From Kiss to Queen (28 page)

Jane's heart went out to the woman. Smiling sadly,
Irina said she'd loved and lost, and was glad for the time she'd had with her husband. The only true tragedy was that they hadn't been blessed with children. Markov, Sergei, Dmitri, and Alexi had become her sons.

Their bucket of water was refilled, they were given more bread, and, in a repeat of the previous night, both women cuddled together on the squeaky, rickety bed and went to sleep praying for deliverance from their prison. It was sometime in the middle of the night that Jane stirred to a faint sound. Shadows moved at one of the windows. She nudged Irina awake, and both women waited in suspense for what they hoped was a rescue.

What they got were two men peering in at them through the quietly sawed boards. Jane didn't know whether to run up and embrace the fools or push them off the ladder. They were fierce-looking men, what she could see of them in the faint moonlight. As quiet as mice but looking like lions, they climbed through the window and approached the bed.

Although she supposed elite soldiers on a covert mission might disguise themselves as . . . stone-age cavemen, Jane got a sinking feeling that her and Irina's predicament was about to go from bad to worse when a large calloused hand covered her mouth and she found herself looking into the most ghostly eyes she'd ever seen. Jane began to struggle when that hand was suddenly replaced by a rag and she was once again grabbed by the shoulders.

She'd had enough.

She lashed out at this newest threat by kicking violently, catching him in the thigh and gaining a satisfying grunt. Her satisfaction lasted only a second before she
was wrapped in a heavy, smelly rug that she feared was actually an animal skin. And then she was tossed none too gently over a hard, muscled shoulder—making her quickly twist to protect her protruding belly.

From the sounds of things, Irina was experiencing the same rough handling.

Jane was mad now, but she didn't outright panic until she discovered the man intended to lower her out the window into the waiting arms of more men. She instantly stilled, scared they would drop her. It was a harrowing experience to be lowered two stories while relying on the strength of unknown men.

From the sounds of things, Irina was making the same journey.

Once on the ground, Jane was stood on her feet, still handcuffed, gagged, and blinded by the rug. The rug was suddenly removed just before she was tossed up onto a tall horse, into the waiting arms of the man who'd originally crawled in the window and stolen her.

And so their new odyssey began. Irina was mounted on another horse, being held tight against the broad chest of her own fur-clad abductor. Jane was barely able to see Irina's look of panic as they galloped past, along with no fewer than five others mounted on horses. Jane turned to peek around the broad shoulder of her rescuer and spotted two more men and horses before she was rudely jerked around to face front again. She pinched the arm around her middle, but was only able to get it to rise above her baby to beneath her breasts before it squeezed her tightly.

It was at that moment Jane decided to fear for her life. Not from the man behind her, but from the horse. It was
a monstrous beast, tall and powerful feeling, galloping at breakneck speed over the frozen, snow-covered ground through the dense forest, seemingly oblivious to the branches getting in its way—sort of like an equine tank. With her still-handcuffed hands, Jane held its mane and closed her eyes. When that only made her dizzy, she tried to stare through the night and guess the horse's next move.

She was suddenly thankful for the man holding her so tightly. She leaned into his chest, which seemed more than adequate to hold her up as his free arm reached out to shield her from the oncoming branches slapping against them in a blur. But she soon started worrying again—if one hand was around her waist and one was blocking the branches, then who was steering the darn horse?

They kept up the grueling pace for half an hour and then slowed to a walk. The man holding her—whom she still hadn't dared look up at—suddenly reached between them and unbuttoned his coat. He let go of her long enough to wrap her closer against his warm chest, only to stiffen when his hand returned to her waist. He splayed his fingers to cup her belly, then growled something unintelligible—not at all sounding like the Shelkovan she was familiar with, but still recognizable to Jane as a curse—and so she pinched his arm to get him to raise it again.

He merely laughed and pulled his hand away, then finally wrapped her up in his coat and urged the horse into a less harried lope. Indignant at being manhandled yet thankful for the warmth, and growing more tired by the minute, Jane endured the dark journey for what seemed like another full hour.

