Читать книгу Frozen - Morgan Q O'Reilly - Страница 5

Chapter 1

“No one will ever be able to convince me that Hell never freezes over,” Noreen muttered as she looked over the flat, frozen vista on the far side of the thick window before her.

Blinking travel fatigue from her eyes, she focused past the reflected images of the people behind her in the large Ryadstholm Depot, many rushing in from the huge inter-galaxy cruiser on the launch pad. Even more were lining up to board it. Instead, all she saw was white landscape against a midnight-black sky. Outdoor lighting obscured the stars.

Just before opening the doors to let her disembark, the captain had said the early morning temperature was fifty degrees below zero, Celsius. Her guess would put it down around minus sixty. Not that it mattered much. Cold was cold.

“This isn’t Hell,” a deep voice replied from behind her shoulder. As she shivered, she saw a blond man’s reflection in the window. “Noreen Tibbetts?” The voice was slightly hesitant, as if reading from a slip of paper. A different kind of shiver traveled down her spine. One that made her feel a little warmer.

Turning to face the speaker, she didn’t appreciate the look of amused condescension before his eyes traveled the length of her body and returned to her face. Their gazes met, and she found herself mesmerized by the deepening of his already dark blue eyes. Dimly aware of a faint ringing in her ears, much like the sound of two pieces of heavy steel colliding, she fought for control as his stare fanned a tiny spark of heat deep inside. Shaking her head slightly to break the heat wave rising between them, she purposely ignored the shocked look he wore as she stepped back until a row of connected chairs stopped her retreat.

She wasn’t staying long enough to dally with the locals. Especially not these locals. Still, had they been this magnificent before she left? After all, Hans, her bodyguard, was a very fine specimen of manhood, but this man made him look like a thug. Oh Freya, don’t think about such things. This man was an escort, nothing more. A transport driver. Chauffer. Hired help.

“Fine, have it your way. Helvete.” She gave him an insincerely sweet smile to cover her sudden lack of breath and wildly beating heart. No need for panic attacks!

His gaze had just wandered to her secretary, Fiona, obviously waiting with her, but cut immediately back to Noreen at her use of the local term. Let him figure out how she knew the old Nordic word for Hell. She knew the word in more languages than he was probably even aware existed.

Before he could question her, she regained control of her emotions and nodded to the bulky bundle in his hands. “Is that for me?”

“Yes. I wasn’t told there were two of you, though.” Uncertainly he set down a pair of boots and held out an insulated parka and high-waisted pants that matched the outerwear he wore. His unzipped parka showed a thin, white silk undershirt clinging to what looked like a muscular chest. “They’ll be more comfortable without the jeans and sweater you’re wearing.”

Ignoring the lift of his eyebrow and the challenge in his eyes, she squared her shoulders, took the outerwear from him and set it on a chair. “My secretary has accommodations here and will see to the bulk of my luggage. That pile will go with me now.” With a wave of her hand she indicated half a dozen soft and hard cases, then grasped the bottom of her wool sweater and lifted it over her head. Hans, with the help of Sophie, her personal maid, had control of the trunks and suitcases that made this pile look like luggage for a day trip.

The blond man’s gulp was loud enough for her to hear as she carefully pulled the sweater over her neatly coiled hair. Bet he wasn’t expecting her to strip down in the public lounge to the clinging fire-red silk shirt she wore under a bright blue wool sweater. Handing the discarded garment to Fiona, Noreen quickly toed off her woolen shoes and shimmied out of her jeans.

Lust flared in his eyes as his gaze swept her lower body encased by clinging silk leggings to match the top. Disregarding the sudden pebbling of her nipples in response to the nearly physical caress of his perusal, Noreen glanced at Fiona and saw her secretary smirking at the man’s reaction. So he noticed she only wore the long silk underwear and no other under items?

Knowing she’d be in tight quarters for a few days, she’d opted out of wearing additional under things. Stepping into the thick cold-weather pants, Noreen added an extra wiggle as they slid up over her hips. When she felt her unbound breasts jiggle in response, she glanced up in time to see his jaw tighten. Yup, he noticed. Not laughing was a strain as she watched him shuffle his feet and make a point of looking away.

“So, handsome escort, what might your name be?” A quick tug tightened the shoulder straps that held up the garment. Through the silk of her leggings, the soft fur lining was a lover’s caress against her body. Fur seal, a distant cousin to the seals of Earth, highly prized for its deep sable softness. Per local custom, she mentally sent a sigh of thanks to the spirit of the animal who’d given up its life to feed the tribesmen, and its skin to keep her warm. One of the very rare luxuries of living on the iceball, known to the universe as Nordia.

