From Kiss to Queen

by Janet Chapman

  Four men, Conan and Grizzly Adams included, sat down at the equally messy table and started eating. The remaining men stayed standing, crammed into the cabin like sardines, and simply continued to look at the attraction on the bed. Irina and Jane frowned at each other. The food may have smelled peculiar, but it was still food, and they were starved.

  They were also being ignored again, the stares notwithstanding.

  Conan suddenly turned on his stool and beckoned them.

  Jane decided she had more sense than pride, regardless of how rude their hosts were acting, and instantly got up and made for the table. But she’d only taken four steps when Conan stood up, frowning as he stared down at her feet. Jane stopped walking.

  He grabbed her left shoulder just as she stepped back, his fingers closing over her long-suffering wound. Jane shrieked and slapped his hand away. The man swept her up into his arms and dropped her back on the bed, but gently this time.

  More laughing ensued.

  Jane panicked when the giant reached for her right foot and drew it toward him, his other hand going to the lace on her shoe. She clawed at him, all the time tugging her foot back. “You leave me alone, you overgrown barbarian,” she hissed, drawing an arm back to punch him when he wouldn’t stop, only to halt in mid-swing at his piercing blue glare of warning. He quickly removed her shoe despite Jane’s final attempt to pull free, then turned her foot back and forth to study the brace she wore. He pushed up her pant leg to see more of the brace, and Jane gasped again and tried to slap her pants back down, afraid he’d discover her knife.

  When all that got her was another icy glare, she planted both feet on his chest and shoved with all her might, making Conan stumble back and land on the floor hard enough to shake the cabin. Wasting no time savoring her victory, and ignoring the raucous guffaws and whistles, Jane scrambled to the other side of the bed and pulled the knife out of her brace, then held it up threateningly.

  Grizzly stopped Irina from following by wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her off the floor, then letting her dangle forgotten as he watched the show.

  His thighs stretching his tight buckskin pants and his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, Conan stood up and planted his hands on his hips. Jane saw the corner of his mouth twitch—only she didn’t know if the man was holding in a growl or a smile—as he slowly pulled his own knife from a sheath on his belt. The thing looked like a machete next to her puny kitchen knife, and if she could have worked up some spit, she would have swallowed. As it was, all she could do was stare back with the realization she was in big, sharp, outsized trouble. He spoke to her in his guttural language, then beckoned for her to give up her knife. His voice had turned as deep as his chest was wide, and his eyes had softened to an almost lazy patience.

  Jane darted a frantic look at Irina, and her friend closed her eyes in defeat and nodded. Jane let out a shuddering breath and closed her own eyes and tossed the knife on the blanket. She didn’t hear the man coming, but was once again lifted up and set back down on the bed. This time she didn’t protest, but simply closed her eyes again against her welling tears as he unsnapped the fasteners on her brace and pulled it off. Then he pulled off her sock.

  Hating the man staring at her deformed ankle, Jane remained silent. And she didn’t even flinch when she suddenly felt his hands leave her foot and go to the buttons on her blouse. He undid three of them and pulled her blouse to the side, exposing her left shoulder, then leaned her forward and examined her back. Jane opened her eyes in time to see his own eyes widen at the sight of her puckered scar, obviously knowing he was looking at a bullet wound, judging from his disbelief. He silently—and gently—pulled her blouse back into place, and Jane kept her gaze on his large, surprisingly deft hands while he buttoned it back up. And then she heard him sigh, which was quite audible in the now-silent cabin. And then he spoke.

  Jane looked up to find him pointing at her while saying something to all the men as he gestured at her shoulder, then her foot, and finally in the direction of her belly—clearly listing all her flaws.

  The prize they’d captured, apparently, wasn’t turning out to be much of a prize.

