The Beloved Scoundrel

CHAPTER 2

Huddled figures, wrapped in sheepskin blankets, lay slumbering a short distance from the camp-fire. Only Jordan Draken was awake, sitting staring into the flames.

He looked up as she entered the circle of the firelight. “You’ve been a long time,” he said quietly. He turned to Alex. “And you look blue with cold, lad. Come closer to the fire.”

Alex glanced up at her, and when she nodded, he edged closer to the flames. He dropped the blanket as the heat struck him and held out his hands to the flames. He gave a beatific sigh. “That feels good.”

“Yes, it does. It’s a raw night.” Jordan gestured to the pot simmering over the flames. “Rabbit stew. Take a spoon and bowl and help yourself.”

“I’ll get it for him.” Marianna stepped forward, then stopped as Draken shook his head. “He’s not well,” she said fiercely.

“If he can stand, he can use a ladle.” He stood up and unrolled a sheepskin pallet a short distance from his own and sat down again. “You’re the one weaving on your feet. Sit down.”

Alex was already eagerly spooning hot stew into a wooden bowl, and she reluctantly sat down on the sheepskin pallet. The fire was blessedly warm, and she wanted to sigh with contentment as Alex had done. “I have to help Alex.”

“After you eat yourself.”

“I will help him.” Gregor strode into the light of the campfire. He filled a bowl with stew and sat down across the fire from them. “Come, lad, and sit with me. We will eat together. I’m hungry as a wolf, aren’t you?”

He looked like a wolf himself, fierce and scarred by battle. Marianna knew Alex would never go to him.

Alex solemnly stared at him and then said hesitantly, “You are dressed most strangely.”

Gregor grinned as he saw Marianna’s astonishment. “Ah, you thought he would be afraid of me? Children are much smarter than grown-ups. They rely on their instincts, not their eyes.” He turned back to Alex. “And your instincts are right. It is my clothes that are different, not my soul. But even my clothes are different only in these tame lowlands. At home in Kazan you would be the different one.”

“Kazan!” Her gaze flew to the north where high, gray-purple mountains separated Montavia from Kazan. Until now she had never met anyone who came from that wild, fabled country, and she was not alone. Not only was Kazan surrounded by mountains, but its inhabitants were rumored to be a fierce, warlike people who kept to themselves and did not encourage visitors to their land. Her grandmother had told her she had fled to Kazan from Russia, but she had been frustratingly vague when answering Marianna’s questions regarding the country itself. Kazan had no commerce with Montavia, and if they engaged in trade with any country, it must be with Russia, their neighbor to the north. They had remained totally aloof during the recent war between Nebrov and King Josef. Yet here was Gregor, who claimed he had ridden across the mountains from that mysterious country. “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment I’m trying to beg this lad to keep me company while I eat.” Gregor pulled a long face that made him look like a mournful gargoyle. “I hate to eat alone. It gives me a monstrous bellyache.”

Alex chuckled and went around the fire and settled on Gregor’s pallet.

Gregor nodded with satisfaction. “As for what else I’m doing in this boring country of yours…” He took a bite of stew and then nodded at Jordan. “I’m doing my duty and taking care that Jordan doesn’t injure himself fighting with frail young girls. Did you really take a candlestick to his private parts? I’m sure that there’s many a woman who would-”

“Eat.” Jordan added with precision, “Fill your mouth with food instead of conversation, or you can go back on sentry duty.”

“You’d send me back out in the cold? How cruel.” Gregor sighed, but a sly smile remained on his lips as he applied himself to his stew.

“Where’s Niko?” Draken asked.

“You told me not to talk.” Gregor took another bite before he said, “Still on sentry duty. I sent him to look over the town. It appears deserted, but you can never tell.” He drew a sheepskin blanket firmly around Alex’s thin shoulders. “Gobble down that stew. How do you expect to grow as big as me if you have no nourishment?”

Alex shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think I could grow that big if I ate all the stew in the world.” But he obediently dipped his spoon into the savory mixture.

Jordan filled a bowl and handed it to Marianna. “Satisfied?”

She wasn’t at all satisfied. Her mind was full of questions and apprehensions, but she nodded and began to eat hungrily. The rabbit was tough, but the broth was hot and thick and flavored with herbs. She was vaguely aware of another man-Niko, Gregor called him-coming to the fire and filling his bowl before drifting away. She could hear Gregor’s deep low voice across the fire as he talked to and teased Alex, but she could not make out the words. Draken was watching her, but she didn’t care. The wind was howling, whipping sharply down from the mountains, but for the first time in days she felt warm and dry with real food instead of scraps to eat.

“More?” Draken asked when she had finished.

