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‘In other words I’ll be a prisoner,’ she said evenly.
He had to admire her refusal to be daunted and her ability to face facts. ‘I’d rather you thought of yourself as a guest,’ he said with smooth cynicism, and waited for her response.
‘Guests can leave whenever they want to,’ she retorted. ‘What is this all about?’
‘If I told you I’d have to kill you.’
How many times had she heard that tossed at someone in jest? Leola looked at the dark, formidable face of the man who’d hauled her here, and felt the hair on the back of her neck lift. She suspected he meant it.
‘You will be perfectly safe,’ he said.
‘Somehow,’ she returned cuttingly, ‘I don’t find that very reassuring.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I won’t be there.’
She shrugged, although a swift pang of apprehension tightened her nerves. ‘It would certainly be more to my liking, but I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘If I have to I’ll tie you hand and foot, gag you and blindfold you.’ Not a threat, not a warning, just a simple statement of fact not softened by his final words. ‘I don’t want to do that.’
Apprehension intensifying into something more than fear, Leola met implacable eyes, cold as polar seas. ‘What’s the alternative?’
‘You give me your word not to scream or make a fuss.’
‘You’d accept my word?’
His smile was humourless. ‘I’ll still have to gag and blindfold you, but we could dispense with the hog-tying.’
Anger helped drown out the terror. From between her teeth she ground out, ‘I refuse to help you kidnap me. What sort of fool do you think I am?’
‘One that’s entirely too mouthy,’ he said, and kissed her—not the gentle kiss of the previous time but a full-on plundering of her mouth as though he had every right to do it, as though they were passionate lovers separated for years and at last together again.
Fire leapt through her, replacing cold panic with an emotion just as primal, just as overriding—a heady, violent desire that sang like some siren’s potent, dangerous song.
With every bit of will she possessed Leola resisted the astonishing, rising tide of passion, until she felt a sharp prick in her neck.
Stomach contracting in wild terror, she forced open her eyes to stare at him.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ he said, his voice suddenly harsh. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
The meaningless words echoed in her mind as darkness rolled over her.
Nico held her until she went limp, then looked at the man who’d come in through the secret passage. The newcomer was lowering a hypodermic.
In the local dialect Nico said, ‘Does it always work so fast?’
‘She must be very susceptible.’
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Nico said grimly. ‘How the hell did you happen to have this drug on your person?’
‘I always carry it. I am, after all, a doctor. It’s just as quick as hitting someone over the head, and less noisy.’ His companion gave a laconic grin. ‘That one would have fought all the way. You must be losing your touch.’
‘She was afraid,’ Nico said absently, looking down at her white face. Even deeply unconscious, she was beautiful. Something hot and unguarded stirred inside him; it had been too long since he’d had a lover.
Controlling it, he went on, ‘Thank you for that—we can’t afford to either waste time on her or have her caught.’
‘Do you think she is in league with Paveli?’ The doctor said the name like a curse. ‘She could have been acting as a lookout.’
Nico frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps she’s his woman. We know nothing about her.’
‘Her accent says she’s a New Zealander. It seems unlikely she has anything to do with him, but she saw Paveli in the square, and she wasn’t going to tell me.’
The newcomer stared at the woman, and, moved by some feeling he didn’t explore, Nico adjusted her limp body so that her face was hidden against his chest. ‘We have to get her out of here,’ he said brusquely, and lifted her.
Fragrant against him, she lay in his arms as though she belonged there. Grimly Nico controlled his swift, fierce response and headed for the opening to the secret passage.
‘And you, my Lord, are altogether too recognisable,’ the doctor said briskly from behind.
Nico’s arms tightened around the woman in his arms. ‘So we’ll make sure she’s safe until we can ask her a few more questions.’
* * *
Leola woke to a throbbing head and a dry mouth; when she tried to lift her eyelids that hurt her head even more. Without volition she groaned.
From somewhere close by a woman said in heavily accented English, ‘You feel bad now, but soon you will be better. Drink this.’
Leola sipped greedily, then sank back into sleep, tossing restlessly as a hard-eyed Viking prowled through her dreams.
