The Reluctant Princess

by Christine Rimmer

  “But why? It’s not the child’s fault that his parents weren’t married.”

  “It’s nothing to do with who is at fault. There’s an old saying. Don’t bicker over blame while the house burns.” He came toward her. “You have finished your meal?”

  She stared up at him, feeling, for the first time, a certain softening toward him. “What doors are closed to you, Hauk?”

  He asked again, “Have you finished?”

  She looked down at the bit of uneaten sandwich. “Sure, I’m finished. With lunch.”

  He took her plate and her glass to the sink, dumped the crust in and ran the disposal. Then he rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher with his.

  “Hauk?”

  He turned to her and folded his huge arms over his chest. The early-afternoon sun slanting in the window made his hair shine as though it were spun from real gold.

  “What doors are closed to you?”

  Now, instead of staring her down, he seemed to be studying her. She knew a certain feeling of warmth inside as she saw that she had found it, the key to having an actual conversation with him. If they spoke of Gullandria, if he thought he might impart to her things she would need to know as the daughter of his king, he was willing to talk.

  He asked, “Do you understand the rules of Gullandrian succession?”

  “I think so.” She repeated what her mother had told her long ago. “All male jarl—” she pronounced it yarl, as her mother had taught her “—and jarl means noble, both singular and plural—are princes, technically eligible to claim the throne when the current king dies or is no longer capable of ruling. When that happens, the jarl convene in the capital city of Lysgard and each casts a vote. The winner is the new king. The vote itself—as well as the ceremony surrounding it—is called the kingmaking.”

  Hauk dropped his hands to his sides. She could have sworn he almost smiled. “Very good. You have it nearly right.”

  “Nearly?”

  “Not all male jarl are princes. Only all legitimate male jarl.”

  “You’re saying that you, Hauk FitzWyborn, could never be king.”

  “That’s correct. Not that I would get any real chance to be king—let alone even want to be king—were I legitimate in the first place. But were I not a fitz, to be chosen king would at least be a theoretical possibility.”

  “What about your children?”

  He looked rather pleased. “Good question. As far as my children go—and still, remember, speaking theoretically—everything can be different for them.”

  “You mean, if you marry, then the sons your wife gives you would be eligible when the kingmaking comes around again.”

  “That’s right—given that my wife is jarl herself.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that he might be married right now. That shocked her, for some reason. Nothing personal, she hurried to reassure herself silently. It wasn’t about being…interested in him, as a man.

  No. Of course not.

  It was only that he didn’t seem married. Just as she couldn’t picture him as a vulnerable little boy with parents who took care of him, she had trouble seeing him with a wife, with children of his own.

  She couldn’t resist asking. “Are you? Married?”

  “No. And I have no children, either. I will never have children, unless I first have a wife. That is the lesson a fitz always learns and thus, in Gullandria, bastard children are rare.”

  “So then,” she said gently, “you’ll never be king. But your children might.”

  “They might. But again, it’s not likely. Families hold tight to ground they have gained. The sons of kings tend to become kings. They are groomed from birth with the throne in mind. Your brother, Prince Valbrand…” Hauk paused, fisted a hand at his heart and briefly bowed his head in what was clearly a gesture of respect for someone greatly valued and tragically lost. “Your brother was born to rule. He was wise beyond his years, a good and fair man. Gullandria would have prospered under him as she has thrived under His Majesty, your father.” Something had happened in Hauk’s cool eyes. For the first time, Elli saw that he did have a heart and that he had admired—even loved—her brother.

  Her own heart contracted. “He was…good? My brother?”

  “Yes. A fine man. The Gullandrian people felt pride that someday he would rule. Jarl and freeman alike knew a steady confidence in the future he would make for us all.”

  “And my other brother, Kylan?”

  Hauk shrugged. “He was a child when we lost him. Barely in his fifth year.”

  “But…did you ever see him? Do you remember anything about him?”