She shook her head and put down the bowl. She had eaten too much already. A full stomach made one feel deceptively content and safe. She looked across the fire and saw Alex curled up against Gregor, already asleep, and felt a little better. He should be in a bed, not a pallet on the hard ground, but at least he was warm and protected from the wind by Gregor’s bulk. Gregor winked at her as he settled down, drawing the cover over both Alex and himself. In spite of the giant’s kindness she must be the one to be there when Alex woke, she thought. It would be a chilling shock to come out of sleep to that scarred face.

“He’ll be all right,” Draken said, impatience roughing his voice. “Lie down and go to sleep. You’re about to fall over.”

“I am not.” She sat up very straight, trying to keep her spine rigid. “We have to talk… I have to ask-”

“Questions I told you I wouldn’t answer, no doubt.”

“I have to ask about the Window.” She met his gaze. “That’s why you wish me to come with you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes.”

“You think I can give it back to you.”

“I hope you can give it to me.”

“Why?”

“What do you know of Napoleon Bonaparte?”

Napoleon. The emperor of the French was only a shadowy figure to her. She tried to remember what Papa had taught her about the man. He had admired the emperor’s brilliance, but her mother had said he would not be satisfied until he devoured all of Europe. Two years ago when he had come near one of Montavia’s borders, there had been whispers and days of tension until he had moved on and the threat was gone. Then Nebrov’s attack had thrown all of Montavia into chaos, and Napoleon had been forgotten. “I know that he wants power as much as the rest of you.”

“Even more than the rest of us. I have to stop him.”

“So that you can grab everything for yourself?”

He ignored the question. “So far he’s hesitated to attack this part of the world, but that won’t last forever.” He met her gaze. “When he starts his march, he must not have the Jedalar.” He saw the ripple of shock that went through her. “Did you think Nebrov was the only one who knew why the Window had value?”

She had suspected the Englishman knew, but she had hoped desperately she was wrong. “The Window had value because it had splendor and beauty and-”

“Knowledge,” he finished softly. “You’re only a girl with a young brother to protect. Don’t make yourself a pawn in a war you don’t even understand. Give me what I want, and I’ll see that you’re both kept safe.”

“So that you can use it as you choose. You’re probably no better than this Napoleon. Why should I choose between you?”

“Because it’s not safe for you not to make a choice.”

“Then I choose not to believe any of you,” she said fiercely. “I won’t be used by you or this Napoleon or the Duke of Nebrov. I will go my own path and do what I please.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “And what would you do with the Jedalar?”

“Use it in any way I wish.” She glared at him. “And answer to no one. You have no right to ask me what I will do with my own property.”

He studied her expression and then said, “Suppose we come to an agreement? For now we’ll forget about the Window to Heaven.”

“You won’t get it,” she said desperately. “I’ll never give it to you.”

He smiled. “We’ll discuss it later.”

She stared at him in fascination and dread. She had not seen him smile before, and she suddenly realized he was quite splendid-looking. She had never seen a more beautifully shaped mouth, and that smile was nearly irresistible. It gave his irregular features a charm that softened and transformed the severity of the long planes of his face. It was as if he had changed before her eyes, taken on a powerful persuasiveness and magnetism at will.

Lucifer, she thought, the caster of spells, the shape-changer, the weaver of incantations. He would do very well for the figure of the Dark Prince when she created her own Window to Heaven.

It was foolish to be this frightened, she told herself. If you recognized Satan, then you could fight him.

His smile faded, and he looked back at the fire. “Did it ever occur to you the Duke of Nebrov could be searching for you?”

It had been part of the nightmare that had been her life since that night. “I… don’t think he saw us. Mama made us hide in the woods.” She said more firmly, “No, I’m sure he didn’t know we were there.”

“Nebrov wouldn’t have given up after the death of your mother. He would have searched the house for any possible information, sent one of his men to ask questions of your neighbors.”

“He had no time. Samda was being held by King Josef’s forces, and there was a price on Nebrov’s head. Mama thought we were safe from him, but our cottage was several miles outside of town.” She shuddered. “I heard him raving and cursing as he rode away. He was terribly angry.”

“If he took that kind of risk, then you know he’ll come back or send one of his men to ask questions. Your neighbors will tell him about you… and Alex.” He paused. “I used your brother to get what I wanted from you. Do you think Nebrov is less ruthless?”

“No,” she whispered. Waves of sickness washed over her. No one could be more cruel than that monster. “Oh, no.”

“And I can assure you he will be as determined as he is vicious. Nebrov never gives up.”

He spoke with such absolute assurance that she asked, “You’ve met him?”

“On many occasions.” He saw her instinctive withdrawal and shook his head. “His lands border Kazan. Naturally he came to assess our military capability. He decided his brother’s kingdom would be an easier target.”

