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“I really hate you, you know that, right?” I asked when Etienne came to deliver what I’d come to think of as his daily taunt, one where he stood in the doorway of the cell in which I was locked, and said mean things to me.
He sneered at me, his lip curling back in a manner that I found wholly repugnant. “Your thoughts matter little to me, Moghul bitch. As you will find out as soon as we land.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to torture me, and force me to tell you all of Prince Akbar’s secrets, and I’ll suffer the most intense torments known to man before you finally put me out of my misery. Heard it for the last seven days, have the T-shirt.” I strove for a bored tone, and in truth, it wasn’t too hard to achieve.
He snarled something very rude in French, and once again I mused on the fact that he hadn’t, in fact, so much as struck me. Not that I wanted him to become violent, but for a man given to daily visits in which he took great delight in telling me just how he was planning on torturing me, I found it a bit odd that he didn’t raise a finger to me. It might have been that he was all bluster and no action, or perhaps the fact that on the day when I was abducted, he had stridden into the cabin where I was confined, only to have me throw up on his feet.
“Hey, while you’re here, can you please have your steward cook something that isn’t rancid? I’ve barfed up the meals of the last three days, and it’s getting a bit old. Maybe stop for a few fresh veggies? How about some eggs? I wouldn’t balk at a steak, even though I don’t eat much red meat anymore.”
Etienne slammed the door shut, leaving me with nothing but my own company. I sighed and scooted back on the narrow bed, picking up one of the books that I’d begged from a friendly guard. It was in French, and detailed the glorious history of France, but since it was significantly different from the France I knew, I plowed my way steadily through it.
Dinner was served by Armand, the apologetic second steward, a gangly teenager with what I thought at first was acne scars, but later figured out was from smallpox.
“Your food,” Armand said, sliding a tray of reddish-brown slop before me, along with a glass of room-temperature goat’s milk. He had insisted on bringing me ale the first few days, but I quickly figured out I could barter it to him for milk, so at least now I had something to drink. “It’s ragout.”
“Eh,” I said, poking at it with a spoon. There was a lump of gray mystery meat in it. “A ragout of what?”
He shrugged before digging out from his pocket a heel of bread, set it on the tiny table that was bolted to the wall and floor, and left, locking the door behind him.
I ate around the meat lumps, nibbling on the bread, but regretted the action a few hours later when the ship gave a lurch. My stomach lurched with it, and then seemed to flop over. I dived for the closestool that sat in the corner, and heaved up my dinner.
“I swear to god, that damned Etienne is poisoning me. I’m just going to have to stop eating until I can get away,” I told myself after rinsing my mouth out with a tiny bit of water I’d saved from the daily allotment. “It’s probably arsenic. All the mysteries I’ve read say that it makes you ralph. Ugh. I hope all this barfing isn’t bad for my teeth. I really need a proper toothbrush.”
Once the poison had been ejected from my stomach, I felt much better, and moved over to open the small porthole window to let a little fresh air into the small cabin. The air was salty, with a tang of the sea on it that raised my spirits.
Below us, a town slid past. We were landing in Marseilles, Etienne’s destination according to the chatty Armand. The airship turned to the north, drifting over buildings, streets, and tiny ant-like people. Etienne wasn’t likely to land at an airfield, but he probably had some arranged spot where he could land and hide the airship. Jack and Octavia had one not far from town, I mused, doing a swift calculation in my head. According to Jack’s notebook that I’d read before I left them, they were due to be in Marseilles soon. I prayed they had arrived early, as they sometimes did in order to research whatever cargo they were planning on liberating.
“Time for the escape plan,” I told myself, watching when we skimmed lower, over the tops of a few trees, heading not into a rural area but toward the industrial part of town, one where a couple of massive warehouses held items for the many ships that visited.
I waited until we were within a few minutes of landing, then, according to the plan I’d perfected during my seven days of confinement, started banging on the door of my cell, yelling loudly for someone to help me.
Thankfully, it was Armand who answered my call, not one of the other crew members who sometimes attended to me, and who treated me in a hard, unyielding manner. “Madame? You are unwell again?”
“Oh, yes, Armand,” I said in an exaggerated manner, sagging against the doorframe just as if I couldn’t stand. “There is ... there is ... in the corner.” I gestured, and swooned backward against the door.
He stepped into the cabin, glancing in the corner that I had indicated. “What is there, madame? I see noth—”
I shoved him hard with both hands, then whirled around and was out of the door, snapping the lock into place before he realized what I’d done.
“That was far too easy,” I said softly, hurrying down the gangway toward the rear of the ship, secure in the knowledge that the attention would be focused on the front, where the cargo doors were located. During a discussion with dear, gullible Armand, I’d discovered the location of the emergency hatch, the doors cut into the bottom of the gondola where the crew could parachute to earth if the airship was too damaged to fly.
I ran down two flights of rear stairs, pausing when a crewman rushed ahead of me, a coil of mooring rope on his shoulders. I counted to five, then dashed across the broad lower-level gangway, and into a small storeroom, quickly pulling up the ring that swung up the trapdoor.
The airship was dropping quickly to the ground, the forward thrust disabled, as steam was let out of the envelope.
