The Prince's Bride

by Sophie Weston

  “How’s the boy? Have you heard?”

  “Under observation. That’s all so far. But he was talking coherently by the time they got him here.”

  “Great. Let’s hope he carries on getting better. As for us, I’ll call if we need help. Unless I do, we’ll see you later.”

  “Good. That dog of Hope’s is wearing me out. You can tell her he made himself at home,” said Marko with feeling.

  “I’ll do that. Thanks. Cheers.”

  Jonas went back into the hut. Hope was groggily sitting up, wild red hair everywhere and blankets slipping deliciously. He hurriedly closed the door. It was cold outside.

  “Awake?”

  She yawned massively, eyes tight shut. “Getting there.”

  “I’ve reported in. Marko says that the boy you rescued is better this morning. They’ve kept him in hospital for observation.”

  “We rescued.” She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, that’s good. What about the others?”

  “Sounded OK, from what he was saying.”

  “Did he think to say how Moby is?”

  Jonas grinned. “Made himself very comfortable from the sound of it. Marko sounded a bit shell-shocked.”

  She gave a choke of sleepy laughter. “He does like plenty of exercise. I suppose we ought to go and collect him as soon as possible.”

  She sounded almost reluctant, he thought. His pulse speeded up. To comfort himself as much her he said, “Well don’t get cold. We can take our time. The dog’s safe enough with Marko and I’m going to see if there’s any way this place can rise to coffee.”

  Her eyes flared open at that. “You’re serious?”

  “I’ve got a hunch. There’s a stream outside, so we have water. I’m going to have a rummage through their cupboards. Would you like coffee if I can find any?”

  She groaned eloquently. It was disturbingly reminiscent of some memorable moments last night. He swallowed hard and found her eyes were fixed on him, green and mischievous. She pulled the blankets up round her bare shoulders with a deliberately voluptuous shiver.

  Chivalrous knight, he reminded himself, breaking out in a cold sweat.

  She laughed and let him go. Sort of. “Any chance of a shower?”

  He shook his head. There was a basic bathroom but it was out of water. He’d looked. “You could take a dip in the stream if you really want to. It will be very cold. But ...”

  She shook her head and leaned back among the tumbled covers. The witch-green eyes were dancing. “I’ll just lie here and wait then, shall I?”

  Glug.

  Jonas fled to the rudimentary kitchen in case he started to beat his breast and roar like a gorilla.

  But he forgot that in the delight of finding that the scientists were better stocked than he had discovered last night. Not only did they have coffee in small freeze-dried packs, but there were several other packs that he recognized labelled “Space Food”. Even better, there was a barbecue tray on legs that had clearly been used to heat stuff over the fire and a heavy-bottomed pan. He bounded back to Hope with his treasure trove.

  “You can have,” he consulted his haul, “scrambled eggs, porridge, boeuf bourguignon, or apple crumble.”

  “Don’t torture me.”

  “It’s true.” He waved a pack under her nose. “Freeze-dried food like astronauts have. Just add boiling water.”

  She looked at him in awe. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

  “Well, in this case, I’ve had personal experience. You get them in science museums. My brother’s kids go crazy for them.”

  “My hero.”

  He kissed her lightly. “You make me feel ten feet tall.” He was only half joking.

  He built up the fire and brought out the ingredients and a couple of additional mugs. “For the Space Goo,” he explained, setting them down.

  Hope was buttoning her shirt but she looked up and stared at him with odd concentration for a moment. “You warmed my clothes for me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was all she said but it felt momentous. They sat side by side watching the water boil. The scrambled egg turned out to be apple crumble but it was quite tasty apple crumble, as Hope said, so they shared the pack. They held hands while they drank their coffee. Not speaking, they sat and watched the flames die down. Hope put her head on his shoulder.

  “How are you feeling now?” he murmured.

  “Pretty damn good. You?”

  Ten feet tall. “Likewise.”

  Chapter Six

  Jonas had intended to see Hope home to the Antons’ villa but the Rangers really wanted him to go to the hospital. The injured boy was asking for him, they said. He didn’t ask her to go with him and, anyway, she wanted a shower before she did anything else. And she needed to get Moby home and fed.

  “I bet Marko’s been giving him biscuits,” she said, observing the dog racing round in wild circles. “I don’t blame him. Moby has a very good line in starving dog when there are human biscuits around. He’ll probably throw up at some point. My brother warned me about that.”

  “Good point,” said Jonas, not arguing.

  He came out of the Rangers’ Centre to see her to the 4X4 but he didn’t kiss her. Well, the Rangers would have seen, she supposed. She didn’t really mind. She was floating about three foot above the ground in a sweetly scented pink cloud. And anyway, he squeezed her hand in that way and looked pleased when she blushed.

  “I’ll call you. And anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

  “You will.”

  She found she was singing in the car.

  It was late afternoon by the time she got back. Moby rushed round the house to say hello to every room, his claws clattering on the parquet flooring, giving little excited barks. Then he collapsed in the kitchen and lay on his back, snoring loudly. His paws quivered as he dreamed.

  “Sometimes,” Hope told his unconscious form, “you can be very human.”