She stared with horror out into the darkness that hid the ruins of Talenka. Nebrov had almost destroyed Montavia and its people to feed his greed for power. “Evil…”

“Then you agree you need to get Alex far away from Montavia.” Her gaze flew to his face, and he nodded. “England.”

England. That alien, faraway country her father had sometimes told her about. He had hated England as much as he had loved Montavia. “You want to take us to England?”

“I doubt if even Nebrov would think to search for you halfway across the world. Alex would be safe.”

He would not say she would be safe, she realized, because of that core of honesty she found so confusing. He would not promise her safety because of the threat that came from him.

“Sleep on it.” He smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision once you’re rested.” He pushed her gently back on the sheepskin pallet and covered her with a blanket. “For Alex.”

Sleep? She almost laughed aloud. How could she sleep when he had just told her that he wanted to take her to a land where she would be a stranger, dependent only on him, more helpless than ever in her life?

He lay down a short distance away and drew his cover over him.

The crackle of the burning wood was the only sound in the stillness.

“For God’s sake stop shaking,” Draken said harshly.

She hadn’t known she was shaking. She contracted her muscles, but the trembling persisted. “I believe… I’m cold.”

“I believe you’re lying.” He sat up on his pallet. “I tolerated it in the church, but I’m very weary of watching you pretend that you’re as strong as Gregor.” He was suddenly beside her, his arms enfolding her.

She stiffened in panic and tried to push him away.

“Lie still,” he said roughly as he cradled her in his arms. “I’m not going to hurt you.” In spite of the harshness of his tone, his hands smoothing her hair back from her face were wonderfully gentle. “Nothing is going to hurt you tonight. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Yes, I do.” As long as there were Alex and the Jedalar, fear was the only defense she had to keep them safe. The shaking become long, racking, shudders, and her teeth bit deep into her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why… I haven’t… not since that night…”

He gave a low exclamation, then lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms. She started to struggle again, but he pinned her to the pallet and stared down into her eyes. “Look at me, dammit. Am I going to hurt you?”

Her gaze clung desperately to his. His pale green eyes blazed down at her, clear, mesmerizing, willing her to believe him. She did believe him. She slowly shook her head.

He tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and held her. He smelled of leather and musk and the pine-scented smoke of the fire. “Easy,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted and you’re frightened and that’s all right. Just let it go. Send it away.”

Warmth. Safety. Strength. It was as if she were wrapped in a web of power where nothing bad could reach her. If she could just lie here for a moment and take from him…

“That’s right.” His voice flowed over her like sunlight, warming her. She had always believed voices had color, and his was darkest burgundy. “Don’t worry about anything. Let me take care of you. All you have to do is rest and let me hold you.”

She should move, she thought hazily. Lying here was dangerous, not because he might hurt her as they had hurt her mother but because she had the strangest sensation she was melting into him.

You couldn’t fight an enemy if you became part of him.

She didn’t move. She would do battle tomorrow after she gathered strength. She was safe now. Strange to think of safety in connection with Jordan Draken, but no more odd than anything else that had happened tonight…

No!

She suddenly rolled away from him and sat up, clutching the cover to her throat, her chest rising and falling.

He stiffened, and she thought he would pull her back down, but he did not. He only raised himself to lean his cheek on his hand. “You persist in making things difficult for yourself.”

“I only recognize the difficulty that is there.” She moistened her lips. “I’m very tired. May I lie down?”

He smiled and shifted slightly to one side. “It would be my pleasure. I never refuse a-” His smile faded as he met her gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I forgot, dammit. In certain circumstances words have a habit of flowing without thinking.”

His smile had been purely sensual, and she knew the circumstances to which he referred. She didn’t think he was a man who would speak without considering every import of his words. How many beds and how many women had made that response instinctive?

He said quietly, “You knew you were safe a moment ago. Nothing has changed.” He moved to his own pallet and sat down. “Except that you’re foolishly refusing something you need.”

She lay down on her pallet and pulled the cover up around her. “I have no need of you.”

“You need comfort, and I’m offering it.” She kept her head turned away, but she could feel his gaze on her face. “You’ll lie there, and fairly soon you’ll start to think and worry, and then you’ll begin to shake again.”

“That was a temporary weakness. I told you I was a little tired. I’m fine now.”

“The devil you are.”

She didn’t answer.

“Tell me about glassmaking.” He saw her tense and continued impatiently, “Not about the Window to Heaven. We’ve agreed not to talk about that.”

Not now. But the questions would come. When he thought she could give him what he wanted, there would come a time-

“Tell me about your work.”

“Why should I? It’s nothing to you.”

“Do you like doing it?”

“Of course, don’t be foolish.”

“How does it make you feel?”

She had never thought about it, she realized. It had just always been there, a part of her. She was no more able to separate her work from her life than color from a pane of glass. “Good. Bad. I get angry sometimes.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s quite true. Not if you don’t explain.”

