Katherine O’Neal (43 page)

“What on earth is that contraption?” she
asked. “A buggy with a sail?”

He turned to her, alert and fairly vibrating
with energy.

“Do you trust me, Princess?”

“To ride in a sail-driven buggy from here to
New York?”

“Of course not.”

“In that case—”

“Yes or no?”

She couldn’t imagine what had him so fired
up, but anything was better than the gloom that had besieged him. A
current flowed from him to her, igniting her own sense of
adventure. Whatever his idea was, it must be stupendous to have
turned his mood around so completely.

“Do—you—trust—me?” he repeated, his voice
intense.

“You know I do.”

“Good girl. You won’t be sorry.”

Noticing the gleam in his eye, she hoped he
meant it.

After buying her a lunch so lavish it took on
the trappings of a last meal, Mace steered her back to the edge of
town, where they’d earlier seen the man offering rides.

Saranda halted when she realized where they
were headed. “Mace, you told me we weren’t going to do anything
foolish.”

He was grinning. “No, love. I said we weren’t
sailing to New York in a buggy.”

She followed him out of the shadows of the
outlying buildings. “Then what—”

Suddenly, she froze. Her heart seemed to leap
into her throat, and her limbs turned to water. For the striped
material she’d assumed was a sail had been inflated during their
absence into a floating sphere, covered by a net that connected it
to the wicker basket below. The curious contraption wasn’t a
sailing buggy, after all. It was a hot-air balloon!

“
Oh, no.”

Her heartbeat was erratic. Her breath came in
spasms. She began to shake so that she could barely stay afoot.
Surely, this was some kind of cruel joke, Mace’s way of scaring her
half to death.
Surely
, he didn’t mean to take her in that
contrivance up into the atmosphere.
Into the sky!
She, who
couldn’t climb a twelve-foot-wall without fear of her life!

“
Oh, no.”

She felt dizzy. She barely noticed when he
took her hand and pulled her with him toward the gathered crowd.
Her heels dug into the ground, but still he strode forward
purposefully, dragging her along behind.

The man in the red-and-white-striped jacket
was hawking rides. He tipped his straw hat to them as they drew up
before the brightly striped balloon, but Saranda didn’t notice. She
was staring up at the hovering beast, alarmed, trying to imagine
the horror of rising in it to the clouds.

“Non-flammable gas,” the balloonist was
saying. “That’s what keeps it afloat. Helium, to be precise.”

Saranda couldn’t stop staring at the
monstrosity with panic-stricken eyes. “Please tell me this is just
the curiosity of an acrobat,” she said to Mace through tightly
clenched teeth, “and no more.”

He ignored her completely. “Tell me, my good
man,” he called to the pilot. “How do you make this thing
rise?”

“Oh, no,” murmured Saranda.
“Oh,
no!”

“I’m glad you asked that, sir. You may notice
that the balloon is only half-full of gas. As such, it ascends more
quickly. When I turn on the flame of my Bunsen burner, it converts
water into helium and causes the balloon to rise without wasting
precious ballast.”

“Fascinating,” Mace murmured, rounding the
balloon and eyeing it appreciatively. “And how does one steer such
a conveyance?”

“No such thing, friend. In a balloon, you
ride whichever way the wind takes you. Of course, a knowledge of
meteorology helps. At different heights, you run across different
air currents. With any luck, you can find the current that’s
blowing in the direction you want to go. Of course, it takes a
skilled pilot to determine such things.”

“Naturally. But I’m curious. How do you
land?”

“Now that’s the tricky part, friend.”

He droned on, proudly explaining the workings
of his profession as only one who truly loves it can. But Saranda
wasn’t listening. She knew in her heart Mace wasn’t simply passing
the time of day. And she was frantically trying to think of a way
to dissuade him from this madness.

Mace asked more questions, about the
equipment, air speed, and methods of navigation. He was shown the
compass, the barometer, the altimeter. His intelligent queries
seemed to fuel the pilot’s pride, made him eager to explain.

“Would you folks care to go up and see for
yourselves?”

“
Over my dead body,”
Saranda
muttered.

