Royal Protocol (19 page)

They passed the guards, their voices as hushed as their footsteps as they turned into the wide, richly carpeted hallway.

“I think he might be into the whole philosophy. The ninja practice a form of martial art called ninjitsu. The original form was banned in Japan a few hundred years ago, but back then they were masters with their bodies and with weapons. They were also practiced at using bombs and poisons.”

Intrigued, disturbed, she searched his profile. His fatigue was still there, but the weariness was gone. The adrenaline of discovery had replaced it. “By poison are you thinking of the encephalitis?”

Light glinted in his eyes as he glanced at her. “I hadn’t gotten that far,” he admitted, “but that would fit, too. I was thinking more of what this could tell us about the Black Knights.
Ninjutsu
means
the art of stealing in.
Another way to put it is
espionage.

“But
espionage
means
to spy
or
obtain information.
” She was lost again. “How does that fit?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t like that, either. But he was feeling close to something major. If he trusted anything, it was his instincts.

“I just know it does,” he concluded, and stopped because they were nearly at the guards by the queen’s door.

“I’m going up to see what else they have.”

“You’ll let us know if you find out anything else?”

The play of emotions over her face tugged hard at something deep inside him. He wasn’t going to worry now about what that something was. He wasn’t going to
worry, either, about why he was suddenly feeling so cheated by the timing of Pierce’s phone call.

An hour passed before word came that the king’s wing was secure. A guard brought the news to the drawing room door. There were no other messages, however, and though the news relieved Gwen, the queen and Ana enormously, the information wasn’t enough.

Within minutes of the young officer’s departure, Ana had said good-night to seek escape in sleep, and Marissa was back to pacing restlessly across the room.

Within fifteen minutes Gwen was ready to pace with her.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Marissa? It’s late. I’m sure if they find anything else significant, the admiral will make sure you know first thing in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried. All I can think about is that people we’ve trusted keep turning on us. And that awful little weapon. I hate thinking of Owen fighting that horrid man. I hate thinking that he’s hurt and no one’s helping him.” She turned, her arms snugged tight around her middle, her voice a raw whisper. “I hate all of this.”

“Marissa, stop,” Gwen urged, feeling totally helpless. She wished desperately that there was something she could do for her friend. She just had no idea what that something could be. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I am sick.” Tears streamed down the weary woman’s cheeks, silent testimony to pain she no longer knew how to deal with. “I’m sick to death of not knowing what’s happening. I want to know everything those men up there know. I want to know what they’re going to do with the information. I don’t want them to wait until they get all
their clues put together or whatever it is they’re doing. I want to know what they’re doing
now.
”

Considering the number of people involved in the investigation, it would be nearly impossible to track down what each of them was doing at that particular moment. Gwen didn’t bother mentioning that to the distraught queen, though. As she stepped into her path and touched her arm, she was thinking only that she’d just found a small way to help. “I’m going to get Ana to stay with you until I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“You just said you wanted to know what they’re doing. I’m going upstairs to see what else I can find out.”

Marissa had only been venting. Gwen knew that. But there was no mistaking the relief that swept the woman’s tear-stained face. “Thank you, Gwen,” she murmured. “But, please, don’t bother Ana. I’m all right. Really.”

Gwen didn’t believe the queen for a moment. Marissa wasn’t all right and she wouldn’t be until some semblance of normalcy returned to her life. But if she didn’t want her child disturbed, then Gwen would abide by her wishes. There was no point in upsetting her further.

There was also no point in denying how ambivalent she felt as she hurried toward the one man on all of Penwyck she should be running from. In a matter of days Harrison had turned her small, tidy world entirely upside down. He made her feel emotions she’d somehow buried. He made her want all the things she’d come to believe she could live without. He made her want
him.

For years she’d lived her life through and for her daughter and her queen, and somehow that had always been enough.

Now she knew it would never be enough again.

It was with that unsettling realization that she offered a strained smile to the guards in the foyer and started toward the wide stairway that curved upstairs.

Because she was known to them, the guards at the foot of the stairs let her pass. Since her apartment was down past Princess Ana’s rooms, the upstairs guards knew her, too. It was only when she headed toward the opposite wing that one of them stopped her.

The lanky soldier appeared to be half her age, a fresh-faced young man life had yet to rob of his innocence. “I’m sorry, ma’am” he said, his voice a few octives from real authority. “This area has been secured.”

She wondered if Harrison had ever appeared that young.

The sudden thought gave her pause. She truly doubted that he had. A man robbed of his childhood would have grown up feeling very old inside. Old and unwanted.

“I need to speak with Admiral Monteque.” She really didn’t need Harrison messing with her heart right now. What she needed was simply to find him. “I understand he’s in Prince Owen’s rooms.”

“He’s not here, ma’am. He left about half an hour ago.”

“What about Colonel Prescott?”

“He left with him.”

“Then, Duke Logan or Sir Selwyn?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “They aren’t here, either.”

Behind him, she could see a few men conversing in a knot near the end of the long burgundy-carpeted wing by Prince Owen’s rooms, but without a single member of the RET around, she had no hope of gaining information from any one of them.

The fact that the entire RET had suddenly left gave her pause.

“What about a rather-dashing looking gentleman with black hair and green eyes?” she inquired, thinking of the enigmatic man they had turned to for help. “He’s not military.”

It was doubtful that Duke Gage Weston had been introduced to anyone. Or, that either of the decidedly youthful men respectfully keeping her at bay would know who he was. International spies tended to keep low profiles.

“I don’t know about the dashing part,” the soldier qualified, frowning at the term, “but a civilian with dark hair left with them, ma’am.”

“With whom?”

“The admiral and the colonel.”

