Ghost in Her Heart (16 page)

***

Later that day, robed in majestic splendor
and coiffed, manicured and made up, courtesy of her private
stylist, Tzara Vana T’Siantal sat on her throne and tried not to
squirm. Dagon sat to her right, looking far more functional and
comfortable in usual battle ready garb. He’d assured her that
official appearances required full regalia, and there was nothing
more official than a judgment. With time she might be able to
change the prevailing fashions, but as the moment she was stuck
with what the last generation of women had deemed royal garb.

Oh, joy, she thought in dismay. What fool had
decided a tiara of stiffened braids was sexy? Sure, it looked kind
of cool with the jewels in her hair, but she was afraid to move
lest the whole thing shift sideways and leave her looking like the
court jester.

A pompous looking counsel member entered the
chamber, leading the miscreants, including Kelsa, in his wake. He
bowed elaborately, then pronounced, “You see before you the would
be runaways, your Majesties. You are aware of the details of their
case, and the court hopes to hear how you’ll punish them.” He
ignored his queen’s darkling look and backed to the side, into the
small crowd of spectators. Kynan was there, looking inscrutable, as
was Ser, though Jen was nowhere in sight.

Vana envied her. She tried to make eye
contact with Kelsa, to let her know she wasn’t enjoying this, but
Kelsa looked glumly ahead, as if expecting to be beheaded at any
moment.

Vana suppressed a sigh. “While I can’t view
this in the same light as the counsel, I have agreed to pass a
deterring judgment. Since no one was harmed in the…excursion, and
no property was damaged, I think we can avoid chopping off any
extremities.” No one laughed, so she gave up on her attempt at
humor. “In the eyes of this society, the servitude of women is seen
as degrading, definitely a fate to shield them from at all
costs.

“On the other hand, the offenders seem to
have an abundance of time on their hands to plan mischief. That
being the case…Cherry, since you used to be a beautician, you are
sentenced to the service of cutting men’s hair. Clarissa, your
garment design skills will be needed to produce some clothes that
might suit our Earth sisters better.” One by one, she assigned the
women to occupations she thought they might enjoy, noting the
relief in their faces. Had they thought she’d order them beaten?
Before she could get to Kelsa, though, the men’s growing murmur of
outrage drowned her out.

“Silence! One at a time,” Dagon
thundered.

“You can’t force them to work! Think of their
reputations,” one man protested, aghast.

“It’s out of the question,” another
responded, looking grim. “Far too cruel.”

Vana raised her brows and waited for silence.
“Am I not just? Would you suggest taking away their favorite toys
or tapping them on the hands? We are not your soft females—Earth
women thrive on just this kind of discipline.” When there were no
more outbursts, she looked at Kelsa. Her heart was beating fast at
the effort it took to maintain her official mask, and she knew
Kelsa wouldn’t enjoy her servitude. Sometimes a friend just had to
intervene, however. “Kelsa Gram, I sentence you to two weeks as
Kynan Kingfriend’s personal servant. I will supervise the
arrangement to make certain there is no impropriety, but you will
take care of his every need, barring sharing his bed.”

That brought a riot of protests, loudest
among them Kelsa’s, but Vana stood firm. “Justice has spoken.”

Dagon waited until the room was cleared
before smirking. “Rough justice, indeed. I’m impressed. Kynan
didn’t seem to know whether to protest or gloat.”

Vana grimaced. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Either that or thank you.” He stroked her
hand, his expression warming. “You look hungry. Maybe we should go
back to our room for an early meal.” Sparks danced in his eyes.

Trying to ignore the heat he caused, she made
a face. After all, he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess.
“You couldn’t get me out of these layers.”

Smirking, he helped her rise. “Try me.”

Chapter 7

Kynan stared at his mutinous “servant”
thoughtfully. “That’s quite a look for you.”

A glob of green goo dropped out of Kelsa’s
hair and landed on her shoulder with a wet splat, continuing on a
slow slide down her chest. Hoping to avoid him, she’d gone
wandering in the garden adjacent to his rooms. There she’d
discovered the zooloo bird, and its propensity for sacrificing one
of its many eggs to protect its brood from interlopers. She was
wearing the smelly results of its efforts with something less than
pleasure. “I need to use your shower—right now.”