A man in the back inquired after the safety
of such a machine. As the pilot swerved to assure him, Mace took
another turn around the balloon. It swayed slightly in the warm
breeze.

Mace licked a finger and held it in the air.
“This breeze is heading east, I believe.”

“A good guess, sir. East and a little north,
more precisely. You must have some experience with air
currents.”

“I used to sail,” Mace replied absently.

“Of course, sailing is completely different
from ballooning. In sailing, the boat is only half-submerged in
water. A balloon is completely surrounded by air.”

“But how does it stay up?” asked a woman.

Saranda went to Mace on wobbly legs. Her
heart was stampeding in her breast.

“You can’t do this to me. I shall die up
there. Just turn me in and have done with it. Better to die hanging
from a rope ten feet up than from a balloon fifty feet in the
air.”

“Fifty feet?” the hawker said, overhearing
the last of her comment. “Why, little lady, we go
three thousand
feet
and higher. Why, I’ve been six thousand feet in the air
myself. ’Course, that’s about as high as you can go before your
nose starts to bleed.”

She swayed on her feet.

“But don’t worry, little lady. We won’t be
going that high today.”

“Unless we run into some tall mountains,”
Mace said quietly, enjoying himself immensely.

“Although the higher up you go,” added the
pilot, “the better the atmospherical pressure, and the smoother the
flight.”

Saranda grabbed Mace so hard, her fingers dug
through his coat sleeve and bit into the muscles of his forearm.
“You listen to me. I—
can’t
—go up in that thing. I swear to
you, I’ll die!”

“Nonsense. After the first few minutes,
you’ll no doubt relax and enjoy the ride.”

“
You
enjoy the ride. I’m going to turn
myself in.”

She turned to leave, but he swept her up in
his arms, clamped a hand over her mouth, and turned her face into
his chest, so it wouldn’t be seen. “It’s a good thing,” he
muttered, “that you like dominant men.”

“In bed,” she ground out against his coat,
“not in a damn balloo—”

He tightened his grip. She tried to fight
him, but when the balloonist and some of the crowd turned to stare,
he held her pinned so tightly against his chest, she couldn’t move.
“It’s just a bit much for her,” he explained with a smile. “She
should come to in a minute.”

“Perfectly understandable,” said the
balloonist. “Happens all the time.”

She kicked her legs frantically.

“Ah,” said Mace. “She seems to be coming to
already.”

“Now who’ll be the first to join me for a
ride?”

The balloonist walked out into the crowd.
While his back was turned, Mace backed up to the rope that held the
balloon tethered and used his foot to stealthily kick it loose.
Then he tossed Saranda over the side of the basket, jumped in, and
turned up the flame. As the gas expanded, he took the massive bag
of sand that helped pin the basket to the ground and heaved it over
the side. The balloon lunged fifty feet in the air.

“Hey! Stop, thief! Come back!”

As Saranda clutched the sides of the wicker
with trembling fingers, Mace gathered the last of his poker
winnings, wrapped it quickly in some of the balloonist’s twine, bit
it off with his teeth, and tossed it down. “I’ve just purchased
your balloon,
friend
. Thanks for the lesson.”

“But—but—”

As the balloon ascended swiftly, the pilot
ripped open the bundle and flipped through. Apparently, it
satisfied him, for he looked up and called, “Don’t forget, if your
burner fails, you have to land. You’ve only four bags of
ballast.”

“We won’t forget.”

Hanging over the side, Mace gave a jaunty
wave. The balloon swayed precariously. Transfixed by fear, Saranda
dropped to the floor of the basket, too terrified even to pray.

She sat, her back pressed against the wall of
the wicker, clasping her knees to her chest, too frightened to open
her eyes. The swaying of the balloon caused her body to tremble
violently. She felt sick and faint. She had to fight to breathe. If
she had any thought at all, it was to wish she’d never been
born.

She was aware of Mace fussing with the
burner, following the haphazard instructions he’d been given.
Thinking of his lack of experience caused a new wave of panic. She
was certain they were going to crash and burn. She just knew they
were going to die.

