John’s Next Move
whether in sheer panic or out of revenge- after days of cleaning
- described as a washcloth
- taught from infancy
- I heard you had a greenhorn from Tuscaloosa last night
Tune in next time part 318 Click Here for Earlier Installments
John’s next move caused a lot of trouble, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his defeat in the pregnancy-test ritual nine months ago it hardly mattered. What mattered was that he yelled a Contrarian obscenity and made a grab for the scimitar poking into my back. Its tip sliced through my skin despite the thick, protective hair covering my torso.
I let out my own yell and whirled away. I don’t like fighting opponents who have scimitars at all, but especially not when I’m naked. John seemed to be enjoying it. With his hands clamped over the back of the blade, he whirled after me, dodging a thrust from the soldier guarding him and wrenching the other’s weapon away.
“Stop this at once!” Fleur exclaimed. We all froze. “This is meant to be a celebratory occasion, and after days of cleaning the entire vessel with what can only be described as a washcloth, the viscount finally has everything in readiness. Or, he did. Now you’re bleeding on the deck, and your airplane is dirty!”
“I would love to stop bleeding on your lovely ship,” I said, pressing my hand over the small cut on my back.
“And the airplane’s not ours,” John added unhelpfully.
“We stole it,” I blurted before he could mention the missing pilot. “I was taught from infancy that it’s wrong to steal, except for biplanes. Everyone knows those things are free for the taking.”
Viscount Arlo sneered, his hairless head glistening in the moonlight. “Fleur, my flower, let’s toss them to the sharks and carry on.” What a dickish thing to say, with me — her husband — standing right there. “You were about to deliver without him, anyway.”
“No, I was not. His arrival was fated.” She blew out a controlled breath. “This pointless conversation has taken up three minutes. And if I am not comfortably arranged in the birthing chamber before my next contraction, viscount, I will have someone thrown overboard.” She glared at him. He deflated, bending low to trail behind her, his bowed head dangling limply from his shoulders.
The birthing chamber was a long room with a huge four-poster bed at the far end. At first glance every surface appeared to be draped in sumptuous fabrics, but it was all actually a trompe-l’oiel tile mosaic. Fleur climbed onto the bed, saying, “Leave us, viscount. This is a family ceremony.”
Arlo shriveled even lower. “But, darling, the loneliness will be unbearable.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” she replied. “You don’t think I know about your dalliances? Those ‘southern massages’ you’re so fond of? I am kept well informed of all this. I heard you had a greenhorn from Tuscaloosa last night. Go see if she will keep you company while I fulfill the prophecy.”
bonus points for using them in order