Читать книгу Frozen - Morgan Q O'Reilly - Страница 7

Chapter 3

So this wasn’t Hell, eh? Could have fooled her.

Never say never. The words from the old man came back to haunt her again.

Had Coreen planned this? Had she set up this particular conveyance? Probably.

Noreen wiggled in her seat and laid her head against the shoulder strap of the harness holding her in place. At least she wouldn’t be tumbled into Duke Zaren’s arms again. She’d bet her next case of Lidarian mint brandy he’d tipped the transport on purpose. So much for remaining pure until he met The One. And she only had half a case left anyway.

Biting her lip in annoyance, she closed her eyes against the darkening sky. Barely past mid-day, it was already black as night elsewhere and would remain so for the next nineteen hours and fifty-five minutes. Not bad for a planet with twenty hour days. Winter. Why, if she had to come back at all, why did it have to be in the deepest part of winter? Ruthlessly she tamped down on the panic wailing to break away from her tight control.

With her eyes still closed, she thought back to that day, oh so long ago, when her world had tilted, only to land her in her current circumstances. She’d been sliding for ten years, fighting and clawing to avoid the destiny thrust upon her by the old man with the wild, silver eyes.

She’d been at the summer house, enjoying the very short season when the sun provided warmth to the frozen world of Nordia. The small island on the equator, where the house was located, was only suitable to inhabit during the three months of warmth. The ocean around it was never warm enough for swimming. Not for her anyway, although others braved it and teased her for preferring the thermal pool. Nevertheless, she’d enjoyed the gardens with the tall trees, the green a blessed relief from the stark white she lived with the rest of the year.

Her sisters all teased her about her quest for warmth, but that was their way, everyone joining in and no one immune. With names all similar, Noreen often led the teasing of Coreen, Loreen, Doreen, Moreen, Toreen, Boreen, Soreen, Zoreen, and Joreen.

What had her father been thinking? Ten daughters, all named the same except for the first letter and the copious middle names. It was madness. At least he hadn’t named them alphabetically. That would have made them all so much easier to track. Although all their mothers hated the chaos of it, the girls had grown to love it, and all answered to the call of Reen when the dinner bell rang.

But there must have been a method to his madness. None of Bjorn’s lesser subjects, and damn few of the nobility, could remember who was the true crown princess. Indeed, it worked to Noreen’s advantage that Fader had purposely never been clear on that subject at all. At least, not until they’d all started reaching the age of majority. She may not have hung around, but she’d sporadically stayed in touch and remained aware of the current status.

Coreen was the better princess anyway. She’d been the one who’d excelled in political studies, while Noreen had stared out the window and daydreamed of ways to stay warm year round. While Coreen argued political policy with their father, Noreen had buried her nose in every travel brochure or picture book she could wheedle her father into getting for her. Planets with warm seas had drawn her attention like no others. If the ocean water wasn’t at least body temperature, she shunned it completely. By age fourteen, she’d had a list nearly as long as she was tall of all the worlds she wanted to visit. She even had a few picked out as possible permanent residences.

While Coreen strode the halls of Parliament, absorbing the laws of the land, their father had indulged Noreen by letting her decorate her apartments with sun lights and potted trees from exotic worlds. He’d even let her turn the vast thermal pool room into her vision of a tropical paradise, complete with an imported-sand beach and brightly painted murals for all to enjoy. Ancient stone columns had become the trunks of palms and banana trees, each surrounded by bushes of sweet flowers that bloomed year round. Colorful birds had brought music to the air with their sweet songs and a small team of gardeners had kept it perfect.

Was it still like that? Were her rooms untouched? Or had Fader completely disowned her as threatened? No, he would have cut off her allowance if she’d been disowned. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d done nothing to help Nordia while she was away. Just six months ago, the latest in planet-wide communications had been installed because she’d seen it demonstrated on Earth’s most recently-colonized planet the year before.

She felt a small wave of shame as she thought of the trouble she’d put her family through. It had all started at a summer party to celebrate the sixteenth birthday of the crown princess, and she’d been wandering amongst the birch trees at the edge of the gardens.

