From Kiss to Queen (30 page)

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?”

*   *   *

M
ark 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.

*   *   *

G
ood heavens, the stars are bright from here,” his wife marveled aloud half an hour later as she cuddled 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.”

“I know. Gunnar told us where to find Guavas, and the
bastard is now in custody. Most of the consortium had given up hope, but Guavas persisted and will rot in prison for his crimes.”

Jane's head snapped up with a frown. “When did Gunnar contact you?”

“The morning he took you from Guavas.”

“Then why didn't you come get us that morning?” she asked, sounding disgruntled. “You left us in the hands of that barbarian for
three days
.”

Mark caught her hand just before it could pinch his stomach. “Gunnar may have told us where to find Guavas, but he neglected to tell us where to find you. His last words to me were, ‘Come find me, my friend, and claim your prize.' It took us that long to locate the village.”

She straightened higher. “Why would he do that?”

“As payback,” Mark drawled, “for having him thrown in jail a couple of years ago.”

“The despicable jerk probably deserved it. I really am going to shoot him, you know. He . . . he . . . All the time he understood English and knew what I was saying!”

“And what were you saying, witch?” Mark asked with a laugh, catching her hand again and this time holding on to it. “Been calling the man names?”

“You would do worse than call him names if he made
you
sleep on the floor. While you're five months pregnant, I might add.”

“Did he touch you? Jane,” Mark said on a sigh when she didn't answer. “I'm not going to shoot the man. He did rescue you from Guavas. I just want to know if I'm going to have to break any of his bones.”

She finally looked up, wondering if maybe she'd just
found a way to pay back Gunnar for tricking her. “Is . . . is he a really good friend?”

“He may have been. What did he do?”

She shrugged. “He's been without a woman for over two years, Mark.”

“Well, that says it all,” he snapped, sitting up. “Get dressed.”

“Why?”

“I have to go get the machine gun from the helicopter.”

Okay, maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. “No, he didn't . . . We didn't . . . Mark!” she said on a laugh, catching hold of his arm before he could rise. “I'm just miffed that Anatol gave up his bed to Irina, but Gunnar made me sleep on a pile of furs by the stove. Other than that, he was a perfect gentleman.”

“Now you are defending him?” he asked, incredulous.

“Hell, no. Dammit, Mark, leave it alone!”

He stopped dressing at the realization Jane was cursing for real. Which meant she was either worried for Gunnar or for
him
. “Do you think me a weakling?” he snapped. “Gunnar Wolfe may be slightly heavier, but I've taken him before and can take him again—even if only to teach the bastard how to treat a pregnant woman.”

“Oh, put a sock in it, Ace. You can't go beating up the man who saved your wife and aunt.” She came up to her knees and laid a hand on his arm, the emeralds of her wedding band twinkling in the moonlight. “And I'm not worried about you in a fight. You're my hero, Mark.”

Well, damn. He threw down his shirt, slid inside the fur, and pulled Jane against him with a sigh. “You, angel, are dangerous,” he muttered just before he kissed her again.

It was a full hour before they came up for air this time.

“Tell me how you met Gunnar,” Jane whispered, her head resting in the crux of his shoulder as they once again watched the stars make the night sky seem alive.

“It's a long story,” Mark warned.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Well,” he began, pulling up the fur until only their heads were exposed to the chilling night air. “I met Gunnar before the breakup of the USSR, when I was a fighter pilot on the
Katrina
. Only then the carrier was named the
Casmir
.”

J
ane's head popped up. “You really were a fighter pilot?”

Mark pressed her back to his shoulder. “Remember, the Lakelands were just another family at the time. Are you going to listen without interrupting?”

Mark grinned when he felt her frown against his shoulder. “We were at sea in the Pacific when news came to us the USSR was falling,” he continued quietly. “Most of the crewmen, including the captain, were from the area now known as Shelkova. That was a blessing, it turned out. It was also the longest week of my life. Until this week,” he growled, kissing the top of her head. “For three days the entire crew monitored the events in Moscow, all of us anxious about our future. But on the fourth day my father called the ship and asked to speak to me. He told
me he intended to lead our people in a subtle revolt to gain our independence, certain that it was then or never.”

“And he did,” Jane whispered, only to snap her mouth shut when he gave her a squeeze.

“I wanted to go home and join him,” Mark said, the memory making him smile. “But Reynard can be a crafty old fox when need be, and he told me to stay with the
Casmir
and be patient, that he would call back in a few days.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. That was when he asked me to approach the captain, whom he knew personally, and have a little talk with him. You see, for all of our timberland, Shelkova also has thousands of miles of coastline, and Dad wanted the
Casmir
to help keep our new nation safe.”

“Wow. And the captain just went along?”

