Part 6 (2/2)
It would probably include a ransom.
Eerily, he echoed her thoughts. ”I imagine your father would pay well to get you back.”
”What do you know about my father?” she lashed.
”I know he owns the company you work for.”
At last she understood his motivation for taking her.
Ransom. Of course.
Nothing else made sense.
”You ought to do a little more research on your intended victims, because my father wouldnat pay a dime to get me back.” There. Shead given him the unvarnished truth.
”Are you asking me to believe he doesnat care about his only child?”
”I donat give a d.a.m.n what you believe.” She wished the steps had a handrail, anything to give the illusion of protection from a hard fall.
He laughed, a low sound of amus.e.m.e.nt that licked along her spine. ”If your father is truly indifferent to you, thatas good to know. I wonat have to worry about him sending help.”
”No,” she said bitterly. ”You donat have to worry about that.”
”Donat step on the fourth from the top.”
She wavered, counting, then took a long step up. ”If youall get me a hammer and some nails, Iall fix that for you,” she said sarcastically.
”In case of attack from a mercenary group with aspirations to my valley and my territory, those steps will give me the extra seconds I need to slaughter a few more of them.”
”Oh.” She used her elbows to inch her way up on the platform. The two-by-eight boards were springy, the nail heads were rusty, and when she looked down she could see the ground through the gaps in the boards.
He grinned as he watched her get as close as possible to the tent and stand, half stooped over, ready to drop in case the platforma”or the worlda” tried to send her tumbling over the edge.
She looked out. ”Is that likely? An attack? And slaughter?”
”Slaughter is a time-honored tradition on the border.” Lightly he sprang up to stand beside her, observing every minuscule movement down in the valley and up in the mountains. ”But donat worry. The valley is almost impenetrable. Attackers have to climb the mountain that surrounds it before they can rappel down the cliffs, and while they do, weall pick them off like ducks in a shooting gallery.”
”What if they use helicopters?”
”No mercenaries here are so well funded.” Catching her wrist, he pulled her along the narrow ledge toward the entrance.
For one alarming moment she looked over the edge and all the way down. Just as in her nightmares, the ground rushed up to meet her. She took an unwary step back, stumbled on a tent peg, and almost went over onto her rear. As her arms windmilled, she swallowed a scream.
Warlord dragged her forward, into his arms, and steadied her. ”Youare afraid of heights.”
”No, Iam not.” At least, she shouldnat be. Not when there was so much more immediate to be afraid of.
”Thatas the nightmare that wakes you from sleep.”
She denied it automatically. ”No, itas not.”
”These are the highest mountains in the world. The most dangerous. If youare afraid, why did you take this job?”
”Iam not afraid,” she said, her teeth gritted.
The sun was gone. The starsa light barely glistened. The campfires flickered far below, and she couldnat really see his face. But by the tilt of his head she knew he studied her, and just as it had been on those nights when he visited her tent, she thought he saw clearly in the dark.
She didnat want him to see her afraid. Fear always unleashed that awful mockery, so she tilted her chin up and smiled tightly. ”I have a question. Will you share me with your men?” She shouldnat have suggested it, but she had to know.
There were too many men out there, and shead take that nosedive off the mountain if it came to a choice between that and them.
Catching the front of her s.h.i.+rt in his fist, he leaned close to her face, and when he spoke, his breath caressed her face. ”I do not share what is mine. And you are mine; make no mistake about that. Mine forever.”
”Forever is a very, very long time.”
”An eternity.” Unseen and unantic.i.p.ated, he swept her into his arms, and in a symbolism that wasnat lost on Karen, he strode to and through the opening in the tent.
Chapter Eight.
Warlordas arms tightened around Karen.
Welcome home, my bride.”
Yes. Head laid his claim to her, and treated her like a bride, but a bride from the days when men captured their women and held them by force until they trained them to be docile.
He would have a h.e.l.l of a wait. ”You might want to keep an eye on your bride, or sheall stick a knife between your ribs.”
”Every relations.h.i.+p has its small difficulties to work out.” He let her slip down and onto her feet.
”Wow.” In all her years of roughing it, Karen had never seen anything like this. Two LED camp lanterns hung on hooks up by the ceiling and shed a white light on the tentas s.p.a.cious interior. The outer sh.e.l.l would attract no notice at all in any American camp-ground, but inside . . . a sumptuous handcrafted wool carpet covered the floor, and huge tapestries hung along the walls. To insulate against the cold, Karen supposed, but also to lend the richness of their beauty to a wandereras abode.
Yet a mana”a raidera”had seized what he liked. When she faced one direction a graceful tree of life grew on a green background. Another direction and a medieval knight pranced across a field. One wall was a modern rendering of a blue lake at twilight, and the other a graceful arch with pink roses spilling onto a path. The carpet was a glorious Kashmiri rug in cream, burgundy, and black.
”I guess the term afeng shuia means nothing to you, huh?”
”Iam not into Chinese food.”
Was he being funny? She couldnat tell, and she sure as h.e.l.l wasnat going to laugh.
The rest of the furniture was as much of a hodgepodge as the tapestriesa”there were two chests, a French provincial desk, an ergonomic desk chair, a coffee table with cus.h.i.+ons tossed around it for casual seating, or maybe for dining, Karen didnat know which. She didnat care. For there was also the bed. . . .
Ah, the bed.
It was nothing more than a queen-sized mattress set on the floor on a bed frame without legs, with a bra.s.s headboard and footboard and a canopy of mosquito netting. The posts shone as if someone polished it daily, a narrow leather holster was strapped to one upright bedpost, pillows billowed flirtatiously, and the whole glorious contraption should have whispered of sin and seduction.
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