Reunited with Her Surgeon Prince

by Marion Lennox

  The look of bliss, the look he’d remembered and loved, was suddenly replaced by distress.

  Which was matched by the men at the door, two security guards with horror written clearly on their faces as they recognised what—and who—they were interrupting. ‘Your Highness... So sorry... The motion sensors—Uh...the camera angle was blocked by the fridge door, so we were asked to check. If we’d known... A million apologies. A million...’ And they backed out as if they expected the firing squad to follow.

  Leaving Ellie staring at Marc as if he was part of the same firing squad.

  ‘Love, Ellie, don’t...’

  ‘I’m not your love.’ It was a fierce whisper.

  ‘No.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But you could be.’

  ‘Not any more. You walked away.’

  The security guards were forgotten. What was between them was too overwhelming to admit thoughts of anything else.

  All he wanted to do was step forward and take her into his arms again, but the fear on her face stopped him dead.

  ‘I did walk out on you,’ he said, somehow managing to make his voice calm, maybe even reasonable. ‘Ellie, I didn’t have a choice. And you didn’t follow.’

  One accusation was now two.

  ‘You knew I couldn’t.’

  ‘I know that. We had no choice.’

  ‘But if we’d really loved each other...’ Her voice cracked. ‘I know. The whole thing was impossible but it still felt...mad. Wrong. That you were suddenly in the midst of war on one side of the world and I was coping with my mother’s illness and a fraught pregnancy on the other. But we were married, Marc. Married! It was a mockery and it hurt like you wouldn’t believe. Do you think I’d want to put myself through that again? Leave me be, Marc Falken. Your Majesty. Whoever you are. I don’t care who you are. All I know is that you’re not my husband. You never were and you never can be.’

  ‘We could—’

  ‘We couldn’t,’ she said flatly. ‘Marriage is for ever and we can’t do for ever. It’s not our fault, but we can’t. Leave it, Marc. Thank you for the toastie. I’m going to bed.’

  There didn’t seem to be anything left to say.

  She walked to the door and then turned. ‘Marc?’

  ‘Mmm?’ He was feeling kicked. Winded. Blasted by the surge of raw emotion that had washed through his body, leaving him gutted at the end of it.

  ‘We’re here for four weeks. I need a job. You implied I might be able to work.’

  ‘You need a holiday. There are swimming pools, a gym, a library loaded with English books as well as books in our language...’

  ‘Holidays do my head in,’ she said shortly. ‘I need to stay busy. That hospital—could I do something? Even hospital visiting or helping in rehab, something to take my head out of where it’s at.’

  And he got it. He knew what she was saying because he felt the same.

  The tension was tangible. Inescapable. The only thing to do was escape.

  Into medicine? Wasn’t that what he longed to do also?

  ‘I’ll make enquiries,’ he told her. ‘If possible, I’ll take you over the hospital tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t need an escort.’

  ‘Give me that honour, please.’

  ‘Marc...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s between us is too complicated for words,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t make it any harder.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOW WAS A person supposed to sleep in a cloud of feather comforters, silk sheets and velvet hangings? In a room where windows opened to a view to the mountains beyond, where peacocks roamed in the foreground, where generations of royals led their pampered existence—and she was now one of them?

  But not really.

  She was the wrong actress for this set. She slept fitfully and woke feeling just as discombobulated.

  Felix, however, had none of her qualms. The moment he woke he limped through to join her.

  ‘Isn’t this awesome? I can bounce and bounce on my bed and Hilda says I’m a prince so if I want to bounce then it’s okay.’ He climbed on her bed and prepared to demonstrate.

  She edged sideways fast. ‘Felix, crutches, floor.’

  ‘I’m the boss of the world. I should be able to take my crutches anywhere.’

  ‘You’re not the boss of your mum or your mum’s bed.’

  ‘No, but I’m important.’

  ‘For four weeks, Felix, and then we go home.’

  His face fell. ‘I don’t think I want to.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Marc.

