Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (5 page)

Cair slowly lowered his arms and came toward her, his face set and hard, a muscle working in his unshaven jaw.

Davan forced herself not to take a step back when he came to tower above her, a vicious frown drawing his thick black eyebrows slashing downward.

“Let’s you and me get something straight, Shanahan,” he ground out. “I am the captain of this sorry excuse for a ship as you have labeled it and you are nothing more than a crewmember—an unwanted crewmember at that. I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel about the
Foehn
or the women working here or me, for that matter. I don’t even care how good a healer you are. All that is immaterial. You were assigned here and, unfortunately, you will have to remain here until I can beg, borrow, steal, coerce or kill to get you reassigned. But as long as you
are
here, you will show me the respect I am due. Did you get that?”

Davan had to crane her neck to look up into that scowling face a good foot above her. Something told her not to back down to Cair Ghrian because if she did, he’d use the weakness against her.

“All I ask is the same consideration, Captain,” she said.

“You haven’t done anything to deserve consideration,” he snapped. “Obviously you fucked up somewhere along the way or you wouldn’t have been sent here. What the hell did you do?”

A wicked little imp must have climbed up on Dagan’s shoulder for she spoke before she thought.

“What did you do to deserve being assigned here, Captain? How did
you
screw up?”

Primordial rage shot through Cair like the blast of a laser canon. No woman—not even Amethyst—had ever dared speak to him in such a disrespectful tone nor question 24

Pleasure’s Foehn

why he had been exiled to a pleasure ship. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out, grabbed the healer by the upper arms and dragged her to him.

“Don’t you ever,” he said, his voice low and deadly, “ask me something like that again, Shanahan. Is that clear?”

Feeling as helpless as a kitten in the muscular warrior’s grip, Davan’s feet were barely on the floor. She was pressed to the captain so tightly she could feel the buckle of his uniform trousers digging into her chest. Crushed against him, she found it difficult to breathe but the wild Amhantarean side of her took hold and the light of battle turned her eyes dark with fury.

“Take your hands off me, Captain Ghrian, or I will not only file a formal complaint, I will press sexual harassment charges against you,” she warned. Accustomed to having women fall all over themselves when he so much as looked at them, Cair stared down at her with disbelief. She was glaring back at him so fiercely he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes. A white line ringed her tightly compressed lips and in her temple, a pulse beat furiously. Her nostrils flexed like an angry bull and had the situation been any less volatile, he might have laughed at the wild-haired virago. As it was, he thought he understood the true situation.

“Ah,” he said, his mouth twisting. “You’re one of
those
. No wonder they sent you here.” He let go of her and ran his palms down the seams of his trousers as though she was contaminated.

Davan actually hissed at him as he released her. She wanted to jump on his back and pummel him.

“No, I am
not
one of those,” she snarled, realizing what he was intimating. Before Cair could respond, the Vid-Com chimed. He barely glanced at it before barking out a loud “What?”

“Her Majesty, the queen, wishes to speak with you, Captain,” the com officer replied.

“Tell her I’ll talk to her later,” Cair snapped.

“You’ll talk to me now,” an imperious voice informed him. Davan turned to look at the massive Vid-Com as a life-sized image of the Amhantarean monarch appeared on the six foot by six foot screen.

“I am busy, Madame,” Cair stated.

“Doing what?” his mother demanded. “Getting drunk?”

“We’ll finish this later,” Cair told Davan.

Relieved to be dismissed, Davan started for the door.

“One minute, wench!” the queen called out.

Cair snorted. “Don’t call her that or she’ll file a protest, Mother.”

25

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Davan flinched at the use of the word but stopped and turned to face the screen, lowering her head to the woman who was a legend on her home world. The queen was staring at her and Davan could feel that stare to the pit of her belly.

“Don’t I know you?”

Davan shook her head. “No, Your Majesty. I’ve never been to Amhantar.”

“But you have Amhantarean ties, do you not?”

Davan smiled. “My grandmother was from Domhan, Your Majesty.”

“Your hair,” the queen said.

