Chapter Eight

The sucking sound of a man drowning in quicksand …

Later that evening, Ian was at the party, half blitzed, heading for a total, knee-walking drunk. As if that would help anything!

Just then, an old acquaintance of his walked up. Dan Sullivan was a pain-in-the-ass CIA agent he’d met years ago at some Pentagon cocktail party hosted by Ian’s admiral father. Dan liked to needle him every chance he got. Actually, Ian usually did a good job of needling back.

Ian glared at Dan, but did the man take a hint and vamoose? Nope. He looked like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. His smirk boded ill for Ian.

Taking a long swig from his longneck, he braced himself.

“How’s it hanging, spy guy?” he asked. Judging by his continuing smirk, Dan must have heard about his “predicament.” Hell, everyone at the party had, thanks to his big-mouth squad members. “Long and hard, Kermit.” Dan thought it was cute to call him Kermit, as in frogman, what SEALs used to be called in the old days. “And you?” Dan was still smirking.

“Hot and heavy,” Ian replied. It was their usual back-and-forth greeting, but it seemed to have more significance for Ian now. Why he was attempting to make small talk with the jerk-off was beyond him. Must be the beer.

“I just came back from a late-night meeting with the boss. You are in deep shit,” Dan informed him, with glee.

What a loser! “What else is new?”

“Oh, this is new, all right.” Dan deliberately failed to go on.

But Ian wasn’t going to give in and ask.

Finally Dan couldn’t help himself. “Madrene Olgadottir, or whatever the hell her name is, is not Jamal’s bed bunny. Nope. Yasmine Bahir was spotted this afternoon in Kabul.”

Ian felt the blood drain from his head. He’d suspected as much—that Yasmine wasn’t … Yasmine—but somehow confirmation came like a sledgehammer to his thick head. “So, who is she?”

“Damned if we know. Not yet. She has no social security number in the U.S. Interpol has no data on her. She’s still suspicious. Hell, she keeps giving a cock-and-bull story about harems and raising an army to get back her estates, but exactly where those estates are, we can’t figure out, and she’s not telling. Not yet.”

“Where does that leave her?” Or me?

“We can’t hold her. Oh, we’ll put a tail on her, once she’s released, but for now, sayonara.”

They’re releasing her? Wow! “Do you plan on relocating her … somewhere?”

“No. Why would we?”

Because she’s lost. Because she’ll never get to her destination from here. Because it’s the right thing to do. “Well, maybe because we are responsible for her being here.”

“ We are not responsible for her being here, Rambo. You are.”

Don’t hit him. Do … not … hit … him. “You can’t just dump her here in Baghdad. It’s a snake pit right now. And she doesn’t have a clue about this city and its dangers.”

“We offered to transport her back to northern Iraq, but she refuses to go there. Something about milking camels and harems and camel spit.”

Ian barely stifled a grin. So, he wasn’t the only one being subjected to her wild stories. “Then find her a safe house here,” Ian demanded.

“I don’t think so. We’d rather drop her and see where she goes.”

She won’t last a week. With her mouth … and, yeah, her beauty, she’ll be raped or dead in no time. Probably both. “She’s not my responsibility.”

Dan raised his eyebrows at Ian’s vehemence. “Who said she was?”

Yas … Maddie, that’s who. She’s like a barnacle on my backside, determined to make me feel guilty. Well, I won’t.

“Of course, the word is already out. Even if she’s not affiliated with any terrorist cell, I suspect they’ll want to talk to her. Just in case.”

And we all know how tangos talk. Ian suddenly recalled a woman they had found in an Afghan terrorist camp last year. Her breasts had been cut off, and a vile object stuck into her vagina … all while she was still alive and before they chopped off her head. “You would subject her to that?”

“We’ll be watching her.”

Just like you took care of the Afghan woman? “Bullshit! You and I both know that the tangos might get hold of her anyhow. Did you see that Arab girl we brought back? Her only crime was having a powerful father. What do you think they might do to a woman they suspect has spilled some secret information to the feds?”

Dan shrugged.

Ian blinked several times and unclenched his fists. Life sucks, and I am not friggin’ Superman. “I’m outta here tomorrow. She can be toast, or not toast. I don’t care.”

