Читать книгу Taming the Prince - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 9

Oh, man. Shane was ninety-nine percent sure he could tell what Miss Sara Wallington was thinking right now, without having to ask her a single question. Because, whether she realized it or not, she was giving off clues like nobody’s business. Really good clues, too. Clues he wanted very badly to pick up and run with. Maybe that washroom at the front of the cabin could prove useful after all…

The thought was just forming in his brain when the small jet suddenly gave a lurch. Automatically, Shane gripped the arms of his seat, but not before he was thrown sideways by another jolt. Then forward by another. And backward by another. Immediately, his gaze flew to Sara’s. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

She shook her head, her expression—and her ferocious stranglehold on the arms of her own seat—indicating that she was clearly as alarmed as he. But where Shane would have expected someone in a pink sweater and pearls and a bun to fasten her seat belt and start wringing her hands and muttering something like, “We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die,” what Sara Wallington did was leap up from her seat and march forward, stating in no uncertain terms, “I have no idea what the hell that was, but I intend to find out.”

No sooner had she stood, however, than the jet began to execute a fierce turn, something that threw her right back into her seat in an awkward sprawl. For one long moment, the jet banked so sharply and so swiftly that neither of them could rise from their seats. When the vessel finally did come out of the turn, though, Sara immediately jumped up again and began her forward march once more.

Shane was about to leap up right behind her when Fawn the flight attendant came striding down the aisle toward them, brushing one hand over the backs of the seats as she came, as if she were preparing for another one of the jet’s odd maneuvers. Reluctantly, he eased back into his seat, because he figured she was going to reassure them that everything was fine, they’d just hit a little turbulence, had had to change course to avoid more, and how about another Scotch or champagne to tide them over for the remainder of the flight, hmm? But instead of reassuring them, as the curvy brunette drew nearer, she whipped out a small automatic pistol and pointed it right at Sara’s heart.

All in all, it wasn’t a development that Shane had anticipated.

“You’ll do well to take your seat, Miss Wallington,” Fawn said in an even cooler, crisper tone than Sara had been using herself on this flight. And that was saying something. “Otherwise,” she added just as coldly, “I shall be obliged to shoot you.”

And again Shane’s pink-sweater-and-pearls-wearing companion surprised him. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said coolly as she stepped forward, and in one fluid effort disarmed the other woman with a good swift kick to her hand. Without hesitation, Sara then scooped up the dropped weapon, grabbed the flight attendant and spun her around into a chokehold that would have done Hulk Hogan proud, and pointed the weapon right at Fawn’s head.

Shane’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, but before he could say a word, the other flight attendant—a man—and one of the pilots, likewise a man, appeared in the aisle beyond Sara and Fawn, each of them armed with their own weapons.

“Release her and sit down, Miss Wallington,” one of the men said.

As he spoke, Fawn began to struggle with Sara, and in the ensuing altercation, Sara dropped the pistol again, but tore the sleeve of the flight attendant’s uniform. On her exposed forearm, Fawn bore a tattoo, an ugly black dagger, which was something Shane thought an odd choice for a woman like her. He would have had her pegged for a long-stemmed rose. Or a unicorn, maybe. Something fluffy and harmless.

Until Sara, too, noted the mark and said, “I should have known. Black Knights.”

Her voice dripped with contempt when she said it, leading Shane to believe she knew exactly what she was talking about, even if he was totally clueless.

“Of course we’re Black Knights,” the male flight attendant agreed with an evil smile, holding his gun steady on Sara as Fawn scooped up the dropped weapon and did likewise with it. “Who else would we be?”

“Dissidents,” Sara said, and Shane knew she was providing the information for his benefit. “They’re traitors to the crown.”

Fawn made a soft tsking sound in objection. “Please, Miss Wallington,” she said. “We’re activists, not traitors.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Sara agreed bitterly. “You actively participate in dissension, treason and terrorism. Sorry for the confusion.”

“We have a very noble cause,” Fawn told her. “We want independence for the people of Penwyck.”

“The people of Penwyck are already independent,” Sara said.

“They won’t be if this alliance with Majorco goes through,” the pilot objected. “And joining with the United States for any reason is certain to make the country dependent on the evil empire.”

“Oh, please.” It wasn’t Sara who took exception this time, but Shane. “Evil empire?” he added. “C’mon, guys. Drag yourselves into the twenty-first century already.”

But the Black Knights ignored him—except for the pilot, who aimed his pistol directly at Shane’s head.

“Fascists,” Sara spat at them. “You’ll never win, you know. Your only support comes from within. The people of Penwyck love their king and queen and trust them to do what’s best for the country, as indeed they will. You’re nothing but scum, all of you.”

At that, Fawn stepped forward, doubled her fist and backhanded Sara as hard as she could across the face. “We will succeed in our cause,” she said levelly as Sara immediately straightened again.

And Shane had to hand it to the pink sweater, because Sara didn’t so much as raise a hand to her face to acknowledge the strike. He, on the other hand, lurched out of his seat with the intention of charging Fawn, stopping only when the pilot extended his arm meaningfully, sharpening his aim. Shane honestly wasn’t sure what he’d planned to do when he’d reacted as he had. He’d certainly never considered himself to be the kind of man capable of striking a woman. But he also knew there was no way in hell he’d let anyone get away with hitting Sara Wallington.

Not unless, you know, they pulled a gun on him.

Sara extended an arm across the aisle to stop Shane from going too far, even before he stopped himself. “It’s all right,” she told him.

