A Happily Ever After of Her Own (5 page)

The men were busy grunting with exertion, and there was a lot of clanging going on. She knew better than to try to break up the fight. Her experience was generally limited to a couple of small hot-tempered children, not two full-grown, testosterone-fueled males swinging lethal weapons. She wished she had something herself -- a short knife, or at least a shield -- but there was the possibility of another bloodthirsty mannequin coming to life if she took one.

Edward moved with sureness and grace, but the executioner was no stranger to hand-to-hand combat. He handled his weapon as if it weighed nothing. The sword in Edward's hand looked too frail to withstand the abuse from the ax, but so far he seemed to be doing a good job of staying--

Melinda gasped and flinched as Edward slipped and the executioner's blade almost connected with his neck. Nobody in the Fairy Court had mentioned anything about the possibility of getting killed by an Evil Witch minion. It had never even crossed Melinda's mind that they could lose their lives. Fairy tales didn't have dead main characters, did they? They were supposed to end
well,
with their heroes and heroines triumphing over evil...

If Edward got hurt...or...

No,
Melinda told herself. She refused to think about any bad possibility. He was a fairy tale prince. Surely he could defend himself against a common executioner.

The mannequin nicked Edward with the tip of his ax. A red line sprang up on the muscular arm, but Edward didn't seem to notice. He feinted to the left of the executioner, then used a powerful kick to break the mannequin's knee.

The executioner fell groaning to the floor, his ax landing beside him. "Not fair," he whined. "Fight like a bloody man!"

Melinda crept out of her hiding place and ran to Edward. "Are you all right?" she said, touching the gash. The blood had started to congeal, and it felt sticky against her fingertips.

"Of course." He deigned to glance at the wound. "A mere scratch."

The executioner was rolling around clutching his knee. "Ah it 'urts, it 'urts! I've been tricked, I tell you, tricked! 'Twas a low blow!"

Edward stepped up and placed the tip of his sword at the mannequin's throat. "Why are you working for the Evil Witch?"

"Wot? 'Ow dare you! I don't work for any Evil Witch, you foppish cheater. I only work for 'is Majesty!"

"Where is your mistress?"

"I 'ave no mistress. My wife would open my skull for me, she would."

Melinda turned to the executioner. She actually felt bad for the pitiful thing. "I'm sorry we broke your leg. But maybe you can still do your job with just one knee?"

"You're a wicked wench! Taunting a man when 'e's down."

"Watch your tongue," Edward warned, but to no avail.

"You'd 'ave me just swinging around 'ither and yon on my one knee, is that wot you're saying? I'll like as not cut off their arms instead of their 'eads! My, I might even specialize in quartering, like a bloody butcher!"

What a delightful man he was. Melinda made a face. "I'm sure the Tudor Land staff will fix you."

"But my 'ood...!"

Edward finally lowered his sword. "It was my intent to return it to you when I left."

"Oh." That seemed to mollify the executioner. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't give me a chance."

" 'Ad the time to insult me," the mannequin muttered.

Here we go again.
"Mr. Executioner," Melinda said quickly, "Do you know where the Evil Witch is?"

"Course I do."

Melinda's heart beat faster with excitement. Maybe this was it.

The executioner pointed at the Anne Boleyn mannequin. "There."

She slumped.

"This is futile," Edward said. "Most of her minions don't even realize they're under her control."

The executioner gasped. "'Ow dare you! I'm not under any old witch's control! I'm no one's puppet!"

"But she's here, right? Somewhere?" Melinda hugged herself, ignoring the rant. The mannequin was actually easier to block out than some of her students. "Probably watching us..."

Edward was looking around. "That is my assumption as well."

"Creepy." She checked her watch again. It still read
HERE.
But where? The Tudor House had over a hundred rooms. The Evil Witch could be anywhere.

Something creaked over them. Melinda grabbed Edward's exceptionally solid arm. "Did you hear that?"

He nodded.

She pointed upward. "Maybe she's upstairs."

"Let's go."