Oh, God! Yes, I do care.

I shouldn’t care.

Yes, I should.

A numb feeling came over him as Dan swaggered away, off to needle someone else. The prick!

His teammates came up to take Dan’s place. Apparently, they had overheard it all.

“Are we really going to leave her here?” Geek asked. He was an innocent, despite having been blooded on this mission. He still believed the good guys always won, Prince Charming rescued the princess, all that crap. Not that Ian was a prince, not by a long shot.

“Hell, no!” the other team members said as one.

Then they all looked at him.

And JAM took a piece of paper out of his pocket that Ian knew without being told was a marriage license.

Ian was not a wuss. He could very easily hop on that plane tomorrow … actually today since it was two a.m. There had been many times in his career when he’d had to make decisions for the greater good, even when something or someone had to be sacrificed. But in those cases, there had been no other choice.

Besides, there was something about this woman … something that tugged at his memory. He could swear he’d seen her somewhere before. And, honestly, she drew him to her, even when he had thought she was an old hag. Hell, she thought he was prettier than Pretty Boy. He made her flutter. There were worse things in the world.

His shoulders slumped with resignation.

“I think I smell wedding cake,” Sly said.

What you smell is smoke coming out of my ears.

“Dum dum dee dum,” Pretty Boy sang.

How would you like to no longer be pretty?

“I know where there’s a little chapel we could use,” Omar offered.

I know where there’s a hole I could stuff you in.

“I could sing,” Cage offered.

Yeah. If we want to drive all the dogs in Baghdad nuts.

“Do you have your dress whites here?”

I am not making an event out of this fiasco.

“Can I be your best man?” Cage looked at him hopefully.

“No, me.” “No, me.” “No, me,” the rest of them said.

“We can all be best men,” Cage offered, and they all smiled their agreement. Except Ian.

This is going to be a sideshow.

“I’m going to go check the Internet to make sure it’s all legal and everything,” Geek said and left the party.

Oh, yeah. Gotta make this stick.

JAM saw the dismay on Ian’s face and and assured him, “It’s only temporary. You can get an annulment when you get home.”

That’s for damn sure.

Avenil came out of nowhere and put a hand on his shoulder. The guy was like a ghost. You never knew when or where he would show up. Into Ian’s ear, he whispered, “You’re doing the right thing.”

Ian, deep down, believed that to be true, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be allowing himself to be railroaded.

“If this is my wedding eve, I guess this must be my bachelor party, except there’s one thing missing,” he said, resigned to whatever fate held for him. “Where are the strippers?”

The troll takes a wife, the troll takes a wife, high ho, the …

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” JAM asked.

“If I must,” Madrene replied.

Her prospective husband snorted his disgust. Then he whispered into her ear. “I’m doing you a favor, lady. Shape up or I’m out of here.”

She looked at JAM, the SEAL who was acting as minister; he had been a priest or almost-priest at one time. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” JAM asked.

“Yes, I take the lout to be my husband.” Then she turned to the lout. “Now are you happy?”

“No, I’m not happy,” Ian told her, disgust thick in his voice. But when JAM asked him, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” he said “Yes.”

After a bunch of words, most of which Madrene did not understand, JAM announced, “By the power granted me by church and state, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

I cannot believe I am wed-fast again. I vowed never to take another man into my life. It hurts too much. Ah, but I have no choice. No choice at all. And that is ever a woman’s lot. I thought I was different.

JAM had been serious throughout the short ceremony, but now he winked at Ian. “You may now kiss the bride.” The other SEALs, the two female soldiers and many other military friends present to bear witness clapped and chanted, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Ian was as surprised as Madrene by that suggestion, but she was the first to react by snorting her revulsion and stomping down the steps of the makeshift altar. She had only gone down two steps when Ian grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her back.

“If I’m going to be leg-shackled to a shrew—” Ian said for her ears only.

Wait just a bloody minute. I am the one being leg-shackled here.

“—I am going to get some recompense.”

If I had coins, I would not be in this predicament.

With his words, he hauled her flush against his body, one hand around her waist and the other buried in her hair.

