Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9)

by Barbara Mccauley

  Unable to hold herself up any longer, she sank to the floor. Ice filled her veins. Everyone knew that the Black Knights were ruthless, that they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

  “He was with the tour that came into the ballroom,” she said quietly, her mind numb. “That’s why I was so frightened. The men who took my grandmother told me they’d be watching me, that they would know my every move if I tried to get help or go to the police. When I saw Sutton, I was afraid he’d come there to talk to me.”

  Shaking his head, Dylan raked a hand through his hair. “How were you supposed to contact them?”

  “I have a phone number to call. I’m supposed to find a public or pay phone and check in with them tomorrow.”

  “Then that’s what you’ll do,” he said coldly and reached for the phone on the nightstand beside the bed. He punched in a number, kept his gaze lasered on her while he waited. “Send three men to the cliff house,” he said into the receiver. “Tell Monteque we have to meet immediately. I’ll be in his office in twenty minutes.”

  He hung up the phone and walked toward her. Anger glittered in his eyes. The Dylan she’d known was gone. In his place was a fierce, bitter man.

  “Have you any proof?” he asked tightly. “Anything we might use to find where these men are hiding?”

  “I taped our first phone conversation on my answering machine. I hid the tape in a safety deposit box in the First National Bank in West County. The key is—”

  “We won’t need a key.” He stared down at her. “I have men coming to watch the house. You will stay here until I decide what to do with you.”

  He picked up his shoes, then strode toward the door.

  “Dylan,” she called out to him. He stopped, but did not turn. “Please believe me. I’m sorry. It was never my intention for anything to…for us to—”

  “Save it,” he said sharply. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t believe a damn thing you say at this point. And as far as your intentions, Emily, you know what they say about the road to hell.”

  Hot tears slid down her cheeks, but she held her head up, watched him leave the room. He paused at the door again, as if he had a thought, and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t try to run away, Emily. I will find you if you do.”

  “I won’t run,” she said evenly. “It’s my grandmother I’m worried about. I don’t care what happens to me.”

  “That’s makes two of us, then.”

  His words cut like broken glass; she closed her eyes against the pain. She didn’t blame him. How could she possibly blame him? She deserved his anger, his disgust and more.

  He walked away, and Emily heard the front door close a moment later. Once more she could hear the screech of the seagulls and the surf pounding the rocks below the cliff. Only it wasn’t as it had been before. Everything was different now. Everything had changed.

  Had she made a horrible mistake by telling him? she wondered. Had her honesty sealed not only her own fate, but her grandmother’s, as well?

  Too exhausted to think, she dropped her head into her hands and prayed that if Dylan would not forgive her, he would at least help her.

  It took less than an hour to assemble the leaders of Penwyck’s Royal Elite Team. Admiral Monteque, Duke Carson Logan, Pierceson Prescott and Sir Selywyn Estabon, all powerful, rich, impressive men.

  They were men to be trusted, Dylan knew. Men in whom his father had complete confidence. They were intelligent and brave, fearless men who had proven their valor time and time again. They had their own code, their own rules, but their goal was the same: protect their country and their king at all costs.

  The men had listened quietly and intently when Dylan had presented the few facts he’d learned from Emily. Olivia Bridgewater had been kidnapped, her life threatened if Emily did not do what the men told her, which was to get close to the king’s son and steal information regarding the diamonds from his safe.

  “Does she know how the Black Knights gained knowledge of your alarm code and safe combination?” Monteque asked.

  Dylan shook his head. “I’m guessing it’s either an inside source or they’ve somehow managed to tap into the main computer controlling all the alarm pads. As far as my safe is concerned, I don’t have a clue. No one knows that combination but me.”

  “I’ll have one of my men do a security sweep right away,” Carson Logan said. “A well-placed camera might be the culprit.”

  It enraged Dylan, the thought of someone bugging or wiring his room. But not as much as Emily’s deceit had enraged him.

  I’ve lied to you about everything.

  Her words still rang in his head. How could he have been so stupid, so foolish? he’d asked himself a hundred times since he’d left the cottage.

  She’d been so convincing, so clever in her ruse. Beautiful, innocent Emily. Sweet, vulnerable Emily.

  Lying, deceitful Emily.

  “Dylan?”

  He snapped himself out of his thoughts, annoyed he’d let himself stray from what needed to be done now. He looked at Carson, realized that the man had been talking to him. “What?”

  “I’m going to bring in my two best men to cross-examine the woman. Would you like to be present?”

  “No.” He didn’t dare. He was wound too tightly to be close to Emily. He wasn’t certain he would be able to control his emotions if he was in the same room with her. “I have other things to attend to. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you like me to follow up on the tape in her safety deposit box?” Selywyn Estabon asked.

  Dylan nodded. “When you retrieve it, bring it directly to me. Check the security tapes on all the tours given yesterday, as well. Miss Bridgewater claims she can identify one of the men in a tour group as the man who took her up on the mountain road. Have her review the tapes and see what you can find out.”

  Dylan stood, signifying the end of the meeting. With a quiet scraping of wooden chairs on a hardwood floor and the shuffling of papers, the rest of the men rose, as well.

