Deep, Dark & Dangerous

by Jaid Black

  Drake couldn’t help but compare her finding to the prophetic beliefs of the New Swedes. She hesitated as she considered that—

  No. She refused to even credit the notion; it wasn’t possible.

  Teeth chattering, Drake tucked away the papers and snuggled closer to Madalyn’s pets, trying to absorb their heat. Tonight there was moisture in the air, making it unbearably frigid despite the polar bear fur and the goats.

  Either I’m running in circles or the distance between cities is longer than I thought. Either way, I’m going to die.

  There was no point in denying reality any longer. While Drake hadn’t abandoned hope altogether, she had lived a survivalist lifestyle long enough to realize when the outlook was grim. Lack of food, substandard shelter, and below-zero weather conditions were a deadly combination.

  She attempted to close her eyes and sleep, but the rattling of her teeth made it mission impossible.

  “Well, well, well…look at what the lemmings dragged in. My prodigal wife.”

  Drake’s eyes flew open at the familiar male growl, and her gaze clashed with Iiro’s. “Go away,” she ground out, “or I’ll cut it off.”

  Damn it! If she hadn’t been so freaking cold and hungry, she really would have been mad! All these days of running, only to end up being captured again? She was an embarrassment to survivalists everywhere.

  Stepping into the cave, Iiro got his first good look at Drake. She must have appeared to be on the verge of death, for his gaze went from furious to worried in a heartbeat. “Here,” he muttered, kneeling down in front of her. “Let’s get you warm.”

  He wedged his way between the goats and wrapped himself and another polar bear fur around her. Drake whimpered, melting into his heat. “I-I’m so c-c-cold,” she chattered, teeth rattling like crazy. “I d-don’t think I’m g-going to m-make it.”

  “Shhh,” Iiro gently chided her. “’Twill be all right.” He hugged her tightly, letting her feel the power, safety, and warmth of his heavily muscled embrace. I will carry you home as soon as I warm you up a bit.”

  Drake was already starting to feel the ice melt away from her bones. She was too grateful and too exhausted to verbally spar with him. “I doubt you c-can carry me that far,” she whispered.

  “’Tis but a few feet away. I hunted you for miles, only to find you a stone’s throw from Lokitown.”

  Drake’s lips soured. She had been going in circles. If anybody at CACW ever found out about this fiasco, she’d be a laughing stock.

  “I can’t live down there,” she told Iiro, snuggling in closer. Unless you had to lie, honesty was always the best policy—another primo bumper sticker slogan. “You’re good in the sack and all, but it’s too weird down there.”

  Drake could have sworn she saw amusement in his eyes. “Then I will keep you in the bed furs all the time. Leastways, you needn’t deal with how ‘weird’ we are whilst I’m mounting you.”

  Hmph. He had a point.

  Recalling the idiotic clothing that Iiro had forced her into wearing when meeting his parents, she moved onto her next gripe. “I don’t like how the women down there dress. It makes me feel like a raging slut.”

  Iiro squeezed her. “’Tis my raging slut you are,” he teased.

  Drake was quiet for a moment and then said, “I want to take the goats with me. They belong to Madalyn.”

  “Done.”

  That was easy. “And I want to see my sister.”

  “You shall.”

  He was exceedingly pliant when she disappeared for a week. “Immediately?”

  “Aye.” Iiro sighed as he held her. “You will be seeing a lot of her in the days to come.”

  She listened with wide eyes as he told her of all that was transpiring below the ground. “How do you know this if you’ve been tracking me down all week?”

  “Outsiders aren’t the only ones with ‘technology.’ ”

  Drake frowned worriedly. “This sounds pretty serious. And I’m antiwarfare, you know.”

  “As am I, and all the other rebels.” Iiro kissed the top of her forehead. “But a man must do his duty by his wife and future children.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-six

  “Get thee hence, Joonas!” Annikki raised a delicate hand to her forehead and whimpered. “I cannot bear the temptation another moment. Truly…I cannot!”