It caused her father no small amount of pain that his eldest daughter shunned the spotlight of society and royal obligation. Noreen had argued endlessly, not only with her parents but Coreen as well, that it wasn’t her fault she’d been born five minutes earlier than her sister. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t suited to rule. Because of her tearful pleas, the ceremony naming her crown princess on their sixteenth birthday had been held in secret, with only the old bishop, her parents and Coreen in attendance. To the rest of the world Coreen was the crown princess, and Noreen had no intention of ever spoiling the perception. Why couldn’t Coreen and Fader play along? Moder had long ago thrown up her hands and refused to discuss the old argument at all.

Identical twins. It had been a good joke from the beginning. Fader had been more than happy to let the world believe one daughter had died. Only one was ever presented to the people at a time and she was always called simply The Princess. Never were their names used. Noreen suspected half the time, at least until they passed the age of five, her father couldn’t tell them apart. By then they’d developed distinct personalities and very individual traits were making themselves well known. Enough to confuse the few correspondents allowed into the palace. The growing collection of sisters just made the confusion worse. In effect, the young princesses became invisible to anyone outside the private household. The queen also insisted on keeping her daughters, and the daughters of the two concubines, secluded as much as possible. In truth, Noreen wondered if the people knew just how many children the king had and they supported.

While her half sisters might not be eligible to be called Princess, they were given their own titles upon their age of majority. Loreen and Doreen were Duchesses and the others were Countesses, each with their own properties and incomes. And all were married now, with the exception of herself and Coreen.

Which brought her back to the reason she was here under protest. Fader was dying, or so Cory had implied, and she wanted to marry. The old bishop insisted Noreen come home and fulfill her destiny as The One. Nordia had a right to know the true princess.

Like bloody Hell would she let them make that announcement. She was home to renounce her title once and for all. Let Coreen carry on as next in line, as she was born to do.

Noreen’s eyes grew heavier, the constant grinding groan of the transport lulling her into sleep. She pulled the hood of the parka up around her head to further block out the noise and the lights from the panels. Might as well get some sleep now, because she sure wasn’t going to share that man’s bed tonight, destiny or no. If he was too stupid to put the name clues together then so be it. But, in his defense, since half the girl children born on Nordia over the last twenty-six years were similarly named, maybe the resemblance of her name to Coreen’s didn’t stand out so much. How to hide in plain sight. Maybe her father had done her a favor after all. He certainly hadn’t done himself one.

She settled into a restless doze, segments of dreams mixing with her thoughts. Once again she wandered the birch grove behind the summer palace.

The ceremony had taken place early that morning, the crown of gold, encrusted with every gem known to man, rested heavily on her head as she bowed to the bishop. She’d tried three or four times to remove the crown and put it on Coreen’s head until her father had held her shoulders as she knelt to accept the benediction sealing her to the throne of Nordia for all time. The only reason she repeated the vows was a deal she’d made with her father. She’d have to serve as Queen for one full year before she could abdicate in favor of her sister. And then it would be done quietly, Coreen stepping in as if she’d been queen all along. The twin thing again. It didn’t make sense to her. If they could do it then, why not now? At least the world now knew the Crown Princess as Coreen. Another sign to Noreen they were catching on she had no intention of ever ruling.

Both her father and sister had rolled their eyes and tried to explain, once again, why having two appear as one was good for keeping the monarchy safe. Like there’d ever been death threats.

A quelling look from the old bishop had silenced her protests—whines he’d called them—and she’d repeated her vows as he sprinkled sacred water from the heart of the planet on her and recited old chants. For a brief moment she’d had a vision of the gods, Odin, Thor and Freya in the forefront, smiling down on her, welcoming her to the ranks of royalty, soft melodic tunes wafting like a dream through the chamber. The vision faded with the sound of Thor’s Hammer ringing in her ears. Later she told herself it was merely a hallucination. One she could never seem to talk about with Coreen, oddly enough, even to this day. Her father understood, and even then it was difficult to speak of with him. He’d merely patted her on the head, told her it was the proper order of things and to get used to the idea.

While the others gathered for cake and the specially-hoarded champagne to celebrate, the heavy crown once again locked in the vault, she’d snuck off to walk the groves. Something profound had happened and she didn’t understand. It was then she came upon the old bishop looking as if he’d been waiting for her.

“You are The One,” he’d told her, his ancient eyes sparkling like silver stardust. “You have been chosen and anointed personally by the gods.”