Face suspiciously straight, he waved her
toward the bathing chambers. “Please. You’re about to drip on the
rug. I‘d hate for you to have to clean it.”

That earned him a dirty look. Muttering under
her breath, Kelsa hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door,
grateful it had a lock. She didn’t trust Kynan to not to take
advantage of the situation, though he’d placed no demands on his
“servant” of yet. It might be just a matter of time.

Once clean, she turned off the spray and
reached for a towel, belatedly realizing she didn’t have any clean
clothes to replace her smelly stuff.

A knock sounded on the door. Suspicious, she
opened it a crack.

Kynan stuffed some clothing through the gap,
making no move to try and widen it. It was a brocade, sea green
robe with swirls of colorful design.

Good manners got to her, and she had to admit
he’d been more gentlemanly than she’d given him credit for.
Properly dressed, she poked her head out the door and sought him
out in the living room. “Thank you. For the robe, I mean.”

She surprised an odd look on his face, one of
nostalgia mixed with longing. It was quickly gone, and his eyes
slid from hers. “It was my father’s wedding robe. You would look
odd in my tunics.”

Her eyes widened and her heart did a little
skip. “Er, yes. Um, mind if I use your clothes washer? I can throw
in a load of your laundry while I’m at it.” She might as well,
since she was technically—temporarily—his servant.

“Feel free, but I have no dirty clothes. It’s
through there.”

The washer was easy to find, but she was
frowning as she threw her soiled clothes in. It shouldn’t bother
her that he was a neat freak, but it did. The man needed to get a
life. Why, if she lived here, the place would look like it, not
like a bare bones motel room. Other than the weapons on the wall
and one or two hunting trophies, the man lived like a monk.

She grimaced as she recalled just how much
like a monk he really was. Had the man ever been kissed before
Vana‘s wedding? He was in his thirties, in good health, tolerably
good looking, and his chances of getting a date had been slim to
nil….

Grimacing at that train of thought, she shut
the clothes washer and surveyed Kynan’s barren, pristine room. So
he had a steady job—the man kidnapped women for a living. It wasn’t
much of a recommendation, and being an alien wasn’t going to boost
his image.

Well, they all had their problems.

Shrugging off her thoughts, Kelsa went to his
kitchen to rustle something to eat. While she was slicing a platter
of fruit, nuts and cold meats, music started coming from the living
area. Deciding Kynan must have turned on his music player, she
carried the platter and a couple of frosty drinks out to him. Once
there, she blinked. Kynan was the source of the music. Obviously
lost, he was seated in his chair, pressing the keys of a guitar
with attitude. A driving rhythm, soulful, angry and oddly tender,
filled the room with haunting melody. While Kelsa couldn’t have
identified the type of music, she instantly liked it. Enthralled,
she quietly set the tray on the table and sat on the couch, unable
to take her eyes off him.

“That was beautiful,” she said softly as the
last notes died away. “Play something else.”

He smiled at her, a hot, roughish smile, and
danced his fingers over the keys. This time he sang in that rough,
smoky voice that sent chills over her skin and kisses of pleasure
down her spine. Oh, he was good, and by the look in his eyes, he
knew it.

When he finished this time, he set the
instrument down. “I haven’t eaten,” he explained, reaching for some
nuts. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said absently, eyeing
the “guitar”. “I always wanted to play an instrument, growing up,
but we could never afford it. Once I got older, I guess I figured
it would be too hard. It’s the kind of thing you should pick up
when you’re young.”

Blue eyes searched her face, then he joined
her on couch, setting down his fruit drink. He handed her the
instrument and showed her how to hold it. “Cradle it in your arms
like a lover and stroke the keys. It’s not hard.”

The slumbering passion and confidence in his
eyes was her undoing. “I’m not good with that.” Flustered, she
looked down blindly at the guitar, trying to quell her reaction to
his nearness. The memory of their kiss fluttered between them, an
invitation to deeper exploration. They knew it would be good….

Kynan stroked her jaw, gently tilting her
face up. “It’s not hard,” he said softly, a different meaning in
his expression. His head moved closer. “Just move to the music.”
His kiss was soft, achingly sweet, an invitation to pleasure.