After a startled frown, a slow smile spread across his face at her impertinent tone. It was almost too easy to bet no one usually talked to him so casually. Liked a sassy female, did he? Maybe the trip would be entertaining after all.

“Gunnar. Gunnar Zaren. Princess Coreen personally asked me to make sure you arrived in Stravicsholm safe and whole.”

“I’m honored.” It was hard keeping the sarcastic tone from her voice, and she muffled it further by turning to pick up the parka after stomping her feet into the tribal-made fur-lined boots he’d also brought along. Thankfully they were broken in and the waterproof tanned skin soles molded softly to her feet.

Yeah, I just bet Cory asked you personally, the cynical thought crept into her mind and she swiftly kicked it away as well. No lusting after locals and no trashing royalty. Even if she did outrank Cory. Gunnar didn’t know that and didn’t need to. Let him find out in a couple weeks when she was six star systems away.

Fiona finished folding her discarded clothes, and zipped them into the nearest case.

“How long will it take to reach Stravicsholm?” her secretary asked her escort, as the last piece of luggage was grabbed by a porter and loaded onto a trolley.

Noreen watched the porter head out the door toward a bright orange transport as she searched the pockets of the parka for mittens. Compact and boxy, the cab of the snow crawler rode high over articulated tracks instead of wheels. She’d have to climb a short ladder into the vehicle. Right, in this bulky gear. Was it too much to hope the cab would be warm enough to unzip the parka? She suppressed a frown when her luggage was stored in the cargo bay at the back. If it froze, there’d be hell to pay long before they reached their destination.

“Three days if the weather holds. A storm could delay us by a day or more.”

Noreen glanced back in time to see Gunnar’s eyes assess the cool blonde who nodded sharply. Yeah, he could see Fiona had the local look and the questions were beginning to rise in his mind.

“I’ll try to check in along the way.” Noreen turned to her secretary, eager to dispatch her before he started asking those questions. “Leave word at the palace in care of Princess Coreen’s name when you get settled, just to make sure there hasn’t been a change since we made the reservations.”

“Yes, of course. Travel safe.”

Noreen felt an extra squeeze as Fiona embraced her. Fi knew how hard this visit would be. “Look after the other two,” Noreen added with a whisper.

Fiona kissed her cheek then stepped back. “I’ll see to everything. You just enjoy the trip. As much as possible, anyway,” she added in an undertone.

For the first time in more than ten years, Noreen was heading off without at least one of her staff of three in attendance. Stepping, unchaperoned, into a small transport, with a man who looked like he wanted to spend the trip in bed with her. Why had she agreed to leave Hans in Ryadstholm? After quelling the sudden knot of nervousness in her stomach, it also occurred to her it was her first visit home since her sixteenth birthday. The very day she’d grabbed Fiona and left the planet in an attempt to avoid her fate. Fate, it seemed, had more ways than one to skin the proverbial cat. She tried to ignore the little voice that said one more life had just slipped away.

* * * *

Four hours later, Noreen caught herself shifting in her seat with impatience as the snow crawler lived up to its name. Reasonably insulated from the harsh elements, she huddled in the soft luxury of her parka and stared out of the large cab windows. The grinding pace of the tracks was perfectly designed to travel across the many layers of white crystals covering Nordia’s frozen tundra. She struggled to ignore the muffled, but steady clanking of the transport, which grated further on her already irritated nerves. Her mind was occupied trying to figure out whether Cory’s frantic plea for her to return home really meant Fader was deathly ill. Knowing Cory, it could have just been one last desperate ruse to get her home at last.

Shivering, Noreen glanced at the blue glow of the clock on the control panel, which emitted beeps and small flashes from various lights finally agree to come home. Was Fader sick or not? Was it a trumped-up cold or was it serious? Cory’s silence on the matter was enough to make her want to scream.

“Where are we stopping tonight?” Noreen scanned the map in her head. One thousand very long kilometers, over frozen ground, at this tedious speed seemed endless. Just six days ago she’d been dancing in the sun, many light years away from this frozen Hell. And now...now…she was slowly crawling the last thousand klicks.

“We aren’t stopping tonight. We’re joining a convoy in a few hours. Once that happens we’ll connect to the vehicle in front and then it’s easy for the next two days.”

And nights. The unspoken words shimmered almost visibly in the frigid air between them.

“What do you mean?” An odd chill settled in deeper than anything this cold place and this disturbing man had already done to her. She pulled the hood of her parka up around her ears and wrapped the coat tighter about her body.

“I won’t have to steer.” He shot her another smile that said he thought she was cute in her ignorance. “Then we can talk, or find other ways to amuse ourselves.”