Sighing, Davan resisted the urge to touch her unruly tresses. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I just can’t seem to do anything with it today.”

“Let it down, girl,” the queen commanded. “Let me see you with your hair hanging free.”

Davan blushed and reached up to pull the pins from her hair. As the wild mass tumbled around her, she heard a slight gasp from the captain.

“What is your name?” the queen asked in a near whisper.

“Dr. Davan Shanahan, Your Majesty.”

“And your grandmother? Who is she? What’s her name?”

“She’s dead, Your Majesty, but her name was Catherine—”

“McGregor?” the queen interrupted.

Davan’s eyebrows shot up. “Aye, Your Majesty, but how did you—?”

“It’s been so long,” the queen said as though she hadn’t heard the question. “So long and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes, Mother,” Cair disagreed. He turned a speculative look to the woman standing a few feet away.

“Cat McGregor. I should have recognized you right off, wench,” the queen said softly. “By the Goddess I can see her in you as clearly as though she was standing there talking to me.”

“You knew her?” Davan asked.

“She and I ran together, aye. We were on the same adept level, the best of friends. How did she die?”

“In her sleep,” Davan said softly. “With a smile on her face.”

“A good way to go,” the queen said.

“Do we really look that much alike?”

“It’s the hair,” the queen stated. “Damn me if you aren’t the spitting image of that warrioress with your hair all wiry like that and trying to escape your head. Cat could never keep that thick mane of hers slicked back in a bun, either.”

Cair had grown up listening to the wild tales his mother had related to him and his siblings about the time before the Great Border Wars and knew the name Cat McGregor 26

Pleasure’s Foehn

as well as his own. Though it had been ten years since he had been allowed home to Amhantar, he remembered well the full-length portraits of the women of the Sisterhood of Drogheda who had been a part of the resistance during the Wars and in particular, the glorious painting of Cat McGregor.

And he smelled a rat.

“Dr. Shanahan just arrived on board less than an hour ago, Madame,” Davan heard the captain say. “I’m sure she needs to rest before she assumes her duties.”

“Cat was a healer, too,” the queen said. “Did you know that, wench?”

Davan dug her fingernails into her palms. “Aye, Your Majesty. That is one of the reasons I embraced the profession.”

The queen made no comment and seemed to be studying Davan. Her dark green eyes ran up and down the young woman then a slow smile creased the aging face.

“Run along, Davie,” she said. “They do call you Davie, don’t they?”

“You know damned well they do,” Cair growled.

Davan cast the captain an inquisitive look. “Aye, Your Majesty, they do.”

“Enjoy your assignment, wench,” the queen said. “I do believe bigger and better things are in the future for you.”

“Not if I can help it,” Cair said under his breath.

27

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Three

The air quality in Davan’s quarters had improved dramatically by the time she returned. A faint scent of oranges filled the air but the sparse furnishings in the living area were gone, leaving the room bare.

“Great,” Davan said. “Just great.”

Having nowhere to sit, she went into the sleeping area and stood with her hands on her hips, annoyed that the platform had been stripped of the blanket and sheets.

“What the hell is going on here?” she snapped and strode angrily to the Vid-Com. Running her finger down the list of contact points on the screen, she put the tip of her index finger to housekeeping. Almost instantly, the face of a blowsy middle-age woman filled the screen.

“Housekeeping. Whatcha need?” the woman asked in a bored tone.

“Who do I need to talk to about furnishings for my quarters?”

“Supply,” the woman answered and the Vid-Com clicked off. Davan ground her teeth and touched the button marked supply. The same woman appeared on the Vid-Com.

“Supply. Whatcha need?” the woman repeated.

Davan opened her mouth, thought better of it then cleared her throat. When she spoke, she put every ounce of haughtiness she’d ever heard her mother use into her demands.

“I want a comfortable settee, loveseat and chair. I want a cocktail table, two end tables, an oversized hassock, two brass table lamps, a round table with four padded chairs and an entertainment unit.”

The woman on the other end of the Vid-Com frowned. “You don’t want much, do you, dearie?”