  Felix whooped. ‘Of course! Hooray! Mum, it’s Papa.’

  Great. The memory of the night before was all around her. Ellie wanted to pull up the covers and disappear, but Felix was grinning a welcome and shifting on the bed. ‘Come in. This is a pyjama party.’

  Except Ellie wasn’t wearing pyjamas. Her nightgown was awful and her hair was a bird’s nest and she felt...as if she didn’t belong here.

  ‘Is it okay with you, Ellie?’ Marc was still at the door, waiting for her to speak. ‘I’m not in pyjamas.’

  He wasn’t. He was in jeans and a T-shirt and he looked almost normal. Except there was nothing normal about this man.

  Talk about sex on legs!

  Um...maybe that was a really dangerous thing to think.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ he told her, coming further into the room. ‘But Hilda said Felix had bounced in here.’

  ‘Bounced being the operative word.’

  ‘You sound bitter.’

  ‘Really?’ She glowered at her son. ‘Why would that be? Surely I like being hit on the nose with crutches at the crack of dawn.’

  Marc chuckled and her heart did that crazy lurch again. Oh, for heaven’s sake...

  But Marc, at least, was moving on. ‘Felix, have you ever ridden a horse?’

  ‘No.’ Felix was suddenly glowering. ‘I can’t even ride a bike now. My legs...’

  ‘Have been all over the place,’ Marc said, matter-of-factly. ‘With one leg shorter than the other, it must have been hard. But your mum sent me your medical history and the doctors’ notes on your last operation. Your legs should be fine with some physical therapy.’

  ‘But I’m still on crutches.’

  ‘Crutches won’t stop you learning to ride.’ He hesitated. ‘Felix, for the coronation it’s usual for the King to ride. Your leg will still be in a brace, but if you could learn to keep your seat...’ He grinned. ‘I know you’d rather ride in a Baby Austin, but royal tradition doesn’t stretch that far. It would be excellent if you rode with me. What do you think?’

  ‘R...ride?’ Felix stammered. ‘Cool!’

  Marc grinned. ‘Brave kid. But there’s not much to it. We’ll give you lessons. We’ll find you a quiet horse and you and your mum can ride together.’

  ‘I don’t ride.’ It was a desperate snap and in fact it was a lie. Her grandfather had taught her as a child but the thought of riding beside her son—and Marc—in a coronation parade was overwhelming.

  ‘You should learn too,’ Marc told her. ‘I’ll teach you.’

  ‘It’s not that I can’t ride. It’s that I don’t—and I don’t need you to teach me!’

  ‘Mum!’ Felix stared in astonishment. ‘You should be polite.’

  She chewed her lip and glared at Marc, but he only smiled at her. He knew what he was doing. That twinkle...

  This man was so dangerous.

  ‘It’s okay, Ellie. I’m not dragging you into the royal family.’ The twinkle deepened. ‘The opposite, in fact. I’ve talked to the director of the hospital and organised to take you for a tour. Felix, if you’re happy doing your riding l
esson without me, our chief groom, Louis, has taught more kids to ride than you’ve had hot dinners. The brace on your leg will protect it and the mare we have in mind won’t let a brace worry her.’ His smile widened. ‘Louis doesn’t speak English but your mum says that won’t be a problem for you.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was your language Mum taught me until yesterday,’ Felix said, indignant. ‘She never told me why we were learning.’

  ‘That’s my fault,’ he said, suddenly grave. ‘Your mum did it as a surprise for me, and it’s wonderful. So, would you like to ride a horse?’

  ‘If he’s careful,’ Ellie said, feeling desperate. ‘If he falls...’

  ‘We’ll take care. Ellie, you know I’d never suggest it if it could do harm.’

  ‘You think teaching him he’s boss of the world won’t do harm? He even says he’s now allowed to bounce on his bed.’

  And Marc laughed again, that lovely deep chuckle that made her heart twist and twist again.

  ‘What kid doesn’t bounce on his bed?’ he demanded.