I swung my legs out, trying to steel myself to jump, knowing if I waited too long, the exit would be blocked when the gondola settled on the ground.
“One, two, dear god don’t let me break a leg, three!” I leaped, hitting the ground hard, trying to immediately roll onto my shoulder like I’d seen my ex-husband do when he attended skydiving school. The impact knocked my breath out of my lungs, but I hurriedly scrambled out of the way just as the gondola settled with a soft whoosh.
We were outside one of the gray warehouses, a few men sitting on wooden crates, pipes in mouth, observing the proceedings while the crew scurried around to use mooring lines to drag the airship into the warehouse.
I didn’t wait to watch; I trotted off in a manner that I hoped wouldn’t attract attention from any onlookers.
“Now what?” I asked myself when I felt sufficiently distant from the warehouse. I had a moment of panic at the idea of being alone in a city with no resources or help, but managed to lecture myself into a moderately calm state. “Alan wouldn’t have a hissy fit. He’d figure out where he was, and make his way out to where the Enterprise parks when it’s in town. What Alan can do, I can do.”
My words sounded a lot braver than I felt, but by the time two hours had passed, and I’d made it out to a field west of Marseilles, I was feeling a lot more confident. The farm where Octavia parked the airship was isolated, and evidently owned by some people who knew her foster parents.
“That’s it.” I pointed when the man whose cab I hired told me there was no such farm in the area, and insisted on turning his horse and returning to town. “To the left. See the barn? And beyond it, in those trees, you can just see the glimmer of silver on black. That’s the Enterprise. Thank god they came early. They weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. Can you hurry, please? I’ve had a very long day, a long week, actually, and I really want to see a friendly face. Not that you haven’t been kindness personified, but I am paying you after all, and that kind of makes the friendliness de rigueur, you know?”
Since I was speaking the last few sentences in English, the man said nothing, just sucked his teeth, and obligingly stopped at the entrance of the farm. I paid him from the small reserves I had left, thanked him, and, with a sudden lightness of spirit that gave my feet wings, dashed toward the copse of trees that mostly hid the Enterprise.
No one came out to greet me as I panted my way to the cargo doors. “I ... dude, seriously ... hello ... have got to get into some exercise regime. Hello?”
I tried to open the door, but it was bolted on the inside. I stood for a minute, my hands on my knees, then walked around to where a side door led into the boiler room. It, also, was locked, and no one answered when I banged on it.
I sat with my back to a tree, resigned to the fact that the fabulous homecoming that I’d imagined for a whole week was now seriously anticlimactic.
And that’s where they found me. It was the volatile Mr. Francisco who saw me first, his voice penetrating the sleep into which I’d fallen.
“Huh?” I asked, blinking at the man who stood next to me, his body twisting to call behind himself, “Mon capitaine of the glorious flaming hair so sweet! It is the lady Allie! She is dead, here against the tree.”
“What?” I heard a male voice shout. “Hallie is here? Dead? I swear I will have that damned Moghul’s head on a platter—”
“Hrn? Mr. Francisco, will you stop thrusting your crotch at me?” I asked, leaning over sideways. He was prone to wearing very tight pants, ones that highlighted everything he’d been born with. “Jack, I’m not dead, no matter what this deranged Spaniard says, and stop threatening Akbar. Would you ... thank you.”
Mr. Francisco helped me to the feet, and almost immediately, I was enveloped in a bear hug, Jack’s voice murmuring in my ear. “Holy shit, Hal! How did you get here? Where’s Etienne? What happened to you? We saw Etienne’s ship come in, but there were too many of them for us to storm it. Are you OK? Did the bastard hurt you? Why aren’t you answering me? Dammit, woman, we’ve been worried sick about you!”
I laughed, looking up into Jack’s eyes, one brown, one green, giving him a hard hug before stepping back. “I’m not answering because you won’t stop talking. Octavia, you are a sight for sore eyes.” I gave her a hug, too, then went on to hug the rest of the crew, who had gathered around me, all of them asking questions and telling me of their plans to rescue me, until it was all a jumble of voices and I started to feel a bit dizzy.
“Are you all right?” Octavia asked when I weaved, quickly taking my arm. “Jack, stop telling her what you are going to do to Prince Akbar, and help her. I think she’s about to swoon.”
“It’s just the residual effect from the poison,” I told them, but allowed Jack to sling an arm around me and help me into the ship.
“Poison? Etienne tried to poison you?” Octavia asked, her voice shocked.
“That or they have really bad food, and it was food poisoning,” I said, accepting a cup of tea. We were all sitting around the table in the mess, everyone watching me with such looks of avidity that I suddenly wanted to curl up in bed and pull the blankets over my head.
“That’s likely.” Octavia made a face. “Etienne never was one for caring much about what he ate, and I imagine he subjects his crew to the same standards, or, rather, lack therein. Now, drink that tea, then you can tell us what happened.”
It took me the better part of an hour, but at last I told them how the imperator descended upon Alan, of the agreement with Etienne, and ultimately how I’d run into the Black Hand, and been nabbed.
Jack and Octavia exchanged several glances, none of which I could interpret.
“You’re safe now—that’s all that matters,” Jack said when I finished. “Although I reserve the right to beat the tar out of that Akbar. The nerve of him letting you get kidnapped.”
