Heart's Demand (32 page)

“Of course you do.”

“When I was in school, many of my classmates were sons of aristocrats, and I wanted to be one too. I used to lie and insist my father was a prince.”

Valois shrugged. “In many ways, he was. He certainly had all the required traits. You have them too.”

“I know, and my thieving, duplicitous Scottish relatives had better watch out. The next time I visit Scotland, I’ll have my brothers with me. We’ll be unstoppable.”

“I’m sure you will be. Will you write to me of your adventures? Will you inform me of how your story ends?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“And I hope you’ll reconsider your route to England. A man can go by land or by sea, and I’m worried about Katarina. It would mean so much to me if you could check on her.”

“Ooh, Valois, you don’t play fair. With how gracious you’ve been, it’s impossible to refuse you.”

“You shouldn’t refuse me. Whatever else Princess Morovsky is, she was also your friend, Kat Webster.” Valois’s smile was very sly. “What can it hurt, hmm? If you arrive and she is still Princess Morovsky, then you have done nothing but waste a few weeks in a beautiful part of Europe. But if she is Kat Webster, if she is the girl we knew here in Cairo…”

Bryce finished the sentence for him. “Then she’ll need my help.”

“Yes, and no matter what, her brother and sister need a champion. Why not you?”

Bryce hesitated, pondered, then threw up his hands. “Why not? Why the hell not?”

He penned a letter to his sister, advising her he was headed home, that he’d be traveling by horseback across Italy, with a quick trip into Parthenia, and coming the remainder of the way through France.

After settling on his itinerary, he borrowed a satchel from Valois, and it didn’t take him long to pack. He strapped on his father’s sword, then mounted one of Valois’s horses to proceed into the city to the docks to hire a boat bound for Alexandria.

He probably should have stayed the night, should have left in the morning, but with his deciding to go, he couldn’t bear a minute of delay.

He rode out of the villa, a servant trotting with him who would return to the villa with both horses once Bryce booked his passage.

He studied the hectic street, absorbing the sights and smells, eager to imprint the busy details into his memory so he’d never forget. He’d trekked to Egypt because he’d been adrift and depressed. He’d wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, to find some of the man in himself. With Valois’s assistance, he’d achieved that and much more.

He grinned, finally feeling—now that he was about to depart the country—that he was glad he’d come, glad he’d dared.

Suddenly there was a loud bang. His horse shied, its hooves slipping on the cobbles. Valois’s other horse raced by, its rider unseated.

Bryce peered back, figuring the servant must have fallen, but the man was lying on the ground, blood pouring from his chest. People had gathered, and they were shouting and pointing.

“What happened?” Bryce called in English, then he repeated the question in Arabic, but over the raucous noise, they couldn’t hear him.

It looked as if the servant had been shot or stabbed, and as Bryce pulled his horse around to nudge the crowd out of the way, he was hit very hard from behind.

He tried to shift in the saddle to learn who had assaulted him, but before he could react, he was struck again. His arms went limp, and he dropped the reins. A third blow knocked him out of the saddle, and he couldn’t stop his descent.

He landed with a painful thud, and though he ordered himself to rise, to protect himself, he simply couldn’t move. Was he dead? He didn’t believe so. He could still see the surging horde of passersby, could still hear their strident voices.

Soon a man was hovered over him, and he was wearing the vest and trousers favored by the Parthenians.

He leaned in very close and spoke in French. “Dirty dog, we have been waiting for you to exit the villa so we could kill you.”

Bryce answered in French. “I’m too tough to die. I’m the son of Julian Blair. A cur like you could never harm me.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” the man threatened. “I’m thinking death would be too easy for you. I have a better plan. We’ll see how you like it. We’ll see if you are too tough to die.”

Again Bryce ordered himself to stand, to fight, but he seemed paralyzed, his body unable to obey a single command.

Rough hands lifted him, and his wrists and ankles were trussed. Then he was tossed into the bed of a cart. His attacker jumped in after him, and it took a moment for Bryce to realize the villain had his eyes on Bryce’s sword, that he intended to steal it. He withdrew a large knife and sliced through the leather, claiming the remarkable weapon for his own.