When she woke again she lay very still, forcing her sluggish brain into action. Slowly, reluctantly, it disgorged memories—her decision to go for a walk at night, and a face revealed by a flare of light. She shivered, because something about that face filled her with repugnance.
The image was replaced by another face—hard, forcefully handsome, compelling.
Ice-grey eyes, she thought, the pictures jumbling in her brain. He’d kissed her and all hell had broken loose…
Had he hit her over the head? A tentative hand revealed no sore spot there.
Drugs, then…
Dimly she remembered a sharp pain in her neck while he was kissing her. Her captor hadn’t been waving a hypodermic around, so someone else must have come up from behind.
Her captor’s kiss had been a cynical ploy to dazzle her into mindless submission.
Humiliatingly, it had worked. Shame ate into her; she’d known he was dangerous, yet she’d succumbed to his cynical caress like some raw teenager awash with hormones.
Never again, she vowed.
At least it didn’t seem as though he intended to kill her. On the other hand she might be a hostage or a bargaining tool. Or he might just fancy a playmate for a few nights before getting rid of her.
Feeling sick, she shifted uneasily, wondering if he’d already…
No, she felt entirely normal, just lax and sleepy. Surely she’d know if she’d been raped?
How? Although she’d had plenty of men friends, several of whom would have liked to become closer, she’d been too dedicated—too intensely focused on her dreams and her career—for relationships.
Too scared, too; long ago she’d decided that love and passion led to pain and humiliation. So, as one-night stands were definitely not her style, she was that rare thing in the modern world, a virgin.
But it hadn’t been fear she’d felt when the grey-eyed Viking had kissed her, and his kisses had wiped any thought of career and ambition from her mind. His kisses had made her feel uncontrolled and wanton and desirous.
No other man had ever done that.
Whatever she’d walked into last night in the square, she didn’t want a bar of it. She had to get away from here—wherever here was!
Feverish thoughts jostled through her brain, but in the end the only plan she could come up with was to pretend to be the idiot her captor no doubt thought her.
Feigning sleep, she tried to gather as many sensory impressions as she could. She was in a bed—a very comfortable one. Outside she could hear what seemed to be the soft lapping of water, but there was no smell of salt. Instead, an indescribable freshness filled the air, mingled with the now familiar scents of cypresses and something lighter and sweeter. Flowers?
And someone else was with her. Although the room was silent, she could just catch the faint rhythm of something making regular motions. A rocking chair, she thought, rather pleased with herself for working this out.
She simply couldn’t imagine the man who’d brought her here in a rocking-chair. Oddly enough that thought brought a smile to the corners of her mouth, and gave her the courage to slowly, stealthily, lift her lashes. This time they obeyed her will, so that she could see the woman who sat sewing beside a long window.
Nothing frightening there, she thought with a swift rush of relief. Middle-aged, pleasantly plump, clad in some sort of nurse’s uniform, the woman in the chair wore her black hair off her face in a bun at her neck. Her olive skin and Mediterranean features meant she was probably Illyrian.
As though she was warned by some sixth sense, the woman’s head swung abruptly around, her face lighting up when she saw Leola watching her.
‘Ah, you are truly awake,’ she said, and came across to stand beside her, automatically taking her wrist and checking her pulse.
‘Where am I?’ Leola’s voice sounded croaky and feeble at the same time.
‘In Osita, in the Sea Isles,’ the woman told her readily, releasing her wrist. ‘Yes, you are feeling much better. Perhaps you would like something to eat, hmm?’
Osita? Leola frowned, trying to remember where she’d seen that name, then discarded the search to concentrate on more important things. Although the thought of food nauseated her, if she said yes, the nurse might leave the room to collect it.
And then she could get up to work out where she was. ‘I’ll try,’ she said cautiously.
But the woman rang a bell beside the bed. ‘Something light would be best. Soup, I think.’
Baulked, Leola said in a muted voice, ‘Thank you.’
Almost immediately there came a knock at a door. The nurse bustled across and ordered whatever it was she’d decided on, then came back. ‘So, let me help you sit up,’ she said. ‘You will want to wash your face and clean your teeth. I will bring you a basin.’
After helping Leola sit against a bank of pillows, she went off through another door, this one in the wall opposite.
