Lady Doctor Wyre (12 page)

Who’s caged and who’s free
, she thought bitterly, unable to send the bird away now that her adoring throng—who would fall upon her like a pack of starving wolves as soon as she showed a single sign of weakness—had noticed her interest.

The bird cried out again and her muscles turned to water. Her knees trembled. Sweat broke out on her forehead yet her teeth yearned to chatter. She tightened her jaws and locked her knees, refusing to show any weakness or fear, even if her heart thundered.

Voices rose in alarm. Murray snapped to her side and cupped her elbow, discreetly supporting her. “Electronic devices are failing,” he whispered urgently. “It’s a cascading outage getting worse by the moment. Your Majesty, the shields! I think it’s an attack!”

She couldn’t answer. The eagle stared at her, golden eyes as sharp as a blade. Razored talons twisted in her stomach, churning her organs until she couldn’t stop the small gasp of pain.

“Dear God, your skin is so hot. What’s wrong, Your Majesty?”

Oh, Americus had attacked all right. Whatever technology Lady Wyre had used to save Britannia’s Queen had suddenly decided to cease operation.
I’m dying. She has assassinated me without ever setting foot on Britannian soil.

The gilded cage collapsed and the mighty eagle sprang into the air, still crying that odd coo that was shutting down the Londonium grid. On the one day that Americus managed to cast Britannia in shadow, Lady Wyre had managed to push the heart of the most powerful Empire in the galaxy into darkest terror. Automatic lights failed, the datapad in Murray’s hand went blank, and everywhere, people shrilled with terror at all they’d lost.

Her threat was clear:
I have created a weapon that is so simple and small that an ordinary bird can carry it, but so powerful that I can obliterate all you hold dear.

However, as the bird flew away, spreading mayhem with its cries, Majel felt incrementally better. The pain faded, her breathing eased, and the debilitating fever that had nearly killed her as a newly crowned Queen disappeared. The tiny mechanical creatures that marched throughout her body must have returned to their primary directive: keeping her alive.

She jerked her arm free from Murray’s grasp, turned, and strode back to her throne. Sitting in the grand golden chair with the crown of Britannia on her brow, she gazed out at the destruction Americus and Lady Wyre had wrought. Shadows darkened the cavernous room that hadn’t been blacked out since Majel had taken the throne. The might and majesty of Londonium had fallen deathly silent, dead in the water like a ship without wind to fill its sail.

Something fell into her lap. A feather. She held it up to the sliver of sun shining down through the glass ceiling as the hunk of rock called Americus moved past in its accursed orbit. When she smiled, Murray ducked his head and went to his knees before her. “Americus will regret this little display.”

“Shall I check on the shields, Your Majesty? Rebels could have slipped inside Londonium while we were disabled.”

She gave him a regal nod, though she didn’t think it likely. No, this entire stunt was simply a message. Lady Wyre had joined forces with that revolting little colony which had dared declare their independence, and while she’d been in hiding, she’d been very busy indeed crafting new weapons to destroy her rightful ruler.

No, that wasn’t right at all. She’d been building weapons to protect
herself
. She’d had the power to kill Majel, but at the last moment, had withdrawn. Her message:
stay away from me or die.

She’ll regret leaving me alive.
Majel ran the feather through her fingers.
I’ll allow her to fly free for a time, let her believe her threat has worked. I must bring MIGS back beneath my authority first, else they’ll steal every scrap of knowledge Wyre gives me and use it to destroy the entire universe with their greed.

Studying the feather, she frowned slightly.
How curious. I thought the eagle had been brown, not black.

“Murray,” she called after him, “did one of the ravens nesting on top of the Tower fly inside?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Your Majesty.”

Her scalp itched. She reached up behind her ear, and froze when her fingers encountered something not hair. Another feather. Cold sweat trickled down her spine. Shaking, she tucked the fallen feather into her hair behind her ear, hopefully disguising the odd growth until she could examine it at leisure.

Oh, Lady Doctor Wyre, what have you done to me?

Chapter Twelve

“And…goodbye, Americus.” Sig leaned back in his captain’s chair but didn’t look up to gauge Charlotte’s reaction as her home for the past seven years grew ever smaller behind his sleek catamaran. “Any regrets?”