“What?” She stopped in her tracks and stared up at the old man with the wild, bushy, white beard.

“‘Tis a great honor, Princess, one you would do well to heed. Your consort is on his way to meet you as we speak.”

“Consort? Who is he? I have no choice?” Horror at the very thought chilled what little warmth the sun had imparted. It felt as if they were in the dead of winter and not high summer. “I’m only sixteen! I can’t marry now!”

“He doesn’t yet know he is The One for you. The blessing will soon be revealed to him. For now, he thinks he is coming only to claim his duchy.”

“He is coming here?” She looked around wildly, thinking he might leap from the trees.

“He will arrive within the fortnight depending on weather. He travels by traditional means.”

“Slow boat, in other words,” she’d muttered. Was his duchy so impoverished he couldn’t afford a proper transport? “Who is he?” she demanded.

“I cannot tell you, Your Highness, you two will have to discover each other on your own. I only know he travels to be here. You will be married within the year.”

Noreen’s jaw had dropped in a most undignified manner. Married within the year? She was just sixteen! Her mother had been twenty when she married the king ten years her senior. “Never!” she shouted as she backed away. “I won’t! I won’t do it!”

The old man had merely gazed at her with those mystical eyes. “Never say never, Your Highness. Your fate was sealed today. You have no choice but to fulfill your destiny.”

With those dreadful words he’d turned and disappeared into the grove.

She’d returned and pretended to mix in the celebration, before fleeing to her rooms. By midnight, she’d packed a bag and bribed a footman into finding transport back to Ryadstholm for her and her newly hired personal secretary, Fiona. Ryadstholm was the largest city near Summer Island. From there, Fiona had found them an outbound luxury cruiser and, by morning, they’d been on their way to anywhere warm.

Thinking she’d get over her temper tantrum sooner, her mother had talked her father into calling off the royal security service he’d sent out to haul her back. Instead, he’d sent a maid and bodyguard to complete her small entourage, and to provide security as she traveled from world to world.

The entire entourage was currently cooling their heels in Ryadstholm, while she traveled north in anonymity. To keep busy, they were seeing to her residence there, though it was a waste of effort. In a matter of days she’d abdicate, spend some quality time with her father and mother, maybe see her half-sisters, and then it was back off to the stars for her.

Nope. No controlling husband, babies, or government for her and no more Nordia. Let Coreen fulfill The Profetia.

As half consciousness slipped away into sweet blackness, she could swear she heard the sound of Thor’s Hammer and a deep chuckle against the background of sweet voices singing with joy.

* * * *

Gunnar glanced over at Noreen and saw her head loll off to the side. Amazed she’d been able to sleep the last couple hours, he figured she really was an experienced traveler who could probably sleep standing up. Still, with her head rolling around, she looked uncomfortable. Thinking to make her more comfortable, he gently pushed her back against the safety harness. They were approaching the convoy so he tapped a few keys into his onboard computer. Reluctant to wake her just yet, he sent ahead the message to connect them up smoothly and quietly. The rapid reply from his convoy commander pleased him.

As he drove the small transport into view of the slow-moving line of larger transports, he once again considered his plan for accommodations. He could move the both of them to a larger transport, more like a mobile dwelling, but decided not to. The smaller quarters gave her less room to avoid him. He may have sworn an oath to remain pure until he met The One, but there were many degrees of purity.

The only promise his grandfather had extracted from him was that he’d always use a barrier. If the flesh of his cock didn’t directly touch the flesh of his partner, then he was holding himself true to The Profetia.

He’d been all of eighteen, and recently educated in the sport of enjoying a woman, when he’d arrived in Ryadstholm to take control of his duchy. At the ceremony he’d vowed to get no children on any woman until he had at least two children by The One. He was, in effect, to remain pure.

Later, talking with the king, he’d defined the boundaries of what was considered pure. A man with a wife, two concubines and several children, the king had been reassuringly sympathetic to his plight. The king had also loaned him several books and disks of visuals on the subject of how to enjoy a woman and avoid unexpected offspring. That summer had been the most informative and educational of his young life. Several maids in the royal household had been most willing to further his book learning with practical lessons. With no small appreciation for the irony, Gunnar figured he owed the king many years of loyalty for the particularly illuminating education.