“No,” Mark said with a chuckle. “He put it to a vote.”

“A vote?”

Mark sighed. “Yes, Jane, a vote. Did you listen to stories with this much enthusiasm when you lived at Saint Xavier's?”

“Oh, yes. Sister Patricia said I was always such an interested child.”

“And a test of her patience,” he muttered.

“Well, how did the vote go?”

“You rode on the
Katrina
, didn't you?”

“And then what happened?”

“Shelkovans being the greater number of crewmen was why my father wasn't worried. But there were still many others against it, especially after the good captain announced Reynard had just been named king.” He
snorted. “And that one of their shipmates was now a prince.”

Mark paused, expecting her to pipe up again, but when only silence answered him, he grinned up at the stars and continued. “I had to be on my toes for a few days and was given a private room. Actually, I was given the captain's quarters,” he whispered with remembered embarrassment. “I protested, but the captain feared for my safety, and so I finally agreed.”

Mark waited again, expecting her to ask why he'd thought to agree. He sighed when she remained mute, and decided he'd be an old man before he figured her out.

“And so we sailed the
Casmir
to Shelkova and were met by a cheering, boisterous crowd of families and well-wishers. Reynard told any crewmen not from Shelkova that they could return to their homes if they wished, then promptly rechristened the carrier the
Katrina
and declared her the flagship of our navy. Within two days the
Previa
sailed into port, only then it was named
Red Dolphin
. Dad rechristened her after our new capital city.”

Jane's head finally popped back up. “Did he know the captain of the
Previa
?”

“No.”

“Then how did he get her?”

“The destroyer he'd . . . acquired helped.”

Her eyes widened. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. The people didn't make Dad their king on a whim, Jane. Reynard wanted a navy, so he stole one before anyone realized what was happening.” He waved a hand in the air. “Besides, Russia still had plenty of warships; what were a few missing boats?”

And to this day, Mark still marveled at how Reynard had managed to build a nation without one shot being fired. Oh, yes. His father was a wily old fox.

“Wow,” was all his wife could say to that. She stretched her shapely legs down the length of his. “But that still doesn't explain how you met Gunnar,” she said on a stifled yawn.

Mark frowned at her, but her eyes were closed. “We . . . ah, ran over him.”

Her head suddenly popped up again. “What do you mean, you ran over him?”

“At sea. The
Katrina
, then the
Casmir
, ran over his boat.” Mark scowled. “It was his fault for carrying full sails in a fog with no running lights. We didn't see him and he didn't answer our horn, so we . . . ran over him.”

“Good heavens,” she said, no longer looking sleepy. “What happened then?”

“We fished him out of the sea.” Mark grinned. “Gunnar came out of the water swinging, and my face got in the way of his fist.”

“I would have hit you, too, if you'd just run over me.”

“I wasn't driving the ship. Besides, it was his fault. He had no business being that far out at sea so unprepared.”

“Why was he, then?”

“He was running.”

“From what?” Jane asked, looking confused. “A herd of dolphins?”

“They're called pods, angel. And no, I believe the threat to Gunnar was human. He's actually a mercenary by trade,” Mark explained. “And from what I gathered, something . . . unpleasant had happened on his last mission and
he was trying to get to Anatol's village. Anatol isn't really his uncle, as Gunnar is actually . . . well, last I knew he had four different passports claiming he was born in four different countries.” He pressed Jane back down and kissed the top of her head with another chuckle. “Hell, I doubt Gunnar Wolfe is even his real name. But I do know that even if his degrees from Oxford
and
Harvard are fake, his intelligence certainly isn't. The guy is what you would call a modern Renaissance man; he's fluent in several languages, can hold his own in conversation on any number of subjects, and probably knows more about the art of war than most past or present-day generals.”

Mark felt her stiffen. “I called him a barbarian,” she whispered. “To his face.”

“Which may be the real reason,” Mark drawled, “he refused to tell me where you were when he called to tell me he had you.” He gave her a squeeze when she started to protest. “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Did Gunnar ever tell you what he was running from?”

“No. And I didn't ask. Not after he saved my life.”

“Saved your life?” she said, her gasp lifting her head again. “When?”

“Two days after we ran him over. I kept him in my quarters, as I didn't trust him.”

“And he saved your life,” she repeated, snuggling into his shoulder again. “I'll have to thank him, I guess. But how did he save you?”

“There was a small mutiny on board the
Casmir
, and about a dozen men tried to take me hostage in order to take control of the ship. And although still half-drowned and weakened by hunger, Gunnar fought like an ancient
Viking berserker.” Mark sighed. “Which is possible, I suppose, since I'm pretty sure one of those passports is from Iceland.”

“That explains those gorgeous ice-blue eyes,” she said dreamily.

Mark gave her another squeeze. “
Gold
eyes are more appealing.”