The sun eventually rose, and with it came the sight of a village nestled into the crux of a valley cut by a swiftly flowing river. She sagged in relief against the man, although she still couldn't bring herself to turn and look at him. But she intended to tell Mark about her and Irina's rough handling the moment this harrowing mission was over.

Geesh, would a simple “You're safe now” have been too much to ask?

The returning rescuers were met at the center of the village by more men, several chickens, at least a dozen goats, and countless barking dogs. Jane looked around for signs of Mark, but when she didn't see anything that looked even remotely military—say, a helicopter waiting to whisk them back to civilization—she then tried to decide what disturbed her about the place. There weren't any utility poles, which meant there was no electricity or landline phones, but she did see that some of the crudely built cabins had small solar panels attached to their roofs. Were the panels for recharging cell phones, maybe? Hopefully?

She also noticed several ATVs—some looking older than she was—and two very shiny, definitely new and fast-looking snowmobiles parked next to a rather large barn. So why hadn't the men used the snowmobiles to rescue her and Irina?

Well, unless they'd felt the machines were too noisy.

So okay, then; their rescuers were at least from this century despite using horses for transportation. Yeah, she supposed it might have been more expedient to send a couple of elite soldiers to the area and have them enlist the men of a local village to help rescue her and Irina, and Mark
was probably right now racing to them in a fast helicopter. But that still didn't explain what was bugging her about this place, as if something . . . important was missing.

Jane's attention was drawn to Irina being handed down to the outstretched hands of grinning men all trying to grab at her at once. The man who'd been carrying Irina growled low in his throat and shook his fist at them. And poor Irina, looking frazzled and dazed and scared, was frantically trying to climb back up on the horse.

The man holding Jane suddenly shouted, nearly unseating her. The men on the ground instantly stilled, and reluctantly backed off with disgruntled muttering. Her rescuer just as suddenly dismounted, making Jane realize she was up on the monster alone. But she had a death grip on the tangled mane and managed not to fall.

But she nearly did just that when the guy turned and Jane got her first good look at him.

Nope; this definitely didn't feel like a covert rescue mission, and those animal skins definitely weren't a disguise. The large hands reaching up to her were calloused and strong, the broad chest she'd leaned against stretched the suede shirt under his open jacket to the point it was in danger of bursting, and the guy's hair was a striking jet black that reached well past his shoulders. From behind he'd looked like an old mountain man from the historical west, but not from the front. No, the clean-shaven jaw, smooth brow, and prominent cheekbones surrounding keen, alert, ice-blue eyes belonged to a man of thirty or thirty-five hard-lived years.

He said something and beckoned with his hands.

Jane clung to the horse and shook her head.

His face grew harsh and he said something again, his fingers beckoning.

She didn't exactly like sitting on top of a scary horse, but the giant made it the lesser of two evils.

Ignoring the laughter coming from the villagers, the guy reached up and simply pulled her off the horse, only to have to prop her on his shoulder halfway down in order to untangle her fingers from the mane—only to have to hold her up when he set Jane on her feet and her legs buckled.

The man, whom she decided to name Conan—he certainly looked like a barbarian—let out a heavy sigh and swept her up in his arms and strode past the staring men. He carried her into one of the crude cabins, having to duck to make the door, and deposited her on a high bed covered in colorful wool blankets.

Irina was carried in and deposited beside her.

Irina looked at Jane with wide, bewildered eyes, and Jane noticed the woman's blouse was torn at the shoulder, her hair was more tangled than the horse's mane, and she was shivering from both cold and fright and looked ready to drop. “What is happening to us?” Irina asked the moment the men left.

“I'm starting to worry that instead of being rescued,” Jane whispered, “we may have been kidnapped again.”

I
t suddenly dawned on Jane that not only had they just been abandoned in a room full of tools, but they were mobile. “Come on. Help me look for a weapon,” she told Irina, getting off the bed. “A knife or something.”

