Mikayla sighed. She knew that Queen Amelia had died many years before during the birth of a son who hadn’t lived much longer than his mother. The King had never remarried, so heart-broken was he to lose his beloved Amelia. He had spent ten wonderful years with the woman he had made his queen, a peasant raised on Amor who was both beautiful and intelligent. Who stole his heart the first time he saw her climb the stairs to the Secluded City to beg for a little more time for her father to pay his taxes. He had forgiven the man his taxes and married the daughter, loving her above all else. It was a beautiful, if not tragic story. Romantic like a fantastic love story.
She traced her finger along the glass: wistful, sad suddenly as the thought of never experiencing that king of love swept through her.
Mikayla straightened and moved to the next case where the sceptor and crown of King Henry was kept. She knew what the crown looked like; she knew the heat it gave off. She had held it in her hands, had seen it glimmer in the lighting. She had seen the engraving within the crown, and now, since she was alone, she longed to see it again. Crowns did not have engravings inside of them unless there was something to be hidden or some message to be passed along. Crowns were meant to be worn by generations upon generations of monarchs. There was no other reason for a crown. In her research, only one other crown had ever had an engraving on the inside. That crown had been owned by the Romanovs prior to their assassinations during the Russian Revolution. That crown had been a marker, a marker to the Romanov fortune that the girls had not hidden in their corsets. It also had been a marker to the answers as to what happened to the fabled Anastasia Romanov. It had been a fake! It had been the Piltdown Man of jeweled artifacts.
Mikayla looked around her. The hall was empty. She strained her ears and slowed her breathing to hear over her own heartbeat. There were no sounds. There was only stillness, silence, and an eerie echo from each move she made. She swallowed and ran her fingers along the lid, under the hinge. With one last look around, Mikayla gently pulled up.
Nothing happened. The lid was locked tight.
Mikayla leaned down and examined the lock closely. It was a typical brass key lock, but it was solid. She jiggled the lid and nothing happened. She would need the key if she was going to look at the crown again. And she would look at that crown again. It pulled at her. Intrigued that part of her that loved to do jigsaw puzzles and read mysteries. It hinted at a mystery just waiting to be solved. Kankaredes and Dejeune had both acted strangely about that crown. What was it hiding? What message did it contain from a long-dead monarch? What was the secret that allowed the same family to rule peacefully for 900 years?
Mikayla knew a fairy tale when she heard one. The story of Amor sounded too much like a fairy tale for her cynical self. Plus, there was the fact that the story didn’t seem to match the books she had been reading in the Hall of Records, books that looked like they hadn’t been opened in the last 900 years. Books she had found in the very back corners of the hall, hidden in a dusty, mildewed chest made from hearty redwood. The smell of cedar had permeated the air when she cracked the chest open mixing with the smell of vegetative decay. She had had to break the lock on the chest, but Mikayla figured that since no one probably knew the chest was there, no one would really care that she had destroyed the lock on the chest.
Regardless of her desire to keep all historical artifacts intact, the desire to see what treasures had been hidden long ago was stronger. She hadn’t been disappointed. Heavy leather-bound books stacked on one another, covered in fine Irish linen with perfect Celtic knots embroidered in brown, but once had probably been a beautiful sunny yellow. Most people wouldn’t have found this an exciting find, a treasure to be protected, but to Mikayla, it was greater than the brightest jewels in the British crown.
Mikayla wistfully trailed her fingers along the glass of the case. What would it be like to be royalty, adored by all? Her reflection peered back at her, blue eyes clear. A crease between her eyebrows were the only outward sign of her thoughts about Amor’s hidden history, lost in legend and folklore. Mikayla rubbed absently at the crease in her forehead, willing it away. As her reflection gazed back at her, she focused on her hair, hanging in limp, messy curls ringing her too pale face. Mikayla sighed as an image of Will danced in her mind. His smiling gray eyes and boyish grin warmed her throughout, a tingling in her toes. He was there in her mind again.
Mikayla caught her reflection again in the glass, a silly, wistful smile teasing her lips. Mikayla straightened and frowned. She sighed heavily and shook her head. It wouldn’t do to be fantasizing about someone, someone who was not her type, not her anything.
She shook her head and moved on towards the Hall of Records, leaving romantic, royal day-dreams behind, encased in cold glass, preserved and protected.