  “You think I’m full of flaws,” she hissed. “But I’ll have you know I’m the queen of Shelkova,” she said, gaining back some of her spirit. She’d be darned if she was going to let this barbarian look at her with pity. She held up her left hand. “I’m married to Markov Lakeland,” she said, jutting her wedding ring in his face. “And he loves me, flaws and all. And he’s going to come get us, and then you and your other barbarian buddies are going to be in big trouble for stealing us.”

  His mouth twitched again.

  Jane poked him in the chest.

  He grabbed her hand, his face back to being hard, and held it up to study the ring while fingering the emerald trees.

  Jane jerked free. “You try to steal it and I’ll skin you alive with your own knife.”

  He finally broke into a wide grin, followed by a belly-rumbling laugh as he picked her up and strode to the table, where he deposited her on a stool with little ceremony.

  Jane nodded regally, quite pleased with herself for putting the oaf in his place.

  * * *

  Neither she nor Irina knew what they’d eaten for lunch, and neither one of them dared to guess. But as soon as it was over, Conan and Grizzly shooed all the men out of the cabin and then told Jane and Irina to rest, using their hands to get the meaning across. The women gratefully complied, but not until after Grizzly had pulled Irina into his arms and given her a big bear of a hug. The poor woman had been so taken off guard that she barely got out a gasp before it was over. Irina had looked so outraged and Grizzly had looked . . . smitten.

  Now they were lying on the bed, warm and full and comfortable for the first time in two days. They still didn’t know where in heck they were or who in heck had them, but they were safe—at least for the moment. “Do you recognize the language?” Jane asked Irina as they both rested but couldn’t sleep.

  “No. But even in this day and age, there are still many tribes of nomads that use the northern lands of Shelkova. They travel by the seasons all the way from easternmost Russia, through here, and even into your Alaska.”

  “You think these men are one of those tribes?”

  Irina shrugged against her pillow. “It’s likely.”

  “How are we going to get home? Mark is never going to find us now.”

  Irina looked at her. “When you told your Conan,” she said, giggling at the name, “that you were married to Markov Lakeland, the man holding me suddenly stiffened. I’m sure he recognized the name, even if he didn’t know what you were saying.”

  “You think so? Conan didn’t even flicker a lash.”

  “If they know who we are, they will have to return us. They’re free to travel the borders by the mere fact they bother no one. If they were to keep us and then be discovered, it could prove disastrous for them. They have to know that.”

  “I hope so. I can’t sleep. I know I should be dead tired, but I can’t sleep.”

  “Me, neither.” Irina lifted her head and glanced around the cabin. “Maybe we can gain some grace with them if we tidy up a bit in here. It would take our minds off our worries.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me. By actually cleaning the place, we can disguise the fact that we rifled through their belongings looking for a phone or radio. And maybe we can cook supper. Do you have any idea what we ate?”

  Irina visibly shuddered. “Some kind of stew, but I’ll not speculate on what kind of meat.”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Jane offered, getting up from the bed and going to the table. She looked down at the mess and shook her head. “These men are starving for women,” she observed aloud.

  “I have no sympathy for the lechers,” Irina said, going to the counter. “I swear if that man hugs me again I’m going to kick him.
And did you see the way all the men have been looking at us? Several of them touched my hair, and one actually smelled it.”

  “They’re just lonely. I wonder what happened to their women. If they’re a tribe, they should have women. And there are no children.”

  “I’d say the smart ladies packed up and left, taking their children with them.”

  “They must have been watching the building where Señor Guavas brought us and decided it was a chance to get some women,” Jane finished in a whisper. “Um, do you think they intend to . . . to . . . ?”

  Irina stilled and gave Jane a worried look. And then she shuddered again. They finished cleaning in silence after that, until they were finally tired enough to lie back down and go to sleep.

  * * *

  There was another skirmish that night, and again Jane and Irina lost the battle. Grizzly Adams forcibly carried Irina out of the cabin as soon as they were done eating the meal of still-unidentified meat the women had made. Irina had pulled out her knife in desperation, only to be quickly disarmed by her laughing captor. Jane had screeched and clawed and fought like a she-devil for them not to be separated, but strength had prevailed.