I didn’t want to talk about Alan to him. I hadn’t mentioned anything about our relationship, other than he was teaching me how to use various weapons, but Octavia cast me a couple of glances that, had I a better grasp on reading emotions, were probably quite telling.
We had dinner, and I was happy to at last have something that I wouldn’t be throwing up in the next two hours. We sat up late in the mess, long after the rest of the crew had gone to bed, talking about what they had been doing. Jack seemed loath to leave my side until I told him he was making me nervous by lurking over me.
“All right, but don’t leave the ship,” he said when Octavia pulled him to his feet so they could go to bed.
“Are you kidding? I damned near killed myself getting here,” I said wearily, stifling a yawn. “I just want to go to bed and sleep for a good week. I haven’t gotten much sleep, what with all the vomiting, despite trying to nap where I could.”
“Of course, you must be exhausted,” Octavia said at the door, and hesitating for a moment before turning back to me. “Oh, but your cabin is in use.”
“It is?” I hadn’t noticed any new crew members. “By who?”
“What, not who.” Jack grimaced. “I’m building a new autonavigator, one that we’ll be able to use punch cards on for more commands and higher accuracy. It’s spread out all over your cabin. If I have to move it, it’ll set me back weeks.”
“I don’t honestly care where I sleep,” I said, drooping a little for effect.
“I’m sure Mr. Ho won’t mind in the least if you use the spare bunk in her room,” Octavia said.
“Sounds good to me. Good night.” I smiled when Jack, with a waggle of his eyebrows at Octavia, hustled her off to their cabin.
“Ah, young love,” I said to myself, and wondered what Alan was doing at that moment. Was he missing me? Was he looking up at the night sky, and wondering what I was doing? Was he still fighting with his father? I shook my head, and tapped quickly before opening the door of the assistant steward, a very nice—if quiet—woman named Beatrice Ho, who was referred to, for some bizarre holdover of official air corps etiquette, in the male determinative. “Beatrice? I hope you aren’t asleep, but I need a spot to crash for the night—”
A lamp was lit in the room, allowing me to see the wide eyes of Beatrice as her head popped up from under the blankets ... as well as that of a dark-haired man, who blinked owlishly at me. “Oh. Uh. Good evening, Mr. Llama. I ... yeah, OK. I guess I’ll go sleep with Jack’s automaton. Sorry for disturbing you.”
Mr. Ho said nothing, just watched me, while Mr. Llama slowly sank down into the blankets until nothing of him remained to view.
I closed the door softly, bit back the urge to laugh, and, with a sigh, went to my old cabin. I managed to snag a pillow and blanket, and used both to curl up on the window seat that lined one side of the mess.
I threw up twice in the night, forcing me to face a few hard facts. When morning dawned, I was sitting in the window seat, a freshly scrubbed bucket at my feet.
Mr. Ho was one of the first people into the mess, and she stopped at the sight of me, gesturing at nothing before coming over with an apology. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t know you would be wanting to sleep in my cabin—”
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t realize Jack was building a computer in my room. You’ve got first aid training, don’t you?”
Her eyebrows rose at the change of conversation. “Yes, some. Captain Pye sent me to a training course that lasted six weeks so that I could learn what is called triage. Is something wrong?” She glanced at the bucket.
“I think so,” I said slowly, my mind numb around the edges. It was hard to think. Not when nothing made sense. “If a woman came to you and said she was sick a lot, and very sleepy, and prone to frequent naps, and one of her breasts was a bit sensitive, and not in a good way, what would you say?”
Her eyes widened. “I would ask her when her last courses were.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared at the table for a few minutes. “My oncologist said it was unlikely. He said that due to the type of chemo, my eggs wouldn’t be viable. He said that I could try fertility treatments, but at the time, I didn’t want kids, and so it didn’t seem worthwhile pursuing. But now ... now ...”
She put a hand on my arm, giving me a little pat. “Is your stomach unsettled?”
I nodded.
“I will get you some soda water. My mother had fourteen children, and she swore by it.”
I murmured a thanks, my mind spinning and swooping like a bird on the wind. How could this be? And more important, if it was so, what did I feel about it? I wanted to talk to Alan about it, but how would he feel? He hadn’t expected this any more than I had, and he had so many things that he had to deal with—did I want to dump the responsibility of a child on him? Did I want the responsibility? I could barely handle my own life, but the idea of giving up everything I was in order to care for a child ...
A rush of warmth swamped me, a fierce sense of protectiveness that filled me with an odd sort of elation. If my body had managed to pull off a miracle and produce a baby, then by god, I’d just get my shit together, and be the best mother the baby could ever have.
And what about the father? a snarky voice in my head asked.
I didn’t need him. Lots of women were single parents, loving, successful single parents who had loving, successful children. I was strong. I had a warrior breast. I could do anything.
That’s what I told myself, but my Inner Hallie knew better. I stood up when Mr. Ho stopped in front of me, a glass of bubbly water in her hand. “He’s just going to have to get with the program. There’s no way in hell I’m doing this by myself! I know it’s a shock—hell, I didn’t think it could happen even with fertility treatments—but he can just get over that. I did, and I have the right to be more shocked than him. I refuse to let him off the hook just because this wasn’t planned! He’s as responsible as me. More, because he doesn’t have to go through hell for the next eight months.”
