The Princess's Bodyguard

by Beverly Barton

  The maid thanked Matt, then glanced at Adele and said in German to Matt, "Your wife is very beautiful. She re­minds me of Princess Adele of Orlantha. Herr Gerwalt mentioned that he, too, noticed the resem-blance."

  Adele opened her mouth to announce her true identity, but before she could speak, Matt rushed to her side, slid his arm around her waist and said in rather crude German, "Yes, we've heard that a lot lately, since we've been in Europe. But you know, I think my wife is prettier than the princess."

  The maid giggled, then hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  "I'm afraid we're stuck with lamb stew. The chef has gone home for the night." Adele jerked away from him and went over to their makeshift dinner table. "By the way, your German is terrible."

  "Yeah, I know, but I do well enough to get by." Matt joined her, pulled out her chair and seated her. He sat across from her, poured hot tea from a carafe into her cup then his before sniffing the thick, dark lamb stew. "Your English is almost perfect. You barely have an accent. Why is that?"

  Adele sipped on her tea. "English was taught as a sec­ond language at the boarding school I attended. And I per­fected the language when I attended college in England."

  "Which college?"

  "Cambridge."

  "You actually went to Cambridge?" Matt lifted his spoon and delved into the stew.

  Adele tore off a couple of pieces from the crusty loaf of bread.

  "Why do you find that so amazing? I will one day be queen of Orlantha. My education was very important to my father. I must be prepared to lead my country." Matt shook his head.

  "You don't approve of educating women, Mr. O'Brien?"

  "Oh, honey, if you only knew. I was raised by a tough, hardworking, give-'em-hell woman. My aunt Velma. She wouldn't take kindly to your thinking I'm some sort of chauvinist. Women's rights is one of the many things she drilled into me. Actually Velma O'Brien believed strongly in human rights and equality for all. So you see, Ms. Rey­nard, I believe in educating everybody. Male and female, regardless of race, color, creed, national origin or socio­economic background."

  "How very democratic of you."

  "Something you apparently know very little about," he countered.

  "On the contrary. Orlantha is quite progressive and in many ways we're similar to Great Britain. We have a gov­erning council, with a chancellor and vice chancellor."

  "Yeah, but unlike the Brits, y'all still have a ruling monarch who possesses a great deal of power. If your old man said 'Off with their heads,' then heads would roll."

  Adele's lips twitched. Although she found his statement humorous, she didn't dare laugh. The very thought of her father ordering people's deaths was ludicrous. She didn't know Mr. O'Brien's feminist Aunt Velma, but he didn't know King Leopold, whose bark was much worse than his bite.

  Adele leaned slightly forward, smiled sweetly and looked soulfully into Matt O'Brien's spellbinding blue eyes. "Is there anything—" she emphasized the word any­thing "—I can say or do that would persuade you not to take me back to Orlantha?"

  Matt crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and stared at her. "You wouldn't be propo-sitioning me, would you, princess?"

  She should reprimand him for his impertinence, but wis­dom bade her to remain calm. Reminding herself that this man held her fate in his hands—in his big, strong hands— she glanced at his taut biceps where his arms crisscrossed his chest, and she continued smiling at him.

  "I'm willing to do almost anything." She caressed her neck, then slid her hand slowly downward, spreading her robe apart and laying her open palm in the center of her chest, her pinky finger slipping between her breasts.

  What would she do if he took her up on her offer? Was she really willing to have sex with this man in order to gain her freedom? The thought sobered her instantly. Just as she started to speak, Matt reached across the table and grasped her chin.

  "You're pretty desperate, aren't you, to even contem­plate such a thing?"

  Damn, she felt like crying, could actually feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She glanced away, not wanting him to see her weak and uncertain. After releasing her chin, he continued staring at her for a few minutes, long enough to embarrass her. A heated flush colored her cheeks.

  "Let me make things easy for you," Matt told her. "There's nothing you can say or do that will keep me from returning you to your father. Unless. . ."

