Lois Greiman (31 page)

N
icol poured himself a generous amount of sherry with his left hand. His right arm was still bound up against his chest. Did she know he’d been wounded? Did she realize he’d spurred his horse ahead of hers without conscious thought? Had she known even as she escaped?

“You have people looking for the girl?”

He turned slowly toward his princess. This was not the first conversation they had had here in the last few days.

“They look,” he said. His voice was slightly slurred, he noticed. Perhaps he was already drunk. He hoped so. “But they won’t find her.”

“You are certain she escaped beneath the carriage?”

He smiled grimly, for he could imagine her there, clinging like a spider monkey with the crown clasped tight in one grubby hand. “I am sure of very little where Megan is concerned.” He gazed out the window. “In fact, I did not know her name until yesterday.”

Anna shook her head. “Magical Megs. Teleere’s premiere thief. On my throne!”

“You look very much alike,” he said, and swirled his sherry.

“Apparently the Laird of Teleere agreed. Enough to mistake me for her. Enough to threaten to have me hanged. It seems she stole his brooch once upon a time. I believe he wants it back.”

“I’m sorry, Anna,” he said.

“Yes.” She watched his face. “I can see that you are. But I wonder why. Is it because she is gone, or because I have just spent a good deal of time in…” Her voice petered out as memories seemed to assail her.

He turned her way. “In hell?” he asked.

She exhaled and scowled. In all the time he had known her, he had never seen her scowl, and in that moment she looked so much like Megan that his chest hurt. ’Twas strange, for the wound was in his arm.

She turned to stare out the window. “If hell makes one confused and frustrated and…” She paused, closing her eyes, and in that moment he understood.

“So you’re in love with MacTavish.” The Laird of Teleere had entered the carriage with them when Nicol had first been wounded, but the moment he had learned Anna’s true identity, he had left, had stepped from the moving vehicle and disappeared into the crowds.

The princess’s back straightened a mite, but when she spoke her voice was soft and perfectly controlled. “I would be foolish to be in love with him,” she said, “He is rude and overbearing.”

“What can you expect? He’s a pirate.”

She shrugged. Another unexpected mannerism. “I want you to find the thief.”

“Megs? Why?”

She raised a regal brow and glanced over her shoulder at him. “She has absconded with half my favorite jewels. Not to mention my crown.”

Something twisted in his stomach. It felt strangely like fear. “I believe you have enough problems right here at the palace,” he said.

“Problems?” She laughed. “Surely not. We already know who paid to have me assassinated during my supposed ride to Bartham.”

“MacTavish?”

“’Tis what Paqual’s spies told him, after all. Surely I cannot doubt Paqual.”

“Of course. And you believe, too, that it was the prince of Romnia who happened to come along at that precise minute and shoot your would-be assassin.”

“Naturally,” she said. “It is pure coincidence that he is the man Paqual currently wishes me to marry.”

Nicol lowered his voice. “He has to be stopped.”

She nodded grimly. “I learned much of him while I was in Teleere. It seems he knew I was interested in MacTavish. It seems, in fact, that he hired a man named Martinez to implement a plan that would make it appear as if MacTavish was trying to kill me.”

“The Pirate Lord would not be easily manipulated if he were to become your husband. Paqual could never accept that.”

“True.”

“So you’re unlikely to marry any man Paqual suggests.”

“Also true.”

“But how to be rid of Paqual? Despite his treachery, he is powerful.”

“Yes. He is that. We shall have to bide our time, wait—

“If we had Laird MacTavish’s power behind us, we could—”

She turned abruptly away. “Don’t speak to me of MacTavish.”

“He’s the very reason this entire debacle was set in motion, Anna. You hoped to marry him at one time, remember?”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I met him.”

“So he was not as strong a leader as you thought he would be?”

She paused for a moment before answering, then entwined her fingers and looked him in the eye. “He is strong.”

“Then he was cruel?”

She pursed her lips and raised her chin slightly. He refused to remember Megan doing the same. “I do not believe this is any of your concern, Nicol.”

“I beg to differ,” he argued, feeling unacceptable emotion flooding in. “We all risked much to give you a chance to meet him.”

She was silent for a moment before sighing and turning away. “No,” she said. “He was not cruel.”

