Chapter Four

She-bang, she-bang …

Madrene shot the warrior-troll her “You-are-an-idiot” look—the one she’d often used with her father and brothers when they did something particularly halfbrained, as men were wont to do.

He just grinned at her, as if she would melt at one of his smiles. Hah! That will never happen, even if he does have an engaging smile. Too bad it is ruined by his black face and arrogant attitude. “What kind of game?”

“The Exchange Game.”

She raised her brows in question. What kind of fool does he think I am?

“I tell you a secret. You tell me a secret. It’ll be fun.”

Fun? That is a word I no longer know … if I ever did. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you want to play such a game with me? And why, pray tell, would I be interested in playing games with you?”

“To gain something you want?”

“Pfff! There’s nothing I want but to get to Baghdad.”

“See. I could take you to Baghdad.”

“You could?” Have a caution, Madrene. It is no doubt a trick.

He nodded.

“How? Do you have a camel nearby?”

He laughed. “Nah! A bird will be coming for us tomorrow.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Me? Uh-uh! You will be in Baghdad tomorrow, that I can almost guarantee.”

One day to Baghdad? Even a fast camel could not get us there so quickly, let alone a bird. Even so … “And what would you want in return?

He smiled.

Oh, now I understand. Another randy male looking for a nest for his dangly part. My nesting days are over. “I am not going to couple with you. So forget about that.”

“Lady, let’s understand one thing. I have absolutely no interest in sex with you . Don’t reject what hasn’t been offered.”

His obvious disdain for her rankled Madrene, not that she wanted him to be attracted to her. Still, no woman liked to think she was repulsive. “I have nothing to offer in exchange.” Well, I do have that navel gem which I pilfered last year from Sheikh Yasir … and, all right, there are those nine other jewels I happened to pick up from the others … but I am not about to give any of them to the likes of you.

“Yes, you do.”

He could not have discerned the large stones which she’d sewn into her sleeves. Could he? “And that would be?”

“Information.”

Whew! “Information about what?”

“Your … uh … master.”

Huh? The man really is demented. I would tell him all about Fakhir without any recompense. “He was not my master, he just thought he was. No man is my master. Besides, he has three wives and three concubines to call him master or whatever the bloody hell he wants to be called.”

“Three wives and three concubines? No shit?”

“There is no need to be vulgar.”

“Sorry. Concubine? That’s an outdated word, dontcha think?” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, which it didn’t.

“I was the fourth concubine, or so he planned when he purchased me. That is, until—”

The dolt grinned and finished her thought. “—until you waved your magic fingers and lowered his flag.”

That is one way of describing that thing. “Yea. Plus I have added other things to my bedchamber performance.”

“Like?” His lips twitched with mirth he did not even attempt to suppress.

The loathsome lout! “Spinning about three times whilst waggling my fingers in the direction of … well, you know. And I hum. Uhm, uhm, uhm.”

“This is unbelievable,” Ian—that was the name he had given her—said. “Then what happened?”

“Since he couldn’t swive me with his dangly part, he gave me work to do. For the love of Frigg! I had to milk his bloody camels. Believe you me, that was almost as bad as bedding the old bag of wind. Camels are not pleasant creatures, you know. They spit and snap and snort and smell. Like men. That is part of what you smell on me. Camel spit.”

The troll’s jaw dropped practically to his chest at her long discourse. “He’s old. How old? For some reason, I thought he was fairly young. You called him a bag of wind. Odd way to describe your lover.”

“Aaarrgh! Did you not hear me say I never coupled with the maggot? And, yea, he is old. He has seen more than fifty winters, I would guess. Mayhap even sixty.”

“Hey, fifty isn’t old. I’m thirty-four myself. How old are you?”

“Thirty-one and do not dare make a jest about my being so old my female parts have no doubt dried up.” Which they probably have.

His mouth dropped open again.

Good thing there are no flying insects in here.

“Did someone actually say that to you? Never mind. Don’t answer. You do know that the rumor mill has it that the two of you have been lovers for years?”

