Hers To Cherish (Verdantia Book 3) (19 page)

Ah, hell
...
With a snarling bellow, Ramsey attacked the Khlossian.
Bam! Shwing!
Sparks flew from the collision of the blades. Ram’s arms strained to hold off the giant’s sword thrust. A feral snarl left his mouth at the mocking laughter in his opponent’s eyes. The pommel of Tok’s sword slipped under his guard and clipped Ram’s chin. As his vision grayed, Ramsey realized with consternation that he was going to pass out. To add to his humiliation, he felt the massive arms of the Khlossian ease him as gently as a babe to the blood-soaked grit of the arena floor.

“If something unexpected happens, get off Vxloncia on the first transport available and take Pansy with you.”

As if she would ever leave a teammate behind.
Idiot.

Ram’s words had reverberated in her brain as Steffania sat with Pansy and watched the Games’ finals on the villa’s vid-screen.
Unlike the previous days, today Ramsey had not wanted her with him in the stadium.

“
It will be easier to get off planet immediately if you’re not at the stadium.”

So, she’d watched the vid-cast of the Games just as billions of others did. She’d watched, helpless, crying out a warning to the screen as the Vxloncian fighter ambushed Ramsey from the rear. She’d watched, helpless, as Ramsey’s head snapped back at the ugly upper cut from the
Khlossian and then slumped in Tok’s arms, lifeless. The hover-cams zoomed for close ups as the gurney bearing Ram floated from the arena, his arms dangling off the edge of the stretcher like pieces of loose rope. She hadn’t known if he was living or dead.

Steffania would not, could not, acknowledge the meaning of the paralyzing fear that had swept through her. At that moment nothing had been more important than getting to Ramsey – not their mission, not Alessa DeAlbero,
nothing
. She and Pansy had flown out of the villa, desperate to flag down public transport, but not one would stop for an unaccompanied
slaaf
– not on this day when all the world and his dog were out for the spectacle of the Games.

Anxiety
swamped her gut in waves of nausea for hours as she and Pansy waited. Her relief when the Games’ officials deposited Ramsey at the villa, unconscious but relatively unharmed, morphed into a simmering, smoldering anger. She blamed it on her uncertainty about completing their mission, though the mission had not entered her thoughts until she’d seen Ramsey and known he was safe.
Damn the man.

She had been able to steel her heart at the thought of walking away from him as long as he behaved like an arrogant dick-head
, but Ram hadn’t done her the courtesy of staying in character. Instead, for the past six days, he’d transformed into the lover of her dreams – a masterful
dominus
at night – by the gods, those nights – and a respectful, intelligent partner all other times. Her heart ached at the idea that the end of this mission signaled the end of their time together. He had spoken no words to indicate he wanted anything more, and Steffania raged at her idiotic hopes. She had done the unthinkable. She’d become emotionally invested in someone who would never return the sentiment.

Ram swam up to consciousness through a foggy maze of pain and disorientation. He lay on his back in his bedroom at the villa. Someone had torn his jaw off his face and then pounded it back into joint with an iron mallet. He blinked slowly, waiting as his eyeballs stopped their unfocused crossing. Two pairs of anxious eyes peered down at him – one honey-gold, one violet. Faces swam in and out of focus then finally steadied – Steffania and Pansy.

A bright light flicked in
to each eye, bringing with it a jagged lance of pain and he held up his arm in protest. Or rather, he tried to hold up his arm in protest. The ill-behaved appendage flopped at his side like a banked fish.

“His pupils are equal and reactive, thank god, so perhaps not a severe concussion.” Pansy cast a relieved glance at Steffania,
then returned her attentions to Ram. “
Dominus
, can you tell us your name?”

His jaws resisted his efforts to speak.
“Ramsey Melborn DeKieran,” he croaked.

“
Do you know where you are?”

“
The suck-wad planet, Vxloncia, City of Dominion, my bedroom.”

“Patient
self-aware and clearly oriented to place.” Pansy smiled. “Do you know who I am?”

“A pain in the ass named
Pansy,” he growled.

With
a relieved smile, Pansy looked toward Steffania. “Definitely no personality change. I think he’ll be fine. Just make him stay quiet.”

Steffania
snorted and straightened. “You lost, DeKieran.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He blinked at her, uncomprehending.

“You
lost
, DeKieran. That hulking cretin, Tok, knocked you senseless.”

“That’s a set
back.”

Steff
ania rolled her eyes. “Rather an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”

“
We’ll go with the plan we agreed upon yesterday.”

The previous evening
he’d admitted his concern about overcoming Tok. Ramsey and Steffania had spent an intense evening discussing possible alternatives. They’d drilled each other on a carefully laid-out strategy for breaking into Varr’s main house until the plan had been indelibly stamped in their brains. Unfortunately, neither one of them had anticipated one small complication.

“
Well, Lord DeKieran, we had better do so quickly. Our notice to be off-planet within one NT solar day – not the three we had anticipated – arrived with your inert body. I don’t think the Vxloncians like us very much.”

Ramsey groaned and closed his eyes.
“Pansy, what have you got for a splitting headache? I need to be able to think.”

Steffania and Ramsey worked side-by-side, heads down, examining the layout of Narr’s estate. Ram’s tangible masculine presence taunted her brain with ‘what-if’s’ and Steffania’s concentration on the task at hand eluded her. Her mind kept reliving the recent past as if some vid-cast programmed to an endless loop had been hard-wired into her brain. She couldn’t stop seeing his lifeless body lying on the arena floor.

“…and I think that is the best way, though I’d like to have your input.” Ramsey looked at her expectantly. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table. Steffania hadn’t a clue what he’d been talking about.

