‘Just do it, dammit! That’s it. Now walk with me—backwards, backwards! Good girl.’
She took a deep breath as they stepped outside. Night had fallen: the meadow was black, except for the blazing lights of a hundred camp-fires.
‘Jake? What’s going to happen now?’
As if in answer to her question, the bearded giant stepped towards them. But he didn’t touch them this time; instead, he motioned them towards the tent opposite the Tagor’s.
The tent’s furnishings were sparse. Except for a tumble of blankets, and a hissing kerosene lamp atop a small table, it was unadorned.
Dorian turned to Jake as soon as they were inside. ‘Well? What will he—?’
Jake clamped his hand over her mouth and pointed to the shadow of their guard, silhouetted on the tent door. She nodded and followed him through the tent’s shadowy depths.
‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘tell me what happens next?’
‘He was very understanding, kitten. He told me he’s dealt with some difficult women himself.’
She tried to laugh, although the sound she made was, despite her show of bravado, choked and false.
‘What did he do, have them beheaded?’
Jake put his arms around her. ‘He assured me that all such a woman needs is a Barovnian husband.’
‘Yes. I can imagine.’ Dorian shuddered. ‘Shoeless in the winter, pregnant in the summer, and an occasional beating as a reminder of who’s boss.’
Jake laughed softly and tilted her face up to his. ‘I’m not sure about the shoeless thing, and the beating is ridiculous—but the rest isn’t a bad idea.’ He bent and kissed her, a long, sweet kiss that stole her breath away. ‘Not a bad idea at all.’ His hand slipped down her spine, lightly tracing her vertebrae. ‘As for bringing a recalcitrant woman into line, I’ve always found that long, slow loving is the best method.’
Dorian shuddered beneath his touch. ‘I can’t—I can’t think when you—when you—’
He smiled. ‘Exactly. That’s why the Tagor reminded me of an old Barovnian proverb: “A husband who wishes his wife to behave sees to it that she can feel but not think.”’
‘And—and what did you say?’ she whispered.
His mouth took hers again in a kiss that grew deeper and more passionate as it went on, until finally he cupped her face in his hands and drew back, just far enough so that he could see into her eyes.
‘I said that he was absolutely right,’ he whispered, ‘that it was clear to me that what you needed was a good Barovnian husband. We agreed that you must have one.’
Dorian’s heart plummeted. ‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘Jake, how could you? If he—if he tries to take me as his wife, if—if—’
She fell silent. Outside the tent, the sound of soft drums and flutes began rising on the cool night air.
‘You’ve got it all wrong, kitten. The Tagor told me he thanked his men for their thoughtful gesture—’
‘For me, you mean?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. He hated to turn down such a gift, but he says he has far too many wives already.’
‘Then—then what…?’
Jake lifted her face to his and kissed her until she was breathless.
‘But he will see to it that you have a Barovnian husband,’ he said softly. ‘In fact, he’s determined to take care of it tonight.’
She knew what he was telling her—it was in Jake’s eyes, it was in the sudden leap of her blood. Still, she had to put the question to him.
‘And—and who will my husband be?’ she whispered.
Jake smiled, just as he had the night they’d met, when he’d asked her to go away with him and—for the swift beat of her pulse—she’d wanted to say that she would.
‘Who?’ she repeated.
He drew her close and kissed her deeply, and then he whispered against her lips.
‘Guess.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE HAD kissed her and kissed her, and he was still holding her in his arms. Maybe that was why she couldn’t think coherently. Maybe that was why she’d thought he’d said—he’d said—
‘This is—it’s a joke, right?’
Jake smiled wryly. ‘Life is full of surprises, kitten. For instance, I never dreamed I’d propose to a woman in a tent in the middle of a camp filled with bandits.’
Dorian swallowed with effort. ‘Come on, Jake. You and the Tagor decided that—that you’d teach me a lesson…’ She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just went on looking at her with that little smile curled across his mouth and a look in his eyes that she could not quite define.
‘You’re—you’re serious,’ she whispered after long seconds had crept by. ‘You really told that—that awful man that we’d—’
‘I didn’t “tell” him anything, Dorian.’
‘I don’t—I don’t understand.’
‘The Tagor sees himself as a civilised man. That’s why he’s agreed to let me keep you.’
‘Keep me?’ she said, staring at him.
‘Yes. I told you, he thinks you’re my fiancée. That means I have certain rights and obligations.’
‘My God! If that’s his idea of civilised—’
‘But he’s not about to wish us bon voyage and send us on our way.’
Dorian swallowed drily. ‘He’s not?’
‘The way he sees it, you’re a desirable woman. All you need is some taming. If I don’t exercise my rights and perform my obligations, someone else will. You get your choice, lady. Me—or one of the Tagor’s men.’
She stared at him. ‘But that’s—that’s crazy!’
A strange half-smile twisted across his mouth. ‘Like it or not, kitten, he holds all the cards. It’s either do as he says—or do as he says.’
Dorian nodded slowly. Marriage, she thought, marriage—to Jake. Not that it would be a real marriage, of course. But marriage…
The ceremony would, no doubt, be exotic and colourful, something she could write about for WorldWeek that would probably sell more copies of the magazine than ever before.
I Was the Bride of the Abdhan, by Dorian Oliver.
Her heart gave an unsteady lurch in her breast. Jake’s bride. What a ridiculous idea…
‘Well?’ She looked up. Jake was watching her, and suddenly she wished the lighting was better so that she could see beyond the shadows and into his eyes. ‘What’
s it going to be, Dorian?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘The barbarian you know—or the one you don’t?’
‘Don’t say that,’ she said quickly.
‘Why not?’ His voice was brusque. ‘It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’
‘Jake, for God’s sake, I’m only thinking that—that getting married is—is—’
‘Yeah.’ The air puffed from his lungs. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’
No, she thought, watching him, he didn’t. How could he, when she didn’t know how she felt herself?
Marriage. Marriage, to Jake…
‘It’s a hell of a thing,’ he said as he bent over the kerosene lamp and turned up the flame, ‘being forced to go through a farce like this.’
There it was again, that little constriction within her chest. But why?
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘it is, isn’t it?’
‘The ceremony won’t be binding, of course. We won’t have to bother with an annulment, in case you were concerned about that.’
‘I understand.’
But she didn’t. She didn’t understand why she ached so, why she wanted to take a step forward and touch him.
‘We can forget it ever happened, once we get out of here.’ Jake turned and looked at her.
Why was he making an issue of it? She understood the situation. If they had to go through with a charade to save their necks, then that’s what they’d do. And then it would be over; it would have no meaning in her life or his.
She nodded her head.
‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘In the morning, when we leave—‘
‘In the morning?’ A little note of panic threaded through her voice. ‘What do you mean, in the morning? Must we stay the night?’
‘We have no choice.’
‘But why? If we go through with the ceremony…’
‘Use your head, Dorian. What would he think if a newly married couple denied themselves the pleasures of their wedding night?’
He smiled, and a little stab of pain twisted into her heart. This was a game to him, she thought, a game, but to her—to her…