From Kiss to Queen

by Janet Chapman

  “Oh—ho. You do think he’s cute.”

  “Cute?” Irina choked. “How would I know with all that hair on his face!”

  “Ask him to shave.”

  Irina gaped at her, then suddenly smiled. “You think he would, if I asked?”

  Jane nodded, suppressing a smile of her own at the mischievous gleam in Irina’s eye.

  “Maybe I will then, just to goad the man.” Irina nodded. “Yes, I’ll let him know he’d gain my favor if he shaved. How long do you suppose he’s been growing that mane? I think I’ll get him to cut his hair while I’m at it.”

  “Irina Spanes, shame on you! We’re going to be gone from here in a matter of days, and that poor man will have to live nearly naked for years before he can grow that beard again.” Jane cocked her head at the smiling woman. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”

  Irina looked repentant—but only a little. “I was not always the paragon of virtue I am today,” she confessed. “At one time I was considered a little wild.”

  “I bet that was when you were married to George.”

  Irina merely smiled again.

  “Then it’s men. They bring out the imp in you. I say go for it. Make a fool of the man.”

  Irina sobered. “But what if he makes a fool of me?”

  “How could he do that?”

  “I could come to . . . like Anatol,” Irina softly explained, looking away. “I already find him attractive, and that hasn’t happened to me in eighteen years. Since I met George, no man has ever captured my eye.”

  “Until now?” Jane asked, touching her arm.

  Irina looked at her with sadness. “Isn’t it foolish? We are kidnapped and dragged to the end of the Earth, and I am smitten by a grizzly bear. And at my age.”

  They fell silent after that little disclosure and began their morning chores. But no sooner had they gotten the dishes done when Jane took a sniff of herself and wrinkled her nose. “I stink,” she announced.

  Irina laughed as she turned from making the bed. “So do I.”

  “Shouldn’t you be making Anatol’s bed?” Jane asked.

  “I already did,” the woman said on a cough, turning away and busily fluffing the pillows.

  Jane stared at her back. “I bet you cleaned his cabin, too, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Irina muttered, beating the pillows.

  “If you’re not careful, you won’t want to be rescued.”

  “I had to find something to do this morning.”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “Three hours.”

  “Then why didn’t you come wake me?”

  “Anatol said I couldn’t.”

  Jane eyed her again. “And just how did he do that? He doesn’t speak Shelkovan.”

  Irina finally looked at her. “He told me with a good glare just before he left the cabin. Your Conan isn’t the only one who can intimidate with just a look.”

  “He’s not my Conan.”

  “He is until we leave here. And judging by the looks we’ve been getting from all the other men, you’d better stick to your barbarian’s side. I don’t think the others are quite as . . . civilized.”

  Jane went to lift a bucket of water to put on to heat.

  “Don’t lift that,” Irina scolded, coming over and grabbing the bucket. “You’re pregnant.”

  “That doesn’t make me helpless.”

  “You have to be careful, though. You’re carrying a prince.”

  “Well, I’m not going to treat him like a prince and spoil him rotten.”

  Irina laughed as she nudged Jane out of the way and poured the water into a pan on the stove. Heavens, the woman was becoming a domestic wonder. Jane gave up and decided to look for something to wear while she washed out her clothes. She eyed the trunk at the foot of the bed for several seconds, but didn’t think she’d be able to pick the lock. So she kept looking until she found a nook on the back wall that had some clothes hanging on pegs. She gave them a sniff and decided they smelled better than she did, and threw them on the bed. “I’m taking a bath, then I’m washing my clothes. If you stand lookout for me, I’ll do the same for you.”

  “Deal,” Irina agreed.

  Jane guessed she was a comical sight an hour later, dressed in baggy pants she’d had to roll up several times and a shirt she’d had to wrap around herself twice and tie with a piece of twine she’d found. She was standing sentry outside the cabin while Irina took a sponge bath and washed her own clothes, having found some other things for her to wear while they dried.