“Then perhaps you did not find him attractive.”

She snorted. Actually snorted. The princess. It took him a moment to accept the fact.

“What does that mean?” he asked finally.

“You saw him, did you not, Nicol?”

Perhaps he felt a twinge of jealousy. Perhaps even now, after all he had learned, after all he had endured, he still felt an emotion as mundane as jealousy. “He was not painful to look at, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, and he saw her mouth quirk into a whimsical smile.

“Then why—”

“I told you before, I’ve no wish to talk about him.”

“You must marry, Anna. Why not—”

“Enough,” she said, and turned back to face him. “I want you to find the girl.”

He drew a deep breath. “I do not mean to be disrespectful, Anna, but I believe you owe her for what she has done for you.”

“Truly?” She was the princess again, as cool as a winter breeze, as hard as a marble statuette. “And what do I owe her, Nicol? My crown? Because that’s what she took.”

“She kept your country safe in your absence. She risked her life to—”

“Find her,” she ordered. “Or I shall get others to do so.”

Morning dawned, though Nicol thought it might not. Anna breakfasted early. He watched her from across the room. Aye, she was beautiful, but there was something missing from the princess that had not been missing a week before. A life, a spark. Though no one else seemed to notice.

It was then, however, that he saw Nimble Jack. He was rushing across the room, his narrow form stiff and his expression somber.

“Your Majesty,” he said, and bowed.

It took Nicol a moment to drag himself from his self-pity, a moment longer to realize the catastrophe unfolding. He had not found an opportunity to tell Anna Jack’s story. Rising, he, too, hurried to the princess.

“Jack,” he said, meeting Anna’s eyes over the boy’s head. “How did you get here?”

The lad scowled, but he didn’t raise his gaze from the princess. “’Tis said there was an attempt on your life, Your Majesty.”

Anna hesitated only a moment. “Aye…Jack, there was.”

The boy’s scowl deepened slightly. “You are unhurt?”

“Yes.” Her back was perfectly straight, her expression unreadable as she shifted her gaze to Nicol’s.

“You should not have come here alone, lad,” Nicol chided, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Where is Lord Landow?”

“I feared…” Jack paused, narrowed his eyes and continued. “Who was it what tried to kill you, my lady?”

“I am not yet certain.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence, then, “So you were lucky yesterday?” the boy asked.

“Aye.” Anna tilted her gaze up to Nicol’s and down again, searching for answers. “I was lucky.”

“’Tis time to go now, lad,” Nicol said.

The boy nodded once and let Nicol usher him from the room. But once past the door, Jack stopped and turned. His eyes were deadly earnest and his mouth pursed.

“Where is she?” he intoned.

Something like premonition stirred in Nicol’s gut, but he fought it down. “Where is who, lad?”

“The princess.”

“What do you mean, boy? She’s there dining.”

The lad shook his head.

“Jack.” Allard rushed in, his brow furrowed with worry, but Nicol held the boy’s gaze, feeling his own pain reflected and wondering how the hell this could happen.

“You must not leave your lord’s house without permission,” insisted the guard.

“Go home, Jack,” Nicol said.

“Will she be back?” murmured the boy, but Nicol had no answers, only questions and an empty hole where his heart had once been.

Nicol glared out at the rain that beat down on the courtyard below the solar’s window. Damn his spies. Why hadn’t they returned yet? How hard could it be to find the princess’s double? He should have gone himself. Should have searched the first day. But the rightful princess had returned, and he couldn’t leave her. Couldn’t allow her to fight this battle alone.

“So you’re certain Prince Edward did not shoot the assassin as Paqual contends,” Tatiana said.

Nicol shrugged. He felt as old as death and tired beyond hope. What would he give to sleep as he had in Megan’s arms? “The prince fired a gun,” he said. “But I believe it was one of his guards who killed your would-be assassin.” At least his spies had learned that much.

Anna sighed, sounding as tired as he felt. “Might the guard be in the market for a bride?”

Nicol turned toward her, forcing his own thoughts behind him. “I haven’t asked. But I hear Lord Malborg is.”

“Lord Malborg?” She turned her gaze back toward him. “Is he the suitor du jour.”

“He waits in the morning room as we speak.”