  "Unless?" Adele's heartbeat boom-boomed in her ears.

  "Unless I believe that taking you home would put your life at risk. But I hardly think you'll be in any danger from your own father."

  Adele shook her head. "No, not from Father. But both he and I are in danger from Dedrick." When she saw the doubting expression on Matt's face, she said, "You don't believe me, do you?"

  "I don't know," Matt admitted. "Why would I lie to you?"

  "I don't know that, either. Not for sure. But let's just say that before I'd believe you—or anyone I don't know— I'd need to see some sort of proof."

  Adele sighed. "I don't have any proof. And that's the problem. If I had proof, I could take it to my father and he would call off my wedding to Dedrick and throw Dedrick in prison for treason."

  "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you, but—"

  Adele reached across the table, grabbed one of Matt's hands and squeezed it pleadingly. "You can help me. Call my father and tell him that you couldn't find me, that I wasn't with Yves. I need more time. Pippin and his people need more time."

  "Look, honey, why don't you just tell your father that you are not going to marry the duke? He can't force you to marry him, can he? After all, it's a free country and. . ." Realization dawned. "Sorry, princess. Orlantha isn't a free country, is it? Your father could force you to marry old mule face, couldn't he?"

  Now she was getting through to him. Finally. She squeezed his hand again and gave him a pathetic little look of total helplessness. "Please, help me, Mr. O'Brien. Matt. . ."

  He jerked his hand free, squinted as he glowered at her and then grinned, a rather cocky, smug grin that gave Adele a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  "You're good, honey. You're very good. You almost had me, there. I was this close—'' he indicated how close with his thumb and forefinger "—to buying your act."

  Adele clenched her teeth. Trying to fight Matt O'Brien didn't work. But neither did trying to charm him. And getting any help from the innkeeper or the maid apparently wasn't possible. So, that left her with only one option— she had to escape. But how? He watched her every minute. The man had even made her leave the bathroom door half­way open when she'd undressed. The bathroom! The bath­room window. It was small and would be a tight squeeze, but she thought she might be able to slip through it and out onto the inn's roof. After that she'd find a way to get down to the ground. If only she could steal the car keys first, she would have transportation and wouldn't have to telephone Yves to meet her and then strike out on foot in the middle of the night. But if necessary, that's exactly what she'd do. She'd slip out the window, get down to the ground, go back inside the inn and call Yves.

  She would have to bide her time. Her bodyguard would have to sleep eventually. All she had to do was wait.

  After Matt had seen through her little ruse, the princess had foregone any more pleasantries. They had eaten in relative silence, then she had gone to bed. Although he was nearly a foot taller and twice her size, he was forced to take the sofa, which was too short for his length and probably damn lumpy to boot. He gathered up his still-damp clothes from the floor and hung them over a couple of chairs he positioned in front of the fireplace. Her High­ness went to sleep almost immediately after Matt turned off the lights. He stoked the fire before bedding down for the night.

  Unable to find a comfortable position on the sofa, he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Finally he closed his eyes and relaxed. He'd been trained to go days without sleep if necessary, and his gut instincts told
him that tonight would be one of those you'd-better-stay-awake nights. The princess had gone to sleep too quickly, had given up her persuasive tactics too easily. She was defi­nitely up to something, probably no good. If he knew women—and he did know women—this stubborn, con­trary lady would attempt an escape before daybreak.

  Hours later—he wasn't quite sure of the time, but fig­ured it was well over into the morning—Princess Adele slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door. Matt didn't move. He'd give her a few minutes. Maybe she had to use the facilities. Matt listened. Some­time in the past few hours, it had quit raining. The minutes ticked by, then he heard the creaky groans of a window opening. He shot straight up. She was going to try to es­cape through the bathroom window. She was probably just small enough to fit through the narrow opening. He figured she'd changed into her damp clothes that she'd laid out on the bathtub. Why, God, why had he gotten stuck with this assignment?