“I have admired this for many days,” the brigand crowed. “It will rest more comfortably on my hip than yours. Thank you, Monsieur, for this very fine gift.”

“You can’t have it, you filthy swine,” Bryce managed to spit out. “It was my father’s.”

“Well, it is mine now, and you needn’t fret. I will always cherish it.”

He laughed and leapt to the ground. He marched to the front, the vehicle swaying as he climbed onto the seat and grabbed the reins. The animal pulled away, and Bryce vanished as quickly and quietly as if he’d never been there at all.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I’m delighted by your return.”

Kristof smiled at Katarina, but she didn’t smile back.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she curtly said. “Let’s not pretend.”

“Of course you had a choice,” Kristof smoothly replied. “You’re Katarina Morovsky. There’s no one to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

“Yes, all right. Pretend if you wish.”

Dmitri piped up from the corner. “The whole country is glad.”

She leveled a glare at Dmitri that was so cutting Kristof was taken aback by it. He’d never seen her glower that way. She possessed a new aura of power and authority he didn’t recall witnessing before. What could have occurred during her time away to render such a change?

Kristof was suddenly half-afraid of her, and Dmitri appeared stunned.

She whipped her gaze to Kristof and hissed, “I will not converse with you when that traitor is in here with us.”

“I can’t leave,” Dmitri insisted. “There are too many matters we must discuss.”

She continued to stare at Kristof. “You are king, and I am soon to be queen. Must we suffer the rude interruptions of a servant I can’t abide?”

Dmitri sputtered with affront, but tamped down whatever comment he’d planned. He scowled at Katarina, obviously wondering—as Kristof was—how she’d become a fuming virago.

“Dmitri,” Kristof said, “why don’t you step out for a bit? Katarina has only just arrived. I’m sure she’s exhausted from her trip.”

“I’m not tired,” she declared. “I simply will not bother to address your low-born cousin. Nor has he my permission to talk to me.”

Dmitri was too confident of his position with Kristof to depart. “The men who escorted you from Cairo inform me that you abandoned Miss Clementi in Egypt. She was in service to the Crown while bringing you home, and the situation can’t go unremarked.”

Katarina cocked her head as if Dmitri was a gnat buzzing by her ear. She rose to her feet, looking furious and omnipotent, as if she were an ancient Olympian goddess and destroyer of worlds.

“Were you speaking to me, Dmitri Romilard?” she asked in a snide voice. “How dare you, sir! I am certain I just demanded you excuse yourself from my presence.”

Dmitri glanced helplessly at Kristof, visually begging for him to intervene, but Kristof was disturbed by her display of temper. In all the years he’d known Katarina, she’d been kind and cordial. Nothing had ever ruffled her. Nothing had ever enraged her. She was a mediator and problem-solver who hated to bicker.

Her calm, composed nature was the reason it had been so easy to shove her brother off the throne. She was so damned
nice
. She hadn’t understood how to wage a battle, let alone win it.

“Dmitri,” Kristof said, “give us a few minutes, would you?”

“I won’t,” Dmitri huffed. “Am I your chief advisor or not? She can’t stroll in here and treat me this way.”

Katarina advanced on him, approaching until they were toe to toe. Dmitri was several inches taller than she was, but somehow she seemed larger.

“I will count to ten,” she seethed. “If you are not gone from my sight, I shall call for the guards and have you dragged away.”

Dmitri bristled with dislike, but wisely shut his mouth. He likely realized there would be plenty of opportunities in the future to get even with her, to get and keep the upper hand, but this moment wasn’t one of them.

He marched out, his anger barely in check. Katarina was frozen in place until he’d exited, then she went to her chair and sat as if naught had happened.

She stared innocently at Kristof, her burst of indignation completely concealed. The abrupt alteration in her character was so disorienting he felt dizzy.

He’d expected meek, compliant Katarina to return from Egypt. He’d expected to deal with the same woman who’d left so many months earlier. But this was a stranger he had no idea how to coerce or bully.

