The Claiming (24 page)

Alain would not allow it, which meant that she would have to slip away.

After a great deal of thought, it occurred to her that she would be able to travel more easily if she dressed as a male. Women were not allowed to travel alone on Orleans. If she was seen, the circumstance would be so unusual that it would be no trouble at all for Alain to discover where she’d gone.

He was bound to figure it out, of course, eventually, but she was fairly certain he would not come after her once she had returned to Earth, and Marty.

Having decided upon that course, she had one problem to resolve, where to find male clothing that might come reasonably close to fitting her. Alain’s clothes were attainable, but entirely out of the question. Pretty much the same could be said of Blane’s, although she supposed they might do if she rolled the sleeves and pant legs up. Blane was thinner than Alain, still larger than her, but at least closer to her size.

She really did not want to go to Blane’s room. If she was discovered there, by either Blane or Alain—she shuddered.

It occurred to her after a while that old things were stored in the attic. She’d helped Lill pack and move the infants’ outgrown clothing up into the attic once. The area under the roof had been filled almost to overflowing with all sorts of things, from trunks, to furniture to old portraits of people no one seemed to know.

She did not want to get caught, either rummaging for clothing, or coming from the attic with evidence in her hands. Alain was generally out of the house for most of the day, overseeing the work on the plantation, and Blane was never around during the day, rarely even at night anymore. So, as uneasy as the thought was of stealing the clothing in the light of day, she realized it was still the best time to avoid getting caught.

When she reached the attic, she hesitated on the threshold for several moments. There were trunks everywhere, some stacked two or three high, some on top of or under pieces of furniture. It made her nervous, being where she knew she should not be, doing something she knew she should not do. All she really wanted was to find something quickly, snatch it up and return to her room as quickly as possible.

It seemed unlikely, however, that she would be able to.

Finally, realizing she would get no where until she started, she moved to the first chest, pushed the lid back and looked inside. It was the infants’ clothing. She closed the lid, lifted the small trunk and set it aside so that she could look at the trunk beneath. It, too, contained infant clothing.

Frustrated, she closed the lid and, just to be safe, placed the small trunk back on top before she moved further into the room, squeezing between two large pieces of furniture to reach a trunk that was easily twice the size of the first two put together.

Hopeful, she lifted the lid. It was full of women’s clothing. She stared at the gowns for several moments in stunned surprise before she realized that these clothes, undoubtedly, had belonged to Alain’s former wife, Caro.

She was on the point of closing the lid again, but curiosity got the better of her. She removed the gown on top—a beautiful dress of soft, slick fabric in a deep shade of blue, holding the dress up to inspect it. After a moment, she held it against herself. A good six inches of fabric dragged the floor. Caro had been a good bit taller than her and also a bit larger in the waist—about the size of the woman Alain had contracted with, the ‘real’ Jana.

A sharp pang of something she couldn’t, and didn’t want, to identify went through her. Casting the gown aside, she dug deeper, pulling one gown after another out of the trunk. There seemed to be no end to them, in almost every color imaginable, in all sorts of fabrics. What had the woman done with so many dresses? She had probably not worn the same one twice. It was stunning even to imagine someone having so many.

She had almost been embarrassed at the number of gowns she’d found in her own closet and there were not half so many.

At the bottom, she found a portrait. Her heart skipped a beat. She was tempted to toss the dresses back into the trunk without taking a closer look at the smiling woman, but somehow she found she couldn’t. She leaned into the trunk until she could reach the framed image and carefully lifted it out.

The woman was beautiful, her eyes dark, almost almond shaped, her hair a rich, glossy shade somewhere between red and brown.

From nowhere, a lump formed in Jana’s throat. She returned the picture as carefully as she’d removed it, folding the gowns and laying them on top.

She sat down on the small chest behind her.

Alain had loved the woman. Blane had told her that once when he’d been telling her about his brother, before Alain had come back from his business trip. She’d forgotten. She supposed she simply hadn’t been paying much attention. She had not known Alain then. She’d had no idea what Blane was talking about anyway and, except for that once, he’d never mentioned it again.

She still wasn’t certain that she understood what it was, but she thought it was some part of Alain that she had not been given.

Thinking of it made her heart tighten painfully. She thrust the thought aside, got to her feet and looked around, realizing suddenly that she had been in the attic far longer already than she’d intended.

Nervous now because she'd thought to collect the clothes and be gone in a matter of minutes, fearing that Alain would return any moment and discover her, she began to work more quickly … and found trunk after trunk of gowns that had obviously all belonged to Caro. After a thorough search that took nearly an hour and left her perspiring from the heat and dirty from the accumulation of dust, she still hadn't located a single trunk that contained male clothing.

She stood dispiritedly in the center of the room, brushing the grime from her hands onto the skirts of her dress as she stared at a dust mote, wondering if she should simply give up on the idea altogether. After a moment, she lifted her chin determinedly. There had to be something here that she could use!

She’d checked every chest that was in plain view and easily reached. She began moving the smaller pieces of furniture and stacks of papers around, searching for others.

She found a smallest chest that was surprisingly heavy. Opening it, she saw it held some interesting bric-a-brac, papers and a couple of worn leather bound books, but no clothing. She lifted a couple of old valises and shook them. Empty. She glanced around again.

Her gaze fell on the corner of what looked to be a chest under a stack of old quilts. She moved quickly toward it, removing the quilts and stacking them on the floor, then kneeling to lift the lid of the trunk.

She sat back and stared at the contents, stunned, almost afraid to touch it. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, some sort of clothing, but not of cloth. It looked as if it had been made from … skin—animal skin, she hoped. It had been embellished all over with all sorts of strange designs in some sort of tiny, colored stones.