Oh. That kind of recompense.

Their eyes locked for one long second.

She wanted to protest, but her limbs and tongue were frozen. His mouth spoke anger, but his eyes—brown as clover honey—entreated her to surrender.

And then he kissed her.

Nay, kiss was too weak a word for what he did. His lips were not rough on hers, as Karl’s had been most times, especially when he had the alehead. Instead, his firm lips moved back and forth till he found just the spot he wanted. Then his lips coaxed hers in the most compelling way to return his kiss.

And she did. Blessed Frigg! She did.

It was too much, and not nearly enough.

With a soft moan against his open mouth, she raised her arms around his neck and pressed her body even closer. For the first time in her life, she relished the difference between man and woman. For the first time in her life, she did not disdain the softness of a woman’s body or the hardness of a man’s. When he teased her mouth with his tongue, she gasped, and he used that opportunity to slip his tongue inside. She was not sure whether to be outraged or excited.

No contest. She was excited. In fact, her knees buckled.

With a chuckle, he caught her, and only then did he draw away from her. But he still held her in a close embrace.

They both stared at each other with shock. What had just happened? The brute had hoped to punish her with a humiliating kiss. But instead, they had both been overcome with … what? She could not say, having never experienced such a pull toward another human being. And she could see that Ian felt the same. They were in their own small world, and it was a blissful place.

But then the rest of the world intruded. All around them, people were offering congratulations, as if this marriage were something to celebrate. The men suggested coarse ideas for Ian to use in the bed furs, as if there would be bed play between them. Amber and Dough-lore-ass had tears in their eyes, as if this joining came from love. But it was done, and Madrene was safe, for now. She should be thankful.

Turning to her new husband— what a thought! —she said, “Thank you.”

He just grumbled.

Boar! “Once I get my bearings, I will be off, believe you me. I have friends in high places.”

He rolled his eyes.

Boar! “If I could have found a way home without your help, I would not have … inconvenienced you.”

“Inconvenienced! Lady, you are a huge boulder in my life.”

Boar!

After that, JAM brought a document for them to sign. Ian scratched out some words with a most ingenious pen—it had ink in its body—then turned to her. “I cannot write,” she confessed.

All of them looked on her first with surprise, then pity. Why? Few men and even fewer women learned to read in her land. They were too busy trying to survive. Chin lifted with pride, she put a mark where JAM indicated, then led the way to the back of the rude metal building, where a small repast had been set out. A sweet cake with frosted words on top. Small pieces of bread with meat in the center. That bitter brew known as cough-he. And a red liquid that resembled weak blood; ’twas called punch. She had no appetite, but tried each of them. It would have been impolite to Amber and Dough-lore-ass not to. The men had no such reservations, gobbling the food and drink as if they hadn’t had a break in fast a mere two hours ago.

The man known as Cage came up to her then, took her by the waist and twirled her about. “Best wishes, chère. It’s time to kiss the bride.” And he did just that. On the mouth.

The rogue!

Next came the man named after one of the apostles, Luke, also called Slick. He was a serious man, and the look he gave her was somber. Kissing her on the cheek, he said, “Give it a chance, honey, and this marriage just might work.”

Hah! When fjords turn to mead!

Pretty Boy smiled before he gave her a warm hug. “Are you sure you don’t find me unresistible?”

She laughed. Not while the lout is in the room.

Omar of the dark coloring—part Arab, she would guess—gave her an odd message after his light kisses on both her cheeks: “May Allah bless your pillow tonight.”

Nobody better be coming anywhere near my pillow.

JAM squeezed her hands. “God bless you, Mrs. MacLean.”

I am to be called Miss-us MacLean now? Ah, in the seal world, women must take their husband’s name, unlike my country, where the woman retains her mother’s name.

“I would not have performed this ceremony if I didn’t think it was the right thing,” JAM continued.

She nodded. It felt right to her, too.

Sly the Black—or so she thought of the tall man in her mind—grinned and lifted her high in his arms. “Make the sucker beg, sweetheart. Make him beg.”

I have no idea what that means, nor do I want to know.