Ignorant. Yes, she was ignorant of peasant ways. When she’d left this place ten years earlier she’d done it in style in a galaxy cruising-rocket. Only peasants traveled by these slow transports, and in convoys, taking days to reach their destinations.

By normal transport, in three days, she could be several star systems away. On a world without one spot of snow. A world where white was from time to time. Nearly noon, the sun was just barely peeking above the horizon to the south, far behind them. The elongated rays sent even longer-looking shadows out in front of them, like misshapen fingers pointing north, pushing them further into the dark chill. Another day or two, and the sun wouldn’t rise at all for six weeks, only providing a glowing red spot on the southern horizon for a few minutes each day.

Folding her arms as best she could, Noreen rubbed her cheek against the hood pushed back from her face but still warming her head. The heater of the transport worked only well enough to keep the front and side windows clear of frost. A glance at the digital readouts for the interior and exterior temperatures showed her it was seven degrees Celsius inside, with a midday high of minus fifty outside. Gunnar didn’t seem bothered by it. He wore his parka unzipped and had tossed his heavy outer mitts aside in favor of thin, woolen, knit gloves.

With a heavy sigh, she once again cursed the communication last week. Damn Coreen for dragging her back to the one planet she never wanted to see again! Not even in pictures. A place she hated so much, anything white was banished from her sight, lest it remind her of where she’d been born. Leave it to her sister to be the one to drag her back. Only by hinting at Fader’s failing health did Coreen get Noreen to banned. Not even the sea foam dared appear white. Beaches were gold, sea foam was aquamarine, and every cabana boy was tanned a deep, golden brown.

“What I don’t understand,” she spoke slowly, so he wouldn’t miss a single word, “is why we have to travel this way at all. Why can’t we fly in? Why couldn’t the inter-galaxy land closer to Stravicsholm?” At the very least she should have been able to catch an intercontinental express rocket, which should have been able to land within a half-day’s ride of the main capital, not three.

“Weather. This point in the season, it isn’t safe to blast in and out so far north. It’s barely safe enough to land near Ryadstholm. Besides, the reindeer and musk oxen herds don’t like the racket so we’ve returned to the old ways. Slower, but life is so much better. Relax, princess, and enjoy the ride.”

Noreen merely glared at the implied insult of the princess remark. She also wasn’t sure she liked the grin on Gunnar’s face. Handsome enough that he knew it all too well, his smile bordered on lecherous in her mind, his tone too smooth. Blond hair, nearly as white as the snow outside, brushed his shoulders, and he had the traditional blue eyes of the Nordian people. Traditional in that they were blue. Not so traditional in that they were a deep blue, sparkling with tiny flecks of what looked like silver. Fey eyes. The eyes of a spirit man. The rest of him was remarkable as well. Square chin, square jaw, providing an aristocratic frame for smooth skin the color of bleached maple, a very light golden brown. Warm vanilla. From what she could tell, under his outer clothing he seemed to have a body to match. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to be checking out his body close up.

“Wait. We’re not stopping?” She frowned. “Where will we sleep?”

When Gunnar shot another tolerant smile at her, she had the urge to slap it off his face. The man’s arrogance apparently knew no bounds. He reached over his shoulder and pushed a button. A thin panel slid open to reveal a cabin behind them. She turned to get a better look. Behind Gunnar’s seat was a plastic, half-height, open-topped cabinet with a showerhead over it. Inside, sat a self contained toilet. One step away, behind her seat, was a small fridge under a single radiant burner next to an equally small counter, barely big enough to assemble a sandwich on. Along the back wall was another low cabinet, presumably holding other necessities. Where were the beds? Was there enough room for stacked bunks?

“See the panel on the back wall?”

“Yes.” It looked like a painting. White landscape with the night sky striped by the polar lights. How typically Nordian.

“It swings down to make a platform bed.”

“A bed,” she repeated, not wanting to comprehend. It would come down to rest on the half-height cabinets and span the entire depth and width of the cabin.

“The bed,” he emphasized, with a note of laughter in his voice. “Big enough for two, I assure you. Cozy, but still comfortable.”

“I’m not sleeping with you!” The words burst from her before she had a chance to think.

“Why not? Shared body heat is the best way to stay warm while sleeping.”

She stared at him in horror as he calmly steered the transport around an ice boulder.

“I’ll sleep here, or after you’ve had your rest, I’ll take the bed. We can sleep in stages.” She was not sleeping with a Nordian. She’d purposely stayed far away from genetically compatible humanoids in her travels, preferring partners who couldn’t accidentally impregnate her. Men who catered to her, begged for her favor. Partners who would leave the most fragile part of her intact. Each one carefully investigated and researched over several months, seduction allowed only when she was ready to leave a planet.