“That is the thing about rumors. They are rarely true. First, I have only been here one sennight. Two, I have had no lover since my husband put me aside ten years ago. Three, if I were going to take a lover, it would not be a crude man who breaks wind constantly, day and night.”

“You were married? To whom?”

How like a man to home in on the least relevant thing I said! “To Karl Ivarsson, if you must know. And that is all I will say on the subject.”

“About that farting thing … maybe the tango has a stomach ailment. Hmmmm. That’s one thing we didn’t know about him.”

“What’s a tango?”

“A terrorist. A bad guy.”

Then say what you mean, troll. Calling a bad person a tango … dumb, dumb, dumb. “He does strike terror in those around him. Not me, though.”

“Of course not. You are such a brave woman.”

Is there perchance a rock nearby that would fit in his mouth? “I find your sarcasm insulting. I am not talking to you anymore.” She walked away from the beast and picked up the metal object.

“No!” he hollered.

Is my prisoner daring to order me about … again? Incredible! She turned her head, holding the object in her right hand. He seemed very upset that she would touch his … thing. Hmmm. Does it have some special value? Mayhap there is a gem in there. She held the metal part to her face and peered into the barrel.

“Oh, damn! Put … the … gun … down!” he yelled.

“You are going to burst a vein in your forehead if you are not careful. You remind me of my father the time he suffered under an absurd vow of celibacy. Grouchy all the time, he was.”

“ Gun! Down !” he demanded.

Of course, she held it all the higher. “What is a gun?”

“A weapon, you fool.”

“Well, it could be a weapon … a club wielded to inflict bodily harm.”

“A cl … cl … club,” he sputtered.

As she continued to handle the … gun, he threw himself down on his side and took a knife out of his boot with his hands, even though they were tied behind his back. He starting sawing at the cloth that bound his feet.

Madrene was caught off guard. At first. “Nay, you will not escape from me.” She started to rush back and take the knife from him, but when she dropped the club … uh, gun … to the ground, the air around them exploded with the loudest noise she’d ever heard. Like a thousand strikes of lightning all at once. Dust and rock shards flew from the area near the cave opening where the loudest part of the explosion seemed to take place. Apparently, the weapon had been aimed that way when it dropped. Her gunna protected most of her body, but some of the bits of rock hit her exposed face, and she could feel blood running there. But Ian … oh, my gods! Was he all right?

When the dust settled, she saw her prisoner, who was apparently not a prisoner anymore. He stood with hands on hips, pieces of rag dangling from his wrists and boots. And he was glaring at her.

“I guess it was not a club,” she said weakly. “How was I to know it was a magic stick?”

“I told you it was a gun,” he said with cold fury and started to walk toward her.

She backed up toward the cave opening. “And how was I to know what a gun does? I know what a gunna is, of course, but ne’er have I heard of a gun. Stop frowning at me. It makes you even uglier. And if I were you, I would worry about that big vein in your forehead.”

With every step he took forward, she took a step back. Forward, back, forward, back. Once she was outside the cave, she took off like a deer, running as fast as her bare feet would take her … which wasn’t far. He threw himself in the air and caught her ankles. They both went down with a thud, faces in the dirt.

Then he turned her over onto her back and lay on top of her. Before she could understand what he was about, he put white arm rings on each of her wrists. At first, she was puzzled that he would give her jewelry, but she soon realized they were not adornments, but objects that would restrain her, much as her cloth ties had restrained him. Only then did she look up at the troll-man.

His eyes were hard. His lips a thin line of anger. Blood drizzled from various cuts on his face and neck. But all he said was, “Gotcha!”

When trolls go trolling …

The first thing Ian did was signal Cage to back off.

Of course, Cage had run to his aid when he’d heard the gun fire. Luckily, Jamal and his cohorts were five miles away and couldn’t hear. Cage stood ten yards or so behind the woman, grinning. The shrew couldn’t see him there. “Go,” he mouthed.

Cage left, still grinning.

“Get your bloody damn body off of me, troll!”