“Stop moving around,” she snapped. Her voice
came out muffled, as her forehead was pressed into her knees.

“Do you want this thing to crash?” he
answered.

She was so scared, she wanted to cry. Her
fingers ached from clutching. His words conjured up visions of them
soaring up out of control, or plummeting to the trees.

Endless minutes passed as she huddled and
shook.

“Saranda,” he said presently.

“Don’t talk!” Any noise, any movement, made
her aware of the vast distance between them and the earth. Aware
that nothing lay between her and a fatal,
who-knew-how-many-thousand-feet fall except a webbing of wicker,
and a crisscrossing of wooden boards. “Don’t even breathe!”

“Come up here. Look at this view.”

When she refused, he put a finger to her chin
and tipped her head up to look at him. “It’s more glorious than you
can imagine.”

A white rage blinded her. That he could stand
there like some bloody pirate of the air, barely holding on to the
suspension rope, with a frisky grin as if this nightmare he was
putting her through was all a splendid jest...

She lost her head. Like lava erupting from a
volcano, she was on him in a single, vaulting lunge.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “You said
I could trust you!”

“You
can
trust me. Look around you.
We’re fine.”

“Fine!” She choked his neck with fingers made
strong from fear. “I’ve never been
less
fine in all my life.
I’ve never wanted to kill someone as much as I want to kill you.
How could you do this to me?
”

He grabbed her about the waist and lifted her
off her feet so she came crashing against his chest. As he did so,
she caught a flash of scenery, a sensation of great height, and
vast expanses of nothing but empty space. She gave a tumultuous
jerk and clutched his head so her arms were wrapped around it, his
face pressed into the soft mounds of her breasts.

He was silent for a moment, feeling her
tremble. Then, in a hushed voice, he asked, “
What
have I
done to you?”

Panic was getting the best of her. Her breath
was coming too quickly. She knew she was panting, but she couldn’t
feel any air in her lungs.

He extricated his head from her hold and saw
the dangerous green tinge of her skin. “I shall have to slap you if
you don’t calm down,” he warned.

“Do it, and I shall throw you overboard.”

“And land this contraption by yourself?”

Her knees buckled. He caught her beneath her
arms and held her up. “I can see we’re going to have to get your
mind off this.”

“Spoken like a man with no fears.”

“Get you thinking of something besides the
motion of the balloon.”

“Don’t even mention it,” she groaned.

“Something so compelling, it will capture
your full attention. Obliterate all other thoughts.”

His words, along with his intimate tone, were
beginning to penetrate the terror. She looked up and saw a raw
arousal burning in his eyes. One strong hand dropped to her
buttocks, and he pulled her close so she could feel him, huge and
hard, pressing through her skirts and into her slender thigh.

“How,” she gasped, “can you think of such a
thing at such a time?”

“How,” he asked, “can you not?”

“I’m so scared—”

“Don’t think about your fear. Think of it as
a grand adventure. Who knows where the wind will take us? What
hazards we might meet along the way? Here we are, soaring through
the heavens, seeing things few people will ever see. Look at those
fields. Look how small the trees are. How vast the horizon. It’s
like being the only two people in the world. Just you and me.
Transcending the mortal bonds, with our spirits flying free. Can’t
you feel it, love? It stirs the soul like nothing imaginable.”

“Not to mention your animal instincts.”

“Who says we can’t mention it?”

He was grinning wickedly. Letting her go, he
vaulted up onto the top edge of the basket, grabbing the rope with
one hand, and leaned over the side. With his free arm motioning to
the sky, he called, “Come on, Princess! Throw your cares to the
winds. We’re no longer mortals but gods. Nothing can harm us. We’re
young. We’re in love. We’re charmed. Let us take what pleasure we
can. And tomorrow be damned.”

As he called his words to the skies,
gesturing extravagantly all the while, the balloon tipped
perilously to the side. Grasping the edge behind her with desperate
hands, she closed her eyes against the sight of onrushing land. She
knew she had to do something before he killed them both with his
cavorting. It was her worst nightmare come true: to be floating in
a balloon thousands of feet in the air, with an acrobat who thought
it
stimulating
to hang over the side.