Behind the Mask (106 page)

Cameron was stunned by the urgency in Lance’s voice as he demanded quietly, “What
did
he do to Abbi?” Cameron didn’t answer, certain that repeating the details would not be ethical or respectful of his wife. Lance leaned forward and spoke with an intensity that made it evident he too had been haunted by the issue. “I had no idea he was with Abbi, or I would have gone in right behind him and done away with him then, at the first indication that he intended to hurt her. He left me outside and told me to wait. I never dreamed he had access to her, that it was her he’d gone after. When he came out with her, I wanted to kill him then and there, and I wished I’d done it before.”

Cameron tried to find some point of assurance. “We both know it worked out for the best. The witnesses to his death will never allow for any question over the necessity of it. You were where you needed to be.”

Lance sighed, not seeming convinced. “What did he do to her, Cameron? I have to know.”

“Why?” Cameron countered. “So it can haunt you as it haunts me? He dragged her out of her bed, held her hostage, and threatened to kill her. He treated her with contempt, and disgraced her in front of my most trusted officers.”

“I knew all of that,” Lance said, sounding mildly nauseated. “But that’s not what haunts you, is it.” Cameron looked away. “And it’s not what haunts me. He was alone with her far too long.” Cameron squeezed his eyes closed. “I have assumed the worst, and struggled to get a good night’s sleep since it happened. It has haunted me almost as much as the fact that I had to kill him. I have prayed to find peace over it, but . . .”

Cameron met Lance’s eyes and felt a new perspective settle into him. The captain’s love and respect for Abbi were noble and appropriate. But deep and firm. He cared for her and honored her. The man had almost married her. This was personal for him. Their feelings for Abbi were different, their relationships varied greatly. But they shared a common bond in their concern for her, and their desire to see her safe and happy. And perhaps there was some greater purpose in the need for this conversation. Lance had been praying for peace; Cameron had been doing the same. He knew from past experience that peace only came with understanding. And in that respect, Lance of all people, needed to know the truth. He’d been put in the middle of events that had transformed his life permanently. He’d been at the altar with Abbi that morning, and he had killed to save her life that night.

“Tell me, Cameron,” Lance implored. “I need to know. Did he . . .” His hesitance made it evident he didn’t want to say it. But Cameron knew exactly what he meant. Unlike many of the men they associated with, Lance Dukerk was not crude or vulgar; he did not freely engage himself in the crass discussions common among men gathered in pubs, as they spoke of women and the pleasure they offered to those who sought after little else.

“No,” Cameron said to answer the unfinished question. His voice turned acrid with the harshest truth. “He was saving that as a bargaining point with me. But how do you measure the damage, Captain? He touched her, he taunted her, he told her that if I made the right choice she would get to keep what little was left of her.”

Cameron saw his own torment in Lance’s expression as he grimaced and hung his head. Cameron went on, “While I thank God that he did not cross certain boundaries, he crossed others that hurt her deeply and make me sick. And I hate him for it. Abbi tells me I need to forgive him. I probably do. But that’s going to take time—if it’s even possible.”

“And how
is
Abbi?” Lance asked.

“It’s difficult to say,” Cameron admitted. “I sense that she’s struggling. But she loves me, and she’s trying very hard to fill the role that being my wife requires of her. She is strong and determined not to allow what Nikolaus did to mar her happiness. I am trying to follow her example.” Their eyes met, and he felt the tension over the topic dissipate now that there was nothing more to say.

“She is an amazing woman, Cameron. She has no comprehension of her own caliber.”

Cameron chuckled softly, finding his mood lightened with such thoughts. “I only know that the fire in her veins burns much hotter than any royal blood ever will in mine.”

Lance chuckled as well. “I could agree with that.” More seriously he added, “She’s changed you.”

“Yes, she has,” Cameron said proudly. “The smartest thing I ever did was actually stop and listen to what she was capable of teaching me.”

“Then it is she who truly rules this country,” Lance said lightly.

Cameron smiled. “More than she would ever believe.”

Abbi slept deeply, but woke up feeling frantic over what she had to face this day. While Cameron was in the office, Elsa arrived wearing one of her new dresses. She helped Abbi with her hair while they discussed the advantages of fashionable high waists in regard to being pregnant. Elsa helped Abbi into the dress Magda had loaned her, which had a simple black bodice. The high waist in the front sloped down slightly to just above the natural waistline in the back, with yards of red fabric gathered into it. There was red piping at the cuffs and neckline. Magda had told her it had been designed to complement the ducal uniforms.

Cameron came to the bedroom to get Abbi soon after she was ready. He smiled with such genuine admiration that it couldn’t help but make her feel more at ease. She noted he wasn’t wearing his uniform, but he looked so handsome in the red and gold waistcoat he wore that it spurred a rush of butterflies in her stomach.

“Come along,” he said, glancing out the window. “They’re waiting.”

“Who
is waiting?” she asked, crossing the room to look out. “Oh, no! You must be joking. The entire Guard is out there.” She absorbed them, standing in two long rows, each holding a horse by the reins.

“No,” he said casually, “there are only a couple dozen of them. There are more than ten times that all together. But some only work part time, and some are only on reserve, and—”

“Cameron,” she interrupted, not the least bit interested in his military figures. “This is . . . so . . .”

“It’s a simple procession into town, Abbi. All you have to do is ride a horse and smile. I normally don’t go with all that protection, but we need to let the uncertainty die down a little.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nikolaus had followers. I don’t know who or—”

“Are we in danger?”

“It’s just a precaution . . . or perhaps a display—just to let the people know that I am in control, and we are being protected. Now, calm down and let’s go.”