Geek, the young man of great intellect, pulled her into a hug and said into her ear, “Come to me when you’re ready. I’ll help you find your country.”

That was the most hopeful thing she’d heard all day. She smiled her thanks.

Ian saw Maddie smile at Geek and gritted his teeth. She doesn’t smile at me that way. And why should she? I’ve been a world-class horse’s ass.

So, what did he do, bumbling idiot that he’d become? He said, “Are you done sucking tongues with my teammates?”

She gasped at his crudity, and several of the guys protested his words, including Cage, who suggested to him, “Lighten up, mon coeur . It’s just a custom.”

He knew that. Although Maddie had her nose pointing to the ceiling, he saw the hurt in her eyes. Or maybe it was fear. This had to stop. He had to stop.

Twining his fingers with hers, he pulled her over to two folding chairs at the side of the quonset hut which served as the chapel. She resisted, of course. He pushed her down into a chair and sat beside her, still holding her hand.

She tugged.

He tugged back.

She growled.

He growled back.

Ian realized suddenly that he enjoyed sparring with the shrew. She wore the same outfit she’d had on last night … not the usual bridal fare, but then, he wore a cammie uniform. She looked magnificent. He probably looked like a dork.

She thinks I’m handsome , he reminded himself. And smiled.

“Do not think you can melt me with a smile.”

Melt? Oh, my God! “It never occurred to me that I had the power to … melt you.”

“Hah! You are a man. Men think with their dangly parts.”

No way am I going to react to that. Dangly parts, indeed! “Listen, this is a scintillating conversation, but we have to talk. The shit is going to hit the fan any minute now, when CentCom hears what I’ve done. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, but I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She tilted her head and studied him. “Could you lose your command over this?”

Maybe. “Nah!”

“I am sorry, too, if I have been ungrateful. ’Tis just that I ne’er expected to wed again. I have been on my own these past thirteen years, with neither father nor husband to control me.”

“I can’t imagine any man being able to control you.”

She shrugged. “Well, they tried.” She gave him a slight smile then.

And his heart lurched. “We must come to an understanding here while we have this minute alone.”

She nodded. Then sniffed first one arm, then the other. Apparently, she was still fascinated with scented soap. In fact, she looked as if she was considering sniffing him, as well.

Lordy, Lordy! Distracted for a moment, he shook his head to clear it. “There will be no sex between us.” He felt his face turn hot, but the words had to be said. An annulment will never be given if we do the deed.

“And you think that will disappoint me?” She glanced up from her sniffing. “Karl is the only man I have coupled with, and it is not an experience I yearn to repeat.”

He should have been surprised, but he wasn’t.

“And do not be trying to convince me that you would be more virile in the bed furs than Karl was. Better men than you have tried. I am not interested.”

I could make you interested. He just stopped himself from speaking those words aloud. She would cut him off at the knees … or somewhere else. But he knew without a doubt that it was true. That hot kiss between them moments ago had convinced him if nothing else did that the two of them would make sparks in the hay. “Okay, that’s settled. No sex. There are a couple other things. You can’t be telling anyone that this is a temporary marriage. They’ll make us stay and get it annulled here, meaning you won’t be able to leave the country.”

“What reason will we give for the quick marriage?”

His face flushed again. “Love. Red-hot passion. Whatever. Just don’t act like you usually do.”

“How do I usually act?”

“Like I repulse you.”

“I only wish that were so.”

Uh-oh. She’s about to torpedo me, I just know it.

“If ever I were going to reverse my loathing for the bedsport, that kiss of yours would have convinced me. Glad I am that you do not want to mate with me. I am not sure I would be able to resist you.”

Sonofabitch! You can’t tell a guy that he turns you on, then expect him to control his libido, as if it has an off-on switch. He would have taken back his earlier words about no sex, but his nemesis came up then. Dan the Slime Spy.

“Congratulations, Ian. Is this the lucky lady?”

If he dares to try to kiss her, I’ll knock his teeth out.

But Dan just shook her hand, a gesture that seemed to puzzle Maddie.

“What are you doing here, Dan?” Ian asked bluntly.

Not at all fazed by his rudeness, he handed Ian some documents. “The general sent these.”