  Jane had come outside to a surprisingly warm day, and hung her wet clothes over a rope running from the cabin to a tree, making her realize somebody did laundry around here . . . sometimes. Now she was guarding the door and glaring at all the men who had gathered and were rudely staring back at her.

  Realizing they’d probably started congregating during Irina’s shift as sentry, Jane was about to start throwing rocks at them if they didn’t stop edging closer. Several dogs had already gotten brave enough to sniff her legs, but she’d shooed them away so the men wouldn’t think they could do the same.

  Conan and Grizzly were nowhere in sight.

  And so went the day. And the next day. Irina and Jane were left pretty much alone while the sun was up, the staring men the only exception. And by night, Irina was hauled off to Anatol’s cabin and Jane slept on the pile of furs next to Gunnar’s stove.

  Although by the third night, Irina had stopped protesting the separation.

  And after having lived as Mark’s wife for only three months, Jane could see where Irina probably missed the company of a man who was smitten with her. Especially after having had the privilege for twelve years and then not having it for the last six. No, Jane was in fact silently hoping Irina found happiness with Anatol, even if only for a little while.

  * * *

  It was on their fourth afternoon here, as both women were outdoors enjoying the warm sun, that they heard the helicopter. They blinked at each other to make sure they weren’t hallucinating, then gave an excited whoop and started running to the open land down by the river where the men were already gathering. Gunnar caught up with Jane and pulled her to an abrupt stop just as Anatol did the same to Irina. Jane tried to kick free, but Gunnar gave a deep growl and lifted her off her feet, all the time giving her a good scolding in his native tongue.

  Both men carried them away from the river, and Jane and Irina began protesting in earnest at the sound of the chopper getting closer. Gunnar suddenly set Jane down in the middle of the village, manacled her wrist in his beefy paw, then glared at her hard enough to solidify antifreeze.

  Jane stopped struggling. Not because of his threat, but because she heard the helicopter landing. Gunnar pushed her to his side and planted his feet, put both of his hands on his hips while retaining a firm grip on her wrist, and stoically waited for his guests. Jane leaned back enough to look behind him and see Anatol holding Irina the same way beside them.

  As soon as she spotted Mark striding up the hill, his piercing golden eyes locked on her face, Jane cried out and tried to run to him—only to be rudely, abruptly stopped and pulled back to Gunnar’s side. With the patience of a child in need of the bathroom, she stood glaring up at the barbarian; not that Gunnar noticed, since he was looking at Mark. Jane could see that every muscle in her captor’s body was tensed and ready to move.

  She turned back to watch the three men approaching, forcing herself to remember to breathe as she soaked in the sight of Mark. Despite his aggressive stride, he looked tired, gaunt, and as tense as Gunnar as he stopped ten feet away, with Sergei and Dmitri—looking just as haggard and equally ready for battle—halting slightly behind him.

  Mark slid his gaze from Gunnar to her, his eyes suddenly softening. “Hello, wife,” he whispered, his voice easily carrying through
the starkly quiet air.

  “Hello.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am now.”

  “Are you ready to come home?”

  She nodded, too choked up to answer.

  Mark moved his once-again piercing eyes to her captor. “I’ve come to take my wife home, Gunnar.”

  Gunnar relaxed but for the hand holding hers. “Are you sure you want her, Markov?”

  Jane nearly fell over from her gasp. Gunnar Wolfe had asked that question in perfect, barely accented English. She swung her free arm and hit him square on the chest, at the same time moving to face him. “You jerk! You speak English!”

  He nodded without even looking down and raised a brow at Mark, totally dismissing her. “Are you sure you want her back?” he repeated, negligently rubbing his chest where she’d smacked him. “She’s got a bit of a temper.”

  Jane spun to Mark, nearly falling when Gunnar wouldn’t let go of her wrist. “Did you bring my shotgun?” she asked softly so she wouldn’t scream.

  Mark shook his head, a slight grin tugging the corner of his mouth.