She dropped her hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. “Not a one. Except perhaps…” She felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers, so she relented. “I could do without that ugly scar on my stomach.”

He turned to her, then, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “There’s not an ugly spot on your luscious body and you know it.”

Quirking her lips, she tugged lightly on the golden hair falling about his face. “I do regret the silk, then, that Gil so casually destroyed. That was a lovely dress, bought and paid for by the President of Americus.”

“She stuffed my hold full of every scrap of silk she could get her hands on in payment for your services. Ladies all over Americus are bemoaning their sadly lacking wardrobes and hating you most dreadfully for stealing all their dress goods.”

She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. “What now?”

The tension increased in his body, although he laughed and tried to pretend as though he wasn’t worried. “Anything you wish, Your Grace.”

“I’m not going to ask you to put Lord Regret to rest.”

He tipped his head back, eyes narrowed as he searched her face. “Lord Regret is a killer.”

“And a damned good one,” she replied easily. “I’m not going to change who you are, Sig. If you weren’t a killer, I wouldn’t be alive today. Just don’t accept an assignment to eliminate anyone I care about, like President Jaxson.”

“Or a certain Sheriff Masters.”

Now it was her turn to try and play off her nerves. She arched a brow at Sig. “Would you kill my marshal, Lord Regret?”

Speaking of the devil, the door whooshed open. Masters hovered in the doorway, looking from Sig to her and taking note of the compromising position. Gil’s jaws worked but he didn’t say anything; he simply turned around to leave.

“Where are you going?” She released Sig and marched toward Gil. Halting, she planted her hands on her hips and gave him a firm look. “Well?”

Gil cleared his throat, staring down at the battered hat in his hands as he slowly twirled it. “You looked busy, Your Grace. I didn’t wish to interrupt you.”

“You’re not interrupting, Gil.” She reached out and took his big gruff hand in hers. The feel of his calloused palm against hers made the muscles in her tummy quiver. “We were just talking about you.”

“We were?” Sig kicked back in his chair like a negligent lord. “I don’t recall inviting any passengers on
my
ship.”

“He’s my passenger and my guest.” Charlotte lifted her chin and shot a dark look at Sig. “You don’t have to make this so bloody difficult.”

“If I’m not welcome,” Gil began.

“You’re welcome,” she retorted, and then whirled to point a finger at Sig. “He asked me to marry him, remember? All you ever asked me to do was fly on your ship.”

A knife suddenly gleamed in Sig’s hand, and he used the tip to clean his fingernails. “Oh, yes, I’ve been meaning to ask why an undercover marshal sent to spy on you would ask for your hand in marriage.”

“I never
spied
on her.” Gil took a menacing step toward the other man without regard for the blade in his hand. “I love her. I thought I could protect her better if we were married, and I was fully prepared to sneak her off Americus myself.”

“We’ve been over this before,” she said as calmly as possible. Gil advanced despite her hand on his chest, pushing her closer to Sig. “Gentlemen, please. Remember when I was recovering in the Capital and you both visited to swear your undying love for me?”

“That was before he thought to stowaway on my ship.”

Gil growled beneath his breath. “She invited me! Besides, why would she want an assassin in her bed?”

“Why would she want a traitor?” Sig threw back, rising slowly to his feet. “Or worse, a rebel? You can’t even claim Americus as your home planet—you want to fly around the universe trying to incite all colonies and conquered species to rebellion! How safe will she be with you, hmmm?”

“Enough!” She raised her voice, determined to keep them from coming to blows. Both men glared at each other toe-to-toe, ignoring the woman between them as though she were a speck of fluff too inconsequential to require their notice. Which infuriated her to no end. “I love you both and I
will
have you both, so you’ll just have to figure out how to get along without killing each other!”

Sig smirked. “Who said anything about killing each other?”

She punched him in the stomach. When Gil chuckled, she stomped on his foot. Neither of which earned a grunt let alone an ouch from either man. Sig took a step closer, pushing her against the big man behind her, who dropped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Is this better, Charlie?”