“Er ... no?” Mr. Ho asked.
“It’s only fair,” I told her. “Do you mind if I have a little nap on your spare bunk? I didn’t sleep very well.”
“By all means,” she said.
I tossed back the soda water, and marched out of the mess, fetching from my cabin a spare toothbrush, which I used to thoroughly scrub my mouth before curling up on Mr. Ho’s spare bunk. “I am strong,” I repeated to myself. “I can do this. And by god, Alan just better resolve himself to doing it with me, or I’ll have his guts for garters.”
Dooley woke me up a few hours later. “Miss, the cap’n and Mr. Fletcher want you in the captain’s cabin.”
“Huh?” Groggily, I sat up, rubbing my face and yawning. “What do they want?”
“I don’t know. They just said to fetch you. The cap’n said it was important.”
“All right.” I looked down at my stomach. I hadn’t seen any sign that a miracle had happened, but something was definitely off with me. “You had better not let me down now that I’m embracing this idea,” I told my womb.
I brushed my hair out of my face, and went to see what it was that had Jack and Octavia in such a swivet. “If it’s Etienne,” I muttered as I went down the gangway to the captain’s cabin, “I want the first shot at stabbing him with a dull dagger. Oh, hell, they’re back at Alan’s camp. Dammit. I’ll just have to get Jack to give me something, which won’t be easy, because he insists on not killing people, and if that’s not the most unreasonable thing ever, then I don’t know what is.”
I knocked on the cabin door, entering before Octavia could answer.
“Hallie,” Jack said, greeting me.
“Look, I know you don’t want me to stab him, but it’s only fair. Just one dagger, that’s all I want,” I told him.
Jack stared at me with an open mouth. “Stab who? That fiend Akbar?”
“Of course not. Etienne.” I glanced around. Octavia stood near Jack, and next to her was a man in a dark suit. I glanced at him, but figured he must be the local farmer who owned the surrounding area. “Isn’t he here? I thought you called me in so I could have my shot at stabbing him.”
“No,” Octavia said, looking from the man to me. “It’s nothing like that—really, you thought Jack, of all people, would give you a dagger? It’s ... er ...”
She looked at the dark-haired man again. He had been smiling, but that smile faded now.
“What?” I asked, feeling that I wasn’t up to whatever it was they were doing with all those silent glances. “Look, I’ve got a lot going on right now, so if you could just come to the point, I’d be really grateful.”
“Er ...” She seemed to have a problem continuing, staring at me, then turning to look at the other man.
“Tavy wanted you to meet this gentleman. He’s a diplomat, the one who tried to get you out of prison last year. Alan Dubain, this is my sister, Hallie Norris,” Jack said, shooting a frown at Octavia.
“What is the matter with ... Hallie, did you hit your head?” Octavia asked, coming over to stand next to me, giving me a quick once-over. “Is your vision impaired?”
“No to all of those,” I said, then waved politely at the man, who stood still, like he was made of rock. “Nice to meet you. Oh, wait, you’re a diplomat? You don’t by any chance have connections to the Moghuls, do you? Because I really want to get a message to Prince Akbar.”
“A message?” the man asked in an odd sort of croaking voice. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Octavia. The two of them stared at each other before both looked back at me.
“Jack, what’s wrong with her?” Octavia asked in a whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Hmm?”
“Is her vision amiss? She doesn’t seem to see ...” She stopped, looking confused.
“Her vision is fine, I think. Except, of course, for the thing.”
“What thing?” Octavia sounded frustrated.
I rolled my eyes, waving at my brother. “You can tell her if you want.”
“Tell me what?” she asked, turning to Jack.
He shot me a grin, then hustled Octavia out of the room, leaving the door open. “It’s this weird thing we have. I have a slight touch of it, but not nearly to the extent that Hallie does. ...”
I pursed my lips, then sat down at Octavia’s desk and started writing a letter. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Dubain, I’m going to write a letter that I very badly want to get to Prince Akbar.”
“She has what?” I heard Octavia shout in the hallway.
“A letter?” The man sounded like he was choking. He moved closer to me, one hand rubbing the back of his head when he said under his breath, “I must still be feeling the effects.”
I stopped writing, glancing at him for a moment, but shook my head. I must have imagined it.
Octavia dashed into the room, panting slightly, “Hallie has facial blindness. She doesn’t recognize faces. At all. That’s why Jack always says her name whenever he approaches her. She doesn’t see faces!”
“Actually, I see them just fine,” I said, frowning at Octavia. I didn’t mind people knowing about my weird quirk, but I didn’t think it was anything to get excited about, either. “I just don’t process the information the way other people do. Faces don’t stick with me.”
“She uses cues to recognize people. Isn’t that right?” She turned to Jack, who nodded. “She uses people’s hair and clothing to recognize them, and if they change those things, if they look different, then she has a hard time recognizing them.”
“Ah,” the diplomat said, looking thoughtful. “That would explain a lot. Hallie, stop writing.”