“And as for the sleeping quarters, I want two sets of 280-count Éigiptine percale sheets, a very thick quilted comforter, two oversized goose-down pillows, six thick hand towels with two dozen bath cloths to match, and a dozen thick bath sheets. I want those items to match and/or blend in with one another, preferable in celadon green and rose.”

“Is that so?”

“For the galley, I want a full compliment of cookware, appliances, utensils, dishes, glassware and flatware. Doesn’t have to be expensive but I want it durable.”

The woman snorted. “And just how do you plan on paying for all that, Dr. Shanahan?”

28

Pleasure’s Foehn

“Charge it to medcom and if they have a problem with it, send someone down here and I’ll give them a personal credit voucher! And do it ASAP!”

Before the woman could reply, Davan disconnected. She touched the maintenance button, not in the least surprised when the same woman appeared but this time with a leery look on her overly made-up face.

“Maintenance,” she said.

“I want the heat turned down ten degrees in here and the humidifier turned up. The lighting is sufficient but I prefer a more pinkish tone to the overheads. I like the orange scent. Increase the concentration on that a tad. When do the cybots make their rounds for cleaning?”

“Ah, whenever you call for ‘em. There’s no set—”

“Schedule every Monday for fresh linens and to pick up the wash and every Friday for a complete cleaning,” Davan interrupted.

“Well—”

“What’s your name?”

The woman flinched. “Why do you need to know?”

“Your name!” Davan snapped, her eyes narrowed.

“Darla,” the woman replied quickly.

“See that I am comfortable while I am on the
Foehn
, Darla, and there’ll be a nice bit of credits for you at the end of each week. Deal?”

Darla nodded slowly. “I think I can handle that, Doc.”

Davan smiled. “I am relying on you, dearie. I know you are up to the challenge. Don’t let me down.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t!” Darla agreed, smiling for the first time. Satisfied her needs would be met, Davan broke the connection then set about familiarizing herself with the small quarters. It didn’t take long and the only thing she found left over from the last occupant was a large pair of hip waders, the black waterresistant leather smelling less like fish than manure.

“Ugh,” she said and picked the waders up by their tops and took them to the disposal unit. Not sure how to work the unit, she put the offensive footwear inside the stainless steel bin, closed the unit’s tambour door and wrote herself a note to ask how to operate the disposal.

Her personal belongings had yet to arrive—or if they had were still sitting on the loading dock—so there was nothing for her to do but sit on the unmade platform bed and fume. She braced her chin in the palm of her hand and studied the floor, making a mental note to ask for new carpeting.

It wasn’t going to be a bed of roses on the
Foehn
. She knew that already. The whores were going to test her every chance they got and until she proved to them she was up to the task, life wasn’t going to be easy. The soldiers who came onboard for their R&R’s 29

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

might prove friendlier, but she knew she’d have her hands full with them, as well. She’d already made an enemy of the captain’s slut and possibly the slut’s sister Cinnabar—that remained to be seen. The captain, himself, would be the biggest pain in the ass with his XO running a close second.

The only blossom among all the prickly thorns had been the surprise of finding the Amhantarean queen had known Davan’s granny and apparently had fond memories of the woman.

A soft chime sounded from the Vid-Com, breaking in on Davan’s thoughts. She didn’t bother to look at the screen as she said, “Aye?”

“Supply,” a gravelly voice announced.

Davan got up and went to the door, opening it to find several cybots laden down with linens, boxes and an assortment of crates. She stepped aside for the artificial intelligence ‘bots to enter.

The man who accompanied the ‘bots seemed none too happy to be there. His scowl was ferocious as he chomped on an unlit cigar and stood with arms folded as the ‘bots went about placing the items where Davan wanted them.

“All this fuss and you won’t be in these rooms four hours out of a day,” the man complained in a thick Astrálach brogue Davan could barely understand. “Seems a waste to me.”

Davan shot the man an annoyed glance but said nothing to him.

“Cap’n ain’t going to like having all this crap requed from main supply, either.”

“If Captain Ghrian has a problem with it, you tell him to take it with me,” Davan snapped.