“You’re intolerable.” Her voice only quivered slightly, but she did tilt her head to give Gil better access, while wrapping her arms around Sig to keep him close. “Both of you. How far were you going to go with your little ruse?”

“I was fully prepared to cut off your gown to reveal your skin inch by inch so I could kiss it,” Sig whispered against her lips.

Gil lifted his head and breathed heavily in her ear. “And I was fully prepared to use those strips of silk to tie him up for you.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, it’s just too bad that I care so very much about this gown that I can’t indulge in such an intriguing fantasy.”

“We’ll buy you a new gown.” Laughing, Gil swept her up into his arms. “This thing can fly itself, can’t it?”

“Of course.” Sig led the way toward his—their—bedchamber. “The finest technology in the galaxy at our lady’s fingertips.”

He’d already equipped the room with a bed large enough for an orgy.
Which is exactly what I intend to have
, she decided with a wicked little laugh. Sig had even fetched her silk coverlet, her lone luxury for so many years. Teasing helped keep her sentimental tears at bay, so she used her most prudish voice to demand, “Do set me down, Sheriff Masters.”

Always one to do as his lady asked, he obliged, even though he cast a yearning look at that bed.

“Sit down, gentlemen. We need to resolve a few things between us.”

Sig and Gil shared a long-suffering look of masculine terror and both sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at them, so different in temperament and looks, but with the same soul-deep look in their eyes, and it was all she could do not to pounce on the bed and push them both beneath her.

“I want to make sure both of you are comfortable with our…arrangement.”

Arching a brow, Sig began untying his cravat. “As long as you don’t ask us to make love to each other, then I’m fine with whatever you both want.”

Gil blanched and shifted further away from the other man. “Absolutely. I don’t mind you loving us both, but I have no interest in the same sex.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake! That’s not what I meant at all.” Bending down, she grabbed Gil’s ankle and began tugging on his boot. Once she got both of his removed, she turned to Sig’s. His required much unladylike grunting to get that tight, shiny leather stripped off. “What I meant to say, is that if you’d rather we take turns, that’s acceptable to me. One night I sleep with you, Sig, and the next night, I ask Gil. That might be easier to arrange.”

“Don’t you want us at the same time, Charlie?” The raw need roughening Gil’s voice brought her attention back to him. She stripped off his stockings and then reached for his much simpler cravat. “Both of us kissing you, touching you, holding you all through the night? Every night? Because I’d rather not be parted from you for a single hour, even if I must share that hour with him.”

In her haste, she accidentally tightened the knot in the linen, which made her bottom lip tremble with frustration. With a worried glance at the other man, Gil caught her frantic hands between his palms and just held her still.

“We’ll do whatever you wish, my lady.”

“Stop it,” she ground out, impatiently using her shoulder to wipe her tears away. “No formality. Don’t you know what it does to me when you use his nickname?”

Gil dropped her hands like they caught on fire. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean—”

Charlotte launched herself at him, actually at both of them, but it was Gil she kissed first. “You stupid, stupid man. I love you. I love that you are willing to accept Sig, and him, you. When either of you call me Charlie, my tummy feels all warm and rich and sweet, like I just drank my favorite cup of tea.” She pulled back a moment and gave Sig a mock glare. “Speaking of which, you did stock golden-tipped assum, didn’t you?”

Sig made himself useful by helping her remove her gown. “Nothing but the best for our dear Lady Wyre.”

All pretense of intellectual discussion fled her mind as Gil kissed her and Sig worked at getting her corset off. “The strings are knotted,” he finally growled. “Let me get a knife.”

“No! Don’t you dare.” Kneeling astride Gil, she sat back and forced her fingers to carefully untangle the strings. “Now the stockings—”

“No,” both men retorted just as firmly.

“Leave them on.” Panting, Gil ran his big palms up and down her legs, stroking the bare flesh of her upper thighs and the silken length of stocking down her calves. “So beautiful.”

Sig pulled the chemise over her head and then removed the last of his clothing. He came to her, rising up on his knees so he could kiss her while Gil slid into her body. Groaning, she pushed down on his magnificent length, while he stroked those rough hands up the full length of her body, rasping against her breasts and neck only to begin the journey south again. In a matter of moments, they both cried out and he shuddered beneath her.