Not bloody damn likely! “No, I don’t think so,” Ian said, laughing despite his anger. The witch could have killed them both with her carelessness, and still she thought she could give him orders. Amazing! “And if I’m a troll, you for sure are a trolless, if there is such a thing. Your face is grimy, your hair is greasy, and you stink. Haven’t you ever heard that cleanliness is next to godliness?”

“Do I look like a goddess?” The woman bucked up against him with uncommon strength. She was unable to move him off of her, but she did move him. He was impressed. And just a teeny tiny bit aroused. How pathetic is that? Hot for a hag. Must be a battle hard-on. Sort of like battle fatigue, but the opposite.

She made a mewling sound of distress, having presumably noticed his teeny tiny arousal, which was no longer teeny tiny. She closed her eyes and inhaled as if for strength. Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “You won’t take me, troll. I won’t let you.”

At first he didn’t understand what she meant, but then he did, and he was offended. “I do not rape women.”

She shrugged to indicate she wasn’t so sure about that.

“And I am not a troll. I am a U.S. Navy SEAL.” Usually, women were impressed when he told them he was a SEAL. Not this babe.

“Ha, ha, ha!” she mocked him. “And I am a whale.”

Ian had the woman pinned to the ground by his body weight. Her hands were cuffed in front. He could kill her in an instant by pressing his thumbs just so on her neck. And yet he saw not one ounce of fear in her blue eyes. Instead, she was angry. Hey, he was the one who had cause for anger.

“You and I are going to have a talk, Yasmine, but first we’re going to establish some ground rules. You are not going to run away again.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I will catch you.”

“Sure of yourself, are you?”

“Damn sure.”

“Stop poking me with your … uh, poker.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “Keep moving, and it keeps poking. Basic biology. Sorry about that.”

“Make it stop being hard.”

“Lady, there isn’t any man alive who could talk down a hard-on … when he’s lying on top of a soft body.”

“My body is not soft.”

“Some parts are.”

“Aaarrgh!”

“That’s what women always say when they’ve lost an argument.”

“You said it, too, before.”

“Ah, but when men say it, they have just cause.”

“My father always said there are only two ways to argue with a woman. And neither of them works.”

“Smart man, your father.”

“Not so smart. He had thirteen children. Get off me, you oaf. You are as heavy as a warhorse.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”

“Plenty of people. All of them men.”

“And you lie like a rug. Tell the truth and shame the devil, babe.”

“You are the devil, in my opinion. Yea, best you be careful you do not trip over your tail.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

“Why in the name of Frigg would I want to catch flies?”

But then she had no more chance to complain because he stood in one smooth movement, bringing her upright with him. Before she had a chance to squawk—and, yes, she began to squawk—he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her back into the cave, kicking and screaming. If there were any tangos in the area, he and the shrieker were dead meat. Cage was probably watching him through his scope and laughing his ass off. “Either shut up or be gagged.” Where’s the duct tape when a guy needs it? If ever a mouth needed duct tape, this is the one.

She shut up. Thank God. Smart lady.

“Is there any water in this cave?” he asked as he put her down on the dirt floor, away from the shards of rock left by the gunshot. It was a miracle that the weapon had been pointed toward the cave opening. Some angel must have been watching over them.

Yasmine immediately tried to get up, but he shoved her back down, probably a little too hard, but, really, he’d had enough of her nonsense. He quickly attached the plastic cuffs to her ankles to further restrain her.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

She zipped her lips. Just what he’d expected her to do.

“That’s okay, cupcake. Let’s just take these clothes off and see if you have any injuries that aren’t visible.” He proceeded to lift the hem of her filthy garment, exposing long and well-shaped legs, something he should not be noticing at the moment.

She suddenly found her tongue, as he’d expected she would. “Nay! I’ll answer you. I have no injuries under my gunna. No need to remove my clothing.”

“Suddenly shy, are you?” He smiled at her in a mocking way. He could tell that she’d like nothing more than to clout him over the head with another rock.

“Damn you to hell,” she swore.

“I’m already well on my way there, without your help, sweetie. About the water?”