Why not answer him? The subject was innocent enough. “There are times when you have the vision, and then your hands aren’t clever enough or the color isn’t right or it’s too thick and you don’t serve the sunlight.”

“Serve the sunlight?”

“It’s the light that streams through the windows that makes the glass come alive. Why else would we create, if not to serve the sunlight?”

“You make it sound as if you worship the sun god.”

She frowned. “I’m not a pagan.”

“I’m not so sure. What does it feel like when the work does go right?”

How could she describe it when there weren’t any words? “It’s like… something inside me flying apart.”

“Really? How painful.”

“It’s not. While it’s going on, it feels like a driving fever and yet… good, and then afterward there’s a wonderful sense of peace.” She helplessly shook her head. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

“On the contrary you’ve described a state with which I’m very familiar.” He paused and then chuckled in genuine amusement. “Yes, very familiar.”

She frowned, puzzled. “You’re an artist or craftsman?”

“I hope I can claim to raise my skill to artistry in some areas. What was your first work?”

“Flowers.” She closed her eyes to better visualize it. “A small panel, very simple, with yellow daffodils. Grandmama liked flowers.”

“Your grandmother taught you?”

“Grandmama and Mama.” Pain suddenly rushed back. Mama.

“Tell me about the daffodils,” he said quickly. “Did they serve the sunlight?”

Light streaming through brilliant yellow blossoms and making a pattern on the rush-strewn floor. Grandmama smiling proudly at her. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “They were beautiful. Everything was beautiful that day.”

“Did the daffodils have leaves?”

“Of course, I was only four, but I wouldn’t forget leaves. Pale green… The color wasn’t as true as the yellow, but they weren’t too bad…” She yawned. “Grandmama liked them. She liked every kind of flower. I said that, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The next year I did a panel with roses for her natal day. Pink roses… When the sun shone through it, the edges of the petals looked as if they were rimmed in gold. It was an accident with the stain, but Grandmama pretended I’d done it on purpose. The next year I gave her another one that I’d done correctly, but I think she liked the first one best.”

Pink roses, rimmed with gold, daffodils and memories of kindness and love. They were all blending together like the colors of a stained-glass panel seen from a great distance.

“I’m sure she did.”

She opened heavy lids to see him watching her, his expression enigmatic, his eyes the green of the daffodil leaves.

“Tell me again about the roses,” he said.

She had already told him too much, she realized. She had pushed him away, and he had only circled and come back to claim a greater intimacy than when he had held her. He had won.

No, it was she who had won. He had given her back loving memories to replace the ones rooted in pain. It didn’t matter what his motives were in giving her that gift; it could only heal and help her grow stronger.

“No.” She turned on her side, facing away from him. “The roses are mine.” She closed her eyes, deliberately shutting him out. She wanted to go back to that time when there was nothing but laughter and sunlight and Mama and Grandmama telling her that the gold around the petals was just right…

Wake up, Marianna.” Alex was shaking her. “We have to hurry. We’re going to England! You know, the place where Papa was born!”

She opened her eyes to see his excited face above her.

“On a boat, a big boat. And Jordan says I’ll see seagulls and dolphins and-”

“Shh.” She groggily sat up and brushed the hair from her forehead. “Let me wake up before you-” She stopped as she saw Jordan standing a few feet behind Alex framed against the pink pearl of the dawn sky.

“Alex is right,” His hand fell on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s nearly time to start.” He nodded at the pond a short distance away. “Refresh yourself and then come back and get some bread and cheese. We’ll not stop until evening.” He turned and sauntered over to the fire, where Gregor sat pulling on his boots.

He was acting as if the decision was already made. He had even told Alex that they were going to England. She stood up and started down the hill toward the pond.

Alex scampered on her heels. “We have to go to the seaport at Domajo where the boat is waiting. Jordan says it will take a full day to get there.”

Color bloomed in his cheeks, and he was more animated than she had seen him in days. He was full of the excitement of starting a new life, which only made her decision harder. What was best to do? Montavia was the only home she had ever known. The idea of leaving it was hard to contemplate.

She could stay. After all, it was not as if she didn’t have a skill. Perhaps she could find work in the capital.

She would not find work. No guild would accept a woman in their ranks; Mama and Grandmama had both fought that battle. If there was no way to earn a living at her craft, how would she and Alex live? Montavia had been stripped and torn of its riches by the war launched by the duke. The people in the towns she had encountered on her journey from Samda had been struggling just to stay alive and rebuild their lives. Only the thieves and whores seemed to be prospering in the ruins.

She shivered as she remembered the painted women they had encountered in the towns on their way from Samda. She would not be able to bear such a life.

Of course she could bear it. For Alex.