Swept away, intoxicated by his scent, his
taste, she let him remove the guitar, let him ease her back down on
the couch. Just a little, she told herself, certain he would stop
if she asked, positive she was the one in control. His weight made
her moan and she hissed with desire as he settled a knee between
her thighs. Sweet fire made her gasp, arching into him as if
desperate for his touch. In truth she was starving, for no one had
ever made her feel as he did, had ever touched her as reverently.
Kynan knew the value of a woman, made her feel special, intensely
desired.

It went to her head.

One moment she was kissing him as if he were
oxygen to her flame, and the next she was encouraging him to open
her robe. She knew how stupid that was, but with every nerve
leaping at his touch, the warning was easy to ignore. She had to
have more.

“Be mine,” he whispered in her ear, dragging
his head up from feasting on her nipple. “I cannot wait. Please
have me.” He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her neck.

The words rocked her. When was the last time
a man had begged for her love? She moaned as one calloused hand
stroked her inner thighs, lighting fires. Now was not the time for
thinking. “I…ahh…okay….”

The next thing she knew, Kynan was eight
inches deep in her, and reality had given her a rude shake. It
stung, a surprise in itself, for she had thought the pain wouldn’t
happen the second time.

He was shaking. “I can’t wait.” With an
anguished cry, his body jerked, then stiffened. He muttered an
oath, then collapsed on her, shaking his head against her neck in
self-reproach.

Stunned at the speedy conclusion to her
sudden madness, Kelsa tentatively pushed at his shoulder.
Embarrassment was starting to set in, and all she wanted was a
place to crawl off to. She cleared her throat. “Are…are you done
yet?” Even as she said the words, she felt his body stir within
her. Oh, oh.

Kynan raised his head, his blue eyes brimming
with sorrow. “I’m sorry. It was my first—” He bit his lip. “You
deserve better, little one. May I try again?” Tenderly, he brushed
her mouth with his, kindling slumbering fires. In between kisses he
murmured adoration, refusing to move within her until she arched,
demanding his love. Then he took her fast, yielding to her frantic
demands until they both climaxed in a blaze of glory.

Kelsa Elizabeth Gram had just joined the
ranks of the enemy.

***

Vana gaped at Dagon. “No way!”

He crossed his feet and leaned back against
their bedroom wall, smugly studying his nails. “Yesterday. He would
have told me before now, but he was…occupied.” The smirk grew
wicked.

Stunned, Vana sat staring at him, unable to
comprehend the news that her man-hating friend had given it up to
an alien warrior who reeked of masculinity. “They were only
together one day!”

Dagon shrugged, pushed away from the wall and
moved to his liquor cabinet to pour a celebratory glass. “These
things don’t take long. Kynan knew what he wanted. Obviously, he
convinced her that it was what she wanted, too.” He raised his
glass in salute. “Congratulations, my love. You have the wisdom of
a sage.”

No, no, no. This wasn’t the way these things
were supposed to go. Far from feeling celebratory, Vana felt like a
failure. If she’d done her job, Kelsa wouldn’t have fallen into
this trap.

She knew Kelsa. Once the afterglow wore off,
she would be fighting mad—fighting being the operative word. And
mad. Mad as in loco, crazy, fanatical, wild and out for
blood—Vana’s.

She put a hand to her throat and stood up. “I
have to go talk to her.”

As relaxed as she’d ever seen him, Dagon
occupied her vacated chair and propped his feet on the hassock.
“Tender my congratulations, too. In light of the circumstances,
I’ve approved the marriage and waved the public ceremony. No one
will doubt he’s made her his. Smart of him to get that one’s
private surrender before pushing the public one.”

Resenting his arrogance, dreading Kelsa’s
reaction, Vana took a deep breath and let herself out.

It was worse than she’d feared. The moment
she walked into Kynan’s apartment, Kelsa exploded.

“Traitor!” Kelsa threw a pillow at her.

Vana blocked. “I’m sorry!”

Not waiting to hear more, Kelsa grabbed the
remaining cushions off the couch and threw them one by one, hurling
invectives as she did so. “You knew this would happen! You locked
me in here with him, hoping he’d get into my pants. You know what?
That jerk says we’re married. I don’t even get a say! He stormed
out of here in a temper when I started yelling at him. He’s mad!
How dare he? I ought to castrate him.”