No ties. No commitments. Usually only two nights were allowed, a week at the absolute maximum and only if the man in question was seriously hot. The last man had been hot enough, but Cory’s communication hadn’t allowed the week she’d been working up to.

“No, it doesn’t work that way.” She watched him shake his head to underline his statement while steering around a deep drift sweeping across their path.

“I am not sleeping with you,” she repeated with more heat, tossing him a good glare for emphasis.

“If you’re worried about your virtue, don’t be.” He openly laughed at her now.

“Excuse me?” She dropped her voice to its lowest register and regarded him with a finely-waxed arched brow. Freshly waxed, and not just the eyebrows. Knowing she’d be far from civilization, she’d indulged in a full day in the ship-board spa. She was set for at least four weeks, six if she couldn’t get things wrapped up quickly. Hopefully her hair color would last that long. Anything to hide her true appearance. Almost anything.

“I’m promised already. I’ve sworn to remain pure until the right one comes into my life.”

Noreen felt the blood drain from her face. “The Promised One?” she blurted out.

Staring at Gunnar’s face, she caught his sharp questioning look before a bleep from the control panel drew his attention back to his driving.

“You’ve heard of The Profetia? The Prophecy?” he asked harshly.

She forced herself to snort and turn to look out the window again. “Who hasn’t?”

“I thought you weren’t of this land?”

“Even off-worlders hear things.”

“Not about The Profetia,” he said with a frown.

That was a mistake. She shrugged carelessly as if it were no big deal. He was right. The Profetia was never spoken of beyond the planet they traveled across, and never with off-worlders.

“Where did you hear of it?” he pressed, his voice far from amused. Enough that she almost laughed at his commanding tone even though she felt a tremor run down her spine.

“I don’t remember.” She lifted her nose in the air, as if his question were boring her to tears.

“I don’t believe you. Only those born to the land know of The Profetia.”

“I have an aunt from here,” she muttered. “So who are you, again?”

“Gunnar Zaren. Why? Have you heard of me?”

“Didn’t the male half of The Profetia have a title or some other royal designation?” she asked casually, with a dismissive wave of her hand. Did she come across as only mildly curious? Good thing her thick mittens covered the sudden shaking of her hand. Must be time to eat.

“Yes. I’m a Duke.” His reply sounded reluctant.

“Am I supposed to kiss your ring, or something, now?” She gave her voice a teasing quality.

“Or something,” he muttered, with a lifted brow that silenced her.

Oh dritt! she silently cursed. No, the local swear words were out. They would tip him off for sure. Shit. There, the old Earth word would work.

A duke, he’d said. But which one? If he was The One, he could only be… oh shit, what was the name Cory’d used? Damn Cory!

An uneasy silence fell as he steered around another mound of white in the darkening landscape. No, not darkening. Never dark. The minute frozen crystals around them caught and reflected every little spark of light from every possible source no matter how remote. Transport headlights lit up the landscape, as would the moonlight and starlight in a short while.

Trying to find her calm center, Noreen listened to the crunching of the vehicle treads rolling over the snow. Not soft like the flakes the sky produced, the snow on the ground was packed and dry. Dry because the extreme cold sucked all moisture from the air. They followed a track, which shifted and changed as the snow blew and drifted across the relatively flat land. The convoy would be a relief to Gunnar, allowing him to rest from his constant vigilance. Unfortunately, it would free him up to concentrate on her.

Ten, long galactic years seemed as if they’d passed in only a few days the farther she traveled north. Ten years of seeking out every warm and colorful world she could find. Ten years of warmth, of never wearing anything heavier than jeans and a cotton sweater. Usually she wore no more than a length of cloth wrapped around her. Knotted over a breast, it often slipped off when least expected, and more often when desired. A small smile lifted the corner of her lips as she thought of the last time her colorful wrap had slipped. The hands which had pulled it away had belonged to a man as dark as Gunnar was fair. Black hair, black skin, black eyes. Never a man with skin whiter than hers.

For a moment she forgot her predicament and fell into a daydream, remembering the feel of large, warm hands on her body, the lovely contrast of dark skin against hers, a tanned, golden brown. Chocolate and caramel. A very lovely contrast, indeed.

“Where are you from?”

Gunnar’s voice broke into her reverie and she closed her eyes as the daydream faded, leaving behind a very familiar hollow ache between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together, and let the fantasy go with a sigh.

“I’m from no place in particular. I travel a lot.”

“But where were you born? Where are your people from? If you have an aunt from here, are you related by your mother or father?”