“The hell it is,” he retorted, still poised for attack, his entire body humming with the adrenaline that pumped through it. He couldn’t begin to understand what was going on, but the danger was clear, and he was naturally itching to do something about it. The problem was he just couldn’t imagine what to do that wouldn’t end up with a gunshot wound to either him or Sara, or both, one that might potentially be fatal.

“It’s pointless to fight them,” Sara said, clearly speaking to Shane. “They outnumber us, and they’ll kill us both without a thought.”

“Indeed we will,” Fawn said, angling her gun on Sara again.

Which, Shane had to admit, was infinitely more effective in keeping him at bay than pointing a gun at him was, something Fawn obviously realized. Dammit.

“In fact,” she added, “I don’t see why we need to keep you alive anyway. We have the diamonds we came after, after all.”

“Fawn!” the pilot rasped. “You stupid git! Don’t say another word!”

The flight attendant looked properly chastened, but a bitter fire still burned in her eyes.

“Diamonds?” Sara asked. “I’ve never known the Black Knights to take an interest in fine jewelry.”

Evidently unable to keep herself quiet, Fawn piped up again, “They’re to finance—”

“Fawn!” the pilot interjected once more. “Shut your trap.”

“Yes, do, please, Fawn,” Sara cajoled. “You’re becoming tedious.”

Fawn doubled her fist and raised her hand once more, and Shane prepared to spring forward to… Do something in retaliation. But the other flight attendant tugged Fawn backward, nudging her behind himself, and took her place instead.

“Sit,” the pilot told Sara as if he were speaking to a cowering spaniel. “Sit, Miss Wallington, or die. And if you die, then where will that leave the future king of Penwyck, eh?”

“I’m not the future king,” Shane quickly pointed out. “I’m just a construction worker from SoCal who’d rather be surfing.”

The man turned his attention to Shane and grinned an evil little smile. “Well, we don’t know that for sure, now, do we? And neither do the king and queen. Oh, you have value to us, Mr. Cordello. You have no idea how much. Now return to your seats,” the man repeated. “We’ll be landing shortly.”

“Where?” Sara demanded.

He chuckled. “As if we’d tell you.” Then he smiled. “All right. Not Penwyck. There. That should narrow it down for you.”

“And what will happen when we get there?” Sara commanded.

The man’s smile broadened. “You ask too many questions, Miss Wallington. You and Mr. Cordello are safe for the time being, provided you do exactly as you are told and don’t try to escape. But if you try anything improper, we will kill you.” He turned his icy gaze on Shane then, too. “Both of you. In the world of the Black Knights, all people are created equal, whether they be a mere student or heir to the throne.”

“Meaning all life is equally cheap to you,” Sara said flatly.

In reply, the man only turned his gaze back to her and smiled that grim smile again.

And somehow Shane knew that none of it was true. Not that the Black Knights were activists. Not that all people were created equal in their world. Not that their cause was a noble one. Not that he and Sara were safe.

And not that Sara was a mere student, either. He just wished he knew for sure who—and what—she really was.

Sara wasn’t surprised when she exited the jet approximately two hours later—with her hands bound behind her back and her cheek throbbing from where the ferocious Fawn had struck her—to find that they had landed on a deserted, poorly lit tarmac out in the middle of nowhere. Of course, she couldn’t be positive that two hours had passed, but she was reasonably sure that was how long they had remained in flight after the hijacking. She’d been forced to guesstimate the passage of time, as the Black Knights had taken her watch. And her pearls. And her textbooks. And her purse and luggage. And her shoes.

Strangely, it was the textbooks about which she was most concerned. She did hope the Black Knights didn’t examine them too closely. And she hoped she got them back eventually. They’d been frightfully expensive.

She had only been able to guess at what their final destination might be, as well, though she had done her best to gauge the jet’s direction at one point by opening the screen over the window beside her seat and noting the position of the moon and stars. Unfortunately, one of the terrorists had seen what she was doing—hence her tied hands—and had slammed the screen back down again. Before he’d managed to do so, however, Sara had been able to discern with some confidence that they had been heading southeast. Which would have put them in Spain, or perhaps Portugal.

Nevertheless, with it being night, she had been unable to determine anything in the landscape that might have proven to be a landmark—no mountains, no shorelines, no lakes, nothing. The air was cooler and crisper than what she was accustomed to, not to mention surprisingly windy, leading her to believe they were at a higher elevation than one might find in Penwyck. But with so many variables in place, she honestly couldn’t say with any real certainty where they were.

Of one thing, however, she was completely certain: she and Shane could be dead by dawn if they didn’t behave exactly as they were told.

The Black Knights were a nasty group, completely without morals or scruples. They wouldn’t balk at killing a young student or a man who might be king. They wouldn’t balk at killing anyone. Over the last decade, they’d been responsible for a number of assassination attempts on King Morgan, and numerous episodes of political sabotage. Oh, they’d started off as a small faction of seemingly ineffective upstarts, but it hadn’t been long before they’d organized into a formidable enemy of the crown. They were even suspected of kidnapping Prince Owen of Penwyck, and Sara couldn’t help wondering now just how deeply their involvement had run in a number of other intrigues that had plagued the royal family over the years. Certainly they were capable of just about anything.

Her right cheek throbbed again, reminding her that she probably had a very impressive black eye by now. Honestly, she wouldn’t have thought the tittering Fawn would have even known how to make a fist, let alone use one. Just the first of many mistakes that Sara now realized she had been making since leaving L.A. The first had been in trusting that the crew who boarded Her Majesty’s jet in L.A. were the same ones who regularly flew with the royal family—clearly, they were not. The second had been in assuming that their flight would be a boring, uneventful one—clearly, it had not been.