Mikayla pushed open the heavy oak door to the Hall of Records. She stepped into the darkness and ran her hand over the stone wall to her left until her fingers found the light key. Expertly, she turned the key, and the room was flooded with light. Stacks of book littered the roughly hewn table inside the door and beset the floor and chairs surrounding the table in confusion. To her, the organization was obvious, but to her dedicated, and annoying, assistant, William Chambers, the room was chaos.
Mikayla pulled her legal pad from her battered, navy blue backpack, the backpack that had criss-crossed Europe and the Middle East many times. The backpack had been the carrying case for illuminated manuscripts, marble statues, and other oddities discovered in the rubble of monasteries, castles, and other buildings long destroyed. Although many historians she worked with looked down their noses at her casual attire and more casual use of the backpack, notepads, and a laptop computer, Mikayla believed she should go with what worked. It hadn’t caused any damage yet. Most historians packed up the artifacts and transported them back to sterile, air-tight laboratories where they can be studied under microscopes with latex gloves protecting the items from the oils in the skin. Mikayla felt it was more important to look at the items while immersed in its surroundings that were all part of the picture. History was, after all, the story of people. It wasn’t just an artifact.
She settled herself in one of the hard wooden chairs that circled the table and opened the book in front of her. She thumbed through the vellum pages until she came across the document she had been working her way through the day before. Her finger skimmed along the page until she found the word she had left off on. Keeping one finger on the word, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a well-thumbed Greek dictionary. She flipped through the pages until she came to the word that had perplexed her so much.
Will leaned against the doorjam. He watched her tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear to join the rest of the auburn hair that cascaded loosely down her back. Her faded jeans fit snuggly against her nicely rounded physique as she sat on one of her bare feet lost in thought. Her over-sized white cotton blouse hung loosely over her slim frame, untucked. It slid seductively to the side revealing a pale shoulder and a lacy strap that denied the practical nature of the woman whose shoulder it caressed. The comfortable outfit, the practical glasses, and the lacy strap were all contradictions, just like the contrary nature of the Dr. Mikayla Knight.
Will shifted his weight so he could get a better view of her profile. The subtle, rosy lips. The gentle rise of cheekbones and the impossibly pointy nose that gave her an aristocratic air, an air of royalty. Her blue eyes were shielded by the tortoise shell glasses and long, luxurious eye lashes. Her slim, unadorned fingers wound through her loose hair that strayed across her forehead in a charming, distracted manner. He knew if he got close enough, the subtle, warm scent of vanilla would engulf him and pull him in.
Will sighed. He had been involved with women around the world during his travels, but none had ever pulled at him like she did. There had never been a woman that he had felt comfortable just watching from a distance or whom he enjoyed watching from a distance.
There also had never been a woman who w
as quite so prickly and annoying as Dr. Mikayla Knight. He couldn’t explain it, but she irritated him. She drove him nuts with her insistence that he arrive at the Hall of Records at 8 am sharp. With her insistence that he call her by her formal academic title instead of her first name. With her incessant use of ‘Mr. Chambers’ instead of his name. With her obsessive organization of documents and the need for everything to be returned to its proper place once he was finished with it. With her snotty tone that suggested she believed she was better than he, that he was some island low-life. With her cold, patient smile that told him she was merely tolerating his presence and his winsome ways because she had no other options. She made him want to prove himself to her when he knew deep inside that he had nothing to prove. She made him simply want when there should have been no wanting involved.
“Are you going to stand in the doorway for the rest of day watching me do all the work or are you going to come in and get started?” Mikayla’s cool voice cut through Will’s reverie. She never turned but she knew he was there. She had known since he had first stepped into the doorway. She always knew when he was near. His scent enveloped her: salty and fresh, like a breeze bringing the ocean to her, clearing her thoughts.
Will stepped into the room, but stopped behind her chair. He studied her bent head and wondered what experiences could possibly make someone as brilliant and intriguing as Mikayla turn so cold, so determined to be the best. He tried to shrug it off and pretend that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t turned and flashed him one of her rare, inviting smiles that could stop a heart and heat the loins at fifty paces. It shouldn’t matter, but it did, even when it shouldn’t have.
Will twirled the lemon yellow rose in his fingers. He had plucked it from the garden before heading over when the dew had been sitting peacefully on the leaves, and the sun had just begun to warm the air as it rose over the mountain at the center of the island. He hadn’t known what possessed him to pick it then, and now, as he stood in her presence, sensing everything about her, he still wondered what had made him bring it. All he had known was that he needed to bring it to her. A peace offering? A method to get her to smile in welcome? A romantic gesture? He didn’t know.