  “What do you want us to do about the grandmother?” Pierceson Prescott asked.

  Dylan looked at Prescott. The man was impressive in stature and build. And, like the rest of the Royal Elite Team, trained in combat and the martial arts. Dylan glanced at the other men in the room. Each of them had their specialty, their own expertise they brought to an assignment. The room was taut with tension, everyone eager to get started.

  “I want you to find out where those cowards are keeping the woman,” Dylan said evenly. “Then we’ll bring her back, alive.”

  “We?” Prescott frowned. “But, surely you don’t mean that you intend to—”

  “That’s exactly what I intend.” His jaw set, Dylan scanned the other men’s startled faces. “If anyone has a problem with that, say so now.”

  The men exchanged glances, smiled, then Prescott stepped forward and bowed. “Of course not, Your Royal Highness. We would be honored.”

  Dylan nodded, then looked at the clock on the wall. “I expect to be briefed on every detail, no matter how small. We’ll meet back here at nineteen hundred hours.”

  The room emptied. Alone, Dylan walked to the water cooler and filled a paper cup. He stared at the clear liquid for a long moment, then downed the contents.

  On the drive back down from the cliffs, he’d been too angry, his pride too wounded, to think clearly. The very thought that Emily was connected to the Black Knights…

  Swearing, he crushed the cup in his hands and hurled it into the trash can.

  In his mind, he’d gone over and over that first day, when his limo had struck her. The image of the car hitting her was etched in his brain, but he needed to go back farther, to remember what had happened before. He closed his eyes, replayed the incident in slow motion, forced himself to remember details…

  He and Liam had been discussing a hand of poker…Let me win? Liam had said, laughing, but his next sentence had been cut short when the bicycl
ist had suddenly appeared in the road. Watch out! Dylan had screamed. But it was too late. Liam had slammed on the brakes….

  Dylan concentrated on that moment, that split second before the limo had struck Emily. He froze that moment in his mind….

  She’d worn a white, short-sleeved blouse…long, blue denim skirt. Her head had snapped around at the sight of the car barreling down on her, skidding out of control. Her eyes had widened in terror, her dark hair had flown wildly around her pale face….

  He stiffened then, remembering a detail he hadn’t considered before: her cheek, right under those frightened eyes, had been bright red.

  As if someone had used a fist on her only seconds before.

  Sutton.

  Dylan’s own hands tightened into fists. Emily had said that the man had been up on the road with her. It appeared that he’d struck Emily before sending her out in front of the limo. Whether to make her comply with his demands or to make the accident appear worse, Dylan wasn’t certain.

  Either way, Dylan looked forward to coming face-to-face with the bastard, was anxious to see how the man could handle himself when he wasn’t beating up women and kidnapping old ladies.

  “Dylan?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the familiar voice, then turned and nodded. “Mother.”

  She stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. Her cashmere suit was the color of sand, her low-heeled shoes a shade darker. She wore her dark hair up today, emphasizing not only her long, graceful neck, but the simple diamond earrings her husband had given her on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, along with a diamond necklace, simple diamond brooch and simple diamond bracelet, all handcrafted by the palace jeweler.

  Since the day Dylan had returned to Penwyck, he’d noticed his mother had worn at least one piece of the ensemble of jewelry every day. Neither his mother nor his father had ever shown great sentimentality, and yet Dylan realized that his mother had worn the jewelry these past weeks to please her husband, to show him in her own way how much she cared for him.

  There were people who speculated on the sincerity of the king and queen’s marriage, whether theirs was truly a happy union, but Dylan knew in his heart that his parents deeply loved one another.

  There was concern in Marissa’s deep-blue eyes as she gazed at her son. “Sit, Dylan, and tell me what’s happened.”

  He pulled a chair out for his mother first, then sat across from her. He started at the beginning, explained how Emily’s accident and amnesia had been a farce and that through coercion, she’d been part of a plot to gain access to the palace in order to steal information from his safe.

  “I have her under guard at my cottage,” he told Marissa. “She’ll be cross-examined to determine if she’s telling the truth.”

  “Of course she’s telling the truth,” Marissa said with a dismissive wave. “She has no reason to lie now, especially with her grandmother’s life at stake. Have you any leads on where the Black Knights might be keeping the poor woman?”

  He shook his head. “We’re hoping to be able to do a reverse trace on the original phone call Emily received at her house, or possibly find a clue in the tape she recorded. She’s also supposed to check in with them every few days, so we might be able to find a lead there.”

  Marissa nodded her approval. “You’ve handled this extremely well, son. Especially considering the circumstances and your own involvement.”

  “I have no involvement,” he said firmly.

  “Ah.” The smile she gave him, that all-knowing smile that mothers seemed to be born with, annoyed the hell out of him.

  “And you’ve spent every possible minute with her and taken her to your cottage for what reason?”

  He straightened, met his mother’s sharp blue eyes. “None of that is relevant to this investigation, Mother.”

  “Isn’t it?” She tilted her head and studied him. “Do you deny you care for her very much?”

  Maybe he had cared for her, before he knew she’d deceived him. But whatever he’d felt no longer mattered. Other than what they could learn from her, he was done with the woman.