  Madalyn hadn’t realized how much she missed acting. Granted, she usually didn’t play the part of a person with a penis, but acting was acting. She felt like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie—the ultimate dramatic challenge.

  “I love you, Hilda,” Madalyn insisted in a manly voice. She grabbed Annikki by the arms and shook her. “Damn you, woman!”

  “Joonas!”

  “Hilda!”

  Oh yeah. This rocked. Exhilaration engulfed her.

  “You are mine, wench!” Madalyn’s jaw clenched hotly as she drew the weeping Hilda into her arms. “Forever and a day, you belong to me.”

  “Ah gods—Joonas!”

  “This is where Hilda and Joonas are to kiss,” Agata pointed out from offstage. Her black eyebrows shot up in a dramatic arch. “Surely this sight will be worth paying coins for. Shanty Row’s alehouse will be the most popular in all of the Underground.”

  The actresses stood there for a long moment, uncertain how to proceed.

  Annikki blushed. “’Twould cause a stampede, I fear. Mayhap we should find a male.”

  “Yeah,” Madalyn sighed. “I think you’re right.”

  “Joonas is already here, ladies. Nobody swoon, though I realize my good looks make it a difficult task.”

  The women’s heads turned in unison. Madalyn had recognized Vardo’s voice, but she wasn’t prepared to see Otar standing next to him. Their gazes met, and she smiled at him.

  “I would rather kiss the arse end of a polar bear,” Annikki informed Vardo. She blinked several times in rapid succession, a pompous gesture of disdain. “My daughter-within-the-law’s lips look more palatable.”

  “Gee, thanks. Comparing my mouth to a polar bear’s ass sure makes my day.”

  Annikki grinned, then faced Vardo. “Be gone, dunce. We are serious actors here, not court jesters.”

  “Mama,” Agata grumbled. “Be nice.”

  “I prefer to hoard my wife’s kisses for myself. Leastways, you need a man,” Otar reasonably pointed out, his eyes amused. “Vardo qualifies.”

  “That is debatable,” his mother sniffed.

  “Fear not, wench,” Vardo told her, swaggering over to where she stood. “I can pull down my braes, do you not believe me.”

  “Well, I never!”

  “Mayhap you should. ’Tis good for your sour disposition.”

  “Aaaaack!”

  Vardo’s laughter boomed throughout the hut and he elbowed a chuckling Otar in the ribs. “I think your mama likes me, eh?”

  “Aye. I believe she does.” He looked pointedly at his mother. “There’s no other explanation for her rude behavior toward you.”

  Annikki gasped. “I am not rude! Take that back!”

  “Then be polite to Uncle Vardo.”

  “My only son,” Annikki said dramatically, her voice shaking as if on the verge of tears.

  Madalyn figured she’d get a few good pointers out of this. Nobody, but nobody, could act like a mama who wanted her child wracked with guilt.

  “I gave birth to you,” Annikki reminded him, pain etched into her face. “You were big enough to rip a wench asunder, and yet I endured.”

  Otar sighed, and Madalyn knew his mother would win. She no doubt always did.

  “Following your torturously long birth, I suckled you endlessly. You were a greedy little glutton, demanding milk day and night the gods would not grant me fast enough to suit.”

  Otar mumbled something incoherent.

  “Did I tell you of the birthing? ’Twas two days long.”

  “Mama, Not today. Be nice. And show Vardo a little kindness,” Agata hissed.

 
; Annikki frowned as she stared at the man in question. It was a good minute before she said a word. Then, as if resigning herself to the will of the fates that had conspired against her, Annikki sighed like a martyr. “What do you know of acting, Viking?”

  A slow smile formed on Vardo’s lips. “I know I like to kiss. Joonas gets to kiss Hilda, so ’tis the part for me.”

  “You’re hired!” Madalyn ignored Annikki’s gasp and motioned for the big guy to join them. “Before we get to the kissing, though, you have to learn everything else leading up to it.”

  “I learn fast. Teach me, wenches.”