A black gun strap slashed his red jacket. Clipped to it at his shoulder was a small communicating device. She nodded toward it. “Can you reach either one of them on that?”

“I’d have to go through the security office, but I could get a message to them, ma’am.”

“Would you do that, please? Just tell Admiral Monteque that the queen has a question.”

The young man was most obliging. In a matter of minutes a call came back.

“He sent a message asking you to meet him in the foyer.”

“Thank you…Corporal,” she said, double-checking his insignia to be sure of his rank. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Gwen didn’t stop when she reached the foyer. Instead she crossed the expansive space, turned into the alcove and slipped behind the false column obscuring the door to the underground tunnel the royals used. She didn’t know how many relays her call had taken to get through
to Harrison, but she had the feeling it had been several. It was doubtful that a cell signal would reach into the depths of the tunnel. Considering all of the high-tech equipment she’d seen behind the glass guard-wall, the signal probably would have been blocked, anyway.

At the bottom of the stairs, the door gave way with a faint squeak. In the small space separating her from the door ahead of her, she reached for the handle of the second one.

It opened on its own.

Her heart gave a startled jerk. It bumped her ribs again when she saw Harrison blocking her path.

His dark eyebrows jammed together. “How did you know where I was?”

The craggy lines of his face revealed far more curiosity than displeasure. “It just made sense,” she replied, dropping her hand from her heart. “You were all together with Duke Weston and the tunnel is the closest secure place for all of you to talk.”

Holding the big door open with one hand, he quietly scanned her face. She studied his just as openly. The light from the overhead bulb was bright and unforgiving.

“Where do you want to talk?” he asked.

“Wherever you want,” she replied, curling her fingers to keep from touching the haggard lines carved by his mouth. “The queen just needs to know everything you’ve come up with.”

“Everything?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Does she want to see me?”

She shook her head, wishing now that she hadn’t interrupted him. Her request only added to the demands weighing on him. But the reason for her request was to ease the mind of the queen.

Torn, she murmured, “You can just tell me and I’ll pass it on.”

He looked as if he were running on nothing but sheer will as he reached for her hand. “Then, let’s talk right here,” he said, and tugged her through the doorway.

They wouldn’t be overheard here. They wouldn’t even be seen. There were no people. No bugs. No cameras. Considering that, Harrison wearily leaned against the old limestone wall and pulled her to him. He was too tired to wrestle with why he wanted her in his arms. He just knew that he did.

She came willingly, her body going soft against his.

“Everything,” he repeated, smoothing his hand over her hair to coax her head to his shoulder. He breathed in her scent, felt himself stir in some places, relax in others. Interesting, he thought, the range of effects she had on him.

“You were told the wing is secure?”

“We were.” She nodded against his chest, her voice soft, calming. “But that was all.”

“I didn’t want to send any more information by guard,” he told her. “We didn’t find any evidence of sabotage, but while the team was searching for planted devices we did discover that the king’s apartments had been searched. By a pro,” he added, more interested at the moment in how good Gwen felt than the unforgivable breach in security. “Nothing appeared disturbed on the surface. That was why the security team that checked the area after the prince’s kidnapping didn’t look further.

“But we got Selwyn in there with Gage a while ago,” he continued, liking the easy way she snuggled against him. “Since Selywn is the king’s private secretary, he had a good idea of what was kept where. Between the
two of them, it was apparent that someone went through pretty much everything looking for something.”

She tipped her head back, curiosity locking her eyes on his. “Any idea what?”

“None.”

Curiosity faded. “I’m sorry.”

He heard regret in her tone. He could even see it in the fragile lines of her face. But that regret didn’t seem to be so much for the lack of information as it was for the disappointment and frustration that lack brought him.

He wasn’t accustomed to that sort of caring. The sympathy touched him, but the caring brought a hint of need he forced himself to ignore in order to concentrate.

“We also might know where they’re keeping Owen. We know Gunther Westbury lives in a villa on Majorco,” he told her, aware that her entire body had just gone on alert. “Gage knows the place, but it’s practically inaccessible because of the way it’s situated above the ocean. We think the Black Knights may have Owen there.”

“How will you find out for sure?”

“That’s what we’re working on now. We need surveillance first to see if we can spot him, or anything that looks as if a particular area of the place is being guarded. If we do, we’ll take it from there.”

Gwen fell silent. She just stood in his arms, her hands flat on his lapels and her eyes searching his face.

He had no idea why the concern crept into her expression, but he now recognized her look as easily as he would his own face in the mirror.

“Then, you need to get back to your meeting,” she finally said.

She understood his priorities. She knew that his obligations demanded his attention. He’d never known a woman who’d appreciated how little choice he had when
it came to responsibilities. But then, he supposed, she
would
understand. Duty was her life, too.

Reluctance had him drawing a deep breath. “I know,” he murmured, and slipped his hand around the back of her neck.

He’d thought he’d been relieved when the phone had interrupted before. But he realized now that he’d been robbed of this. This chance to simply hold her.

Edging her closer, he lowered his head. “I should have thought of meeting you here myself.”

He brushed his lips over hers, thinking just to taste her and let her go. But that small contact wasn’t enough. So he pulled her closer, drank more deeply and felt his body jolt with the memory of being inside her.

Gwen felt his body harden, felt the muscles in his chest and thighs go deliciously tight. It hadn’t been her intention to seek privacy with him. At least the thought hadn’t been a conscious one. She’d just wanted information to take back to Marissa and she had wanted it as soon as she could get it.

Any further thought of her purpose dissolved under the gentle assault of his kiss. His scent was familiar to her now. Citrus aftershave and warm male. The combination mingled with the taste of strong coffee and the feel of his hand pressing the small of her back. He fitted her to him like old lovers, seeking her softness, altering her breathing, weakening her knees.