Page 62 of Company of Thieves
“Do you see them?” Octavia asked, looking toward the north.
“There,” Jack said from where he had climbed onto the rear driver’s seat, pointing to the east. I peered, seeing just the top of a dark, oblong shape over the rooftops of Marseilles. “What’s he doing over there? The airstrip is just north of us.”
“I wish I knew,” she answered, looking decidedly worried.
“Maybe we should put off the wedding—” I suggested, knowing that a visit by the emperor himself meant we might be in danger.
“No,” Safie and Jack said at the same time.
“It’s not like William is going to start bombing the town,” Jack said, taking my arm. “I want you settled before that blaggard—sorry, Safie—that rogue Alan has a change of heart.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I told my brother when he led me into the church, blithely ignoring the fact that just earlier that day my own faith in Alan had been on less than solid ground.
We entered the church, Jack’s crew and Safie ahead of us, with Jack and me following.
“This is kind of awkward,” Jack whispered as we walked down the center aisle of the church. “I feel like I should be talking to you about the glory of womanhood and offering advice, and all I can think of is that bastard touching my baby sister in ways that raise the hairs on the back of my neck.”
I couldn’t help a little laugh. “If it makes it any better, tell yourself that I receive the same pleasure from Alan’s touch as Octavia does when you molest her.”
“I don’t molest,” Jack objected. “I woo. I seduce. I make sweet, sweet love.”
“Yeah, you know how you don’t like thinking of Alan touching me with his assorted body parts that I really, really enjoy? Well, the same applies to you talking about what you and Octavia get up to together.”
He snorted, but by then we’d reached the altar of the dimly lit church, and I paused when I saw Alan standing in his gold tunic and leggings, a brace of disruptors strapped to his hips, and his beautiful leather armor glinting in the candlelight.
I grinned at him. “I see we had the same idea.”
He smiled in return, his voice full of promise when he took my hand, kissing it before saying, “This is why we are so perfect together.”
“Er ...” A small man emerged from the vestry, his eyes first on Alan, then on me. “This is highly irregular. Highly irregular.”
“We wish to be married,” Alan told the man. “I see nothing irregular in that.”
“But you are ... and she is wearing ... yes. Well. Highly irregular.”
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I said, starting to turn away, but evidently the old priest took umbrage at that, for he shot me a sour look and said quickly, “No, no, I will not have it said that the parish of Saint Dalrymple the Pierced turned away supplicants. You will please stand before me, and we will—”
A distant boom rattled the grungy windows. We all turned to the east.
“Was that—” I asked, but before I could continue, three more booms sounded.
“That’s William,” Octavia said, her hand on Jack’s arm. “He’s opening fire on something.”
“Or someone,” Alan said, turning and snapping an order in Kazakh to his men, who had filled the first three pews.
They all got to their feet.
“Hold on—” Jack yelled, stopping them when they would have filed out. He pointed at the priest. “Continue.”
“Jack,” Octavia said, tugging at his arm. “William is firing on the town. We need to leave.”
“Not until he marries Hallie,” Jack said, nodding at Alan.
“For the love of all that’s good in this world,” I said, exasperated. “If William is beating up Etienne, I want to be there to see it. Come on, Alan.”
“Don’t you move a single foot from this church!” Jack roared, scowling furiously at the priest. “Get on with it!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I made an apologetic gesture at Alan. “I’m so sorry about this. He’s incredibly stubborn at times.”