  “My handgun?”

  He shook his head again.

  Jane eyed the helicopter. “Any machine guns in the chopper?”

  Mark crossed his arms over his chest, his amusement finally reaching his eyes. “And just what do you want a gun for, angel?”

  She ignored Gunnar’s snort. “To shoot me a barbarian.” She turned to Gunnar again. “Right between the eyes. Just see if I don’t, you jerk!” she finished, tugging on her arm.

  The jerk merely pushed her to his side and looked back at Mark. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. Ruling a nation agrees with you?”

  That grin blossomed, washing more haggard lines from Mark’s face as he nodded. “Once I get my household back in order.” He just as quickly sobered. “May I ask how you got your hands on my wife?”

  “I stole her from the men who stole her from you,” Gunnar offered in explanation. “Anatol seems to have lost his women, and when we saw these two, we decided to steal them.”

  “Like a thief in the night!” Jane interjected, not about to let go of her anger and wanting Mark to be angry, too. Heaven help her, they were conversing like old friends.

  “What happened to Anatol’s women?” Mark asked.

  Gunnar shrugged. “While the men were gone to their hunting grounds two years ago, another tribe raided the village and took the women and children. Anatol eventually tracked them down, but by then the women had already integrated into their new tribe.” Gunnar glanced toward the silent Anatol, then back at Mark. “So they only brought their older sons home.”

  Jane snorted and leaned back to arch a brow at a smirking Irina upon hearing they’d been right about the women leaving their men. And who could blame them?

  “So they’ve decided to steal replacements?” Mark asked, obviously fighting a grin.

  Gunnar shrugged again. “They took a vote.”

  “But you do intend to return my wife.”

  “Only if you’re sure you want her. Is she that important to you?”

  * * *

  Mark nearly dropped to his knees when he saw the shadow of worry suddenly cloud Jane’s eyes, unable to believe his brave, pregnant little wife still doubted her value. He slid his gaze back to Gunnar. “She’s more important to me than the air I breathe, and I would give up my kingdom for her. And if you don’t soon let her go, I’m going to break your arm,” he softly added, the lethal edge in his voice more for Jane’s benefit than for Gunnar’s.

  Gunnar simply opened his fingers and released her. She bolted for him and Mark caught her with a groan, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her hair as he took his first full breath in six days. He looked at Gunnar and nodded, his eyes saying thank you the only way a man at the end of his rope could.

  Gunnar merely nodded back.

  “Well, I’m not letting this one go!” Anatol boomed into the reunion. “She’s got no man, so I’m keeping her.”

  Irina gasped.

  Mark grinned. Gunnar’s surrogate uncle looked damn serious. And Irina looked damned stunned. Mark was equally stunned; only not at Anatol’s announcement, but that Aunt Irina wasn’t struggling or rushing to dispute his claim.

  “You can’t keep her, old man,” Sergei shouted from behind Mark. “She belongs to us.”

  “She’s only your aunt.”

  “No matter. You can’t just keep her.”

  “I can,” he growled back, tightening his grip on his prize.

  Mark continued looking for signs of protest from Irina. Even Jane had lifted her head, but surprisingly wasn’t rushing to Irina’s defense. Mark would love to have been a bird perched in a village tree these past few days. “Irina?” he asked softly, pressing Jane’s head back to his chest. He didn’t want his aunt influenced right now, which she would be if he didn’t curb his wife. But instead of fighting him, Jane appeared to be holding her breath.

  “Irina?” Mark repeated.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered, her eyes darting to a clean-shaven, obviously newly barbered Anatol. Mark always remembered the man as having a bushy beard and hair down past his shoulders, which in itself told him Anatol was serious.

  “Do you think you would know in the morning?” Mark offered, looking at Gunnar and receiving his nod of agreement.

  “May—maybe.”

  “Then we will stay until morning.”

  Jane tilted her head up. “Mark, you got anything . . . sweet to eat?”