  After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Young Prince Kylan was strong and well made. He had the dark hair and eyes of the Celts—as did Prince Valbrand, as does His Majesty, your father.”

  Strong and well made, dark hair and eyes…

  It was all so sad. Both of them, her fine, strong, dark-eyed brothers, lost now, one to a fire, one to the sea the Gullandrians loved. Lost to Elli and her shattered family. Lost to the country they might have ruled and ruled well.

  Hauk approached her again. She looked up at him. “So sad…”

  “Yes. A great double tragedy. For your family. For our land.”

  His words had so exactly echoed her thoughts. She gestured at the chair across from her. “Sit down. Please.” He took the chair. “Tell me more. About Gullandria.”

  Hauk talked for a while, quietly. He told her that the North Atlantic drift made Gullandria’s seacoasts warm for that latitude. He spoke of the famous Gullandrian horses, with their flowing white manes and long, thick white coats to protect them against the northern winters.

  Elli asked, “And with my brothers gone, who do you think will be the next king?”

  Hauk spoke then of a man who had been her father’s friend since childhood, the man second in power only to King Osrik himself: the Grand Counselor, Medwyn Greyfell. Medwyn was several years older than Osrik, and unlikely to live to succeed him. But Greyfell had a son, Eric. The younger Greyfell was the most likely choice.

  “Still,” he added, shaking that golden head, “none can say with certainty how the jarl will vote when the kingmaking again comes around.”

  They left for her mother’s house at a little after six in Elli’s BMW. Hauk filled the seat beside her. His knees were cramped against the dashboard and his head touched the ceiling. They’d reached a sort of understanding in the past few hours. At least they’d found something to talk about: the land where he would soon be taking her, the land that he loved.

  But looking at him, sitting there in the passenger seat, she was struck all over again with that feeling of extreme unreality: Elli and her Viking bodyguard, on their way to dinner at her mother’s house…

  The house where Elli had grown up was three stories, Tudor in style, on a wide, curving street lined with gorgeous mature oaks and maples. As a child, Elli and her sisters had sometimes lain on the emerald slope of the front lawn and stared up at the thick canopy of leaves overhead, smiling at the blue sky beyond, watching the clouds up there, drifting by.

  The driveway was on the west side. Elli drove under an arching porte cochere to a back parking area. She stopped at the farthest door of the four-car garage.

  “We’ll go in the back way. I have a key, if we need it.”

  Hauk frowned. He looked almost comical, crammed into her sporty little car, hunching those massive shoulders so that he could fit. “It would be wiser, I think, to go to the front door, to knock.”

  “Oh, please. I was raised here. I don’t have to knock.”

  “But I do.”

  She sighed. “Listen. I don’t intend to explain everything. If my mother hears how you broke into my apartment, how you tied me up and planned to kidnap me, how Father has set you on me as a round-the-clock guard, she’ll hit the roof. So we’ll let her think you’re my guest, okay? I can always bring a guest home. My mother would never object to that.”

  “I am
a stranger here. A wise stranger enters by the front door.”

  Elli threw up both hands. “Will you save the platitudes? You hardly entered my house by the front door—and if you were really so damn wise, you would have let me come here on my own, because we both know that explaining you is going to be almost as difficult as convincing my poor mother to accept where I intend to go.”

  “I have told you, my orders—”

  “I know what your orders are. And I’m telling you, I’m no stranger and you’re with me, so there’s no reason we can’t just—”

  He showed her the lightning bolt in the heart of his hand. “Someone comes.”

  The door to the back service porch opened and her mother’s housekeeper emerged.

  “That’s Hilda Trawlson,” Elli told Hauk. “Hildy’s been with us as long as I can remember. She came back with us from Gullandria.” Elli rolled down the window on Hauk’s side. “Hi, Hildy!”

  Hilda came down the steps and up to the car. “Elli.” Her dark gaze flicked once over the Viking in the passenger seat. Then she looked again at Elli. “You’ve brought a guest.” Her voice was flat.