“If you say so,” she said, patting his chest. “And so he saved your life and you've been friends ever since.”

“No. We've been occasional enemies over the ensuing years. Gunnar is a highly specialized mercenary, which means his services don't come cheap.”

“What are his services?” she asked without looking up.

“Terrorism.”

“He's a
terrorist
?”

“No, he hunts them. And he's been known to use the vacant coast of Shelkova to lure them into a trap. That's when we were on opposing sides. I locked him up and threatened to throw away the key, friendship or not, if he continued this practice.”

“Well, I would think so. We don't want terrorists lurking around our coast.” Jane yawned and went back to staring up at the stars. “You know what Gunnar needs?”

All he knew was that whatever Jane thought Gunnar needed, it was going to cause trouble. Then again, maybe the rogue deserved some angel-inspired trouble.

“He needs a wife.”

Mark groaned. It was worse than he thought. And Jane sounded rather confident of her diagnosis. And very enthusiastic. “Who do you hate enough to pair with Gunnar?”

“Oh, he's not that bad. Not really.”

“You called him a barbarian. To his face,” he reminded her.

“I think he's just lonely. It can't be much fun living in a village of all men.”

“Don't worry, he only visits when he needs to recharge. He's still accepting jobs, last I heard. And I'm sure he . . . plies the sheets when he gets a chance. Besides, the man's rich enough to buy a harem,” Mark muttered, throwing back the fur and rising, only to look down at his naked, wide-eyed wife.

“He is?” she squeaked, apparently too intrigued to be modest. “Oh, that's perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” he asked as he tossed clothes at her.

“For Katy. Because if Gunnar has a little money stashed away, he can settle down and not take any more jobs.”

Mark nearly fell as he tried to slip into his pants. “A little money? Jane, do you know what a country will pay to get rid of a terrorist group operating within its borders? Gunnar Wolfe is probably a multimillionaire. I told you, he's highly specialized, he works alone, and he delivers. And for that he costs the moon. And who is Katy?”

“You remember my mentioning Katy MacBain, my friend from Maine.”

Mark stopped hopping into his pants again. “You said you had no female friends.”

“Katy and I went to school together when I lived at Saint Xavier's,” she explained as she sorted through her own clothes. “And we ended up together again in high school because the foster family I went to live with was
in the same school district. Katy couldn't come to my wedding because her passport was expired, but she promised to come for the birth.”

“What does any of that have to do with Gunnar and the conversation we were just having?” Mark stilled with his pants halfway up his thighs and gave her an incredulous look. “Please tell me you don't intend to fix your friend up with Gunnar.”

“Well, why not? If Katy can't handle him, no woman can. She has lots of experience staying one step ahead of huge, contrary, old-fashioned men.”

Mark closed his eyes. “This is crazy. You will not play matchmaker to a mercenary and some poor friend of yours.”

“It was just a thought,” Jane murmured, glaring down at her shirt as she tried to find a buttonhole. “And it fits perfectly with an idea I started thinking about while watching all the men in the village these last few days. They aimlessly walk around like lost children looking so dejected and lonely that I thought—”

Mark held up his hand. “Stop; I don't want to know what you're plotting. I don't even know how we got on the subject of Gunnar's love life,” he whispered as he finally buckled his pants before his ass froze solid and fell off.

“You don't like that idea? Well how about this one, Your Majesty? I'm going to invite Anatol to bring his men to Previa. And if he says yes, I'm going to invite all the single women from jail and any who are living on the streets to a social at the palace, and see if they might be interested in starting a new life up here with these lonely men.”

“Jane.”

“After, that is, I teach the men some manners,” she muttered, going down on her knees and searching for her socks and brace.

“Jane.”

All he got for answer was a gasp. “Oh no, my brace rolled off the ledge and fell in the river!” she cried, crawling to the edge and peering down.

Mark made a dive for her and pulled her back. “Jane. You want to follow it into the water? Leave it. Dr. Daveed can make you a new one.”

“Oh, Dr. Daveed. Does he know you found us and that we're okay?”

“He knows of Gunnar's call four days ago. But I'm sure Dad will tell him and Petri that you and Irina are safe, as Sergei would have called him by now.”

“I haven't even asked about Reynard. How . . . how did he take what happened?”

Mark just shook his head. “He will be fine once he sees you. Now come on; I'll carry you back to the village.”

“Are you sure you have enough strength left, Atlas?” she whispered, her eyes laughing as she threw herself at him. “You're not too . . . worn out?”

“I think I can manage,” he growled, sweeping her up into his arms.

The journey back was silent, although whenever Mark looked down it was to see Jane smiling. But what really worried him was that instead of looking happy and sated and well-loved, that smile looked more crafty than angelic.