“Well.” She gathered her skirts in one delicate hand. “I had best paint on my smile then,” she said, and rose to return to her rooms, but Nicol stopped her.

“Tell me,” he said, “if you weren’t the princess of Sedonia, would you have remained in Teleere?”

He saw her hesitate, saw her weaken, saw the wistful look in her eye, but in a moment she straightened. “It matters little,” she said, and turned regally away. “For I
am
the princess.”

Her ladies followed her silently to her chambers. Nicol turned back to the rain-drenched courtyard. Where was she
now? Did she think of him? Did she miss him or wish him dead?

His mind wandered, and then, like an opium addict, he shifted back through his memories—the lithe sway of her body against his as they danced, the sound of her laughter, the crush of her breasts against his chest. Dear God—

A shout drew him from his reverie. The next shout brought him to his feet, and in an instant he was flying down the hall toward Anna’s chambers. Her door stood open. Not a guard was in sight. Nicol sprang into the room and stopped. The chamber was filled to brimming—guards, ladies-in-waiting, and a giant of a man who looked like an ancient Viking. But it was the couple in the center of the room that snagged his attention. For there Anna stood, wrapped in Laird MacTavish’s arms.

“Stand back! Release her!” demanded the captain of the guard, but MacTavish turned slowly toward them, not retreating an inch.

“Shoot him!” Paqual shouted, striding into the chamber.

MacTavish turned his gaze slowly toward the chancellor. “Lord Paqual,” he said, “how was your visit with Martinez?”

The blood left Paqual’s face in a rush. “If you will not shoot him, I will!” he hissed.

Tatiana stepped in front of MacTavish, her arms outstretched. “Shoot my betrothed, and I swear by all that is holy, I will see you hanged this very day if I have to tie the rope myself.”

“Your…” Paqual stumbled back a pace. “Betrothed!”

“Aye,” she said. “You have manipulated and murdered, but you have lost, and Sedonia has won. We will ally ourselves with a great force, with Teleere and her master.”

“’Tis not for you to decide, girl,” he hissed, stepping forward. “I have made you what you are, and you’ll not ruin
my plans by binding yourself to a bastard pirate.”

“Better a pirate than a traitor,” she said. “I know your plans, Paqual. You hoped to make me believe MacTavish had hired my assassin. You planned for me to fall into the arms of the prince of Romnia. But you are not so clever as you think, and you are naught but a murderer.

“Take him to the dungeon,” she said to her guards. “And hold him there until his trial.”

They did so, and he went, squawking all the way.

“Your Highness.” Lady Mary bowed nervously. “If Lord MacTavish will meet with your advisors, they could discuss the wedding plans.”

“I will meet with them shortly,” MacTavish said.

“It is surely not proper—”

“Not proper.” Tatiana smiled as she shook her head. “Nay, it is not. But it is what I want. He is what I want.”

“Your Majesty, you cannot—”

“I can and I shall.”

“Get out,” MacTavish ordered, then he turned as if they were no longer there, and kissed her.

There were gasps and hisses, but Nicol had heard enough, and so had the others. Gathering up the interlopers, he pushed them toward the door and found that the giant Viking was doing the same. Once on the far side, they gazed at each other as the crowd slowly dissipated.

“The lad calls me Burr,” said the giant, nodding toward the room they had just left.

“The lad being the lord of Teleere?”

“Aye.”

Nicol nodded. “What do others call you?”

“Whatever I wish them to.”

He almost laughed. “Tell me, Burr, will he treat her well?”

The huge man stared off into space for a moment. His legs
were spread. Arms the size of oak trunks bulged from the holes of his fur vest. “I raised him from a bairn.”

“MacTavish.”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“He will treat her well.”

Nicol studied him carefully. “I noticed the laird had some bruising.”

The Viking shrugged. “Sometimes the lad is foolish.”

“Foolish?”

The Viking narrowed his eyes, which were already pretty narrow. “He thought the lady was something she was not and refused to return to Sedonia because of it.”

Nicol shook his head, bemused. “He mistook her for the thief called Magical Megs, yes, but—”

Burr looked mildly surprised. “So far as the lad knows Megs is naught but an honest thief. He thought your princess was a lady.”