Once a Princess (15 page)

Tanya couldn't ride straight for Natchez, as much as she wanted to. Her horse-riding skills weren't good enough to ensure that she could stay well ahead of any pursuit on a direct route. As it was, she'd been unseated nearly a half-dozen times in the first two days she'd spent getting acquainted with the horse she had appropriated for her use. So her roundabout journey home took five days in all. And if she weren't so worried about The Seraglio and how Dobbs was managing without her, she still wouldn't venture into town. But she'd been gone a total of seven days, and she couldn't begin to imagine what kind of shambles the tavern would be in. She had to get back.

Nonetheless, she was plainly and simply afraid Stefan would be there waiting for her. Of course, logic told her they wouldn't come all the way back to Natchez for her. And even if they did, would they wait when they didn't find her there? All she could do was hope not, and take as many precautions as she could.

Waiting on the outskirts of town until the wee hours of the morning was the worst, but she couldn't risk entering The Seraglio while it was open for business—if it was still open. If Stefan had followed her, then that would be where he would await her. But even if he wasn't there, she was without her disguise, so she had to wait anyway.

She had bartered the horse to get across the river, instead of Stefan's waistcoat. The ferryman had just loved that trade, but she had no further use for the animal anyway and was delighted to get rid of it. Dobbs would probably have a fit when he heard about it. Horses weren't cheap.

When Tanya deemed the hour was late enough, she made her way stealthily into town, keeping off the main streets as much as possible. The tavern was quiet when she reached it, the doors closed, no lights burning, but she had no way of knowing if it had opened today or not. Next door, the brothel was still entertaining customers. So was the gambling house across the road. But neither establishment was making enough noise to allow her to break into the tavern if the doors were locked. And both were.

Tired and hungry at this late hour, Tanya didn't relish her options. She could either climb to the porch roof and hope one of the upstairs windows was open, or wait until tomorrow for the tavern to be opened—if it would be—and risk what she had tried to avoid tonight.

She climbed the porch roof. It took all of ten minutes and one near fall, but she made it. And to her utter relief, Dobbs' window was open and easy to
enter. Inside the room, however, it was pitch-black, the moonless night that had aided her through town now hindering her.

She found the bed by bumping into it. “Dobbs, wake up. Dobbs!” she whispered urgently, shaking the mattress. He didn't make a sound, not a snore, not a grumble at being disturbed. “Dobbs?”

“You won't find him there, Princess.”

“No,” she groaned as a match flared to life and she swung around to see Stefan sitting in a chair by the door. All she could think to ask at the moment was, “Why are you still here?”

“Still? Ah, of course. We
have
been waiting nearly three days for you. Did you think we wouldn't?”

“I had hoped!” she exploded and dashed for the window.

She didn't waste time climbing through it, she dived. Her knee hit the sill, her shoulder hit the roof, and her boot snagged on something. She was still cringing with the pain from her landing when the “snag” began to pull her backward. She immediately flipped over to kick at Stefan's hand, but got her other foot caught for the effort.

With dread, she heard him say, “Give me your hand or I'll pull you in by your legs, and at the moment I don't care how badly you get scraped in the process.”

She didn't doubt that he meant it, but she tried kicking loose from his hold once more. That effort started him pulling.

“Wait! Here.” She pushed herself to a sitting position to offer her hand. For a moment she didn't
think he was going to take it. But he did, and she was hauled in so quickly, she had no chance to try anything else, even if she thought to.

The room was dark again, Stefan's light having been extinguished when he bolted after her. He let go of her now to light another. She wished he hadn't. He looked angry enough to wring her neck.

But his voice was merely mild when he informed her, “You are caught, Tanya. Accept it.”

“I can't,” she cried feelingly.

“You will.”

Those two words seemed to hold more than a warning, as if he knew something she didn't. And he sounded so confident, triumphant even.

She turned away from the glow in his eyes. He moved to light the lamp by the bed. She stared at Dobbs' bed—without Dobbs in it.

“My God,” she gasped suddenly. “Has Dobbs died?”

“Not that I know of.”