He frowned. The general knows I’m here? In the chapel? Getting married? “What are they?”

“Travel papers. For you and the little lady.” Ian smiled smugly.

Ian took hold of the schmuck’s arm and pulled him a few feet away from Maddie. Then he cocked his head. “General staff knew about my wedding plans?” Then an unbelievable suspicion entered his mind. “Did they have a hand in this?”

Dan shrugged. “Not exactly. Let’s just say your wedding to Ms. … uh, Olgadottir … fits into the government’s surveillance plans.”

“Dammit! No matter how you spin it, I’ve been railroaded.”

“Hey, man, take it easy. You get to enjoy a beautiful wife … for now.” Ian was eying Maddie like she was a popsicle and he’d like to lick her up one side and down the other. “And you get to serve your country at the same time.”

“This was your idea, wasn’t it, dickhead?”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk! Sticks and stones, Kermie. No one made you do this. But we didn’t put up any opposition either.”

“Get out of here, slimeball, before I kick your ass up to your tonsils.”

Dan smirked at him.

“Do not threaten my husband, you worthless piece of dung.” Maddie had come up beside Ian and heard at least some of their conversation. “If my father were here, he would skin you alive.” She had her hands on her hips and was glaring at Dan with belligerence.

All Ian could think was, Look at her breasts in that shirt when she puts her hands like that. I am in male chauvinist heaven. Hope I’m not drooling. Belatedly, he pondered her words. I can’t believe this. I am being defended by a woman.

Dan gave Maddie another vulgar once-over, then turned and walked away.

“Would your father really skin a man alive?”

“Well, not this fellow, but Steinolf, the man who stole Norstead and degraded me so … yea, my father would skin him alive and feed his heart to the pigs. This man he would probably throw into the sea.”

Unbelievable! Ian inhaled and exhaled several times to calm himself down.

“Even if he is not as vile as Steinolf, I do not like that Dan person, not one bit,” Maddie went on.

“You and about a zillion other people.”

“He kept staring at my breasts.”

“Maddie, everyone stares at your breasts.”

“Not really. Leastways, not in my country. Karl called them udders.”

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Karl was a jackass.”

She smiled then. At him. A full-blown smile which came from the heart and made her eyes dance. He felt the smile in every cell of his body.

Then she put a hand on his forearm and said, “Sometimes you are not such a troll.”

Give me your tired, your poor …

One day later, Madrene was so tired and confused and lonely and disheartened that she felt like crying. But she had not wept for two long years, since the fall of Norstead, and she refused to succumb now.

She had ridden in an enormous bird known as a jet plane across the ocean for hours and hours, more than half a day. Most of the others inside the bird, at least two hundred, had worn military uniforms of one kind or another. Meals had even been served to the passengers, and there had been a privy. All this inside a bird.

It frightened Madrene to realize how much farther advanced this country was over her own. Even with all the adventuring that Norsemen did, none had ever reported such a civilization.

She had not wanted to cling to her new husband, but she had. When the bird had taken off. When she had seen clouds outside her window. When she had realized how far she was traveling from all that was familiar to her. When she smelled his man-scent or when he looked at her just so.

Then, late afternoon on the day after her wedding, they had landed in Ian’s homeland, called Ah-mare-ah-ca. There, she’d been subjected to still more marvels. They rode in a horseless boxed cart with wheels, called a car, to Ian’s keep in Sandy-egg-go. Everywhere she looked, there were people, hundreds and hundreds of people, all scurrying somewhere or other on important business. And the buildings were so close together here. No landed estates as in the Norselands, but small buildings with small plots of grass in front and behind.

Ian had told her that everyone was equal in this country, that there was no royal class. She could not fathom that. Even the Saxons had royal families, tradesmen, cotters and thralls. Her father had been a jarl, comparable to a Saxon earl.

She and Ian had come to somewhat of a truce. Theirs was a marriage of convenience which would be ended sooner rather than later. She was agreeable as long as she could work on a plan to return to Norstead. Ian gained naught from their arrangement, except his honor, but she might just have a way of raising coin to repay him.