  He reminded her of her father, collapsed on the study sofa after Sunday lunch, with the newspaper sliding gently to the floor, snoring in exactly the same way. She smiled. For all his mistakes there had been something about her father that was innocent and very sweet.

  Hope fully expected to find anxious messages from Poppy and Mrs Anton wondering about Hope’s silence. But there were none. So she took a photograph of the slumbering Moby and sent it to them, with a reassuring text, just in case. And then she showered and washed her hair at last.

  She was curled up on the couch in the den, wearing a guest bathrobe with her hair in a towel, when Jonas called.

  “How are you feeling now?”

  Wonderful. Like live electricity. And a bit strange.

  She didn’t say that. It felt too new and just a little embarrassing. She said, “Clean, actually. I left enough twiggery and bits of leaf on the floor of the shower to start a small compost heap.”

  Jonas seemed to have no problems with embarrassment or strangeness at all. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see that.”

  Hope wriggled her bare toes under a cushion. “How was the patient?”

  “Patched up and doing well. A bit subdued. Peter had told the boys to stick together and stay close behind him and our patient deliberately shot off on his own.”

  “Exploring?”

  “More likely to have a smoke.”

  “Ah.”

  “Nobody’s admitting it, but he and his brother both look as if they’ve got bad consciences and their mother was hopping mad when I was at the hospital.”

  “Then you’re probably right. And Peter?”

  “Swearing about the pain. But he won’t take painkillers, so he has to put up with it. He says he’ll be back for training tomorrow morning.”

  “So all’s well that ends well.”

  “Yes, thank God.” His voice roughened. He might almost be the one in pain, not Peter.

  Hope remembered Jonas saying “When I sent you off down that rope,” how anguishe
d he’d looked, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She wished passionately that he were there with her, that she could tell him to come over, now, and they could comfort each other. But it was no good. She didn’t know how to say it without sounding, well, hysterical.

  “Hope? Are you still there?”

  She swallowed an obstruction in her throat. “Still here.”

  “What are you doing with the rest of the evening?”

  Missing you. “Drying my hair, watching a movie with a happy ending, going to bed early.”

  He groaned. “Sounds just about perfect. Wish I was there with you.”

  “So do I.”

  There was a little silence. Then he said carefully, “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

  Hope swallowed. “I do mean it.”

  There was an even longer silence. “No. I can’t.” Jonas sounded as if he was in pain. “I’ve got to write my bit of the report and then put the whole thing into a file for Klaus to sign tomorrow. And draft a press release. And be responsible.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?”

  “I can be in the forest by dawn,” she said fervently.

  Jonas gave a shaken laugh. “That will be interesting.”

  Hope’s toes curled in sympathy. “Won’t it just?”

  They both talked for longer than they needed, saying nothing important, just for the sheer pleasure of his voice in her ear, his breathing at the other end. A message came up on the screen that she had a text, another, and then there was a call waiting. It was Poppy’s number.

  “There’s a call I really ought to take.”

  But she was reluctant to let him go. And so was he. Half laughing at themselves they talked farewell nonsense until he finally drew it to a close with a little crooning noise, somewhere between a kiss and a lullaby.

  In the ensuing silence, Hope sat grinning like a loon and hugging the phone. She was as warm and rumpled as if Jonas had just walked out of the room.

  “This,” she said aloud, trying to be sensible and not really managing it, “is a new experience.”

  By that time, of course, Poppy’s call had gone to voicemail. Not very successfully, either. The sound kept cutting out, so that Hope could only make out one word in three. And when she tried to call back she got the out of service message.

  The house telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  But even that was not a good line. Poppy had difficulty making herself heard through the crackle of static and a persistent buzzing. “Oh, Hope, I’m sorry ... trying and trying to call ... no signal ...terrible storms ...”

  “Here too,” said Hope, realizing with relief that there was no point in trying to explain her overnight absence on a line like this. “Here too. Moby is fine.”

  “What?” Poppy was clearly shouting for all she was worth, but it was very hard to hear.

  Hope raised her voice and enunciated clearly. “I said we’ve had bad thunder and lightning here too.”

  There were more squeaks and then Mrs Anton came on the line. She was worried about the house and its power supply.

  Hope reassured her that the villa was still standing and recognized an opportunity to seek permission to invite Jonas to the house. “I’ve met a Forest Ranger when I was walking Moby. Would it be OK to ask him back here for a meal?”

  Mrs Anton was delighted. “... so glad ... Blake must know him ... name? ... local? ... stay if you want ...”

  “Thank you,” said Hope with real gratitude. “Jonas Reval. He’s a volunteer from the capital.”

  “... again?”

  “Volunteer,” she shouted into the chittering handset. “Reval.”

  But Mrs Anton was already talking again. As far as Hope could make out, Mrs Anton was telling her to ask Volunteer Ranger Reval to stay in the spare room as long as she wanted to, while the storms lasted. It would comfort Mrs Reval to think that Hope was not on her own if there should be a tornado or similar extreme weather event.

  Hope was startled. “Do you think that’s likely?”