She turned back to him, infuriated by his offhand tone. “Then where is he? What have you done with him?”

“I haven't done anything to him.”

“Stefan!”

“First I'll have your knife, Tanya, the one that cuts so easily through thick rope.” When all she did was stare at him, he started toward her. “You can hand it over, or I can strip you down to find it for myself.”

“You aren't undressing me, damn you!” she told him as she bent to retrieve her knife.

“Whatever is necessary, Princess, will be done. Don't deceive yourself by thinking otherwise, because you are
not
going to slip through our fingers again.”

She would. She had to. And that resolve made her stare at the knife in her hand.

“You might want to recall the last time you tried it,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “You won't have any better luck this time.” She met his eyes without answering, so he added, “You're determined to provoke my temper, aren't you?”

“Does that mean I'm in danger of being tossed on the bed?” she goaded sarcastically.

“It means you're in danger of ending up over my knee again.”

“Like hell!” She slapped the knife down in his open palm.

“Is that the last of them?”

“Yes.” But he was staring so hard at her, she shouted it again. “Yes!”

When he continued to stare, she knew he was debating whether he ought to search her anyway. And she couldn't blame him for doubting her. That he finally nodded his acceptance clearly showed how he felt about her now. He didn't
want
to search her. Last week he would have jumped on an excuse to do so.

Well, to hell with him. She was glad he didn't want her anymore. She had enough to contend with without letting his or her lust get in the way. She turned and headed for the door.

He sighed, then said, “Don't make me chase you again, Tanya.”

She stopped, infuriated that he sounded so damn patient. Was he never going to lose his temper with her again? she wondered.

“I'm just going across the hall to bathe and change my clothes. Then I'm going to get something to eat—or were you planning on leaving town tonight?”

“You may clean up at the hotel. We have rooms there—”

“I prefer my own room, thank you,” she said crossly, then swung around to give him a frosty smile. “But there's no reason for you to wait for me. You can come by to fetch me in the morning.”

“Enough!”

“Oh, my.” She widened her eyes with feigned innocence. “I haven't made you angry, have I? No, of course not. I'm still standing.”

He really didn't like being reminded of what had passed between them as a result of his temper. Her taunts had made his eyes glow again, but he was exhibiting remarkable control. He didn't even take a step toward her.

His voice, however, cut like steel through her rancor. “It was Sandor's death wish that you be found and brought home to assume your rightful place on the throne. All of these delays you have caused could mean that he will die before we return. If that is the case, Tanya, then you can be assured that you will experience my full wrath…and my pain.”

She wished he hadn't put it quite that way. “Who is Sandor?”

“Our beloved king these last twenty years.”

“But you said Vasili—”

“Because of Sandor's ill health, he abdicated in favor of his only son just before we set out to find you.”

More fairy tales again. Did he continue them to provoke
her
temper?

“Why don't you save that for someone a little more gullible than I am? I'm going to take my bath
now
, Stefan. Wait if you must.”

She turned again, only to be stopped again. “You cannot make free with this place any longer, Tanya.”

“Like hell I can't. This is my home, and before long it will belong to me outright.”

“I don't think so.”

She was beginning to really hate that particular phrase of his. “Look, Stefan, I've been pretty even-tempered, considering what you've put me through. No screaming, very little crying, no fainting. I didn't even go berserk when I found you here again. And do you know I could have cut all of your throats the other night while you were sleeping? But I didn't, did I? Because I hoped—stupidly, I now realize—that you would have sense enough to give up on a lost cause. So you go ahead and take me wherever it is you're taking me. But once you're out of it, I'll come back here. There isn't
anything
that will keep me from coming back here.”

“Madam Bertha—I believe that is your neighbor's name?—would probably welcome you with open arms, but I don't intend to give her the opportunity.”

Tanya frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you will not be allowed to return to this country again. It also means that I bought this tavern from Mr. Dobbs for enough money to keep him in the lap of luxury until his demise. And rather than burn it down, and possibly the town with it, which was my first inclination, I then sold it to the brothel next door—at a considerable loss.”

“You're lying! You couldn't have had that kind of money with you! Nor would you go to such extremes!”