  Her request dispelling the last knot of worry strangling his heart, Mark reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a bag of M&M’s. With a small squeal of delight and the greed of a starving woman, she grabbed the candy and ripped it open, suddenly oblivious to the village, the men, and Irina’s plight.

  Mark led his ecstatically munching and groaning wife away from the crowd and into the woods, accepting the pelt of fur Gunnar handed to him along with a nod toward the path running along a ridge following the river. Mark walked in that direction while simply savoring the feel of Jane against his side, until he found a ledge overlooking the river that the sun had melted clean. He tossed down the fur and urged Jane down on it, then knelt facing her. He palmed her cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away her persistent tears as she looked into his eyes with such hunger that Mark was humbled.

  “I love you,” he said just before he kissed them. He slowly pulled back. “God, how I’ve missed you, angel.”

  “Oh, Mark. I was so afraid I’d never see you again and that you’d have to go on without me,” she said, kissing his jaw and chin and mouth and leaving a tasty trail of chocolate from her lips. “I love you, too.”

  “So you believe, then.”

  “Believe what?” she mumbled, trying to unbutton his shirt.

  He had to capture her hands and then lift her chin to look at him. “That you’re the most important person in the world to me. Thank you.”

  She looked momentarily startled, then smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said succinctly, going back to work on his buttons.

  Mark chuckled as he tried to think of a way to slow her down. Not that he intended to leave this rock without loving her thoroughly. But he wanted—needed—to savor this. “Have you been taking good care of my son?” he asked thickly just as her hands slipped inside his now-open shirt.

  “Yes. Our daughter’s fine, Mark. Now shut up,” she muttered as her lips followed her fingers down the front of his chest toward his belt buckle—apparently on a mission as desperate as his own.

  So with a groan of resignation, Mark resigned himself to his wife’s impatient attack.

  And damn if he didn’t help.

  * * *

  Good heavens, the stars are bright from here,” his wife marveled aloud half an hour later as she cuddl
ed up to him, both of them naked but for the fur blanket.

  “Yes. We’re past the Arctic Circle.”

  “That’s why the days seemed so much shorter.”

  “You’ve gotten a view of our country this last week, haven’t you?” Mark said, also staring up at the stars as he patiently waited for her to ask.

  “Yes.”

  And still he waited as several minutes of worried silence passed.

  “O-okay. I’m ready now. Tell me about Petri,” she finally said, turning into him and burying her face in his neck.

  Mark knew this would be the hardest thing for her to hear, even though it was also the best news he had to give her. “Petri’s body armor stopped what would have been a mortal wound, but he also took a bullet to his leg and one in the arm. He’s going to be fine, Jane, and is right now recuperating under the care of Dr. Daveed.” Mark tilted her head back to look at him. “But two men died that day, Jane—one of the other bodyguards and one of your assailants.

  “Oh, God,” she cried, letting her tears flow again. “That poor man. His poor family.”

  “He had no wife and children, not that it makes his death any less tragic. All of Shelkova was his family, and we’ve already given him a hero’s burial. Cry for him, sweetheart, but also honor him by knowing he was doing something he believed in, which was protecting his country’s freedom by protecting his queen. Fredrick chose to protect you so you could help lead his homeland into the twenty-first century. Allow him the privilege to die for what he believed in.”

  “But it’s hard. I . . . I understand, but it’s hard.”

  “Shh. I know, baby. It’s hard for me, too. But nowhere near as hard, had I lost you. I love you, Jane. And I will continue to protect you as best I can.”

  “Petri really will be okay?”

  “He’ll be home being pampered by his wife and distracted by his children in about two weeks. He won’t be able to work for a few months, but he will heal.” Mark wiped an escaping tear and gave her a crooked smile. “He’s had to be sedated all week, as he kept threatening to go out and hunt you down himself.”

  “Thank God,” she breathed in relief, closing her eyes and snuggling against him. “It was the man from the coronation ball, Señor Guavas,” she said sleepily. “He stole Irina and me.”