Turning her head carefully, Leola examined the large, beautifully furnished room. No prison cell this, she thought with a stab of unwanted appreciation. It was a sumptuously decorated bedroom—a woman’s room. The large glass doors opened out onto a balcony; through the balustrade she could see the tops of trees, and a glimpse of blue, blue water against forested hills.
Not the sea, though; a lake. And a picture suddenly flicked up in her mind—a lake amongst hills, with a small island to one side. And on the island a castle set in gardens.
A very good place to keep a prisoner, she thought grimly, wondering how far from the shores of the lake the island was. She’d seen the photograph of Osita in a tourist brochure, but since she’d had no intention of going there she’d taken little interest in it.
The nurse brought her the basin and a hairbrush, and stood by while she freshened up before brushing her hair into some sort of order.
‘So pretty,’ the woman commented as Leola smoothed the tawny-gold locks back from her face.
Absurdly self-conscious, Leola said, ‘Thank you.’ And asked before she could think things through, ‘Who owns this place?’
The woman looked surprised. ‘The prince,’ she said, as though there was only one prince and everyone knew his name.
While Leola digested this in dumbfounded silence, another knock on the door summoned her keeper across to collect a tray.
The prince? The only prince she could think of was Prince Roman, the hereditary ruler of the Illyrian Sea Isles, and she’d seen photographs of him. With the stunning good looks of some Mediterranean god, he wasn’t her Viking.
Fugitive colour burned across her cheeks as she realised what her wayward mind had come up with. Whoever the man who’d brought her here was, he most definitely wasn’t her anything.
After all, he’d kissed her just so that someone could pump her full of drugs. But if this place belonged to Prince Roman Magnati surely she couldn’t be in any real danger. He’d grown up in Switzerland, become a tycoon, and only recently returned to Illyria to take over his duties and responsibilities.
It didn’t seem likely he’d be any sort of threat. But in that case, why was she here?
CHAPTER TWO
LEOLA looked up as the nurse returned and settled the tray over her knees. Her worried thoughts took second place to hunger. Lemons, she thought, and chicken—and some sort of very tiny pasta? Certainly a hint of garlic.
‘Eggs and lemon soup with chicken,’ the nurse told her. ‘A Greek dish, and good for illness—very soothing and nourishing.’
Amazingly, Leola finished it, and the chunk of crusty bread that arrived with it, obediently ate an orange and drank a cup of coffee with milk and sugar. Even more amazingly she drifted off into a restful sleep afterwards.
It wasn’t until the second day that she wondered if she was being drugged with a mild sedative. Those naps were too frequent. She tried to convince herself that it could be the aftereffects of the original drug, and waited for the nurse to leave the room. Cautiously, head spinning rather pleasantly, she got out of bed—and found herself staggering like a drunkard.
Something was definitely wrong.
Apart from the obvious physical effects, she felt altogether too mellow. Normally she’d be spitting tacks at this imprisonment; now she could barely summon up any resentment.
And it was not because the Viking kept striding into her thoughts and her dreams…
Clutching the back of an armchair, she stared out the window and took in a series of deep breaths, forcing herself to concentrate. The scene outside was magnificent, gardens and lawns bordered by huge trees that almost hid what seemed to be a small building, perhaps a chapel, built in the same pale stone as the castle.
But tempting though it was to drink it all in, she couldn’t waste time on the beauty spread before her.
Although she couldn’t see any sign of a jetty, presumably there was one hidden by the trees. She leaned forward, frowning as she estimated the distance between the island and the mainland.
Too far for her to cross without transport. Having been brought up beside the sea, she was a good swimmer, but she wouldn’t manage that distance.
Even her disappointment was muted. Angrily, she called on her strength to resist the effects of whatever drug she’d ingested. Perhaps the other side of the island was closer to the shore. If it was less than a kilometre she’d be all right.
So she’d find out. She’d insist on taking a walk. But she’d need to get the drug out of her system first; right now she was too limp to cope with anything more than a leisurely stroll, let alone a lengthy swim.
It was no use asking the nurse for help, since she had to be administering the sedative.
Just you wait, Prince Whoever-you-are, she thought fiercely. One day you’ll regret you ever dragged me into this business.