“
Any
extremes, Tanya.
Anything
deemed necessary to fulfill Sandor's last wish,” he said in a hard tone, only to add matter-of-factly, “Our letter of credit was water-stained, but still legible and more than sufficient to meet Mr. Dobbs' exorbitant price. But if you still doubt me, then I will take you next door this minute so that you may ask Madam Bertha exactly who owns this property now.”

Lord help her, she believed him. He was too blasé about it, too ready to offer proof. The effect on her was awful. Pain pressed at her chest. Her face drained of color. And if she hadn't gone berserk before, she did now.

She didn't know how she reached him, but her hands began to hurt, drawing her to an awareness that she was pounding on his chest with both fists, and he was letting her, making no move to stop her, letting her shriek at him and call him every foul name imaginable. And then his arms wrapped around her and he was holding her while she cried her heart out.

“It isn't as bad as all that, Tanya.”

“You don't know what you've done!”

“I've made it possible for you to walk away from this life without any regrets.”

She stiffened. His arms tightened. She pushed away from him anyway, and the look she gave him, awash with tears, was incredulous.

“You destroy the life I had planned for myself and I'm not supposed to regret it? For as long as I can remember, I have worked like a slave in this tavern, and not once, ever, was I paid for it other than with food, a bed, and a slap every time I turned around. Even my clothes were Iris' and Dobbs' cast-offs. But finally, and only because that old bastard couldn't care for himself anymore, I was going to be compensated. And you take that away from me on an arbitrary whim?”

“Not arbitrary. Your continuous attempts to return here left us with only two options. To eliminate your reasons for coming back here, or to see you married immediately to settle the matter.”

“What happened? Wouldn't that jackassed peacock you call a king volunteer to marry me sooner than he had to?” she sneered, telling him how little she believed him. “Not that it would settle
any
matter, because I'd take a leaf from that tale you told the captain of
The Lorilie
and leave him in a minute.”

“I see,” he said tightly.

“No, you don't. You'll never comprehend what you've stolen from me, my dreams, the one thing I wanted more than anything—control of my own life. Only rich widows achieve the kind of independence I craved, but I'm not willing to marry first to become a widow. I could have had it without that—”

She broke off, overwhelmed again by her loss—and the need to strike out at the cause. She gave in to the need.

He caught her fists this time. “Enough!”

“Never!” she cried. “I can never hurt you enough for what you've done. And as soon as I get my hands on a gun, I'm going to shoot you, you son of a bitch!”

To her utter fury, he smiled at that. “You will have to remain with us, won't you, to await that opportunity?” And he picked her up and carried her out of The Seraglio for the last time.

She fought all the way.

Tanya's second riverboat ride wasn't as pleasant as her first would have been. The cabin wasn't as large or as nice, nor was she allowed out of it. And whether she would have been forced to share that other cabin with Stefan on
The Lorilie
, she didn't know and didn't ask. But that she had to share this one with him was of little concern to her.

She slept in the bed. He slept on a pallet on the floor. She wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't answer him, wouldn't even look at him. She totally ignored him as if he were merely another object in the room. The amazing thing was that he let her.

For the most part she had the cabin to herself, and without participating in any conversation when it was offered, she had little else to do but think. Of course, it wasn't hard to conclude that she had once again been far off the mark in her estimation of what was happening to her. Too much money had been spent, in the purchase of horses, in the purchase of tickets on two riverboats—in the purchase of a tavern. God,
she still couldn't believe they had done that, and not even to make a profit, because they had turned around and sold the tavern at a loss.

Their action defied reason. It said money was of no account to them. It said they did it just for her benefit, as Stefan had claimed, to eliminate what kept drawing her back to Natchez. And she couldn't even hold out the hope that he might have been lying about it, because she had made so much noise that night when he carried her out of the tavern that Bertha and one of her girls had come out on their porch to investigate. And Tanya couldn't resist asking the damning question.

Actually, she'd screamed it. “Did you buy The Seraglio from this devil?”