“There is no water, other than the drippings on the back of the cave wall, down that short passageway.” She motioned with her head toward the back of the cave. “It satisfied my thirst today, but it tastes like dragon piss.”

“You’ve got a foul mouth on you,” he said as he took out his first-aid kit and wet a piece of gauze with a small amount of precious water from the drinking tube leading to the hydration bladder on his back, then held the tube to her mouth. “Here. Take a couple of small sips.”

At first she resisted. Surprise, surprise. She was the kind of woman who resisted everything, even what was good for her. Once she realized that it was not poison, she gulped the water greedily. He had to pull it away. Who knew how long it would have to last them?

He forced her to lie back and knelt at her side. Taking the wet gauze, he began to clean the cuts on her face, some of which were still seeping blood. “Most of the wounds are just superficial, but the one above your left eye probably needs a butterfly clip,” he remarked as he worked, dabbing and applying antiseptic.

“I have no idea what you said. Just do what needs to be done.”

He took a metal suture from his kit and leaned forward. “This is going to hurt.”

“You cannot hurt me any more than others have done.” She closed her eyes and did not even wince when he clamped the pieces of skin together. He finished cleaning up the blood as best he could with the small amount of water.

“That’ll have to be good enough for now.”

“You have cuts on your face, too. Release me so I can minister to you.”

“No way!”

She made a tsk-ing sound of disgust, then remarked, “You look ugly with that black on your face.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Ian was sensitive about his receding hairline, but he had a passable face and a superior body, thanks to SEALs training. No one had ever called him ugly before, and it rankled a bit.

It was then that he noticed the thin welt around her throat. It was not a new scar. Suddenly he recalled something he’d seen but not taken note of in passing. Looking down, he saw the same welts around her wrists and ankles.

“Sonofabitch!” he muttered under his breath. “Who did this to you?”

“A man,” she replied flatly. Her eyes were wide open now. And she clearly put him in the same category as the kind of man—or men—who’d done this to her.

He shook his head. “Not a man. A beast.”

She shrugged. “It has been my experience that all men fall into that category.”

“Then your experience hasn’t been wide enough.”

“Just like a man, defending his own.”

“I am not defending this,” he said, tracing the scar on her neck with a forefinger.

She shivered and turned her face away from his touch.

“Was it Jamal who did this to you?”

She frowned. “I know no Jamal.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” Even now, she protects the bastard. Is it love or fear? Not my problem. The CIA guys will get all the info they want from her … one way or another. For some reason, that prospect bothered him. Not that they would hurt her physically, but they would play with her mentally, and if she was one of the tangos, God help her.

He stood and began to put the first-aid supplies away.

“Were you able to escape my ties from the beginning?”

“Yes.”

“Much as I try to be a leader to my men at Norstead, I am still a woman and not made for battle games.” She exhaled loudly with disgust at herself. “I must do better. When I get back.”

Ian had no idea what she meant, but he empathized with her feelings of failure at not living up to some standard. In his case, it was his father, Rear Admiral Thomas MacLean, who set the bar too high for him. Who was it for Yasmine? Jamal? Or someone else? Perhaps a cause … like a religious jihad? “Don’t feel bad. You tied me good. I should know. I’m an expert at these things.”

“Because you are a seal?” she said, no longer mocking, just tired. “I am going to close my eyes for a moment … just for a moment. Are you going to ravish me whilst I sleep?”

“I promise I’ll restrain myself.”

His dry humor was lost on her. “Swear it on your sword … uh, weapon.”

He laughed. “I swear it on my rifle.”

“Nay, your knife.”

“Okay, I swear it on my K-Bar.”

“Good,” she said and fell into an instant, deep sleep. She must have been exhausted. Probably hadn’t slept at all, hiding out here, worried about being caught.

He sat back on his haunches, hands on his thighs, and for several long moments just studied her. She was a mess. Bruised, dirty, disheveled. There was nothing attractive about her.

And yet …

And yet …

Ian’s heart squeezed and he felt breathless just looking at her. What did it mean?