His grandfather, the bishop, had merely rolled his eyes in resignation and explained it was the child that was the important point. Use a barrier and save his seed for The One.

A gentle bump indicated their connection to the line of larger freight transports. One in front and one behind. In the middle of the convoy, they were well protected should a storm blow up. The larger transports would push and pull the smaller one along and keep them from being lost in the white-out conditions common this time of year. They also had more power to draw on from the larger transports and he didn’t have to be so stingy with the heat. Checking the settings for heat and communications, Gunnar eased out of his unzipped parka. It would be easier to prepare dinner without the bulk, and the heat from the small burner would warm the cabin nicely. Maybe then Noreen would take off at least the parka and mittens. He wanted a long look at what lay under her thin top.

Years of practice lent economy to his moves. With less effort than it had taken her to choose lunch, he pulled a pot from the small fridge and set it on the burner. Transport stew, the best he’d ever tasted. Rich gravy with large chunks of reindeer and plenty of wine. A few tubers and vegetables grown deep in thermal caves and they had a meal in a pot. But the real prize was the bread, baked fresh this morning. He pulled it from the food locker and set it on the small counter space. Too bad he didn’t have a real radiant-heat oven to warm it in. What he sacrificed in conveniences, he hoped to make up for with female companionship.

Besides, he didn’t think the show of wealth on the larger transport would impress her much. And, if it did, he didn’t want to spend time with her. No, better to let her assume he was a simple transport operator. Titled, but humble in origins. Not uncommon on Nordia. People didn’t have much use for nobility who put on false airs. Everyone worked on this planet. Their very survival in the harsh elements depended on it.

Truly, seduction hadn’t been on his mind until he’d watched her shimmy out of her jeans and sweater. The wiggle of her ass had made him drool like he hadn’t since that sensuous summer so long ago. Easy women had long since lost their appeal, and it had been many months since he’d sought one out to ease the frustration of not finding his destined mate. Neither his grandfather nor old King Bjorn had been of any help in guiding him to the right woman. Noble or common, he had no idea where to even look anymore.

For the next two nights, he wouldn’t worry about it. Moving at this pace, it would be late the day after tomorrow before they arrived in Stravicsholm, where he’d deliver her to Princess Coreen. Whoever she was, she had to be of some level of importance, because the palace had never made such a request before. At least not for a live person. Goods, yes, but a living, breathing being was usually flown directly to the nearest depot.

Noreen. Was it a coincidence? Certainly there were enough females with similar names. The king’s daughters, all nine of them, for starters. In addition, the daughters of nearly every common and noble family had at least one daughter with similar if not the same names. He’d even seen such variations as Foreen, Koreen, Goreen, Horeen, Roreen and Voreen. Multiple times over. Reen was the most common female nickname on the planet. She’d mentioned an aunt. Maybe her name came from there. She was about the same age as the king’s eldest daughter, so it could be a coincidence. Would she like being called Nory, just to be different?

He stirred the stew and inhaled the heating aroma. Good and thick, it should warm her nicely. A quick twist of his wrist and he pulled the cork on a bottle of the best red wine he could find. Mugs would have to do. He set one in the cup holder near her chair and bent over her to look at her face framed by the hood. Asleep, she looked like an angel. It was a shame to wake her.

“Nory?” he spoke softly.

“Hmmm?” she moaned, luxurious eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“Nory, time to wake up, älskling.”

“Cory?” she murmured.

Cory? Who was Cory? Coreen?

“Nory, time to wake up. Dinner is ready.”

“Doan wanna eat. G’way, Cory,” she muttered and turned her head away.

He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

“Dritt, Cory, g’way. Just like you to wake me up when I haven’t slept in days, rot op, teef.”

Gunnar straightened and stared down at the woman now blinking her eyes in an attempt to wake up. Did she just tell the Crown Princess to drop dead… and call her a bitch?

“Noreen?” He tried again, this time using a deep authoritative voice. “Time to wake up.”

“Blow it out your ear, Bjorn,” she giggled. “Oops, I mean Fader, Your Majesty.” She giggled some more and then her eyes popped open.

Gunnar felt his jaw drop as he watched her eyes widen in horror. If he understood correctly, she’d just cussed out the two top members of the royal family…as if they were…her family.

“Who are you?” he asked more harshly than intended.

“What is it to you?” She pushed her hood back irritably. “What’s burning?”