  Matt grabbed his own still-damp clothes and dressed hurriedly. When he thought he'd given her just enough time to make it through the window, Matt opened the bath­room door. The room was empty; the window was open. He sighed, shrugged and then turned around and headed toward the door leading into the dimly lit hallway. Only the faint moans of an old building intruded on the predawn quiet. He took his time going down the stairs, through the small lobby and out the front door. The best thing to do was station himself in the corner and wait for her to de­scend from the roof. He hoped she didn't break her fool neck in the process.

  Suddenly in his peripheral vision Matt caught a glimpse of movement about twenty feet away. He leaned back against the stone wall and held his breath. Had Adele got­ten down that quickly? He stared out into the darkness, lit only by hazy moonlight barely visible after the storm. That's when Matt saw them. Two men, average size by the looks of their dark forms. They were speaking quietly. Too quietly for Matt to hear what they were saying. Then one of them pointed up, toward the roof. Both men moved forward. Matt eased slowly, carefully along the front porch until he reached the side of the inn, then he dashed off the porch and straight toward the nearest tree. He slid behind the huge tree, then looked up where he saw another dark form, small and curvy, as it climbed down a trellis attached to the side of the inn. Princess Adele. The two men waited, one on either side of the trellis.

  Damn, they were waiting for Adele. But who the hell were they? And how had they known where Adele was? Unless they had followed her, followed them, to the inn. He hadn't paid much attention to the traffic once he'd felt certain that Yves Jurgen hadn't followed them. It had never crossed his mind that someone might be stalking the princess.

  Matt watched while Adele descended—right into the arms of her waiting captors. Hell, he'd have to go get her, and that probably meant roughing up a couple of tough guys. He just hoped there wouldn't be any gunplay in­volved. He hated like the devil to deal with the foreign police.

  Adele let out a piercing scream. Matt checked his 9 mm gun, sucked in a deep breath, then marched forward, like the calvary to the rescue.

  Chapter 4

  Adele didn't recognize her attackers, but it was dark and she was scared to death. Although it was possible that these men were muggers, her instincts warned her that they were somehow connected to the Royalists and thus con­nected to Dedrick. There was no way anyone could have known where she was unless she'd been followed—or un­less Matt O'Brien really wasn't working for her father.

  She didn't have much time to think about what was happening to her. A sweaty hand clamped over her mouth seconds after she screamed. If Matt was on the up-and-up, maybe he'd heard her cry for help. Adele tried to fight off the assault, but she didn't have the strength to struggle against two men intent on subduing her.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, another man appeared. Taller and bigger than the two holding her. With the swift, deadly ability of a trained soldier, the man attacked, ripping her from captivity and shoving her to freedom. Then when the two culprits surged toward him, he used his entire body as a weapon. His hands. His feet. His head. He landed blow after blow, outmaneuvering and outsmarting his oppo­nents. Adele stood to the side of the action scene and watched in silent amazement. She'd never seen anything like it outside a big-budget adventure movie. Even without being able to see him clearly in the semidarkness, she knew her rescuer was Matt O'Brien. She recognized his hard, lean physique.

  When her two attackers lay on the ground, one appar­ently unconscious and the other moaning in agony, Matt grabbed Adele's arm and dragged her away from the inn and toward the rental car they had abandoned hours ago during the rainstorm.

  "Where are we—" she tried to question him, but he pulled her with him to the car, then opened the door and shoved her inside. She didn't protest. Not this time.

  She thought he'd get in the car immediately, but instead, he walked back to where he'd left the two men. She rolled down the car's passenger window and watched while Matt bent over the man who was conscious and spoke to him. She was too far away to make out what was being said, but she had a feeling Matt was getting the answers he wanted.

  Just as Matt headed back to the car, the porch lights came on and Herr Gerwalt rushed outside.

  "Call the police, and tell them that these men attacked two of your guests."