  And Ellie thought of the narrow bed Felix slept in at home—and the deep sag in the middle. She had to smile back.

  That was a mistake. Her smile faded and so did Marc’s.

  Oh, help.

  She could so easily fall.

  She’d fallen so hard, so fast, last time, but she hadn’t considered the consequences.

  Ten years on, she was no longer a green girl, falling into lust with a handsome prince. She gave herself a good mental shake, and seemingly so did he.

  ‘I have a meeting now,’ he told her, glancing at his watch, suddenly businesslike. ‘But if you can be ready at ten we’ll go to the hospital together.’

  ‘I can go by myself. There’s no need...’

  ‘There is a need,’ he said, suddenly fierce. ‘This job takes up ninety per cent of my time. Allow me to choose what I do with the rest.’

  ‘You want to go to the hospital?’

  ‘I’m a surgeon. What do you think? If I can’t take my wife...’

  ‘I’m not your wife.’

  ‘No.’ He sighed. ‘You’re not. And I’m no longer a surgeon. But grant me this indulgence, Ellie. I’ll take you to the hospital and introduce you to the world I’ve left behind.’

  ‘Marc...’

  ‘Ten,’ he said harshly. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said because there was nothing else to say. Because she was suddenly seeing a pain as great as any she’d seen as a doctor, and it was a pain she could do nothing about.

  * * *

  The hospital was a short walk down from the fortified cliffs that formed the first part of the palace wall. The path crossed the river and then meandered through the cobbled streets of the old part of the town. The day was beautiful. Ellie was itching for a walk—but a limousine was waiting in the palace courtyard. A royal flag was mounted on the car’s bonnet. A uniformed chauffeur was holding the door wide and four outriders were mounted on huge black motorbikes.

  Marc was dressed in a suit now and his face was set. He’d met her inside but hardly spoken.

  The chauffeur ushered them into the car and closed the door behind them. A glass panel between driver and passengers gave them privacy. The big car purred out from the palace grounds, their motorbike escort riding in perfect symmetry.

  People paused as they passed. The younger generation stared. Older people bowed or curtsied.

  ‘Get this,’ Ellie breathed. ‘It’s like something out of a fairy tale.’

  ‘Or a nightmare,’ Marc muttered and then they were at the hospital and there was a reception committee lined up to receive them. The hospital director. The head of medicine. The head of surgery. The charge nurse.

  Marc had had responsibility for the healthcare system of the country, Ellie knew, but he’d also worked here as a surgeon. These people would have considered him a colleague. Now they were reacting to him with deference, even a little fear.

  She could sense his tension and she knew he hated it.

  For the director was showing them through the hospital as if Marc hadn’t seen it before. They were ushered from ward to ward, the director giving an efficient overview. Every ward was beautifully ordered. Even the patients looked neat. Patients and nursing staff were looking on with deference but also, Ellie sensed, with concealed impatience. This formal visit was an interruption in their day. They had things to do.

  The last place they were ushered was Emergency. Here, too, the place was clinically clean, cubicles pristine and ready to receive anyone needing assistance. But there seemed little need. Nurses in each occupied cubicle tended patients whose care looked well under control but only half the cubicles were full. The young doctor in charge—very young—greeted them with what seemed strained formality.

  The director was talking hard at Marc, boasting of efficiency, but the place didn’t seem normal. What emergency department in the world ever looked like this? And Marc was frowning at the director, eyeing the ward with disbelief.

  On impulse she edged to the door leading to the ambulance bay.

  There were five ambulances lined up outside.

  ‘Do you have patients waiting to be admitted?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything is under control,’ the young doctor said, with a nervous glance at the director.

  ‘Really?’ But Marc must have been sensing exactly what Ellie was feeling—maybe more so, because he’d worked here before. Until now he seemed to have been holding himself in rigid control. Now that control seemed to snap. He stalked over to Ellie so he, too, could see the waiting ambulances, then turned back to the director. ‘I didn’t come here expecting to see a pretty hospital,’ he snapped. ‘What is this? You’ve directed the ambulances not to unload until we’re gone?’ He turned to the young doctor, ignoring the director. ‘Why?’ And the force of his question demanded the truth.