“Dritt!” he cursed and stepped behind her seat. “Lean forward!” he told her. “You just pushed your hood into the stew.”

“Wha?”

It took him a minute to clean up the mess and stir the stew again. Needing a moment, he turned the burner on low then sat down with his cup of wine. He nodded to hers in the holder and watched as she lifted it and inhaled before tasting.

“Very nice,” she said quietly.

“Now, let’s try this again. Exactly, for the record, who are you?” He pinned her with his hardest stare and she didn’t look away.

“My name is Noreen Tibbetts.”

“I might believe Noreen, but I don’t buy Tibbetts. Try again. Where is your family from, and this time I want the name of a planet.”

“Noreen Elke Josephina Angelica Tibbetts…Audelhuk.” Her eyes widened even further as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

“Audelhuk? As in Bjorn Audelhuk, His Royal Majesty, the King of Nordia?” Gunnar narrowed his eyes further as he gazed into hers, now wide open in her pale face as her chin trembled.

Slowly she nodded as if fighting to keep from doing it. “What… are you doing to me?”

She tore her gaze from him to glance at the wine for just a bare moment before looking back at him as if compelled.

Well, she was. One of his more subtle talents, eyes that compelled people to not lie to him. Useful when it came to protecting the monarchy.

“There’s nothing unusual in the wine,” he spoke soothingly to cover his shock. “Are you the missing twin?”

Again she slowly nodded. “How did you know?”

“I’ve heard rumors for years. Especially the first summer I came to court. Ten years ago. I stumbled over many whispered conversations in the halls of the palace.”

“I left that summer…ten years ago…” she spoke slowly.

“Why? Why is your name never spoken? Why are you coming back now? And in disguise?” He fired the questions at her and bit back more when she shook her head slowly.

“Release me,” she ordered him, speaking slowly and deliberately.

She was fighting his talent! And winning! He sat back feeling stunned.

With a decided snap, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she growled.

“I’m responsible for security and intelligence about any possible threat to the royal family. If you don’t give me some answers, I’ll use whatever means necessary to get them.”

Fascinated, Gunnar watched as without opening her eyes, she pursed her lips, set down the wine then pulled off her mittens and tucked them into her parka pockets. No one had ever shaken off his talent before. Yet, as he watched, she held her hands apart then brought the flattened palms together in a clap before her face. The sound he heard wasn’t the slap of flesh he expected. The sound rocked the small transport and sounded like… a steel hammer of immense size landing on an anvil of equally immense size. Just like the sound he’d heard this morning, only louder. Much louder.

He clapped his hands over his ears, his eyes squeezing closed as if they could shut out the ringing sound that shook his very bones.

A full minute later he lowered his hands from his ears and stared at the woman in front of him.

“What the Hell was that?” he demanded as his communications center lit up with lights and beeps.

Noreen’s face relaxed into a smile as she reached for her wine. She smiled more as she sipped and looked mighty pleased with herself.

“You didn’t recognize it?” she asked sweetly.

“Thor’s Hammer, woman!” he snarled out the common curse and turned to the console.

“Exactly,” she replied calmly.

His hand holding the communications handset froze half way to his mouth. It couldn’t be… the loud squawk of his communicator made him shake his head.

“Duke Nordenskiold?” He heard the voice of Wilton Leebrick, his convoy commander, come from the small speaker. “You okay, Zaren?”

“Yeah, Wil, yeah, we’re fine. Did we upset the connection?” He ran a hand through his hair. It was long and needed cutting. Right after he figured out why this woman could call on Thor’s Hammer with her little hands. Only Bjorn, the King, and Coreen…no, the Crown…Princess…

The communicator squawked, jolting him again as Wil’s voice came over the speaker. “No, the connections are fine. That was some kinda rocking going on. Sounded like you got hit with a bolt of lightning but no one saw any.”

“Must have been a stray bolt. Freak storm. Keep an eye on the weather monitors,” Gunnar snapped into the mic then disconnected and turned back to the woman with impossibly red hair and brown eyes. “I’m going to ask again, just who the Hell are you?”

“I told you, I’m Noreen Tibbetts.”

“No,” he shook his head. “How do you fit into the royal family?”

“Oh, that. I’m the soon-to-be ex-Crown Princess.”