  "But where are you going, Herr O'Brien?" Franz Ger­walt asked.

  "Somewhere a little safer for Mrs. O'Brien," Matt re­plied, then opened the door to the car and got behind the wheel. He turned to Adele, reached out and caressed her cheek. "Are you okay, honey?"

  She nodded. "I'm all right."

  "I owe you an apology."

  "You do?"

  "Those two men followed us from Vienna. They were given orders to keep tabs on me and if I found you, to tail us. And if you escaped from me, they were ordered to drug you and take you back to Orlantha themselves." Matt shook his head. "Damn, I should have spotted them, but it never entered my head that—"

  "Did they tell you who hired them?"

  "One guy is still out cold," Matt said. "And the other guy wasn't saying more. But the bastard has brass balls. He actually told me that if I knew what was good for me, I'd make sure you got home to your father as soon as possible. Otherwise I'd be sorry and you could wind up dead."

  "Dedrick hired them! I know he did." "Yeah, maybe he did."

  Matt started the engine, shifted into Reverse and turned the car around, then headed toward the highway. Several minutes later, when they were well out of sight of the inn, Matt glanced at her, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

  "Tell me again why I shouldn't take you straight to Orlantha," Matt said.

  Adele sighed with relief. Maybe he was actually going to give her the chance she so desperately needed. Saying a silent prayer for the right words to persuade Matt, she turned sideways in the seat and looked at him. Be honest and straightforward. Don't try to play him, she told herself.

  "I've already told you," she explained. "And every­thing I said was the truth. Not only am I in danger, but my country is in danger. From Dedrick and from the Roy­alists."

  "And why is it that you suspected the truth about this Duke Dedrick and your father didn't?"

  "Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald," she corrected, "has fooled my father and his advisors. He even fooled me for years. But Pippin is the one who brought the ugly truth to my attention."

  "And you're sure you trust this Pippin guy?"

  "Yes, I trust Pippin Ritter. He loves Orlantha as much as I do. As much as my father does."

  "And him being the vice chancellor, an elected office, doesn't make him an enemy of the king? Looks to me like Vice Chancellor Ritter would want to see the downfall of the monarchy."

  "You don't know Pippin. You don't know the people of Orlantha. They're quite happy with the way the country is jointly governed by the king and the elected council members. It's not unlike your president and congress, only—"

  "The king isn't an elected official."


  "Please, Mr. O'Brien, give me some time. Two weeks. Give me two weeks. I'll contact Pippin to tell him that he must do whatever is necessary to unearth evidence against Dedrick in two weeks time."

  Matt pulled the car to a standstill at the intersection. "I'll give you one week. That's it. Take it or leave it."

  Adele gasped. "Do you mean it? You'll actually let me go? You trust me to—''

  "I'm beginning to trust you," he told her. "Those two guys back at the inn were playing pretty rough. My gut instincts tell me that you're in danger, and I'm sure your father would want me to protect you, at all costs."

  "And you did protect me. You rescued me and I'm very grateful. And if you'll let me go, I promise I'll pay you more than my father offered you."

  Matt shook his head. "I don't want your money. As far as I'm concerned, I'm still working for your father, and a week from today, I'm taking you home to dear old dad."

  "But I don't understand."

  "Do you have someplace you can go where you'll be safe?"

  What was he saying? she wondered. He was still work­ing for her father, yet he was willing to give her a week's reprieve before he forced her to return to the palace in Erembourg.

  "I had planned to go to Golnar. I have an old school friend who lives there."

  "Then won't that be the first place your father would expect you to go?"

  "Yes, but they can't deport me once I'm there. The laws are different in Golnar, and my friend's husband is very influential."

  "Hmm. All right. Then I'll need you to give me your word," Matt said. "I'm going to trust you—if you make me a promise."

  "You're confusing me," she told him.

  "I'll take you back to Vienna and we'll get the next flight to Golnar."