  ‘Because royalty’s not supposed to see this place when it’s under stress,’ the young doctor said, sounding desperate. ‘You know that, sir... Your Highness. We don’t have enough doctors—you know that too. I’m the only one on duty this morning. Yes, we have patients lined up and as soon as you leave it’ll be hell. But for now we’re ready for inspection, as requested.’ And the look he cast at the director was one of pure defiance.

  ‘Stefan?’ Marc growled, staring at the director and the director spread his hands.

  ‘We were given a directive from the palace,’ he said simply. ‘We were to expect a royal visit with overseas dignitaries. The rule is never to lose face.’

  ‘And lose lives instead?’ Marc’s face was like thunder. He glanced at Ellie and then shrugged. ‘Sorry, Ellie, I guess you’re the overseas dignitary but the tour stops now.’ He tugged off his jacket and tie and tossed them onto the admissions desk. ‘Right. Let’s get them in.’

  The director stared at him as if he were from another planet. ‘Sir... Your Highness, it’s not fitting...’

  ‘Of course it’s fitting,’ Marc growled. ‘Those are my people out there. Ellie, I’ll have someone escort you back to the palace.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ For the first time since she’d arrived Ellie felt a surge of belonging. Ambulances filled with need were her stock-in-trade. ‘If I’m allowed to work here...’ She turned to the director. ‘I have current Australian medical registration. Will your insurance cover me if I start work now?’

  The man looked like a goldfish, mouth open, eyes boggling. His royal tour had just been turned on its head.

  ‘Of course it will,’ Marc snapped. ‘One phone call... Stefan, go make it. Dr Eleanor Carson, Australian Medical Practitioner, has just joined your staff, starting now.’

  * * *

  The administrators disappeared. The emergency room filled and Ellie put her head down and went for it.

 
She blessed the fact that she spoke the language. She had minor hiccups—the language tapes she’d worked on hadn’t foreseen convoluted explanations such as: I tripped over the kid’s skateboard and stuck my arm with a tray of satay skewers... Or: I have a bit of pain in my gut and the wife fusses—but it’s her bloody fish bake that did it...

  But she had enough vocabulary to get by, and the nurses were great. They were ready to speak slowly or translate into English.

  And Marc was just across the room.

  He was handling the serious stuff. A woman arrested just as they brought her in—what had they been thinking to leave someone with severe chest pain waiting in an ambulance? The young doctor—a couple of years out of med school at most, Ellie thought—deferred to Marc with obvious relief. Together they managed to get a heartbeat. Then Marc barked the demand to call in a cardiac specialist.

  But the young doctor was hesitant. ‘He’s not on call except for emergencies,’ he quavered and Marc stared at him in incredulity.

  ‘What exactly do you think qualifies as an emergency? Ring him now!’

  Ellie looked through at the woman’s husband, wringing his hands through the glass door leading to the waiting room. He was covered with dust from what looked like mining or some other equally filthy task and she also wondered what qualified as an emergency if not a cardiac arrest.

  And why were they so short-staffed?

  But now wasn’t the time to discuss staffing issues. She had the dad with the arm pierced with skewers to cope with and Marc was moving on to a toddler with a burned hand.

  They had their triage worked out. Somehow they’d become a team, figuring what the young doctor was capable of, filling the gaps, working around him, with him, for him.

  Who knew what Marc had scheduled for the rest of the day? For now it didn’t matter.

  At one stage Josef appeared, looking frantic, but another ambulance had just rolled up and Marc waved him away with a snap.

  ‘Nothing’s more important than this. Reschedule. Oh, and let Felix know where his mother is. Hilda will make sure he’s okay.’

  Josef looked at Marc’s grim face and disappeared without a word.