Should I tell Alan in the letter? No, that news was probably best kept for an in-person telling. Plus there was the fact that I didn’t know for certain. I gave the diplomat short shrift while I was pondering what to say to Alan. “Look, I know I just asked you to do me a favor, but I am writing an important letter—”
“Hallie.”
The word was said in a voice that held a deep, rich timbre, one that sent a shiver down my back. I knew that voice. I knew that shiver. I stared at the man standing next to me. He had dark hair cut short, much shorter than Alan’s. This man’s hair had clumps of it standing on end as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was dressed in the standard sort of suit that other gentlemen wore in this world. There was nothing exciting or dashing about him. He certainly couldn’t hold a candle to Alan, and yet ...
His eyes glittered at me. I stood slowly, my gaze on his.
Blue eyes. He had beautiful blue eyes, like gemstones in a river.
“Alan?” I asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me, little dove?”
An electric charge seemed to skitter down my skin as I realized the truth. It was Alan! My Alan, not some nondescript diplomat. I stared in disbelief for a moment, then shrieked and flung myself on him, kissing every bit of his face. “How did you get here? What ... why do you look so different? Why did you sound different? Where is your father?”
He kissed me, his lips warm and soft and so wonderful, I wanted to get on my knees and cry from the joy of it all.
“Hey, now,” I heard Jack say. “What’s all this? Why is Alan molesting her with his mouth? When did she meet him? I don’t remember them meeting. Now he has his hands on her ass! Dubain! Take your hands and your lips off my sister!”
“I believe it’s my turn to tell you a few things, my love,” Octavia said, and I heard their footsteps retreat as Alan, my delicious, warm, wonderful Alan, proceeded to check out every one of my teeth, his tongue doing a little dance around mine while his hands were on my behind, pulling me closer.
“He’s WHO? Bloody hell, Octavia!”
“Jack’s mad about something,” I said, pulling my mouth reluctantly from Alan’s, not because I wanted to tell him that information, but because I needed to come up for air.
“Ah. Yes. About that.” He made a face, looking over my shoulder when Jack burst into the room, his face twisted.
“You!” he snarled, pointing at Alan. “You’re that bloody prince! The one who tried to kill us!”
“I don’t believe I ever tried to kill you,” Alan started to say.
I spun around in front of him, my arms wide when Jack stormed over to us. “Now, Jack—”
“You stole my sister! You had your hands on her ass! You’ve probably had them all over her, defiling her! My sister!”
“Jack, calm down,” I told him.
“I will not! I have every reason to be angry! Do you know how much trouble that man has caused us? It’s not bad enough I have to put up with him hanging around leering at Octavia, clearly trying to sway her back into another relationship with him, but now he has the nerve to seduce my sister!”
The little happy feelings that were swamping me suddenly shriveled into a cold, dried thing. I turned my gaze upon Alan. “Relationship?” I asked him. “With Octavia?”
“It’s not like that at all,” the woman herself said, hurrying over to us. “We were lovers, yes, but it was several years ago, and as I’ve told Jack many times—really too many times given that he knows I love him beyond all others, and always will—but as I’ve told him, Alan and I are simply friends now.”
I stared at the man I loved. I didn’t even shy away from that realization—I loved him. He had my heart, and my soul, and all the other bits of me that even now were clamoring to be delivered unto him. We were likely going to have a miracle together—and yet, something burned deep in me, a hot, thick emotion that I realized with shock was rampant possessiveness. He was mine! the possessiveness wanted to cry out to the world. My man, my lover, my mate. I allowed that feeling to well up in me, and used it to pierce him with a look that should have melted him on the spot. “You dated Octavia?”
“As she said, it was a long time ago—” He took my hands in his.
I pulled them from him, then fought my way through the insidious need to rail at the idea that he had, for a time, belonged to someone else, and thought for a moment. A few years ago, I was still in my own world. I dated other men. I had lovers. I might not have thought myself in love with them, but perhaps Alan had that same light, easy relationship with Octavia that I had with the men in my past.
It just made what we had, the deep, soul-twining rightness of being, unique. I had never felt for any other man—my ex-husband included—the emotions that bound me to Alan.
“All right,” I said, giving him back my hands, my words coming out stilted and formal with the possessiveness that didn’t want to give way. “So long as you don’t harbor any unresolved feelings for her, I will allow you to have had, in the past, illicit relations with my sister-in-law.”
“Great. Now my wife’s lover has brainwashed my sister,” I heard Jack mutter.
Octavia bit his ear. “Former lover, Jack. The ‘former’ part is important.”
Alan shook his head ruefully, kissing my fingers, sending little curls of need and want deep within me. “As usual, you have unbalanced me. Octavia says you were not harmed by Etienne.”
“Not in the least. Did I ask you where your father is?”
“You did. I assume that by now he is on his way to Prussia to marry the duchess.”
I gawked at him, a full-fledged, openmouthed gawk. “The one he insisted you marry? Why is he marrying her? Not that I want him trying to throw her on you, because that is so not going to fly. But why?”
He rubbed the back of his head again. “My father and I have parted ways. In effect, Prince Akbar is dead.”
There was more to his appearance than he was telling, but now was not the time to delve further into what happened after I’d been kidnapped. “If you’re no longer Akbar, then who are you? What will you do?”