He took her hand and led her down the stairs to the main door. “You look beautiful,” he said, kissing her quickly. “And it’s a beautiful day.”

They stepped outside, and Abbi first noticed Lance standing closest. He bellowed an indiscernible syllable, and the entire troop came to attention in perfect unison. She noticed Magda and Lena chatting close by, and officers holding the reins of their saddled horses.

“Thank you, Captain,” Cameron said. “Let’s be off, then.”

Lance nodded toward Cameron without relinquishing his rigid state of attention. Abbi had never seen him quite this way, and couldn’t help smiling at him. “Good morning, Captain,” she said as they passed by him.

“Your Grace,” he said with a little nod, but she didn’t miss his subtle smirk, as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself.

Cameron helped Abbi onto Blaze. She situated herself in the sidesaddle and forced down a rise of nerves. She glanced around to see Georg, Elsa, Magda, and Lena, all mounted and ready to go. Cameron mounted and held up his hand as if he were flicking away a fly. The entire Guard responded to the subtle directive and mounted their horses. Lance barked a command and they all moved forward through the gate and down the castle hill. Half the troop went before the royal family. The other half came behind. Abbi rode between Cameron and Lance, who were casually discussing business matters over her head, as if they’d been colleagues for years.

As they approached the center of town, the conversation ceased. Abbi sensed murmurs of excitement and anticipation from people as they passed by. She watched Cameron discreetly, and her own nerves were briefly dispelled by the image of her husband. He looked so completely comfortable. But more than that, he practically glowed with serenity—something that had been completely absent in him when they had first met. He was truly at peace; he was in his natural element. With an instinctive desire to merge their emotional relationship with the public requirements of being his wife, she straightened her shoulders and concentrated on the experience of being the Duchess of Horstberg.

Abbi was amazed at the awe she sensed from the people as the Guard halted by the captain’s order at the edge of the square. The officers dismounted, then relaxed and began to chatter and laugh. Some of the officers stayed where they were. Others dispersed into the crowd. Cameron helped Abbi dismount, laughing as he did. She was surprised to feel a kiss come over her lips and looked up to see his eyes shining. “I love you, Your Grace,” he said, but not as softly as she thought he should have.

With Cameron’s hand in hers, and the captain hovering close to her side, they moved casually into the square to examine the wares for sale, just as Abbi had always done when she’d come here on market day. Georg and Elsa remained close, holding hands and visiting freely. And Magda and Lena chattered back and forth while interacting with the people effortlessly. Abbi felt self-conscious and too overwhelmed to speak. She just held tightly to Cameron’s hand, and appreciated the nearness of Lance, Georg, and Elsa—all connections to the life she’d known before.

Abbi became distracted from her concerns as she observed the way people addressed Cameron. She had perhaps expected them to bow and clear a path. But he greeted many he’d evidently known in the past by exchanging handshakes and an occasional embrace. Joy was expressed over and over to have him back, and congratulations were offered on his marriage. He introduced Abbi to more people than she could count, and she wondered how he could remember so many names after so much time away. Abbi would just smile and declare repeatedly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Inevitably the response was, “And you, Your Grace.”

“Some things never change,” Cameron whispered into Abbi’s ear as they walked along. And she could almost touch the peace he felt from the statement. She was about to comment, when a plump, elderly woman bustled around her little cart, practically shouting with glee, “It
is
you!”

Cameron laughed as he picked up the old woman and turned her around once before setting her down. “Of course it’s me. Who did you expect?”

“They told me you’d come back,” she muttered, grinning to show several missing teeth. “But I said I’d not believe it until I saw for myself. And here you are, Your Grace, in the flesh.”

“And tell me,” he said, “have you been hearing any rumors about that scoundrel who once harassed you mercilessly?”

The old woman laughed. “Only good ones,” she said and Cameron laughed as well. Abbi realized he was talking about himself, and she wondered what their connection might be, but as Cameron introduced her, it became evident that their only association was the duke’s love of her baked goods. Every week since his childhood, he had sought her out and purchased a freshly baked treat.

“You’ve not been to heaven until you’ve eaten Gertrude’s cinnamon cakes,” he told Abbi. Gertrude quickly provided him with one, and Cameron held it up to Abbi’s mouth. “Taste it,” he insisted. Abbi took a delicate bite and he laughed. “Now, is that not heavenly, Your Grace?”

“It is, indeed,” Abbi said quite honestly and guided Cameron’s hand back to her mouth.

“I think we’ll need another,” Cameron said to Gertrude. The old woman laughed and wrapped him up another one. He paid her a generous amount and they moved on.

A few minutes later, Abbi once again heard him chatting with a street vendor, referring to himself in third person. And not many minutes later, he did it again. She realized then that he’d been doing it since they’d arrived in the square. It was clearly common practice, a form of humor that seemed related to the mask he’d claimed to wear. When interacting with the common people, he was apparently more comfortable referring to the duke as a separate person. He lightly called himself an ogre and repeatedly declared that people would not be so kind if they realized their duke had gone mad during his years away. He provoked much laughter with his candor and offhand attitude, and Abbi couldn’t deny her intrigue and pleasure with this side of his sense of humor that she’d never seen before. More than once, he simply said, “I hear His Grace is back from the dead, threatening to make up for lost time, gallivanting about the market square while political matters go unheeded.”

The remark always got bouts of laughter, but one middle-aged woman who was selling fresh vegetables looked into Cameron’s eyes with no sign of humor, saying with tears in her eyes, “And I wonder, like most people I’ve spoken with, what miracle has brought His Grace back into our presence this way.”

Cameron took on her serious mood, and asked, “And what is the consensus? Do tell, madame. What miracle, indeed?”