  For the next hour, Madalyn did just that as Otar watched with amusement. As luck would have it, Vardo was as much the natural thespian as Annikki was. Madalyn was really beginning to believe that the play would be the smashing success the other women were so certain of.

  “I believe this is the scene with the kiss.” Vardo puffed out his chest. “Do not swoon when my lips touch yours, wench.”

  “Is your breath that odious?” Annikki asked sweetly. She held a shielding palm up to his chest when he bent toward her. “We will practice this scene on the morrow.”

  “Nay. I cannot return on the morrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “We can put on the play after my return.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Not yet,” Otar warned, his eyes on Vardo.

  Annikki glanced back and forth between the two men. “What goes on here? I do not care for…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh nay,” she whispered. “Otar? Tell me I am wrong.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he locked gazes with his mother. “You know it must be so.”

  Agata’s hand flew up to cover her own mouth. She looked as upset as Annikki. Little did the women know, Madalyn had been dealing with these same emotions since the night prior.

  “Mama? ’Tis sorry I am—”

  Weeping, she ran from the hut. Throwing open the connecting door, she slammed it shut behind her with such force that it threatened to fall off its hinges.

  Vardo sighed and glanced at Otar, his expression guilty. “You’ve my apologies.” When Otar made a move to go speak to his mother, the elder noble held up a hand. “Let me. There are things I need to say to your mother.”

  “Do not make promises you cannot keep,” Otar warned.

  “I always keep my promises.” Vardo headed for the connecting door.

  “WE’VE LOVED EACH OTHER A LONG TIME, ANNIKKI,” Vardo said softly, walking up behind her in the hut. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Mayhap too long. Verily, did I have the coins to barter with at the time, you know as well as I that you would be my wife instead of Arn’s widow.”

  Annikki closed her eyes against his words. Aye, she had loved him since she was a girl. And she had felt guilty while Arn had been alive, for the love had refused to wane.

  “The fates were kind to you,” she whispered, her eyes opening. “Did you take me as a bride, you would have been living on the Row all these years.”

  “I’d rather be here with you than in the upper echelons without you.”

  She yearned to turn around and embrace him; it took all of her strength of will to keep from doing so. “You do not mean that—”

  “Aye, I do. Do not think to tell me of my feelings, wench.”

  She sighed. He gave her shoulders another tender squeeze.

  “But the choice was never mine to make,” Vardo reminded her. “’Twas Arn who won that auction. Mayhap Toki could throw all the Thordssons to the sewer once, but the law would not permit him to do it twice. If I wed with you, your family’s status would be raised.”

  “And that is why Toki would have you killed,” she whispered.

  Vardo stilled. “Is that what worries you?”

  “Aye. As well it should.”

  “Annikki…”

  She whirled around to face him. Her nostrils flared. “For years, I have been shunning you that you might live without Toki’s wrath. Now you think to make all my heartache for naught, and die in the bedamned Revolution?”

  Vardo’s heart was in his eyes. “Annikki, it must be done,” he said quietly. “This you know.”

  She sighed, her gaze falling to the ground. Aye, she did know it. Too much evil had come to New Sweden since the old jarl’s demise. Toki needed to be brought down. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

  “Come back to me alive with my son,” she whispered, “and you’ll get your kiss.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Now leave. Please.”

  Vardo lightly wiped away her tears. “I’ll be back,” he promised her. “And so will Otar.”

  “May the gods be with you,” she said shakily. She blinked the rest of her tears away and straightened her spine. “Leastways, I will be sore angry with you if you die in battle.”

  Vardo grinned, dimples popping out on either cheek. Gods, how she loved those little dents. They’d made her swoon since she’d been old enough to know what swooning was.

  “I shall bear that in mind, and I shan’t die.” Vardo winked. “Not without my kiss.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-seven

  Otar plopped down onto the bed with a groan, threw his hands over his head, and closed his eyes. His mother and twin sister had barely spoken a word to him the entire dinner long; they had hardly looked at him.