  But Mrs Anton had become inaudible. Then the line went dead before the handset started up its grating “off the hook” noise.

  Hope looked put it back in the dock. Neither Poppy nor Mrs Anton called back.

  The conversation and mechanical noises had woken Moby. So she gave him a head rub and then let him out into the garden for a healthful gallop round the perimeter before bed.

  She left the kitchen door open, sending a shaft of light into the pitch darkness outside, while she refilled his water bowl and made herself a warm drink to take to bed. She had the vague feeling that there was something she ought to have noticed, something she should have done or said. But tiredness was beginning to catch up with her and she just couldn’t quite focus on the specific issue. Oh well, if it was important she would remember it in the morning.

  So when Moby thundered back in and flung himself on his water bowl and then his kitchen couch, Hope locked and bolted the doors, switched off the lights, and took her phone and mug of camomile tea up to bed.

  The camomile infusion was still there, undrunk, in the morning. But her memory was back. And it brought her awake and out of bed in alarm.

  Jonas had said – surely he had said? – that he was writing a press release about the rescue. A press release! Hope had been on the receiving end of press attention in the past and she really didn’t want to go there again. She needed to speak to him. Urgently.

  She called. He answered at once.

  “Good morning, sweetness.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Um, hello.” For a moment Hope forgot what she needed to say in the sheer physical pleasure of having him murmur into her ear. She shivered voluptuously.

  “Sleep well? No ill effects from our adventure?”

  That brought her back to reality. “I’m fine. Have you published your press release yet?”

  “No.” There was a half question in his voice.

  “I was wondering – I mean, do you have to mention me in it?”

  “You’re not going to be mentioned,” he said very firmly. “I’ve already told Klaus.”

  She gave a great huff of relief, sinking back onto the side of the bed like a sack of abandoned laundry. “Why Klaus?”

  “I’m a volunteer,” he reminded her. “I only did the first draft because I was actually there during most of it. But the Rangers have to decide what they want going out under their name.”

  “Oh. I see. Of course.”

  “Don’t worry. Klaus isn’t going to mention you in the press release. This is about a forest event and safety, not some human interest story.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” It was somehow more calming than any amount of reassuring argument would have been.

  Relieved, she moved on to the Next Big Thing on her agenda. “I talked to the Antons last night. It was a terrible line. But I asked and she’s given me permission to ask you over. You’re even invited to stay, in case there’s a tornado and I need protection.” She was really proud of how casually amused she sounded.

  Jonas laughed. “I can handle that. Tonight?”

  At once Hope was flustered. “What?”

  “I’ve got training all morning. You can bring Moby over this afternoon and we’ll walk through the forest as normal. Then I’ll take you out to dinner afterwards and we’ll return to the Villa Anton for some serious tornado drill.”

  Hope swallowed a couple of times. “That would be nice.”

  It would not be nice. It would be amazing. And wonderful. And terrifying. And completely new.

  I am so out of my depth now.

  “Great. See you later.”

  Hope told herself that it was the same as any other day in San Michele. Only of course it wasn’t. For one thing the morning ritual didn’t happen. Presumably the Antons were still having connection difficulties. For another
, Moby was restless, demanding first attention, then a walk, then wanting to go back to the house.

  “The sooner I get you into the forest the better,” she told him.

  So she got to the Rangers’ Centre while Jonas and Peter were still in discussion with their tutors of the morning.

  “They won’t be long,” said Klaus, who was looking very smart in a tailored uniform. “Fire protocols evaluation. Formality, really.”

  “No problem. We’re early. Moby can’t seem to settle.”

  “Ah well, dogs don’t like their routine interrupted. Any more than Rangers do,” he added with a twinkle. “I’m off to the capital to explain myself for permitting a lightning strike in their forest.” He didn’t sound too bothered, though.

  Hope laughed and wished him luck as he went off.

  It meant that Jonas was left alone in charge of the Rangers’ Centre and had to stay close.

  “So I’ll be a Volunteer Ranger’s Volunteer Assistant,” she said, pleased.

  Under his instruction she helped file and dust exhibits, tidied the rubbish dump that was the stationery cabinet and even checked that the handwritten whiteboard messages, photographed daily, had all been transposed to the computerized diary. She took Moby for several walks, making sure that they stayed strictly on the signposted trails. And she held the fort while Jonas took a couple of academics from the university to look at the landslip. They returned soaked by the steady downpour.

  “Right,” Jonas said, returning from seeing them off and shaking rainwater out of his eyes. “I’ll just divert incoming calls to my cell and we can go to dinner. I don’t think there’s any fire that would have a chance in rain like this.”

  He took her to a roadhouse on the shores of a lake she hadn’t seen before. It had a plain wooden floor, unvarnished wooden tables and a cheerful air of casual busy-ness. A multi-generational family group were seated in the middle, where several tables had been pushed together. They were clearly celebrating.

  Jonas ushered Hope and Moby to a booth along the side wall and raised a hand to a jeans-clad waitress as he slid in opposite.

  “Busy tonight,” he said in English, when the girl came over to them.

  She nodded. “Wedding anniversary from over the border. They’ve brought their own music.”