"'Ere now, make sure you give me back my 'ood when you're done!"

"Yes, yes. You have my word."

They started moving toward the staircase, crossing over the enormous white-on-red double rose carpet in the center of the big room. Another creak, this time from directly overhead, and the chain holding the chandelier over the Tudor Rose snapped.

"No!" Edward shouted, shoving Melinda out of the way.

She landed on her stomach, the air knocked out of her. A deafening crash rattled the walls, even with all the noise-muffling velvet in the room. Fine dust rose from the carpet. Coughing, Melinda waved to clear the air around her. "Edward?"

When he didn't respond, panic surged through her. "Edward!"

Was he badly hurt? Melinda crawled to the chandelier. It was steel-framed, with hundreds of faux crystals arranged in circular patterns. She couldn't imagine how much it weighed, and it had struck Edward full on.

He lay on his back, unmoving. A heavy metal strut pinned his lower body, and he wasn't making any sound. A wave of guilt washed through her. His reflexes were quicker than hers. If it hadn't been for her, he would've been able to move out of the way.

Melinda touched him with a shaking hand. He was still warm, and she didn't see any blood on him. That had to be good, didn't it? She pulled the hood from his head. Thank God he was still breathing. Maybe more air would bring him around.

"Don't just drop it there!" the mannequin yelled. "Give it back!"

"Be quiet!" She turned to the fairy tale prince. "Please, Edward." She caressed the handsome face, still as a death mask. "Say something. Say you're all right."
Please.

There was a low masculine moan. "By all the gods, woman. Let me catch my breath."

"Edward!" Melinda put both her hands on his lean cheeks. "You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive." He turned his head a little so he could look at her. What she saw in his eyes made her insides squeeze with warmth and affection. "Are
you
all right?"

"Yes, thanks to you. You saved my life."

He grunted. "It's in my contract."

She laughed with relief. "It's the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do in real life. I--" Something moved near the door, and Melinda stopped. Was it the Evil Witch? What was she going to do with Edward stuck like this?

"Melinda, you have to run--"

"Freeze!" A couple of uniformed men rushed in, guns pointed their way. "Raise your hands!"

Melinda did as she was told. All she could think was that it would be totally anticlimactic to get shot by a guard after surviving a murderous executioner dummy and a falling chande--.

The Executioner!

She'd forgotten all about him in her panic. She twisted around to look for the mannequin, expecting the ax to fall in any second, but the life had disappeared from its eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" the lead guard demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," she said. She thought fast, wishing some of her more creative students were with her. "Look, I'm sorry, but we were lost, and this chandelier fell on...er, my friend."

"What friend?"

"Here." Melinda indicated Edward with her chin.

Both guards moved slowly forward, until they could see Edward under the mass of crystals. Then they put their guns away and approached more quickly. "We need to get him out from under there."

"Yes, please," Melinda said. She put her arms down. "Can you help me lift the frame?"

They all tried, with no success. "Heavier than it looks," the lead guard said. "We need to call for back-up."

The other guard gave Melinda a tired look. "He loves saying that."

*** *** ***

Ten minutes and two additional men later, Edward rolled himself out from under the chandelier. Melinda couldn't help running her hands over him, feeling every line of his muscles, to make sure he was really unhurt. "Are you all right?"

Edward rolled a shoulder back and forth a couple of times. "I think I may have strained my shoulder a bit, but yes, I am well."

There was a conspicuous bit of throat-clearing. Edward and Melinda turned to the source of the sound. An older man with a name-tag that said "George" on one line and "Security Chief" on the next was looking at them. He was wearing a suit and seemed extremely unhappy. "What exactly were you two doing here?"

"Well..." Melinda shrugged. "As I told the guards here, we got lost."

George's look told her that he had heard much more creative lies in his time. "You got
lost,
Ms...?

"Jones."

Edward raised an eyebrow. He could raise it until it disappeared under his hairline; she wasn't volunteering her real name.