“I’m Alan Dubain, diplomat,” he said, bowing. “And covert member of the Company of Thieves, if you’ll have me.”
“You’ve always been a member, so of course we will welcome you joining us in a more active role,” Octavia said, ignoring Jack’s glare.
“I don’t know about this, Tavy. Look at him. He’s still got one hand on her ass.”
I ignored my brother’s grumblings to examine Alan. “Is that why you look like this? Where are all your pretty clothes? Never mind, you can tell me later. I want to kiss you. And touch you. And maybe lick you, although it’s kind of hard seeing you in those clothes—”
“There will be no licking, touching, and kissing until a few things are explained to my satisfaction,” Jack said in a bossy voice. “I have issues, many issues with the idea that a man I thought was our friend was really a vicious enemy.”
I turned to pin Jack back with a glare. “Well, you’d better get over your issues with him pretty quickly, because in a few months you’re going to be demanding he marry me.”
“I will never!” Jack said, outraged. “Prince Akbar? You are insane, that’s what it is. He’s brainwashed you, and made you insane.”
Octavia sucked in her breath, indicating she had guessed. I smiled at her, and turned back to Alan. “I’m sorry, this isn’t the way I would like to do this, but as they are family, I hope you don’t mind.”
“You’re not going to propose to me, are you?” Alan said, pulling me to him, his eyes making me feel like I’d been out in the sun, the heat of him soaking into me and making me burn for him. All of him.
“No. I think ... I don’t know how this happened. ... Well, I know how, but I don’t know how, if you get my drift. The bottom line is that I refuse to do this on my own, not when you are here and perfectly able to help me. Especially if your father is out of the picture, because he was truly obnoxious, not that I like saying that about a relative of yours, but I kind of think you’d probably agree. And I think that we just need to do this together. OK?”
“I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me to do,” he answered, his voice so wonderful, it just made me want to kiss the words right off his lips. “But if you need help with something, I will absolutely assist you.”
I gave in to my need and leaned forward, kissing him with every bit of love I possessed. “I sure hope so. Alan, I think we’re pregnant.”
I may not be able to read emotions very well, but even I could see that Alan was stunned. He blinked at me a couple of times. “You’re ... we’re ... I’m going to be ...”
“Yes.” I bit my lip, wishing like hell I knew what he was thinking. What if he hated the idea? What if he felt trapped, but was too honorable a man to tell me that? What if he never wanted children? I realized with hindsight that although I knew the depth and breadth of my feelings for him, I didn’t know what he thought of me beyond his enjoyment of our time together in bed. “I know it’s a shock. It is to me, too, because I didn’t think I could, but Mr. Ho and I think it’s so, and ... well ... I’m actually pretty all right with the idea, but I think now that maybe you aren’t going to want to be a part of this with me, and oh, hell. You aren’t happy, are you?”
“Happy?” He stared at me for another few seconds; then he scooped me up, spinning me around until I thought I was going to vomit.
Which I did ten seconds after he put me down.
“No, I’m not just happy—I’m damned near ecstatic. I’ll just hold your hair back while you’re doing that, shall I?”
“Oh my god, she’s pregnant,” I heard Jack tell Octavia as I retched into her commode. “That bastard has impregnated my sister. He put his hands all over her person, and impregnated her. What are we going to do, Tavy?”
“I don’t actually think it’s any of our business, my love.”
“We have to do something. She’s too vulnerable. Well, that’s it. He has to marry her. You, Dubain. You’re marrying her. I don’t care what you want—you’re going to marry her and make her happy, or so help me, I will string you up by your balls.”
“Jack, please stop threatening Alan,” I said, wiping my mouth. “Also, stop being so medieval. No one these days gets married just because a baby is on its way.”
“Maybe not in our old world, but in this one they do,” he snapped, glaring first at me, then at Alan. “Besides, I don’t trust him. This could be a trick. Some sort of cunning Moghul trick.”
Alan, who had been kneeling next to me, started laughing, and fell back onto his ass, he was laughing so hard.
“You’re not helping matters,” I told him.
“I know. It’s just been ... this last week has been the most hellish of my life. I imagined all sorts of horrible things, and never, not once thought that when I found you, you wouldn’t recognize me, followed immediately by the news that you’re going to make me a father. How do you feel, little dove?”
“Relieved. Happy. Nauseous as hell,” I said, beaming at him. “Ignore my brother, by the way. We’re not actually related. He was raised by wolves.”
“This is all part of his grand plan,” Jack said, stalking around and waving his hands dramatically.
“Of what?” I couldn’t help but ask, both annoyed and amused by my brother.
“Well ... he probably ... the Moghuls ...” Jack sputtered to a stop.
“Uh-huh. You can’t think of anything because your brain knows that the idea of Alan having nefarious intentions toward us is outrageous, even if your emotions don’t get that,” I pointed out.
Jack made an annoyed sound. “Fine! I’m willing to admit that he may not have impregnated you deliberately as a plot to irritate me—”
“Any other brother would be happy his sister who didn’t think she could have children has managed a miracle,” I told Alan. “Any other brother would be overjoyed his sister had found a man she’d like to spend her life with.”
“Ah, but Jack is not just any brother,” Alan told me with a little curl of his lips.
