From Kiss to Queen (29 page)

“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.

*   *   *

T
here 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.

J
ane 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 . . . that 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.”

“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.

*   *   *

I
t 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.