It was formed in straight lines, had very little shape about it, but for some reason Jana felt that it had been designed for and worn by a female. It looked far more primitive even than the clothing she’d had to wear since she had come to Orleans.

"It belonged to my mother."

***

Startled, Jana dropped the garment guiltily, whirling at the sound of Alain’s voice, her heart knocking against her ribs. Typically, the sight of Alain, angry, was sufficient to make her mind go perfectly blank.

He stood in the doorway, his feet slightly apart, flicking his riding crop against the top of his boot. Mesmerized by the movement, Jana stared at the crop for several moments, then slowly lifted her gaze to his face.

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly.

Jana sidled away from the trunk as he approached, but he didn't seem to notice. "Known?"

He lifted the dress from the trunk and smoothed it carefully as if he hadn't heard her. "She was Camarl—the ‘civilized’ race of Orleans refer to them as Reduns—because of the red tint to our skin,” he said, turning to pin her with his piercing golden eyes.

She found she was having a great deal of difficulty understanding what Alain was telling her. She thought, partly, it was because he was scaring her, but partly it was because she understood that there was some significance to what he’d told her that simply escaped her. “You are not … outworlder?”

His lips twisted derisively. "Half-breed."

Jana decided there was something definitely menacing in his attitude and sidled a little closer to the door. "Half-breed?"

He smiled, but somehow he didn't look amused. Perhaps it was the cold glitter in his eyes?

"You thought, perhaps, that I was a full blooded primitive? Which is worse, I wonder? Half a savage or all?" His features hardened when she said nothing, but then he really hadn't expected a reply. "My father was a … slave. A bondage for women’s sport.”

Jana’s eyes widened in surprise.

“He had escaped, ended up here, on Orleans. The other outworlders knew him for what he was, naturally, and so he was not considered acceptable as a companion. The ruling race of Orleans did not know, but he was not acceptable to them because he had no bloodlines to make him so. So he chose a mate among the Camarl, a race considered by both outworlder and Orleans alike as little more than intelligent animals.

Caro found that particularly unpalatable … not enough to turn down my offer of marriage when she was in desperate need of a husband to save her from disgrace, but … unacceptable nonetheless. Is that sordid enough to satisfy your curiosity, my dear?”

Jana nodded jerkily instead of telling him that she really hadn't been curious at all. She had already discovered far more than she wished to know. She glanced nervously toward the door, wondering if she could excuse herself without further exacerbating his wrath. He seemed … distracted. She made her way toward the door. She hadn't quite made it when her wrist was seized in a steely grip that jerked her to a halt.

"You didn't answer my question."

"What question?" Jana asked breathlessly.

"How long have you known?"

"Known what?"

Alain gripped her shoulders. "Damn it, Jana. I'm not in the mood for one of your games now. Tell me!" he ground out angrily.

"I didn't know! I don’t understand … any of it.” It was not altogether true. She did understand that what he’d told her was a source of great pain to him and that his anger was his way of dealing with that pain. Tears blinded her, pooling in her eyes before they ran down her cheeks.

He gazed down at her in baffled fury, trying to decide whether she was lying because he'd frightened her or whether she was telling the truth. And, if it was true, then why? If it wasn't his mixed blood she found so repulsive, so impossible to accept, why was she so disgusted at the thought of carrying his child?

Despite his frustration, at the sight of her tears, he found himself struggling against a welling of tenderness that formed a tight, painful knot in his chest. Lifting his hand, he brushed them from her cheeks.

She wanted no part of him. He knew that now though he’d refused to see it, or accept, it before. But he wanted her with an aching intensity that drove all rational thought from him. For now it was enough that he wanted her.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said hoarsely, pulling her roughly against him and smothering her protest with his lips in a kiss that belied his words, a kiss that was hard and brutal, almost punishing.

He released her almost as abruptly as he'd seized her, staring at her for a long moment. Jana backed away a step. When he made no move to stop her, she whirled and fled the attic, more than half expecting him to follow her.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved, or devastated, when he did not.

Chapter Thirteen

Jana thought, at first, that she was dreaming when she felt his touch. Days had passed since their last unpleasant encounter, in the attic, more than a week since she had turned him away from her in disgust because of her terror over the ‘natural’ reproduction practiced on this primitive world.

He had not come to her once, in all that time. After the way Blane had looked at her, she was certain Alain was as disgusted with her as Blane was, saw her now as less than human.

She had convinced herself, at first, that she was glad. Truthfully, she’d only been relieved at first, but then it had occurred to her that the damage was done. There was no point in avoiding sexual gratification when the worst had already happened. There was no sense in depriving herself of the comfort she derived from being held by Alain afterward.

But he had not wanted to share himself, and he had not offered the comfort, and she’d finally had misery to top off her fear, which had made her even more desperate to leave. Unfortunately, asking had not gained what she sought. It had only made Alain suspicious enough to have her watched whenever she was not in her room.

She knew he had. She could not even step outside without discovering one or another of the servants was trailing nearby … or Blane … or Alain. They always acted as if unaware of her, always busy doing something else, but she was always in view of someone. She had been guarded her entire life. Until she’d come to Orleans, she had not known what it was like even to have a little freedom.

There was probably far more that she didn’t understand than there was that she did, but she understood captivity completely.

She stiffened as she came awake enough to realize that she was not dreaming, not because she didn’t want to share herself, but because the smell of Brie was unmistakable.

Even as she opened her eyes, however, his mouth opened hungrily over hers and she found that she was drowning in the sensations his kiss always evoked in her. He pushed her onto her back, his tongue plunging inside her mouth and retreating in a kiss that was sensuously evocative, frightening in intensity, setting her heart to thundering wildly. His hand moved down to cup one breast and a pleasant languor settled over her as he teased the taut peak. She gasped, wanting to feel the warm tug of his mouth on her.