She felt his eyes on her profile. If he looked close enough he’d see the signs. She hadn’t quite convinced herself to alter her appearance permanently with any of the surgeries available across the universe. So far, she’d stuck to superficial means with the help of skilled technicians.

Hair, naturally every bit as white blonde as Gunnar’s, now was a hot red. Not sweet, golden red. Cherry red that glowed like the clouds burning from the last ray of the sun. Deep blue eyes were hidden under even deeper brown artificial lenses. Skin as pale as his was naturally disguised after years under every sun she could find. At first she’d burned as bright red as her hair color, but special creams had helped her brown until she was almost the shade of the warm furs caressing her body through the silk. A color that, even now, she could feel fading, despite spending the last hours on the inter-galaxy ship under sun lights. Hopefully the sun light she had packed in her luggage would arrive unharmed.

“My people were wanderers.” She evaded the direct question. Even under torture she wouldn’t admit she’d been born within a hundred light years of this iceball.

“Humanoid.”

“Obviously,” she scoffed.

“Where were you born? Your accent almost sounds as if you’re from here.”

Great. A speech specialist was he? “My accent reflects many places. What about you? Do you travel far?”

“Only as far as this transport can carry me,” he said tightly.

Peasant, she thought again, despite his own speech and the admission of a noble title. “You’ve never been off the planet surface? Not even to cross the continent or ocean?”

“I’ve had no reason to leave the planet surface or my home. Everything I need is here, including boats to cross the sea.”

“Except your Promised One,” she muttered.

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

Damn, he had good ears to have heard that over the sounds of the vehicle and the instruments on the consol. She’d have to be careful. A bad habit, she often blurted out her thoughts without realizing it. Good thing she’d decided to never be a politician. “So what is your mission in life, Duke Gunnar Zaren? Who are your people?”

Glancing toward him, she saw his jaw clench slightly. Didn’t like her bored tone of voice, did he? Maybe, if she used it more, he’d leave her in silence.

“Who wants to know?”

“I do.”

“But who are you?”

“I’m Noreen Tibbetts, just as your communication said.”

“That’s just a name. Who are you?”

“I’m a humanoid woman of mysterious origins. I arrange travel across the universe for adventurous beings.” And travel even more just for fun when not working.

“What is a travel agent doing on Nordia?”

Travel agent. It worked. It was either that or pose as a reporter or research scientist. “I’ve been invited to write an article.”

“Tourists are few and far between.”

“Someone wants to change that.” Certainly not her. There was little to recommend here, and the best features could be found on more pleasant planets.

“Nobody wants more tourists.”

Noreen shrugged. She couldn’t agree with him more, but for now she had a role to play. “Tourists bring in revenue.”

“We don’t need money.”

True, the planet was quite well-off for an iceball. Mining for rare minerals brought in huge sums for tiny amounts. Not to mention the market for rare furs and exotic wools. Many companies also leased acreage for deep cold research. Poverty was not a problem on Nordia.

“Look, I was invited to come and write an article. I’m not even sure I can recommend this place with a good conscience, so don’t get your nappies in a knot.”

“Nappies?”

There was that arched brow again.

“Absorbent underwear. For infants.”

Gunnar snorted. “Diapers? You think I wear diapers?”

“If they fit…” she let the comment drift away.

“Is this common off-world?” He scowled in her direction.

“Is what common?”

“This…sarcasm.”

“You’ve never heard sarcasm before?” No, he didn’t like the astonished tone of voice, if his deep frown and flush were a good indication.

“It isn’t common here.”

It would be if she still lived here. “A pity. I find sarcasm helps one to laugh in situations that would normally make one cry or shoot something.”

“Shoot?”

“As in to use a firestick to inflict great injury, possibly even death, upon another being,” she explained as politely as she could.

“Ah, use of a gun.”

“Exactly.” Give him points for a little education. Guns weren’t permitted on Nordia, even for research. She’d found them fascinating the first time she’d seen one in use. Until she’d seen the carnage they could wreak on living things.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” he accused her.

“Only depends which planet you’re standing on at the time.” She sighed and looked out the side window again. A lesson she’d learned well after blasting off this particular iceball. And here she was, trapped in this damn transport for three long days with the very man she’d left this planet to avoid. The One, waiting for his female equivalent to appear. Dritt.

Was this some elaborate plan of Odin? Thor? Freya? One of Loki’s pranks?

Which brought her back to the problem of sleeping arrangements. There was no way in Hell, or on this frozen version of it, she would sleep next to this man. Not all versions of Hell were hot. In fact, the cold could burn just a badly as fire. Given a choice, she’d take flames over ice any day.