  “Hildy, don’t be a sourpuss. This is Hauk.”

  The housekeeper and the warrior exchanged cautious nods.

  Elli could see that Hilda already suspected Hauk had not come from Cleveland. So she announced, “Hauk is here from Gullandria.”

  Hilda took a step back.

  Elli leaned on her door and got out of the car. “We have some things to talk about with Mom.” She kept a smile on her face and her tone light. The whole idea here was to make her mother—and Hilda—believe that the coming trip was completely her choice.

  And it was her choice. They didn’t need to know that choosing not to go wasn’t an option.

  Hauk took his cue from her and pushed open his own door. Swinging those powerful legs out, he planted his big boots on the concrete and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. Hildy was giving him the evil eye. He stared back, stoic as ever. Neither deigned to speak.

  “Can we just go in?” Elli asked wearily.

  “Certainly.” Hilda turned sharply on her crepe heel and headed toward the back door. She led them across the big service porch with its terra-cotta floor and profusion of potted plants, and from there, through the wonderful old kitchen where the green marble counters gleamed and the cabinets were fronted in beveled glass and something good was cooking, down the central hall to the family room.

  “Your mother will join you shortly,” the housekeeper said as she ushered them into the room.

  “Is she still at work?” Elli’s mother owned an antique shop downtown in Old Sac.

  “She came in a few minutes ago. She only went up to change. Is there anything I can get you before I go?”

  “Oh, Hildy. Will you stop it? Don’t I even get a hug?”

  Hildy’s stern face softened slightly. “Come on, then.” She held out those long arms. Elli went into them, pressing herself close to Hildy’s considerable bosom, breathing in the housekeeper’s familiar scent of Ivory soap and lavender, thinking that those smells, for all her life, would remind her of home.

  “Everything’s fine, honestly,” Elli whispered to the woman who was like a dear aunt or a grandmother to her.

  Hildy said nothing, just gave her an extra squeeze before letting her go. “I’m in the kitchen, if you need me.”

  “I think what I need is a drink,” Elli muttered as soon as Hildy had left them. “And don’t give me that look.”

  Gold brows drew together over that bladelike nose. “Look?”

  “Yes. There. That one.” She turned for the wet bar on the inner wall. “It’s almost like all your other looks, since pretty much your expression doesn’t change. But there are…minute shifts. The one I just saw was the disapproving one.” She found a half-full bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge and held it up. “You?”

  “No.”

  “Now, why did I sense that was what you would say?”

  “You are distressed.”

  She turned to look for a wineglass. “Yep. Distressed is the word. This is not my idea of a real fun time, you know? My mother is not going to be happy about our news. And I wish she had told me that my father had called, that he’d asked for my sisters and me. And I…” She let her voice trail off and shook her head. “You’re right. Wine is tempting, but overall, a bad idea.” She put the bottle away and then lingered, bent at the waist, one hand draped over the door to the half fridge, staring down into the contents. “Hmm. Diet 7UP, Mug root beer. Evian. But the question is, where are my—”

  “Your Clearly Canadians are in the back, second shelf.” It was her mother’s voice, smooth as silk, cool as a perfectly chilled martini. She was standing in the open doorway to the hall.

  “Hi, Mom.” Elli flashed her mother what she hoped was an easy smile. “Hauk? What can I get you?”

  “Nothing. Thank you.”

  Elli pulled out the tall pink bottle, shut the refrigerator and stood, her smile intact. Her mother, tall, blond as her daughters and stunningly beautiful in a crisp white shirt, a heavy turquoise necklace and black slacks, did not smile back.

  “Mom, we were just—”

  Ingrid wasn’t listening. “Who is this man?”

  What to do? How to handle this? There was just no right approach to take.

  Elli gestured with her bottle of fruit-flavored sparkling water. “This is Hauk FitzWyborn.”

  Hauk whipped his big fist to his chest and lowered his head. “Your Majesty.”

  There was an awful moment of total silence.