But only as the last resort, after she had tried every other means available.

The Jedalar. All her life she had been taught that when the time came to act, her duty was to the Jedalar. Her mother had made sure Marianna had memorized the secret and the plan of action that must be followed.

But her mother had not known the Window to Heaven would be destroyed. She did not yet have the required skill to bring the Jedalar to life, and surely no one could blame her if she chose temporary safety for both Alex and herself.

England.

Jordan Draken wanted her skill and the Jedalar, not her body. She would not have to become a whore if she went with him to England, and Alex would be safe from the duke of Nebrov.

She glanced up the hill to where Jordan was still talking to Gregor. He was so confident, so sure that he could mold her to his will. Sudden anger flared through her. She would not allow it. She would take what she and Alex needed from him and then leave this England and go wherever they chose.

She whirled and began furiously splashing water into her face.

“Hurry, Marianna,” Alex said. “Gregor says I can ride with him today. Did you see his horse? He said that he bought it in Kazan and that all horses are that large there. Do you suppose that’s true?”

“No, I think Gregor was teasing you.” She wiped her face and tidied her hair. “You must be careful not to believe everything these people tell you.”

“Good advice.” She lifted her head to see Jordan standing a few feet away. He continued blandly, “Gregor is given to embroidering stories. He says it makes life more interesting.”

“But you always tell the truth,” she said with irony.

“Whenever possible. I don’t agree with Gregor. I think lies only complicate matters. I prefer simplicity.” He turned to Alex. “Gregor is waiting for you.”

Alex flew up the hill.

“You’ll ride with me,” Jordan said to her. “We have no extra horses. We were traveling fast and brought no pack animals.”

“It wouldn’t matter. Neither Alex nor I know how to ride anyway.”

His brows lifted. “No? We’ll have to attend to that as soon as we reach England.”

“I didn’t say we were going with you.”

“But you are. You have courage, but courage isn’t enough when the odds are so great. You’re intelligent enough to know this is the best way out for you.”

“I’ll make sure it is.” She added bluntly, “I intend to take everything you’ll give me and give nothing in return.”

“That attitude isn’t new in my experience. I’ve lived with it all my life.” His tone was laden with weary cynicism. “But I’ve not been cheated in a good many years. It’s become a challenge to find ways of taking what I want too.”

“You won’t find a way this time.”

“Are you going to abandon your work to keep from developing the skill you need? I think not. I understand you a little bit better after last night. You love what you do. You have to work. It’s a passion.” He smiled. “I understand passion.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll create a Window to Heaven even after I’m capable of doing it.”

“True, but that’s where the challenge occurs.” He started up the hill. “I believe that, for reasons of your own, you want to do that window as much as I want you to do it. When we reach Cambaron, I’ll supply you with all the tools of your craft, and we’ll see if you can resist the temptation.”

“Cambaron? Your home?”

He nodded. “Go and get something to eat while I saddle my horse.”

Cambaron. Her hands clenched at her sides as she watched him walk away. She knew nothing about him or this place to which he was taking them, while she had revealed entirely too much to him last night. It made her feel frightened and uncertain.

She had to find a way to shift the scales.

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming?”

By the time she reached the group at the top of the hill, Alex was already mounted, sitting before Gregor on the giant bay horse, cradled in his arms.

“Good morning,” Gregor said. He held out a small leather-wrapped packet to her. “Bread and cheese. I saved it for you. You must rise early to snatch food from these fellows.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat it anyway. You ate practically nothing last night.” Jordan swung onto his horse. “We’ll wait.”

She already felt more helpless than she could bear, and she would not let him command her in a matter this small. “I’m not hungry,” she repeated with precision.

To her disappointment he didn’t argue. “As you like.” He walked his horse forward. “But don’t complain if you grow famished before evening.”

“I won’t complain.”

“No, you’ll suffer in silence.” He leaned down and lifted her onto his horse and settled her across the saddle in front of him. “As all proper martyrs should.”

His arms encircled her; the heat of his body on her back came as a shock. “For God’s sake, stop stiffening,” he said in her ear. “You’ll be a bag of bruises by the time we reach Domajo.”

“I told you I wasn’t accustomed to riding.” She was also not accustomed to being this close to a lean, masculine form. It was not like last night, when she had been conscious only of the comfort he offered. Today she was aware of every muscle, every texture and scent, of him. It… disturbed her. “I’m not comfortable.”

“Neither am I,” he murmured.

“Perhaps… I should change places with Alex.” She continued quickly, “Gregor’s horse is larger.”

“So is Gregor. You’ll have to be content with me.” He laughed grimly. “And I guarantee we’ll be more than accustomed to each other by the time we reach Domajo.” He pulled her back against him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“You can pretend you’re in a fine carriage. I’m sure you’d think that better than being held by my humble self.”