Shaking his head to clear it, he stood, put the safety on his rifle, put his knife back in his boot and prepared to leave. He was here on a mission, which would not wait, not even for a woman who might very well be one of the rats herself.

He clicked on his headset and said, “Force, Force.” It was the code word for their op, as well as the name of their squad. “Can you hear me?”

“Cage here.”

“I’m heading out.”

“What about the tango’s honey?”

“Restrained.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.” He clicked off.

Outside the cave, he cut several bushes and put them in front of the cave opening to hide it from any passers by. The whole time he kept worrying about Yasmine, which was not only ridiculous, it was dangerous. There was always the chance that he wouldn’t be able to come back … in which case, Yasmine would die of starvation in the cave, restrained as she was. But he couldn’t in good conscience release her, either. He should not care. If he followed strict Navy and SEAL policy, he would consider the mission and only the mission.

At the last minute, he sighed in surrender, pulled the bush aside and went back inside. It was the scars on her neck and wrists and ankles that had done him in, or so he told himself.

No woman should be so mistreated, one side of his brain said.

Unless she is a terrorist, the military side of his brain said.

There is no proof yet.

You are kidding yourself.

My instincts urge caution.

It’s your funeral, buddy.

Squatting down to his haunches, he set his water bladder a few feet away from her still sleeping body. She must have been bone-deep exhausted. The tube was near her mouth. She would recognize it when she opened her eyes. In addition, he unwrapped a granola bar and put it near her face, too. Then he put his knife several feet away. It would take her a long time to get to the knife and even longer to manage to slit her ties. He should be back long before then. But if not …

He hoped he wouldn’t be sorry.

Then he took off to join his squad.

Even trolls have a good side …

Hours later, Madrene awakened.

It took her several moments to recall where she was. It was still daylight; she could see that, although something had been placed in the cave opening … probably a bush. Her wrists and ankles were restrained by the white armlets. Her shoulders ached from lying in one position for so long.

She turned over on her side, and the first thing she noticed was that the troll was gone. Good, she thought, but she missed his presence. How odd!

The next thing she noticed was the water tube, which the troll must have placed near her face. A considerate troll? How odd! She sipped, but did not overindulge, recalling his warning to conserve the liquid.

Next, she noticed an object next to the water bladder, lying on a scrap of colored parchment. She sniffed it and concluded that it must be food. The troll has left me food? Why? To fatten me for the kill? She decided that it mattered not what his motive might have been. She had been fasting for two days. Rolling onto her face, she got up on her knees, her buttocks in the air, and nibbled on the food like a dog in the rushes. The food was delicious. Sweet. With nuts and raisins. Eating like a dog was not so easy, she soon discovered. The bar kept moving away from her till she pushed it up against the wall.

Once replete, she wiggled her body back to its resting place. She’d noticed the knife on the other side of the cave, and did not doubt that the beast had left it deliberately. He was too much a soldier-troll to have been so careless. Later, she would think on why he had done so … there had to be method to his madness.

She was too tired now to crawl over to the weapon. Later. For now, she wanted just a little more sleep. It seemed like years—three years, to be precise—since she’d last felt safe enough to succumb totally to the peace of a deep sleep. Though why she felt safe now, she could not say. She was restrained. Fakhir and his men would no doubt be tracking her. It was a long, long way to Baghdad, and an even longer trek back to her homeland.

Putting her hands together under her cheek, she yawned widely. Just a few minutes and she would get up, escape these ties, and be on her way. Just a few minutes …

Strange dreams came to her then. Her father. Her brothers and sisters. They were all smiling and beckoning to her. Was it some kind of message? That she should just give up and join them in the otherworld?

Then she noticed something else. Oh, for Odin’s sake! Ian the Troll was there, and he was beckoning her, too. She could not see his face clearly in the haze of her dreams, but she would have sworn he was grinning at her.

So, should she just lie here, make no effort to escape, and possibly die? Or should she fight for her freedom? One thing was clear: If she was to escape, she might very well have to kill the troll, despite his kindness to her. That prospect brought a tightening to her heart that she had not felt since the disappearance of her family.

Later, she decided. She would decide what to do later.