  Then her mother said, too softly, “Hildy was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She told me. But I refused to believe it.” Ingrid was looking at Elli again, blue eyes gleaming dangerously. “Let me guess. A warrior, right? One of Osrik’s goons, his…Viking berserkers?”

  “Mom.” Elli set the unopened bottle on the bar and went to her mother. “Come on.” She took Ingrid’s elbow. “Let’s not—”

  “Don’t.” Ingrid jerked free. “I want to know what’s happening here. I want to know why you’ve brought one of your father’s thugs into my house.”

  Chapter Six

  So much for the faint hope of giving this explosive subject the delicate introduction it deserved.

  Elli made it short and simple. “Hauk is here to escort me to Gullandria. I’m leaving sometime in the next two days. Father has—” What to call it? “—invited me. And I’ve said I will come.”

  Ingrid’s mouth had dropped open. “I don’t…You’re not… Surely, you can’t—”

  Elli reached for her mother’s arm again. “Oh, Mom. Here. Sit down.” She made a shooing motion at Hauk, who still loomed nearby, hand to chest, head down, blocking the nearest chair.

  Hauk got the message. He moved to the other end of the big room and pretended to stare out a window, giving them as much privacy as he could without actually leaving them alone together and going against the orders of his king.

  Elli eased her mother down onto the cushions. “Mom. Please.” She knelt, took Ingrid’s trembling hand. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s…something you had to expect might happen someday, that one of us would want to go there, to meet our father face-to-face.”

  Ingrid was shaking her head. “No. I never in a thousand years expected that. I’d always believed I made it clear to the three of you. To go back there is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.”

  Elli squeezed her mother’s hand. “He is my father.”

  Ingrid leaned close. “He gave you up.” She spoke low, with a terrible intensity. “Gave you up as I gave up our sons. And look what happened to them, to my little boys.” It hurt to see it, the way heartache could twist such a beautiful face. She gripped Elli’s hand more tightly. “Isn’t it enough that both of them are dead? He has no right, none, to summon you now.”

  “But I want to go.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Y
es, I do. It’s important to me, to know my own father, to find out for myself what he’s like.”

  “I can’t believe he’s done this. I told him no. I told him absolutely not, under any circumstances.” Ingrid didn’t seem to realize what she’d just let slip.

  Elli prompted, though she already knew the truth, “You’re saying you spoke to him recently?”

  Ingrid blinked. And then confessed, “Yes. He called last Friday.”

  “You didn’t say a word to me. You didn’t tell me—”

  “Of course I didn’t tell you.” Ingrid wrapped her other hand around their joined ones. “There was no need to tell you. He called and he asked me to send you—all three of you. When I refused, he started giving orders. When giving orders didn’t work, he offered me a bribe.”

  Elli stiffened. Her father hadn’t mentioned any bribes. “You’re not serious. He wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, yes, he would.” Ingrid was nodding, her mouth a thin line. “He mentioned a figure. A large one.” She added, more to herself than to Elli, “As if I need his money, as if money means a thing to me when measured against my babies.”

  Elli supposed, now that she thought about it, that she could see her father trying just about anything to get her mother to let him see his remaining children. “He’s got to be desperate. And so very lonely now. He’s lost two sons.”

  Ingrid made a feral sound deep in her throat. “He’s lost two sons! It’s my loss, too. Our loss, all of ours. Yours and mine and Brit’s and Liv’s. My sons, your brothers. Gone. Dead. And no one will ever convince me they died purely by accident. A fire in the stables and a five-year-old loses his life horribly, his poor little body burned almost beyond recognition. Wasn’t that enough? Evidently not. Because now there’s been a storm at sea—Valbrand washed overboard, survivors reporting they saw him swept away.

  “No. There’s more than misfortune at work here. In Gullandria, the rules of succession make life much too hazardous for the sons of the king. The jarl are forever forming their alliances, plotting and planning. Deep in my heart, I’ll always suspect that your brothers didn’t die purely by accident.”