side after him. She wobbled slightly.

  “Do you have to pee again?”

  She stood straighter, regarding him in icy challenge. “Maybe if I’d had the luxury of something to drink.” She gestured to her rain dampened socks. “And other necessities you never considered before dragging me out into this no-man’s land.”

  Their abrupt exit from New Orleans hadn’t allowed time to find proper footgear for her. He refused to make that his fault any more than he was to blame for her current situation.

  “If you’d behaved yourself, maybe there would have been time for better planning. I thought getting you out of the reach of Cale’s hands before he broke your neck was more expedient than a trip to the closest outlet mall.”

  “You didn’t let me pack for an abduction when you grabbed me out of my bed and burned everything I owned down behind me.”

  “Any more than your lover gave my king a chance to prepare for his knife in the back, not just once, but three times.” He gave the chain a rough jerk to start her moving toward the rear of the truck.

  He unlocked the fiberglass cap that covered the bed and dropped the tailgate. Sylvia regarded the dark interior disdainfully.

  “I’m not really in the mood to indulge you in the back of this dirty hillbilly mobile.”

  He quickly shut down her suspicions. “Get in. I need you more than an arm’s length away if I’m going to get any shut-eye.”

  She drew back, apparently more alarmed by the idea of being trapped in the narrow darkness alone than with him as a warm buffer next to her. “I don’t like small, dark spaces.”

  “Well I don’t like the idea of someone trying to strangle me while I sleep. Get in.” When he caught her eyeing the surrounding blackness, he added, “I wouldn’t try making a run for it. There are things out there in the night that you don’t want to meet up with.”

  Her disparaging glare swept over him. “Worse than you? I doubt that.”

  “Seeing as how I’m one of those predators that stalks at night, I know when my kind is near. I can smell them, and they smell you. You wouldn’t get far.”

  His words shook her, though she refused to betray it. After a moment of stalemate, she gathered her now soggy blanket about her and climbed into the back on hands and knees, giving him a glimpse of her shapely swaying backside. He used the chain to pull her back around to face him then ratcheted the second cuff to the tailgate before slamming it shut.

  “There’s nothing back here but a scratchy old tarp!”

  “I’ll place a call to room service and have them send up a duvet and extra pillows.”

  He closed and latched the truck shell over the sound of her expletives then returned to the cab to settle in for some much-needed slumber. Locking the doors, turning off the headlights and the overhead, he stretched out in a cramped twist, leaned back against the driver’s door and closed his eyes. The darkness brought instant relief from the strain of the past hours on the road.

  For all of ten minutes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The first few kicks he attributed to temper and, with a flat smile, ignored them. The staccato from the back took on a more frantic tempo. He groaned in irritation, squeezing his eyes tight despite his body’s tension. Sure she’d soon tire of being a bratty nuisance, he waited out the next long minutes until the insistent kicks became an urgent cry of his name.

  Flicking on the head and tail lights, he crawled out of the cab and circled to the back, throwing up the opening to the cap with a surly, “Knock that crap off before I hog tie and gag you!”

  Once burned, he kept a cautious distance, prepared for any kind of assault, except the one on his heart when her head lifted to reveal a frantic, tear-stained face.

  In a small yet still confrontational voice, she sniffled, “I told you. I don’t like confined spaces. I can’t breathe in here.”

  “Would you prefer to be strapped to the roof?”

  “Yes. Just don’t shut me in. Not alone.” A pause then a wavering, “Please, Turow.”

  He looked for some sign of manipulation, but his search kept coming back to panic. Desperate for some sleep, he heaved a heavy, probably foolish sigh. “If I get in with you, you’ll shut up?”

  A quick nod shook more of those killer tears loose.

  Cursing himself as a probably soon-to-be-murdered idiot, he returned to the cab to cut the lights.

  “Turow?” The soft, quavering entreaty was quickly followed by a fierce, “Turow, damn you! Don’t you leave me in here!”

  “Just locking up,” he assured her, returning to the rear of the vehicle. He couldn’t see her, but the sound of her breathing was quick and raw as he dropped the tailgate and switched the second cuff to lock about his own wrist.

  “Before you kill me in my sleep,” he warned with quiet logic, “consider the impossibility of dragging my dead ass behind you in search of civilization, because you’ll never find where I hid the truck key.”

  “Duly warned.” She scooted over to make room for him under the low
, protective canopy.

  The corrugated bed was as comfortable as lying on train tracks, but Sylvia had no more complaints, tucking in beside him in grateful silence to share his nearness and warmth. Trying to adjust their positions around the short, linking chain was finally settled when she backed up against him, head resting on the arm he slipped beneath it.

  “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”

  She answered his rather admiring remark with a wry, “You try spending half your childhood locked in a crawlspace.”

  Shocked, he demanded, “Is that true?”

  “Of course. Would I lie to gain your sympathy?”

  He snorted and carefully draped his arm over the dip at her waist. Silence settled, deep but no longer frightening, because his comforting size and scent filled the shared space.

  Sylvia waited until his breaths deepened and evened out in sleep before allowing the panic to shudder from her in a soft sob. Careful not to wake him, she pressed back into his tough contours while clutching his arm close around her, not to protect against outside threats but from those that prowled within. In the darkness, there was no place to hide from fears seeded in the past that would soon blossom into her own funereal bouquet.

  She didn’t want to die.

  Her own mortality had been something abstract and distant until the sudden alarm of having Turow, who’d always been unfailingly gentle and kind to her, tear her from her bed, his expression so hard and cold she’d felt terror shake her to the soul. To have him drag her to face Cale’s fury and his threats that he’d shred the flesh from her bones, to be forced to watch as her mother . . . as her mother died, and not betray how those events destroyed her.

  She hadn’t known that James had tried to assassinate their king when they fled from their mountaintop home. She wasn’t aware of her mother’s purpose as Martine had laced the herbs she tended with deadly chemicals from an unknown source. She hadn’t considered the consequences of turning her back on her family until their mercy was all she had to cling to.

  And she hadn’t known how terrified she’d be that no mercy could be found.