She closed her eyes but immediately realized it was not better; it was much worse. She again had the uneasy feeling she was flowing into him.

Her lids flicked open. “I prefer reality to pretense.”

“Pity,” he murmured. “When pretense offers so many attractive faces. I suppose you’ll just have to live with mine instead.”

A breeze, wet, salty, striking her face.

Voices, loud, strident, but not threatening.

“Take her, Gregor. She’s probably too stiff to stand.”

She slowly opened her lids. Green eyes looking into her own, those beautifully shaped lips. She wished he would smile…

The hands that lifted her from the horse were enormous. Gregor’s hands, Gregor smiling down at her when Jordan would not. She shouldn’t have worried about Alex waking to that scarred face, she realized sleepily. You noticed only the warmth of his smile. “We’re there?” she whispered.

He nodded. “It was a hard trip. You stood it well.”

Gray-white sails shimmering in the darkness…

Gregor was striding toward a ship.

“Alex?”

“He stood it even better. The scamp is running all over the dock.”

“He’ll fall in the water!” She was immediately awake and struggling in Gregor’s arms. “Let me down.”

“When we get to your cabin. Jordan is right, you need time to ease the stiffness.” He strode up the gangplank. “Don’t worry about the boy. Niko is watching him.”

She felt like a helpless child herself, being carried like this. “I’m perfectly able to walk.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Alex climbing on a huge box with Niko standing beside him.

“Niko has children of his own. He won’t let anything happen to him.”

As if to prove Gregor’s words, Niko laughed, plucked Alex from the box, and set him safely onto the dock. “I still want you to let me down, Gregor.”

Gregor studied her face and then set her down, but steadied her with a hand around her waist. “It makes you uneasy to feel helpless. Why did you not tell me? Most women like to feel cosseted.”

“I’m not accustomed to it.” She felt better on her feet but was glad of Gregor’s support. Her legs were numb, and her back felt as if she had been on the rack. “Where is Mr. Draken?”

“Jordan?” He nodded at a small building down the dock. “He had business with Janus. He will be here soon. He wants to sail on the midnight tide.”

“Janus?”

“Janus Wiczkows, Jordan’s cousin.” He turned as he saw a man approaching and hailed him. “Captain Braithwaite, what a pleasure to see your smiling face. Did you think we weren’t coming?”

The small man who stopped before them was not smiling; his long, deeply furrowed face seemed incapable of the act. He gave Gregor a dour look. “It took you long enough. I’ve been sitting in this port so long, I have barnacles on my own bott-”

“Permit me to introduce you to your passenger,” Gregor interrupted quickly. “Captain John Braithwaite, may I present Miss Marianna Sanders.”

The captain’s sour gaze raked over her, taking in the ragged garments with disapproval. “I told His Grace I would take none of his harlots on board my ship.”

Gregor’s smile faded. “It is Jordan’s ship, and I think he would be most upset if he heard you insult his… his…” He hesitated and then finished with a beaming smile. “His ward.”

“His ward?” Braithwaite echoed suspiciously.

Gregor nodded. “She is the daughter of Justin Sanders, Jordan’s close friend, who was killed in this terrible land a few weeks ago. Poor child. What trials and tribulations she has endured to escape death and dishonor. When we heard of Justin’s death, we searched ceaselessly until we found her and her small brother.”

Marianna stared at him in astonishment.

Gregor’s eyes were misting. “Do you know where we found them? In a church, praying for rescue. I cannot tell you how… touched and full of pain Jordan was when he found this poor girl.”

Touched. Pain. She remembered Jordan doubled over when she had struck him between the legs with the candelabra. Gregor slanted her a look from beneath his lashes, but his mournful expression didn’t change. “What could he do?” he continued. “The only thing any Christian soul would do. Take her back to England where she can be educated and given the chance to marry a man who will make her forget these tragic woes.”

“I believe not a tenth of this balderdash,” the captain said bluntly. “I’ve heard your tales before, Gregor.” He turned to Marianna. “What is your name, girl?”

“Marianna Sanders.” She met his gaze. “And my father is dead, and I am not a harlot.”

He studied her and then nodded slowly. “I believe you.” He turned and walked toward the gangplank. “In future let the girl tell the tale. She knows the value of brevity.”

Gregor looked after him, outraged. “It was a very good story. One of my best. Just enough truth to make it sound true.” He took her arm and propelled her along the deck. “And on the spur of the moment too.”

“Did you have to lie to him?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t let him insult you. He has a mind as narrow as his body, but he’s a good seaman. England rules the Mediterranean, but when we reach the Atlantic, we’ll need a good captain to avoid Napoleon’s navy. I thought it was better than crushing his head.”

She found herself smiling. “Much better.”

“But I should know more about you the next time. What was your father’s given name?”