“You don't think to use a knife on that . . . that man,” Irina said, even as she got up and began limping around the room.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Jane asked, forgetting her search to go to her friend.

“No. My legs are asleep,” the woman confessed, groaning as she took another step.

“Mine, too. And yes, if Conan tries to paw me again, I'm going to do violence,” Jane muttered, walking to the counter next to a rusty, heat-radiating cookstove.

“He pawed you?”

Jane turned to see Irina's cheeks were no longer pale, her handcuffed hands clutching her dirty jacket closed at the throat. Jane nodded. “He squeezed my belly.”

“Oh, the man I rode with kept his arm tucked uncomfortably close to my breasts. There was no need for him to keep his arm that high. I got so mad I wanted to slap him!”

“Then find your own knife. If he tries to grope you or anything, stab him with it.”

“Oh, Lord. I wouldn't dare. He's too intimidating.”

“Well, these men don't scare me,” Jane boldly lied, resuming her search for a knife.

“This place is a mess,” Irina observed, awkwardly pushing around cans and foodstuffs on the counter. “And can you smell that? Something has spoiled.”

“That's it!”

“What!” Irina cried on a gasp, spinning toward her.

“Women. There aren't any women here. That's what's missing.”

Irina snorted and went back to searching. “That explains all the men shoving each other out of the way trying to be the one to help me off the horse,” she muttered, only to suddenly smile. “Here are some knives. Quickly, take this one and hide it.”

Jane limped over, thankful her brace was holding up better than the rest of her was, and took the knife. She lifted her pant leg and tucked the small weapon inside her brace, then quickly smoothed down the material again. “I saw solar panels on some of the cabins, including this one,” Jane said, looking around the cluttered room. “I'm hoping they're for charging cell phones.”

“There can't possibly be cell phone towers this far out.” Irina straightened from hiding her own knife in her knee-high sock and also looked around. “Maybe they have a satellite phone or a ham radio.”

“Did you recognize what language they—” Jane stilled at the sound of voices growing louder just outside, and both women rushed back to the bed and sat down again.

The door burst open and men began spilling inside. Or rather, they tried to bulldoze over one another to gain entrance. Within seconds the small cabin was full of smelly, hairy, staring men. Carrying a large, plier-like tool, Conan elbowed his way through the men pointing and snickering like children and strode directly up to the bed. Jane and Irina tried scooting back, but Conan grabbed Jane's knee to stop her retreat, then tugged her hands forward and indicated with gestures that she hold them out.

Getting the drift of things, Jane held out her hands as the blue-eyed giant carefully pinched the handcuffs with what she realized was a bolt cutter, breaking them free from one wrist and then the other. She immediately began rubbing her bruised wrists as Irina held up her own hands and received the same freedom.

Both women smiled and nodded their thanks.

Conan did not smile back.

Instead he grabbed Jane's chin and lifted her face to expose her bruised neck where the pit bull had grabbed her two days ago. She managed not to flinch, but couldn't stifle a wince when Conan ran his thumb over the bruise and then took her hands and examined her wrists. And then Irina's. And then he turned to say something to the older man beside him, who was also examining Irina's wrists.

Jane decided to call that one Grizzly Adams because of all the fur he wore. His knee-high boots were made of leather and his coat had a fur-lined hood, but the man had a beard of graying whiskers that would shame Rip Van Winkle. He was older than Conan and not quite as big, and his eyes were so dark they looked nearly black.

At least Irina's rescuer could smile—at Irina, anyway. And he said something and patted her knee. Irina glared at him and jerked her knee away.

The entire cabin broke into laughter.

Conan and Grizzly turned and walked away from the women, and Conan began stirring some foul-smelling concoction simmering in a huge cast-iron pot. Grizzly went to a cupboard and took out some bread and plates and utensils, and Jane and Irina held their breaths, hoping the knives wouldn't be missed.

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.

*   *   *

N
either 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.”