  And now she was alone with Conan.

  And there was only one bed.

  Darn.

  But she was flawed. Conan had looked her over like a horse at auction and found her wanting, so maybe he was simply stuck babysitting her tonight while Grizzly tried to have his lonely, wicked way with Irina.

  Poor Irina. Her eyes had been riddled with fear when she’d looked at Jane from the shoulder of her own personal demon. Jane had fought her own barbarian for ten minutes trying to go after her, but Conan had simply let her tire herself out. Now she was sitting at the once-again messy table, and she’d be darned if she was going to clean it again.

  She jumped when silent feet suddenly appeared before her, and she looked up to see Conan holding a hairbrush out to her. Jane touched her hair, only to inwardly wince at the mess she felt. Guessing she looked like a barbarian herself, she reached for the brush.

  He pulled it back, making her look up at him. “Lakeland,” he said, pointing to her. “Gunnar,” he said, pointing to himself.

  Gunnar? This guy’s name was Gunnar? That sounded much too civilized for the giant Neanderthal. “Jane Lakeland,” she said, pointing to herself.

  “Jane Lakeland,” he repeated. “Shelkova.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gunnar Wolf.”

  Well, that fit. The man looked like a wolf, what with his long mane of black hair, piercing arctic eyes, and fur vest. He must have seen the gleam in her eye, for he tucked the brush in his belt and walked to a cupboard, pulled out a pencil and scrap of paper, came back to the table and wrote something, then handed the paper to Jane.

  The print was boldly written and neat to near exactness. Which surprised her, as she hadn’t thought these uncouth men would even own pencil and paper, much less know how to use them. Gunnar Wolfe. With an E.

  “Gunnar Wolfe,” she repeated, waving the paper at him. “With the E or not, you’re still a barbarian,” she said with a smile, confident he didn’t know what she was calling him.

  “Jane Lakeland,” he repeated, smiling back and shoving the pencil at her.

  He wanted her to write her name. Jane complied, holding it up for him to see once she’d finished. But not until she’d printed the word barbarian beside his name. He frowned at the paper, then raised his brow and looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

  Just for a second, she worried he knew what she had written, but then relaxed. If he couldn’t understand English, he sure as heck couldn’t read it.

  He took her left hand and fingered her wedding band. “Markov Lakeland,” he said, looking from the band to her. Jane nodded. He then leaned down and touched her belly. “Markov Lakeland?” he repeated, this time in question.

  Disconcerted, Jane nodded and pushed his hand away. “Yes. Markov Lakeland’s baby. And he’s going to come get me and his baby, and you, Gunnar Wolfe, had better be ready to grovel.”

  She sighed when his mouth twitched again, then took the brush he handed her. The man hadn’t seemed the least bit intimidated by the threat of her husband—likely because he didn’t understand a word she had said. While she painfully worked at getting the knots out of her hair, she tried to ignore the fact that her . . . babysitter began stripping off his clothes, slowly revealing his true size and strength.

  And as each item came off, his size didn’t diminish one bit.

  As comfortable as a nun in a convent, Gunnar Wolfe stripped until only his buckskin pants remained, exposing a torso of solid, rippling muscle that made Jane’s mouth go dry.

  The man was huge. His sun-darkened skin was smooth and taut, his chest covered with a full pelt of hair that tapered down to his . . . his . . . She tried to swallow, only to get her tongue caught on the roof of her mouth. Holy smokes. Jane realized she’d stopped brushing her hair and shook herself out of her stupor, turning crimson with the realization she was a married woman and had no business ogling a . . . a . . .

  She frantically looked around the cabin, hoping to discover that another bed had popped up when she hadn’t been looking. Nothing. Only some old furs thrown in the corner.

  Well, by heaven, she’d sleep on the furs. She’d pull them near the woodstove and sleep there. Or maybe outside. Yeah, she was suddenly hot enough that outside sounded mighty appealing right now.