When they arrived at Ian’s home, he helped her out of the tax-he car and said, “Be it ever so humble.” He paid the tax-he car man, then led her up a stone walkway by putting a hand under her elbow. He slung his cloth carry bag over his other shoulder.

His home was modest by Norstead standards … as small as one of the stables, and there were no upper levels. He had told her that he lived alone in this cottage, with no servants; so it was no doubt big enough for his needs. There was a grassy section in front, like the other cottages had, but the back led to a sandy beach and the ocean. At least the smell of salt air was familiar to her.

When they got to the doorway, he put his bag down and inserted a key in the lock. He turned then and grinned at her. “Should I carry you over the threshold?’

“Whatever for?”

“A bridegroom is supposed to carry his bride over the threshold, for good luck.” Before he even finished his words, the brute picked her up in his arms, kicked open the door and walked inside.

Madrene was not a small woman. “Put me down. I am too heavy for you.”

He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “Think again, sweetheart.”

She could not recall any time in her thirty-one years that she had ever been lifted in anyone’s arms. Her mother had died when she was three. If her father had ever carried her, she did not recall it. There were always so many children about.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the experience. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could swear he issued a soft moan. His skin smelled of pine and man. She could grow accustomed to that scent.

Nay, I could not , she immediately corrected herself. This is a temporary arrangement. I should not become too comfortable here. “Put me down,” she demanded.

“Prickly already?” Ian laughed and set her down. It seemed as if he deliberately let her body slide over his, but she was no doubt wrong about that. He did appear to be in some discomfort.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He coughed and barely choked out, “No,” though she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, “Hell, yes.”

She looked around a small room which had comfortable stuffed chairs, a fireplace and low tables. Pale brown carpeting covered the floors, even to the walls. It was so clean and plush, a person could sleep on it, unlike the rushes in her home, which were a constant chore for her to rake clean and sprinkle with sweet rosemary. The smooth walls were white, and on them were framed paintings, like the one over the fireplace that she would study later … a roiling sea with a ship in peril. There was also a black box with knobs on it; she would ask Ian about its purpose at another time.

For now, this was his great hall, unlike any she had ever seen. She liked it.

He had been watching her closely for a reaction to his home. No doubt modesty had caused him to refer to it as humble, which it definitely was not. Everyone knew that only the very wealthy could afford to have paintings on their walls.

“Welcome to my home,” he said.

She could not tell if he was teasing her, or serious. She chose to take him seriously. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“My pleasure.” Once again, he muttered under his breath, this time saying, “Or pain.”

He took her hand and showed her a bathing room, two large bedchambers, one of which held a bed big enough to hold a small army and the other a desk for doing business, and then to the kitchen, which garnered her greatest admiration.

Madrene had managed the affairs of a vast estate. She had been a warrior leading fierce fighting when Norstead was attacked. She had been a shrewd trader of goods in the marketplaces of Birka and Hedeby. But at heart she was a woman who could appreciate a good kitchen.

“Oooooh!” she said, putting both hands to her chest. “What a wonderful kitchen! I could live my entire life in this space alone and be happy.”

“It’s only a kitchen, for God’s sake! Don’t have a freakin’ orgasm over it,” Ian said.

“What’s an orgy-asm?”

His tanned face flushed at her question, leading her to assume orgy-asm had something to do with sex. That was the only thing she knew that could bring a blush to a man’s face.

Before he could answer, she knelt down to the floor to touch the gold-marbled tiles. They were not stone, but some other material. Like the carpet in his solar, it was exceptionally clean.

Ian was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her with amusement.

She did not care if she appeared foolish. This kitchen was a marvel.

There were wood doors and drawers above and below what Ian told her was a countertop, which had real tiles of a lighter shade than the floor. Inside those compartments were dishes and pots and pans and cutlery and foodstuffs. “I know a few kings who would swoon at all this luxury.”

“Know a few kings, do you?” Ian inquired lazily. Obviously, he thought she lied.

“I do, you doubting oaf. But that is not important. How do you maintain your keep so spotless?” While she talked, she was fiddling with some metal contraptions from which hot and cold water flowed into a metal basin. It was like the showering apparatus she’d used back in Baghdad.