“Sure did, honey,” Bertha had shouted back, not even recognizing Tanya without her camouflage, and no more than amused by her struggles. “I'm gonna fill it with bedrooms. Care to occupy one of them?”

The madam had laughed and gone back inside. Tanya had stopped struggling to get out of Stefan's arms. She hadn't spoken a word to him since.

But she knew now how wrong she'd been in trying to second-guess Stefan and his friends. More money had been spent than could ever be regained by selling her to a brothel, so she was forced to let go of that idea as their motive. Yet their story of kings and lost princesses was still too fantastical for her to accept. The trouble was, now she couldn't think of a single other plausible reason for her abduction, unless…Maybe her family
was
alive and had sent these men to find her. Maybe they had been warned not to tell
her about it for some reason. Maybe…maybe she ought to stop driving herself crazy worrying about it.

After all, there were a number of other things to worry about, like what she was going to do with the rest of her life, now that her one chance at independence had been sold out from under her. She would have to find work. She would actually get paid for it, at long last, but she would be following orders again, forced to please, to do things the way someone else wanted them done, not the way she did. She'd been so close to never having to answer to anyone again…damn Stefan to hell.

Her rage over what they'd done wouldn't go away. And it centered solely on Stefan, even though buying the tavern might have been a collective decision for all she knew. Revenge crossed her mind, but getting even was a new concept to her. She was so used to taking everything dealt her, with no recourse, that she wouldn't even know how to go about retaliating in kind, hurt for hurt. She had promised to shoot Stefan, but of course she hadn't meant that.

She thought about delaying the men some more. Time did seem to be important to them, even though she doubted the reasons given her. She also considered causing dissension among them, though she wasn't sure how that would work when she had yet to see them angry with each other—only with her.

But she couldn't do anything as long as she was locked away with only Stefan. He wouldn't even rise to the bait of her indifference. Not that she wanted
him to; fighting with him never gained her anything but frustration.

“If you will change into one of the dresses we acquired for you, you may join us in the saloon for dinner tonight.”

Tanya had been pacing and hadn't heard Stefan enter. She stopped now, but she didn't turn toward him. She hadn't even looked at the two dresses he had given her that night in the hotel. She had told him once that she wouldn't accept clothes from them, and she had meant it. She had been washing her own clothes, one item a day so she wouldn't have to strip down completely.

“I will need an answer this time, Princess, or I will assume that you prefer to eat alone again.”

She wouldn't prefer that at all. She hadn't even seen the others since they had left Natchez for the second time. And she couldn't very well cause any trouble among them, if that was even possible, when she was kept isolated.

“All right,” she said tonelessly, still without looking at him.

“And you will change?”

She glanced at the small trunk that contained the two dresses as well as a number of new items that Stefan had bought for himself in Natchez.

“Why must I?” she asked.

“Because we do not care to be embarrassed again by your mannish attire.”

Tanya stiffened. Was he actually back to insulting her? Or was that the kindest way he could express
the fact that she looked ridiculous in his waistcoat and shirt? That shouldn't bother her, since she had never in her life dressed to look attractive, but it did coming from Stefan.

“Show me a man wearing a skirt before you call my clothes mannish,” she said merely to be disagreeable. “Never mind. I'll wear one of your dresses, but I hope to hell it doesn't fit.”

“That is a possibility, in which case you may use your discretion to choose whichever is the least inappropriate.”

So this order wasn't set in steel? Then, remembering that Stefan didn't like her to look pretty, she hoped she ended up looking downright beautiful. But that wasn't very likely, considering she hadn't been fitted for either dress, and men weren't very knowledgeable about such things as sizing.

“How much time do I have?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I will need some hair bobs.”

“You will have to do without.”

“You expect miracles?”

“Just something halfway presentable.”

She detected amusement in his answer, but wouldn't look at him to be sure. “Then leave me to it.”

“Will you require help with buttons and such?”

“Not from you. But you can send Vasili to escort me. If I do need help, as my betrothed, he can provide it.”

The slamming of the door was her answer to that. Tanya smiled for the first time in days. She had forgotten how easy it was to provoke Stefan. She wouldn't forget again.