“Certainly not Justin. His name was Lawrence.”

“We’ll make that his middle name. Justin Lawrence Sanders. It goes well together. What was his occupation?”

“He was a poet.”

“Jordan does not run with the literary set.” He frowned. “We will say they knew each other as boys at Oxford.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why is all this necessary?”

“Things in England are not as they are here. There are many people who are like the captain. It would not be… pleasant for you.” He smiled. “So we will make sure that there is nothing at which they can raise their brows or sneer.”

She felt a surge of warmth toward him even as she shook her head. “I’m not concerned with these English or what they think. I intend to work. Nothing else matters to me.”

“Then we will make sure you work in comfort and not be disturbed when the world brushes by you,” he said soberly. “But it will brush Alex more than you. You would not want him to be distressed by name-calling. It is clear you want only what is best for him.”

“He’s an innocent child,” she protested. “What names could they possibly call him?”

“If they cover you with their tar, then he will also be smeared. You do not wish this.”

“No.” She was beginning to dislike the thought of this England more each passing minute. She made an impatient gesture. “Very well, tell whatever story you wish.”

He smiled. “I promise you I will make it most interesting. There are many possibilities. Would you like to be the daughter of a princess?”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“Unfortunately, Jordan’s position makes that unlikely. There are always people at Cambaron.”

Jordan’s position. She suddenly remembered how the captain had referred to him. His Grace. She asked warily, “And what is his position?”

“Did he not tell you?” he asked, surprised. “Jordan is the Duke of Cambaron.”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

Power. Jordan Draken might hold as much power in his country as the Duke of Nebrov did in Montavia. The thought sent fear through her and made this journey to England appear even more threatening. “None of the men addressed him as Your Grace.”

“That’s because no one in Kazan recognizes any title but the ones granted by our own ravin.”

“Ravin?”

“Our leader. Our ravin is like your king Josef.”

She wasn’t interested in the intricacies of the Kazan monarchy. “What was an English duke doing in Kazan?”

For the first time he hesitated. “I cannot tell you.”

“It has something to do with the Window to Heaven.”

“Not entirely,” he said evasively. “Jordan has visited us many times.”

“Why does Kazan want-”

His big paw of a hand gently covered her lips. “Do not ask me. I know you feel uneasy and afraid and think knowledge will help you. I cannot tell you about Kazan. It is not my right.”

His expression was sympathetic, but she could see he would not be moved. She moved her head to escape his hand. “Then tell me about Cambaron.”

“Ah, it is a fine place. One of the richest estates in all England.” He again began to stroll down the deck. “You will like it.”

“Rich?” Bad fortune if Draken was not only titled but wealthy as well. His arsenal of weapons was growing by leaps and bounds.

“Very rich.” He beamed. “His father died when Jordan was only a lad of twelve, and he inherited vast mining and shipping interests.”

“How pleasant for him,” she said faintly.

“Pleasant but not good. Too much money tends to lead to debauchery, and Jordan was ever one to do things with more intensity than others. We became most concerned about him.”

“You knew him as a child?”

“Not exactly.” He paused before a polished oak door. “This is your cabin. Alex will be next door. Are you hungry?”

She was starved, she realized ruefully, just as Jordan had predicted. “Yes.”

“I will go to the galley and see if I can find something for you and Alex.” His gaze went over her. “You are very thin…”

She smiled. “You intend to fatten me up?”

He chuckled. “No, after I bring you food, I intend to go ashore and purchase you clothing to cover that skinny body. Jordan said you and Alex must have something to wear on the journey besides those rags.”

“I wouldn’t want to offend His Grace,” she said ironically.

“You would not.” He opened the door for her. “I’ve seen him more ragged than you on occasion. He only wants your comfort.”

“That’s not all he wants.”

His smile faded. “No, that is true. He wants the Window. Can you give it to him?”

“I will never give it to him,” she said passionately.

“Can and will are different words. You’re saying it is possible.” He shook his head. “I was hoping you would say no.”

“I don’t lie.”

“It would be safer for you if you did. Jordan will not stop until he gets it, you know.” He moved his big shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. “But we need not think about that now. We will enjoy what we have and worry tomorrow.”

“I do not intend to worry about it at all.” She suddenly smiled and said gently, “But I thank you for your concern, Gregor.”

“So much for warnings.” He sighed and turned away. “I will have Niko bring Alex to you.”

“Are Niko and the other men going with us to England?”

“No, they return with Janus to Kazan.” He smiled. “So you will have only Jordan and me with whom to contend. Does not that make you happy?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but sauntered away immediately.

She lit the candle on the small table by the door and surveyed the tiny cabin. Its furnishings consisted only of a chest, a small bunk, and a washstand, but it was pristine. She was the only dirty object in the room, she thought wearily. She smelled of horse and was so grimy she doubted if she would be able to do more than remove the surface layer at that washstand.