  “Jane Lakeland,” the barbarian said from the bed, his hand beckoning.

  She stood up and went to the furs. “I’ll sleep on these,” she said, dragging the furs over to the stove. “You take the bed. It is yours, after all. I’ll be fine on these furs.”

  Living up to his barbaric name, the man simply shrugged and closed his eyes. Jane plopped down on the lumpy pallet she’d made with a sigh of relief, closed her own eyes, and finally fell asleep praying that the Lakeland name would also protect Irina tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Jane woke to the sound of Irina coming into the cabin on the run. She slammed the door shut and all but threw herself at Jane, who had bolted upright to discover she was lying on the bed—thankfully alone.

  “Jane. Jane, are you okay?” Irina cried, leaning away to run her worried eyes over her.

  “I’m fine,” Jane said, hugging her back. “And you, Irina. How are you?” she whispered, pulling away to look directly at her. “Did he hurt you last night?”

  Irina flushed a deep red and lowered her gaze. “No. He . . . he didn’t hurt me.”

  “Thank heavens,” Jane said on a sigh, hugging her again. “I was so afraid for you.”

  “Me? But I would have been fine, no matter what.” Irina scowled. “It is you I worried about all night. You and your . . . your Conan!”

  “His name is Gunnar.”

  “He told you his name? My Grizzly Bear is Anatol,” Irina said, flushing again.

  “Anatol? And it’s Grizzly Adams, not Grizzly Bear.”

  Irina shrugged. “Either way, at least he was enough of a gentleman to sleep on the floor and give me the bed,” she said, picking something off Jane’s blankets. “Nor did he . . . touch me.”

  Jane laughed softly. “A civilized barbarian.”

  “He even gave me one of his shirts to change into,” Irina continued, looking embarrassed and confused. “You . . . you were not touched?”

  “Nope.” Jane snorted. “But unlike Anatol, Gunnar is no gentleman and made me sleep on the floor,” she told her, conveniently forgetting that she’d refused the bed when he’d offered. Or that he must have picked her up and put her on the bed before he’d left this morning.

  Probably because he didn’t want Irina to know he was a jerk.

  “It’s the Lakeland name,” Irina said. “That’s why they haven’t bothered us . . . tha
t way. All evening Anatol kept calling me Irina Lakeland. I didn’t dispute him. I think the name somehow intimidated him.”

  “You mean inhibited him,” Jane drawled, relieved her friend was okay.

  “That, too,” Irina added. “But why separate us if they didn’t intend to do anything?”

  “I believe your Grizzly—I mean your Anatol—likes you and wanted to get you alone.”

  “Well,” Irina breathed on a sigh, “I am glad it’s over.”

  “Until tonight,” Jane reminded her.

  “We’ve got to get away from here. Wait; you must have snowmobiles in Maine and know how to drive them. Maybe you could nonchalantly wander over to one of the snowmobiles as I wander toward the woods, and you could steal the machine and pick me up, and we could drive off before anyone realized what we were doing. It would be even better if you could do something to disable the other snowmobile first so they couldn’t follow us.”

  “And drive off in which direction? We don’t even know where we are. And personally, I prefer a bed of furs to sleeping in a snowbank.”

  “Then what are we to do?” Irina whispered. “We can’t just take up housekeeping here.”

  “We wait,” Jane said. “I bet within an hour of finding out who we were last night, Anatol and Gunnar sent someone to contact Mark. Depending on how far the guy had to go to find a phone, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before Mark comes to get us.” Because they sure as heck hadn’t found a phone or radio when they’d cleaned yesterday—unless they’d been in the large, locked trunk at the foot of the bed.

  Irina pushed her slightly graying hair off her face with a sigh. “I hope he comes soon.”

  “Afraid to start liking your Grizzly Bear?”

  Irina blushed again. “He is rather strong for a man of his age.”