Elizabeth Bevarly - Taming the Prince

She shook her head, her expression—and her ferocious stranglehold on the arms of her own seat—indicating that she was clearly as alarmed as he. But where Shane would have expected someone in a pink sweater and pearls and a bun to fasten her seat belt and start wringing her hands and muttering something like, “We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die,” what Sara Wallington did was leap up from her seat and march forward, stating in no uncertain terms, “I have no idea what the hell that was, but I intend to find out.”

No sooner had she stood, however, than the jet began to execute a fierce turn, something that threw her right back into her seat in an awkward sprawl. For one long moment, the jet banked so sharply and so swiftly that neither of them could rise from their seats. When the vessel finally did come out of the turn, though, Sara immediately jumped up again and began her forward march once more.

Shane was about to leap up right behind her when Fawn the flight attendant came striding down the aisle toward them, brushing one hand over the backs of the seats as she came, as if she were preparing for another one of the jet’s odd maneuvers. Reluctantly, he eased back into his seat, because he figured she was going to reassure them that everything was fine, they’d just hit a little turbulence, had had to change course to avoid more, and how about another Scotch or champagne to tide them over for the remainder of the flight, hmm? But instead of reassuring them, as the curvy brunette drew nearer, she whipped out a small automatic pistol and pointed it right at Sara’s heart.

All in all, it wasn’t a development that Shane had anticipated.

“You’ll do well to take your seat, Miss Wallington,” Fawn said in an even cooler, crisper tone than Sara had been using herself on this flight. And that was saying something. “Otherwise,” she added just as coldly, “I shall be obliged to shoot you.”

And again Shane’s pink-sweater-and-pearls-wearing companion surprised him. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said coolly as she stepped forward, and in one fluid effort disarmed the other woman with a good swift kick to her hand. Without hesitation, Sara then scooped up the dropped weapon, grabbed the flight attendant and spun her around into a chokehold that would have done Hulk Hogan proud, and pointed the weapon right at Fawn’s head.

Shane’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, but before he could say a word, the other flight attendant—a man—and one of the pilots, likewise a man, appeared in the aisle beyond Sara and Fawn, each of them armed with their own weapons.

“Release her and sit down, Miss Wallington,” one of the men said.

As he spoke, Fawn began to struggle with Sara, and in the ensuing altercation, Sara dropped the pistol again, but tore the sleeve of the flight attendant’s uniform. On her exposed forearm, Fawn bore a tattoo, an ugly black dagger, which was something Shane thought an odd choice for a woman like her. He would have had her pegged for a long-stemmed rose. Or a unicorn, maybe. Something fluffy and harmless.

Until Sara, too, noted the mark and said, “I should have known. Black Knights.”

Her voice dripped with contempt when she said it, leading Shane to believe she knew exactly what she was talking about, even if he was totally clueless.

“Of course we’re Black Knights,” the male flight attendant agreed with an evil smile, holding his gun steady on Sara as Fawn scooped up the dropped weapon and did likewise with it. “Who else would we be?”

“Dissidents,” Sara said, and Shane knew she was providing the information for his benefit. “They’re traitors to the crown.”

Fawn made a soft tsking sound in objection. “Please, Miss Wallington,” she said. “We’re activists, not traitors.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Sara agreed bitterly. “You actively participate in dissension, treason and terrorism. Sorry for the confusion.”

“We have a very noble cause,” Fawn told her. “We want independence for the people of Penwyck.”

“The people of Penwyck are already independent,” Sara said.

“They won’t be if this alliance with Majorco goes through,” the pilot objected. “And joining with the United States for any reason is certain to make the country dependent on the evil empire.”

“Oh, please.” It wasn’t Sara who took exception this time, but Shane. “Evil empire?” he added. “C’mon, guys. Drag yourselves into the twenty-first century already.”

But the Black Knights ignored him—except for the pilot, who aimed his pistol directly at Shane’s head.

“Fascists,” Sara spat at them. “You’ll never win, you know. Your only support comes from within. The people of Penwyck love their king and queen and trust them to do what’s best for the country, as indeed they will. You’re nothing but scum, all of you.”

At that, Fawn stepped forward, doubled her fist and backhanded Sara as hard as she could across the face. “We will succeed in our cause,” she said levelly as Sara immediately straightened again.

And Shane had to hand it to the pink sweater, because Sara didn’t so much as raise a hand to her face to acknowledge the strike. He, on the other hand, lurched out of his seat with the intention of charging Fawn, stopping only when the pilot extended his arm meaningfully, sharpening his aim. Shane honestly wasn’t sure what he’d planned to do when he’d reacted as he had. He’d certainly never considered himself to be the kind of man capable of striking a woman. But he also knew there was no way in hell he’d let anyone get away with hitting Sara Wallington.

Not unless, you know, they pulled a gun on him.

Sara extended an arm across the aisle to stop Shane from going too far, even before he stopped himself. “It’s all right,” she told him.

“The hell it is,” he retorted, still poised for attack, his entire body humming with the adrenaline that pumped through it. He couldn’t begin to understand what was going on, but the danger was clear, and he was naturally itching to do something about it. The problem was he just couldn’t imagine what to do that wouldn’t end up with a gunshot wound to either him or Sara, or both, one that might potentially be fatal.

“It’s pointless to fight them,” Sara said, clearly speaking to Shane. “They outnumber us, and they’ll kill us both without a thought.”

“Indeed we will,” Fawn said, angling her gun on Sara again.

Which, Shane had to admit, was infinitely more effective in keeping him at bay than pointing a gun at him was, something Fawn obviously realized. Dammit.

“In fact,” she added, “I don’t see why we need to keep you alive anyway. We have the diamonds we came after, after all.”

“Fawn!” the pilot rasped. “You stupid git! Don’t say another word!”

The flight attendant looked properly chastened, but a bitter fire still burned in her eyes.

“Diamonds?” Sara asked. “I’ve never known the Black Knights to take an interest in fine jewelry.”

Evidently unable to keep herself quiet, Fawn piped up again, “They’re to finance—”

“Fawn!” the pilot interjected once more. “Shut your trap.”

“Yes, do, please, Fawn,” Sara cajoled. “You’re becoming tedious.”

Fawn doubled her fist and raised her hand once more, and Shane prepared to spring forward to… Do something in retaliation. But the other flight attendant tugged Fawn backward, nudging her behind himself, and took her place instead.

“Sit,” the pilot told Sara as if he were speaking to a cowering spaniel. “Sit, Miss Wallington, or die. And if you die, then where will that leave the future king of Penwyck, eh?”

“I’m not the future king,” Shane quickly pointed out. “I’m just a construction worker from SoCal who’d rather be surfing.”