“You can say that again,” I said, just as Jack stopped in front of me, kneeling to take my hands in his.
“Of course I’m happy that you’re having a baby, Hal. That is—I didn’t know you wanted one, but if you are happy, then I’m happy, too. And as for finding a partner ... well, I suppose you’ve made your choice.” His eyes watched me carefully, and I wished for the thousandth time that I had the ability to read expressions.
I gave his hands a little squeeze. “I have,” I answered, a wave of happiness filling me with a sense of well-being despite the experience of having just thrown up.
He released my hands and stood up. “Fine, then. We’ll have the wedding here. You can marry people, can’t you?” Jack asked Octavia. “You’re a captain, so you have to be able to marry them. We’ll get them married off, and then I won’t have to castrate him for putting his hands and balls and dick all over her.”
“He was raised by wolves, you say?” Alan grinned and rose, pulling me to my feet. “He does seem to be under the delusion that he can dictate to us. Hallie?”
“I’m going to need a new toothbrush at this rate,” I said to myself before looking up, still trying to acclimatize myself to Alan in mundane clothing. “Hmm?”
He took my hand, and kissed it. “Marry me?”
I shook my head. His eyes widened.
“I am not ordained in any religion, my love. I can’t marry anyone, but if Alan and Hallie wish to be married—and I can’t help but emphasize the words if they wish to be married—then I’m sure we can find a church where they can be married quietly,” Octavia said.
“You don’t want to marry me?” Alan asked. I could hear the hurt in his voice.
“Of course I do. I love you. I think we’re going to have a miracle together. But I don’t want to marry you just because my brother is being an ass and demanding you do so, or because you think it’s the right thing to do.”
“It is the right thing to do,” he insisted.
A little pang of pain pierced me. I realized then that I had made a mistake—I thought I could tell Alan about the possibility of a baby, but that he’d view it as I did, a wondrous thing, an unexpected blessing. But he was a man of honor, one who took his responsibilities to others very seriously, and now I was one more claim on his time.
Dammit, I wanted him to marry me because he loved me.
“We can talk about it later,” I said, wanting to push the whole thing to the side.
“I can’t make you accept me,” he said, clearly not going to let me avoid the issue. “But I don’t understand why you don’t want me.”
I sighed, and looked at Jack and Octavia, who were now arguing about whether an airship captain had the power to marry people regardless of not being sanctioned by a proper authority. “Ahem,” I said loudly.
Jack stopped arguing. “Eh?”
I nodded toward Alan. “Trying to have a private talk, here.”
“In our cabin,” Jack pointed out.
“Yeah, but that’s because you are building a robot in mine. Skedaddle, please.”
“Yes, Jack, let’s give them a little privacy.” Octavia pulled him after her when she left. “I really don’t know where you get this idea about what a captain can and cannot do. ...”
“And close the door,” I yelled when Jack left it ajar.
He muttered something, but did as I asked.
I turned back to Alan. “I really want to kiss you, but can’t until I brush my teeth. Please imagine I’m kissing you now, just before I tell you that I do indeed want you. I love you, Alan. I want to be with you. I want to talk to you. I want to feel you next to me, being all dashing and daring and wonderful. I want to wake up to you snoring in my hair. I want to fall asleep smooshed up against your side. I want you infuriating me, and teasing me, and letting me tease you in return. I want to know every single thought you have, and what you’re feeling and why you are the way you are. I want you to wear things that I recognize, so I can pick you out of a crowd. I want your mustache back.”
“Then marry me,” he said.
I waited a minute, but he didn’t say anything about loving me in return. I shook my head again.
“Why? If you love me, why won’t you marry me? Is it because of my father?” I felt him withdraw, not physically, but emotionally, and immediately I wanted to take him in my arms and reassure him. “It’s because of who I am?”
“No, of course not. I mean, your father is an ass, but you’re not responsible for that. I love you, Alan. Exactly who you are.” I eyed the suit. “Or at least, who I thought you were. I really liked your other clothes better, though.”
He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t understand what I’ve done that makes you refuse me.”
I was going to remain in silent martyrdom until he figured out that he loved me, too, at which point I would consent to marry him, and we’d live happily ever after, but that just seemed like such a stupid amount of work for nothing in return.
“For the love of the goddess,” I yelled, punching him on his chest. “Stay right here.”
“What?” he asked when I hurried out of the cabin. “You’re leaving me? Now?”
“Stay there!” I said, pointing at him. “I’ll be right back. I have to brush my teeth.”
He was waiting for me when I returned, his hands clasped behind his back in the gesture I’d seen so often while he looked off into the distance, across the scraggy landscape of Tozeur that I realized I missed so much. It gave me a bit of a jolt to see him standing in such a familiar pose but wearing the clothing of a stranger.
“Right, now we can do this.” I took a deep breath when he turned toward me.
“If it’s not my father, it’s the fact that I kept my identity as Alan Dubain from you,” he said, his voice all gravelly around the edges. “You are angry that I did not tell you the truth. I had intended on doing so, but the time never seemed right—”
“I don’t care about that,” I said, waving away the idea that I was angry about something so trivial. “You’re a badass spy. Of course you have different identities.”