“Sorry. I was thinking a
bout the wiring schematics for Narr’s fixed secure-cams,” she lied. “Show me one more time.”

With an irritated
clearing of his throat, Ram rehashed what he’d just said. This time she listened carefully.

“DeKieran, I
want to contact the League of Federated Planets and get more guns down here. They will come if we tell them about the illegal cerebral probe operation.”

Ramsey eyed her.
“Our only agenda is to get Alessa DeAlbero. In my experience with the League during the Haarb wars, the League operates according to strictly defined goals. They will insist on controlling every aspect of this mission. The League doesn’t care about Alessa DeAlbero. She could easily become collateral damage and there goes my pardon.” Ramsey shook his head. “No League.”

He
presented a valid point. His personal interest in rescuing DeAlbero trumped her other concerns. Her lips formed a tight line and with a curt nod she bit out, “Understood. But I’m calling them in as soon as she’s clear.”

Ramsey shrugged and opened his mouth to respond.
A soft rap sounded on the door.

“
Dominus
?” Pansy’s voice called from the doorway of the bedroom. “Niles Hunt, the Second Residential Under-Secretary of Social Functions for the most illustrious
Dominus
Veacon Narr, is in the front room. He insists on speaking with you, immediately.” Her head peeked around the doorframe. “Shall I tell him you’ll be with him, shortly?”

Steffania and Ramsey exchanged
frowning glances. “What does he want?”

“With respect, Sir, he would never speak
directly to a
slaaf
.”

“
He won’t speak to you?”

“No,
Dominus
.”

Then how do you know who he is?”
Ramsey challenged.

“Ah, he
...
ah, he presented me with a card.” Pansy’s voice faltered as she held out a heavy white calling card printed with elaborate black script
.
Her hand shook visibly.

Ram
took it from her, glanced at it then rolled his eyes and straightened. He tossed the card onto the stack of papers in front of Steffania and motioned for her to accompany him. “Let’s see what Niles Hunt wants and get rid of him.”

She glanced at the writing on the card and
snorted – pretentious prick. Under his name and title, the Second Under-Secretary for Social Functions had scrawled, “Bring your master, immediately. I wish to speak with him.”

Steffania and Pansy followed Ram down the hallway, his already long strides lengthened by frustration, and into their main reception room. A short popinjay of a courtier stood straight as a sword blade in the center of the room, oozing an air of impatient self-importance.
His dark business attire dripped with unnecessary furbelows and colorful embellishments – a deep purple ascot with a matching pocket hanky and various gold pins that hung off his lapel. His ankles flashed purple socks. Steffania swallowed a snort when she noted the stacked soles and heels of his shoes that augmented his height.

When he saw Ramsey,
Hunt pulled himself further erect, shot his cuffs and threw out his chest. His close proximity to tall, savagely masculine Ramsey rendered his efforts to look imposing moot. “Do I address
Dominus
Ramsey DeKieran?”

Steffania could see
the wicked gleam in Ramsey’s eyes. She didn’t know the fool standing in their reception, but he’d just shot himself in the head.

“Pansy, please be so kind as to inform this
Niles Hunt
, the Second Residential Under-Secretary of Social Functions for the most illustrious
Dominus
Veacon Narr, that
Lord
DeKieran of the Verdantian Noble House DeKieran requires Narr’s secretary relay his address to
Lord
DeKieran through
Lord
DeKieran’s most valuable and honored companion, Pansy.” Ramsey turned his back to the Under-Secretary in pointed dismissal. He made a show of examining his nails. He took out a gleaming short-blade to clean under them, then buffed them against his vest.

Steffania worked
to stay expressionless at the delight suffusing Pansy and the quivering affront emanating from the Second Residential Under-Secretary.

Pansy chirped,
“Second Residential Under-Secretary of Social Functions, Lord DeKieran of the Verdantian Noble House DeKieran requires that you – ”

“Yes, yes, yes, I heard him
.”

The Second Residential Under-Secretary regrouped. With his eyes closed and a look of constipation on his face, he ground out, “Pansy, I have the pleasure to offer the most illustrious Veacon Narr’s – ”

Ramsey had been watching over his shoulder.
“Open your eyes and look her in the face, Niles. She’s a person.”

Steffania ducked her head and raised a hand to hide the smile she could not prevent. Niles Hunt’s already erect stance stiffened to the rigidity of an icicle and he spoke in a voice of frozen dignity. “Pansy, will you please proffer to Lord DeKieran my employer’s invitation to attend the celebratory function honoring the winner of this year’s gladiatorial combat.
Dominus
Narr hopes that Lord DeKieran will consider extending his stay on our fair planet for several days and meet some of the extra-planetary dignitaries who are now his fellow guests. A conveyance will arrive at half past six this evening and transport him and his party to – ”

“No.” Ram’s flat utterance silenced the under-secretary.

“No?” the man repeated
blankly. “No?”

Careful to maintain her façade as a good
slaaf,
Steffania glanced demurely at Ramsey. {You’re turning this down? You ass! The invitation plays right into our hands.}

“Why should I go to a celebration honoring some other fighter’s triumph over me? How can that be a pleasurable experience for
me
? Eh?” Ram addressed the stunned envoy. “No. I’ll pass.”

The envoy blinked, clearly stunned, for a moment. “You must come
!” At Ram’s dismissive flick of a hand, the under-secretary flushed crimson and turned to address Pansy. “Miss Pansy, please tell Lord DeKieran that though this invitation is nominally from my employer, rather it is the Khlossian, Tok, who has advised my illustrious employer, that if his friend, Ramsey DeKieran, is not invited, the Khlossian will depart immediately.