  In any event, he had no intention of discussing that part of his life with his mother.

  “She lied to me,” he said, ignoring Marissa’s question. “She lied to all of us.”

  “She did not lie to hurt anyone,” Marissa said gently. “She lied to protect someone she loved.”

  He shook his head. “I fail to see the difference.”

  “Do you?” She lifted one finely arched brow. “So these past two years you’ve been gone, you’ve been traveling in Europe and staying with friends, have you?”

  “I—” She knows, Dylan realized. Somehow his mother had found out where he’d truly been and what he’d been doing. But how? How could she possibly know? “What do you mean?”

  Marissa sighed. “Never mind. You have other things to think about now. But when the time is right, Dylan, you and I have much to talk about.”

  She stood, then moved beside him and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I once read somewhere,” she said softly, “that a woman loves with all her heart and a man with all his strength. You, my son, have much strength. Use it wisely.”

  Stunned by her words, Dylan watched his mother leave the room. He stared at the closed door for several long moments. What nonsense was she spouting about love?

  Love had nothing to do with this situation at all. He might have let lust cloud his thinking, and he would certainly plead guilty to foolishness and stupidity, but love?

  He sighed and shook his head. Women were dreamers, full of fantasies and illusions. Men saw reality and facts. They did not let emotions rule their decisions.

  He would need to see Emily again, he knew. There were still questions unanswered, pieces of the kidnapping and blackmail scheme that needed to be fitted together, things that he wanted to hear from her directly.

  But he wouldn’t let her close again, he told himself. He’d made an error in judgment with the woman once, and he’d be damned if he’d make that same mistake again.

  Ten

  It shamed Emily how well she was treated over the next week. Every morning, at eight o’clock, a fresh bag of groceries was delivered to the cottage. Clothes had been packed and sent in trunks, along with a bag of bath and hair and makeup items. The television, VCR and DVD players in the cottage all worked and Dylan had a wide and varied selection of movies in his collection, along with a well-rounded library of novels and books.

  There were no bars on the windows, no locked doors, and no one stopped her when she walked along the cliffs every afternoon.

  Nevertheless, there was no doubt she was a prisoner here.

  Two shifts of three men in civilian attire patrolled the cottage grounds twenty-four hours a day, their guns hidden neatly under the sporty cotton jackets they wore. During the day, they strolled casually about, smoked and talked quietly amongst themselves. To anyone passing by, it would seem as though they were all out on holiday for a few days, enjoying a bit of fresh air by the ocean.

  Nothing could be farther from the truth.

  She glanced out the small window beside the front door. Thirty yards from the cottage, at the edge of the forest, a large, white trailer had been hauled in on the back of a pickup truck, a headquarters of sorts, she supposed. The men watching her ate and slept there, and when other men came up from the palace, they all gathered inside the trailer to hold meetings.

  Two men she knew only as Westbrook and Gibbons had questioned her endlessly the first three days. They’d videod and tape-recorded every session. She’d requested a lie-detector test, but no one had given her one. They’d simply scribbled a note that she had made the offer. After those three days, no one else had come, and if not for the men outside watching her and the food deliveries, she might have thought they’d forgotten her altogether.

  Especially Dylan, she thought, pressing a fist to her chest. He’d told her before he’d left her that she no longer
mattered to him. Clearly he’d meant it.

  But in spite of the heartache, in spite of the problems she’d caused the palace, she wouldn’t have changed a thing. To save her grandmother, she’d do it all over again.

  Emily had called her contact several days ago at her scheduled check-in time, but the man who’d answered the phone would not let her speak to her grandmother. Though he had insisted that Olivia was sleeping, that she was fine, Emily had felt sick to her stomach with worry. She prayed the Black Knights had not hurt her grandmother in any way, and that Dylan’s men would find her in time.

  They had to, she told herself, refusing to consider any other option.

  A blast of wind buffeted the cottage and howled down the chimney. Outside, tree branches swayed and a dust devil, carrying bits and pieces of wood and leaves, whirled past the window. Two of the guards walked by, hands dipped deep in their jacket pockets. Earlier, the day had been warm, but dark clouds were quickly moving in. There was no mistaking that tonight would be cold and wet.

  With a sigh, she moved away from the window. As comfortable as her surroundings were in the cottage, she would have preferred a jail cell. Here, everywhere she turned she saw Dylan, felt his presence as surely as if he were standing before her. And if the days weren’t bad enough, there were the nights.

  It was impossible to lie in the same bed where they’d made love and not think of him. Impossible not to remember the passion they’d shared. The urgent, hot press of his mouth on hers, his hands—his magical, clever hands—gliding over her skin, arousing, destroying, consuming her with every masterful stroke, every skillful, breath-stealing caress. To think that she would never know such ecstasy again ripped at her heart.

  But she wasn’t sorry she’d given herself to him. There were so many things she was sorry for, but never that. She’d fallen in love with him. Her guilt and fear had clouded her feelings, made her deny them even, but she knew she’d loved him from the first moment he’d gathered her in his arms and laid her so gently in his car.