“I have a cleaning lady come in every two weeks,” he said. “And I’m away a lot.”

“But you must do some work yourself in between.”

He shrugged. “Coming from a military background, I tend to be neat.”

“This is beyond neat,” she observed. Now she stood before a large white object built in between the wooden compartments. “What is this?”

“You know, this game of yours is getting old. I could buy your being so sheltered that you didn’t recognize an airplane or common female underwear, though those are a stretch, but a stove? No way!”

“A stove? This is a stove? What is its purpose?”

“Give me a break! It’s for cooking, and you very well know that.”

She frowned. “I thought … what do you do with the fireplace in your solar, then?”

“It’s for building a log fire and sitting there on a winter evening.”

“For warmth?”

“Holy shit, no! It’s supposed to be cozy.”

“A fire just to sit afore with no purpose? You jest.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Show me,” she demanded, pointing to the stove.

He exhaled with disgust, but he turned on a knob, put a pan of water on top of a round implement, and waited. Soon the water came to a boil.

“This is wonderful! No smoke. No mess.”

“If a stove makes you swoon, I wonder what you’ll think of this.” He opened the door of a very large box made of the same white material as the stove. Out came a blast of cold air.

She jumped back, frightened at first. “What is it?”

“A fridge for keeping food cold. So it won’t spoil.” He took out a piece of cheese from the lower section to show her. Then he pointed to the frozen meat in the top section.

“I am so confused,” she said, sitting down on a wooden chair.

“You can say that again.”

“Where am I?”

“San—”

“Not that,” she interrupted. “I mean, what strange land is this? I ran away from an Arab man whose family lived in a tent, and end up here in a land of magic. I just do not understand.”

“Me neither.” Once again, disbelief and disgust rang in his voice. “Well, I’ll leave you here to drool. I’ve gotta go next door and get my roommate.” He was opening the back door.

“A roommate? Someone lives here with you?”

He laughed. “You could say that. Her name is Samantha.”

“Will Samantha object to my being here?”

“We shall see.” The brute had a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Madrene was in shock.

He has a woman.

But he told me he was not married.

He married me.

It must be his lover.

Oh, what am I going to do? I must needs find another place to stay.

She walked through the house again, touching polished woods, and fine bed coverlets, admiring the showering stall in the bathing chamber, lying down on the solar carpet to see if it was as soft as it appeared. But her heart had gone out of her newfound joy.

He has a woman.

Worst of all, Madrene realized it wasn’t just for practical reasons that she was so devastated. Somehow, somewhere these past few days, she had become attached to the lout. Not just attached. Attracted.

Should I leave?

Where shall I go?

Just then the back door opened, then slammed. He was back. With Samantha. Madrene stood in the hall corridor near the front door, waiting.

Ian came in and with him was … a cat!

A big fat cat that could be the sister of her own Rose. A lump formed in her throat. The man had a cat. How would she ever resist a man who cherished a cat?

“Maddie, I would like you to meet Samantha. The most ornery cat in the universe. Sam, this is Maddie, the most ornery woman in the universe.”

Sam hissed at him as if she understood, jumped out of his arms and walked over to rub against Madrene’s legs.

“Samantha’s the only thing my fiancée left behind when she walked out three years ago. We called the cat Sam until I discovered that he was a she and …” His words trailed off as he realized that she wasn’t listening to him at all.

Madrene picked up Sam, which was a feat because the cat was huge, just like her precious Rose back at Norstead. She held the cat up to her face for a kiss. Tears welled in her eyes.

Finally, when she’d cuddled the cat and petted her and showed how much she liked her, she turned to Ian, who was leaning against the wall, watching her with amazement.

“That cat never goes to anyone,” he marveled.

“She reminds me of my cat, Rose. What a gift your cat is to me … I mean, your cat’s presence here on this day!”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“It is an omen, I think. A sign from the gods that everything will work out for me,” she said.

“Don’t you think that’s reading a little bit much into a cat?”

She shrugged. “There is another thing I should forewarn you about.”

“Omens and warnings,” he scoffed. “What?”

“I think I could love a man who loves a cat.”