Her brain worked frantically to find a way out, while she berated herself for the stupid fib she'd told. Edward wasn't helping by assuming a condescending and bored expression. This was
not
the time to go all princely.

The silence stretched, and George finally said, "There's a fence around the park, Ms. Jones. People don't just lose their way in."

Melinda felt a gathering tension in Edward. "Are you calling her a liar?" he said.

"I'm calling her explanation implausible."

Semantics. Men. Well, maybe Option B would work better. "You see how the chandelier fell on my friend, nearly killing him?" she said.

George ran a skeptical eye over Edward, who seemed to be quite rudely healthy standing there next to her. She wished he would faint or something. "What about it?"

"What do you think your boss is going to say if we sue Tudor Land for that? It's obvious that you haven't done any decent maintenance around here. How else could it have crashed on us?"

"Don't be ridiculous. If you hadn't been trespassing here in the first place, it wouldn't have fallen on you."

Melinda thought that she would be perfectly content never to hear that word again in her life. "Now really. Do you think such a flimsy excuse is going to work? How many parents are going to refuse to come here if they know? I mean, what's next? The merry-go-round could break. Children could be injured. Think of the children, George. The poor, innocent children."

Even in the faint light she could see his expression close. "We have a perfect safety record."

"Well, not anymore obviously." Melinda waved a hand. "I should probably contact some TV station. Or maybe a newspaper. Maybe some enterprising journalist will find dirt if he digs deep enough. That can only help our lawsuit."

"Ah-ha! So you admit you came in here for an underhanded purpose. To extort money!"

She had to be really convincing or everything would be lost. She sighed dramatically and shook her head. "No. It was a stupid dare, all right? We shouldn't have done it, but you know how it is. Look, we won't sue. We'll pretend that we weren't here if you'll do the same."

George took his time answering, but Melinda knew she'd won when he frowned. "All right."

"Thanks."

"Save it. This isn't a favor." He pointed toward the doors. "Out! Both of you. And don't come back unless you have tickets, or I'll press charges."

Melinda leaned against the island in her cheery yellow kitchen and watched Edward take off his shirt. She wanted to offer to help, but she knew it would be the wrong thing to say. He flung the green top over the back of the kitchen stool, and suddenly she felt even cheerier. Holy cow. She knew he had a nice physique. She'd known it even before he'd covered her body with his own back at the Tudor House. But she'd never imagined it would look this good. Lean powerful muscles stretched over his bones in perfect symmetry, every line divine. He looked huge and deliciously male in her small, ultra-feminine apartment. The only thing that stopped her from drooling and making an utter fool out of herself was the enormous bruise on his shoulder.

"Do you have a steak?" he asked. "Something of moderate size, say, two or three pounds?"

She had a hard time tearing her gaze away from his body. "A what? A steak?"

"They are effective for bruises."

"I, uh, have some ice." She got up and made a bag full for him, which he put on his shoulder.

The cut on his arm was more or less scabbed over. The big Tinker Bell clock on the wall told her it was 11:47 a.m. It wasn't too bad for the first day. They knew where the Evil Witch was for sure now.

"We should go to a hospital," she said.

"No."

"It's probably a good idea to get it checked out."

"It is a minor injury. I know what needs to be done."

"I remember you saying something similar about charging into Tudor Land."

Edward's mouth tightened. "There were unforeseen factors that I could not have known without a scout, which we didn't have."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay. You're not hurt anywhere else, are you? Like maybe your hips?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should check. I mean, the chandelier did fall on your hips..."

"The chandelier struck my shoulder and merely came to rest on my hips. I assure you they are intact."

"Oh thank God. I mean, I'm, uh, glad to hear that."

"In any event, no hospital. I'll not be bled for something so minor."

"'Bled'?" She made a face. "Gross. We don't do that."

The eyebrow he'd raised at the Tudor House went up again.

"Seriously. If that's stopping you from going to the hospital, come on. We don't leech people anymore."

"That sort of transparent fabrication worked when I was about seven."

Melinda crossed her arms and glared at him. "Are you calling me a liar?"