  His wife tried to keep a conversation going and managed to wring a few smiles out of them. Now she was next door, doing her best to soothe their worries. He prayed she succeeded. Hurting his mother and sister was not high on his list of things he’d hoped to accomplish before leaving to battle on the morrow.

  Otar fought with himself to stay awake. His wife had lured him into returning home early with seductive glances and invitations of lovemaking, which he intended to spend the remainder of the eve doing.

  He hoped that Madalyn returned home soon. He needed to be with her, sexually or not. Earlier in the day she had admitted that she cared for him; that was a good start.

  There was a small part of Otar that didn’t want his wife to care for him; ’twould make it easier on her did he die. But the selfish and far larger part of his soul greedily desired her love and devotion. He had loved her, after all, for years. Call her what you will—Victoria, Gretta, or Madalyn—he had loved her.

  In life there were many uncertainties, but one thing she need never wonder about was his devotion to her.

  MADALYN ENTERED THE HUT QUIETLY, fatigued from consoling Annikki and Agata. There was only so much she could do when Otar’s death was a very real possibility.

  The day she’d been captured, she wouldn’t have cared. She would have been grateful that Otar was leaving, and used it as an opportunity to flee. Now she didn’t know what she should do. The yearning to find Drake was powerful, but the desire to be here in case Otar needed her was equally so.

  Her pulse picked up in tempo as she approached the bed, then stood there and stared down at her sleeping husband. His black hair was in stark contrast against the pristine white polar bear furs strewn over the bed. The plaited braids that made him look so dangerous and roguish while awake only looked sexy while asleep. No shirt. No pants. One muscular leg was slightly arched, showing a bit from under the furs. The animal skins draped over him from the navel down, shielding him from view.

  He was so damn handsome. Not in a Brad Pitt pretty-boy kind of way, but in a Harley-Davidson bad boy kind of way.

  Madalyn couldn’t believe that someone as loyal, attractive, and strong as Otar hadn’t been snatched up for marriage a long time ago. If she’d been a native of Lokitown, it wouldn’t have mattered to her that he lived on Shanty Row. Men like Otar Thordsson were rare catches indeed.

  And it’s you he loves, Madalyn. YOU.

  Her gaze gentled as she watched him sleep. Otar did love her—she knew it like she knew her own name. And he wanted her to love him back. She didn’t know when or if she’d be ready to admit to that, bu
t she’d told him that she cared deeply for him.

  He wants much more than that. Can you give it to him?

  Madalyn softly sighed. She just didn’t know. She could feel something strong inside of her developing toward him, but after a mere ten days it was hard to name the emotions.

  I need more time to figure things out, damn it. But you’re leaving me tomorrow…

  One thing was for certain: she’d never experienced these feelings for another man.

  She stared down at Otar, the sight of him sleeping so peacefully tugging at her heartstrings. As forbidding, stoic, and deadly a man he was while awake, he looked as adorably approachable as a kitten while asleep. Well, maybe a lion cub, Madalyn mused. There was no mistaking Otar Thorosson as anything but dangerous.

  There were a lot of good things to be said about her husband. To her way of thinking, the best quality he possessed was honesty. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single person that had never told her a little fib or a big lie. Until Otar: he had never lied to her about anything.

  She didn’t know how long it would take her to stop grieving for life above the ground, but she appreciated the fact that her husband did everything within his power to make her feel cherished down here.

  Madalyn couldn’t stop gazing down at him. She sighed despondently as she recalled the words Otar had spoken to her last night:

  As a widow, no man can force you into a marriage you don’t covet. You can marry the second time for love. You deserve so much more than I am, Madalyn. I cannot regret this week we have spent together, but I do lament your unhappiness.

  He didn’t think he deserved her. He didn’t think he was worthy of any woman’s love.

  “You’re so wrong about that, Otar,” she whispered. “No other man alive could make me question my desire to escape.”

  Sighing, Madalyn turned and walked over to a chair next to the hut’s kitchen. She sat down quietly, not wanting to disturb his sleep. He had a long, treacherous road to haul effectively tomorrow and he needed his energy.

  She, on the other hand, needed to think.