“Then for the love of the gods, what is it?” he almost shouted, taking my arms in his hands. “Please tell me so I can fix whatever I’ve done.”
“You’re supposed to tell me you love me, you boob! Everyone knows that! It’s part of the whole proposing thing, not that you had the chance to think about whether or not you wanted to ask me, because my brother was being his usual bossy-pants self and demanding you do so, but still, it’s part of the whole package. Do you?”
“Of course I love you,” he said matter-of-factly.
I pointed a finger at him. “Oh no. You have to mean it. And don’t think you can just say the words and I’ll be happy, because I will know you aren’t being honest.”
“Oh really?” He smiled slowly, pulling me gently against his body, moving my hips against his. “And how are you going to tell, my sweet dove? Will you read the truth in my eyes? Or will you feel it when I touch you? When I kiss you?” His hands slid along my hips, moving upward to cup my breasts. “Will you need the words when I take you again and again until you’re exhausted and panting, lying across me in a boneless heap?”
He moved against me, his entire body wooing me with his words.
“Oh, yes, please,” I said on a breath, welcoming his mouth when it claimed mine, my body doing a shimmy of need and desire and want against his. I loved how our bodies fit together. Until I met Alan, I had never realized that a woman’s body was made of curves and softness and flesh that yielded simply so that it could fit so well against the hard planes of a man. My man.
“Do you really think I could be anything but helplessly, hopelessly, madly in love with you?” he asked when I let him have his tongue back, his breath hot on the shivery spot behind my ear. He pulled my hips tighter against him. “Is there any doubt in your mind that I want to spend every second of the rest of my life with you?”
“I changed my mind,” I murmured against his lips when he went in for another one of those soul-scorching kisses. “I’ll marry you. Like, today. Right now. I’m going to burn into an ashy blob if we don’t start the honeymoon in the next ten minutes.”
“I believe we can be forgiven if we have the wedding night first,” he said, and, with a quick look around the cabin, locked the door before he swept Octavia’s desk clear.
“Alan!” I said, scandalized when he divested me of my top before he lifted me onto the desk. His hands and mouth were all over me, tasting me, teasing me, reacquainting us both with what we’d missed the last week. His hands took possession of my breasts, which was exactly what they wanted, taking each nipple into his mouth while I moaned and clutched his shoulders. “This isn’t our cabin! I don’t think they would like—oh, dear god, yes, right there.”
I struggled with the need to let him work his magic on me, and the desire to give him as much pleasure as he was giving me. I tugged on the tie and stiff collar that hid his throat from me, tossing them on the floor while he slid his hands into the waistband of my pants.
“This is the worst outfit ever,” I growled, sliding his jacket down over his arms. “There’s too much to it. Please tell me you’re not going to wear this again.”
“If I wish to fit into the Western world—” he started to say, his mouth on my breasts.
“To hell with that. How on earth is this ... Alan!” I gave up trying to pull his shirt out and unhook things. Somehow, his pants refused to budge, as if they were connected to his shirt.
He made an annoyed tsk, then grinned and yanked his shirt off over his head. Beneath it, he wore what amounted to an undershirt, a pair of braces holding up his pants.
“Off,” I said, pointing at them.
“I do not like being dominated, little dove. I’ve told you this before,” he said, trying to sound bossy and domineering, but he shucked his pants and undergarments in record time.
I used the time to get back on my feet and shimmy out of my pants, underwear, and sandals. “Uh-huh. And yet, you love it when it’s my turn to be on top.”
“That, my love, is entirely a different matter,” he said, hoisting me back onto the table, spreading my thighs as he did so. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, glancing down at my belly. “This won’t hurt you? Won’t hurt the babe?”
“No. I think we have a lot of time before we have to slow down.” I wrapped my legs around his body. “Make me feel just how much you love me.”
“Such a demanding little dove,” he said, his lips burning on mine when he tilted my hips, allowing him to slide into me, all my intimate muscles rippling along his intrusion. My entire body felt like it was going up in flames, the heat from my private parts spreading like wildfire, making my breath catch, and my heart race.
“You make me burn, Hallie,” he moaned into my ear, his body moving with a rhythm that I thought was the most beautiful thing in the world. His shoulder was salty when I first licked it, then bit it when he leaned into me, forcing me backward slightly, while pulling my hips up. He hit all the sensitive spots inside me, making me see stars. “Just when I think I can’t stand it, you make me want more. Can you ... I don’t want to hurt you, but I just want to bury myself in you as deep as I can go. ...”
I flexed my hips, allowing him in deeper, his words winding the familiar tension in my deepest parts tighter and tighter. His movements become wild, hard thrusts meant to impale, his body answering the call of mine to join in the most elemental way a man and a woman could. This was no mere lovemaking—this was a pure, primal mating, a claiming, and I reveled in every second of it.
And when it became too much for me and I fell into the most glorious orgasm, he was there holding me, finding his own moment of absolute joy when we stopped being two separate people, and made one glorious, sweaty being.
“I’m just glad that desk is bolted to the floor,” I said eons later, when I lay on top of Alan. He was flat on his back on the floor.
He cracked an eye open to look at me.
I grinned. “The way you rocked my world, I was afraid you were going to move the table into the next cabin.”