They were in his private solar, with Katarina and her escort of guards having just ridden through the palace gates. They’d brought her to him immediately, with Kristof wanting to confer with her before anyone else had a chance.

She had to grasp how vital it was that she be viewed as widely as possible. He had parades, suppers, and festivals arranged in her honor. The rumors that she’d been murdered, that Kristof was her killer, had never died down, and he had to explain the gossip, had to convince her to agree it was silly, that the stories had to be quelled for the good of the nation.

She had to appear happy to be back, happy to be marrying Kristof, and she couldn’t exhibit the slightest hint that there was any duress on Kristof’s part.

He would make all sorts of promises, but she had to remember that the safety of her brother and sister was her responsibility. Should she betray him in even the tiniest fashion, her siblings would pay the price.

“I apologize for that unpleasantness.” He pulled up a chair and sat directly across from her. “Dmitri can be exasperating.”

She ignored his amiable overture, pushing him off balance again.

“I’m weary from my journey,” she said, “and I was not permitted to wash or change before I was delivered to you.”

“That’s because I was so eager to see you. I had you conveyed to my chambers at once.”

“What is it you are so anxious to tell me?”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Fine. May I be excused?”

“In a minute.”

He frowned. She wasn’t normally rude, wasn’t a grouch or a grumbler. Yet she was oozing blatant disdain. Perhaps she was as weary as she claimed. He couldn’t imagine what else would be creating such an alteration of her personality.

He walked over and poured himself a goblet of wine. Without asking if she’d like one, he poured one for her too. She took it and gulped down the entire contents. It was another new trait. She’d always sipped wine like the noblewoman she was, a few dainty swallows and no more than that. Had she become a drunkard while she was away?

“When is our wedding scheduled to be held?” she inquired.

“Three months from today.”

“Why must we delay? I’d rather get it over with.”

“It’s a royal event, Katarina, the first in the palace in thirty years. There are plans to be made, food to be ordered, invitations to be sent, and I couldn’t begin until you arrived.”

“It’s autumn already. In three months, it will be winter, and the mountain passes will be closed. Maybe we should put it off until spring.”

A muscle ticked in Kristof’s cheek. He couldn’t abide any postponement for he couldn’t give this snide, powerful Katarina too many chances to evade his marital noose. There would be a constant risk she might vanish again or that she’d change her mind or muster supporters.

He would be delighted to proceed immediately, but he’d been waiting his whole life to be king. He’d dared to seize the throne, to take what he’d always dreamed of having, and he wanted the royal wedding that was his due. He wanted nobles from other countries to attend, wanted to establish himself as a monarch to be esteemed.

If he had a hasty, secret ceremony, there would be no pomp, no grandeur. He’d remain the overlooked, pathetic king of a tiny principality no one cared about and no one respected.

He’d received letters from some other monarchs, and they weren’t letters of congratulations. They were angry with Kristof, and the world was an unstable place. None of them liked to have a ruler deposed. It made them nervous. It made them worry the same thing could happen to them.

But Nicholas was a boy, and Kristof would be a much better king. He had to host an impressive spectacle so he’d be observed in all his regal splendor. It was the only way to ensure he was recognized as having been right to stage the coup.

“Let me think on this.” He tried to sound magnanimous, but with how she was glaring, it was difficult to project much supremacy. “I will notify you tomorrow whether it will be in three months or whether we will wait until spring.”

“I will be on pins and needles until then.” Was that sarcasm?

“There is one other matter we must address.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve arranged a series of honorary gatherings.”

“For what purpose.”

“To welcome you back. You and your siblings of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

“We’ll ride out together every morning.”

“To do what?”

“To allow the public to see the three of you.”

“Why? Don’t claim the citizenry has been missing us. I’ll never believe you.”

Kristof’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Well, there has been some gossip since you left.”

“Gossip about what?”

“People were a tad concerned over your condition.”

“Over my condition?”

“Yes.”

“It was no great mystery. I can’t stand that we have no friends in this country where my family has ruled for centuries. Why would we have stayed?”

“No one knew your reasoning, so your disappearance seemed odd.”