Well, she would do what she could and ask about the possibility of a tub for a bath later. Cleansing herself would at least give her something else to think about besides the disturbing information Gregor had imparted.

Jordan watched Gregor as he strode down the dock toward him. The man could barely see over the stack of boxes and cloth wrapped bundles in his arms.

“Did you buy out all of Domajo?” Jordan asked dryly.

“How could I? Most of the shops were closed. I even had to persuade a few of the merchants to open their doors for me.”

Jordan had seen Gregor’s arts of persuasion. He started with a smile, but it usually ended with him knocking the door down. “I told you I wanted only enough for the journey. Domajo is hardly a center of fashion.”

“Marianna will not know that, and perhaps a pretty gown will raise her spirits. I wish I could have found more for her.” He balanced carefully as he strode up the gangplank. “What did Janus say?”

“What you would expect him to say. He wasn’t pleased.”

“The ravin will be even less so.”

“Unfortunate. I’m doing all that I can.”

“They know that,” Gregor said quietly. “It will just be a disappointment. They worry about Napoleon. They’re afraid he will make his move too soon.”

“The whole world worries about Napoleon.”

“Do not bite at me when you want to bite at him.” He grinned. “Or I will knock you off this gangplank into the water as I would have done when you were a boy.”

Jordan smiled reluctantly. “No, you won’t. You wouldn’t wish to drop all those gauds you bought for your dove.”

“True. I would wait.” He shifted the packages. “There is the captain on the bridge. You should know I told him Marianna and Alex are your wards. You went to school with their father, who was killed in the war. His name was Justin Lawrence Sanders, and he was a poet.”

“Wards?” Jordan said, stunned.

“I could think of nothing else on the spur of the moment.” He frowned. “Though I admit casting you in the staid role of guardian is not very plausible.”

“Nor in the least realistic.”

“It will have to do.” Gregor’s jaw set stubbornly. “You may have to rob them of the Jedalar, but you must cause them no further hurt.”

Jordan’s lips thinned. “I have no intention of hurting them.”

“You could hurt them just by being who you are.”

“The Devil incarnate?” Jordan asked caustically.

“No, nothing so omnipotent. Merely the Duke of Diamonds.” Gregor grimaced. “But it is still enough to ruin any innocent who is seen with you.”

The Duke of Diamonds. The ridiculous title left a sour taste in his month. Christ, he could remember when the sobriquet had amused him, when he had even encouraged its use. But that had been at a time when he had embraced every pleasure and sexual excess with a recklessness that had made him a legend even at a court notorious for its debauchery. “I have no intention of being seen in company with this particular innocent.”

“You intend to shut her in a dungeon and let her out only when she can give you what you want?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said testily.

“Or you could leave her here. We could tell Niko to find her a place of safety. You said yourself that it is a gamble. She may never be capable of giving you the Jedalar.”

“It’s a gamble I intend to take.”

“Then we must do what is necessary for her well-being.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“I have already thought about it. She is your ward, and when we arrive at Cambaron, we will get her a maid to accompany her and…” He paused. “What do they call them… an abigail?”

“Good God, a chaperon?”

“Of course, and then we can all live in peace and tranquillity.” He shot him a sly look. “And your sudden virtue will redeem you in the eyes of the dowagers at Bath.”

“I would have to become a monk to accomplish that feat.”

“It is true they consider you lost to sin, but anything is possible.” The captain was coming down the steps from the bridge, and Gregor said quickly, “It is only a small thing. It will do you no harm to protect the girl.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be protected?”

“She will accede to anything for the sake of the boy.”

That was true enough. The girl had demonstrated she would walk through fire to safeguard Alex. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know,” Gregor said. “And I think it is not because it will make you a favorite among the dowagers. You do not want her protected. Why?”

“She’s a hostage of war.” He smiled cynically. “It’s going to be difficult enough winning what I want from her. Why should I let you strengthen her position when I prefer her vulnerable?”

Gregor’s gaze searched his face, and then he slowly shook his head. “I do not think that is the complete reason. You may want her weak and vulnerable, but-”

“I didn’t say weak,” Jordan said sharply.

“No, that would be a blasphemy in one so strong and bold,” Gregor murmured. “Ah, and you admire strength. It attracts you like a glowing fire. Perhaps you want to-”

“I want you to stop making surmises that have no basis in fact.” Jordan turned and walked toward the captain.

“I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast,” Gregor called after him, and then added even more loudly, “I must take these packages to your poor wards.”

He had made sure the captain heard his words, Jordan thought with annoyance. Whether he liked it or not, Gregor was trying to make sure his dove was settled safely in the niche he had placed her.