Will set the delicate blossom on the vellum sheets in front of Mikayla. Her hands stilled, but her head did not rise. There was no movement, no acknowledgement of the gift before her. The silence in the room was deafening. Will found himself shuffling his feet, longing to be anywhere, his boat, the beach, the dentist’s chair getting a root canal, but there.
Mikayla felt an incredible need to move her hands to still her heart, as corny as it seemed to her. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat faster and more intensely. She was surprised Will couldn’t hear it or that it didn’t come flying out of her chest from the strength of the beat. No one had ever given her roses before. Alex had found them silly and a waste of money; he had preferred to buy stock in lucrative investments in her name to the simple romantic gesture of a perfect flower bloom.
This was wrong, very wrong. This man, this stranger who had appeared just day before to annoy her was not supposed to provide her with romantic gestures that no one ever had. This stranger was not supposed to fill her waking moments when there was nothing else to fill those moments, and some when there was work to be completed. This stranger was not supposed to make her heart race. This wasn’t the way things worked.
Mikayla gently traced a finger along the petal of the rose before looking up. She knew Will was seated across from her in his traditional spot. He had opened a book, and he was seemingly focused on the task he had left off with the day before. It seemed she always knew where Will was and what he was doing without looking, without listening. It seemed as if he was a part of her, no matter how absurd that might seem to anyone other than a romantic novelist.
Mikayla raised her head to look across the table. Will’s head was bent, hair falling across his forehead. He nibbled on a finger, unconsciously biting at the skin around the nail. An old habit, she assumed, despite the neat manicure on each hand. An old habit that was in a way endearing and warmed her heart even while it annoyed her.
Mikayla traced the rose across her cheek and felt the silky petals caress her skin. A small smile escaped her professional facade and lit her face. “Thank you.” She whispered.
Will glanced up as she traced the rose across her cheek and wished for just a moment that he was part of the rose, to feel that skin, skin soft as silk against his own. He returned her smile with a brilliant one of his own. “You’re welcome.” He nodded and then returned to the book before him. Although he appeared to be reading, his eyes were unfocused. Words were blurry before him. He was only aware of his heart, pounding inside of his chest, bursting to escape its cage. He swallowed and then smiled again. Maybe she wasn’t so cold and maybe she wasn’t so annoying after all. She had after all appreciated the simple gesture of friendship.
Friendship, yes, that’s what it was, friendship. He had never had many friends; people had never wanted to be his friend simply because of who he was on the inside. There had always been a reason for people wanting to be his friend; people had always wanted something. Maybe this was what real friendship was supposed to be like. Or maybe, he was insane. Maybe he was falling for a woman who exasperated him beyond comprehension and aroused him into oblivion.
Will swallowed the lump that clogged his throat and shifted in his seat. He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t meet her eye. He couldn’t allow those new feelings to show to anyone. They would be friends. There would never be anything else between them, despite this sudden need to show her that exasperation that ate away at his brain and that arousal that swamped him in sensations.
Mikayla set the rose aside, in place where it could be seen as she worked. She glanced across the table as Will shifted again in his seat. He was uncomfortable. It was obvious, but why? Oh, wouldn’t it be fun to be the light-hearted type who could easily flirt and take advantage of his obvious discomfort.
Mikayla frowned. She wasn’t the light-hearted flirtatious type. She was the serious student type who had always felt uncomfortable around men, even men she knew very well. She had always watched with fascination and envy as her friends had flirted and teased with strangers, friends and others who had passed through their clutches. She had tried to be suave and sexy, but there was not a sexy bone in her body. There was not a suave molecule in her make-up. She would always be the wall-flower who was more comfortable discussing issues passionately that being the passionate lover her friends had become.
Even if Mikayla was inclined for an island frolic with the handsome man across from her, it wasn’t fair to him or herself. To her, what ever occurred would never amount to anything more than a mere love affair; she was only here for three months. But a part of her still yearned for what she had given up with Alex, love and marriage. A home with two loving adults, children, and a Golden Retriever. Mikayla knew she wasn’t made for a life like that. She knew she would forever be flitting around the world. She also knew that she couldn’t have a mindless flirtation with someone she was just going to have to leave in the end.
But she wasn’t the type and he would never look at her in any other manner other than a friend. A friend. Mikayla tried to smile again. Friendship was a good thing. She had tons of friends around the world. She could always use another friend. That’s what the rose was, a gesture of friendship.
Mikayla cleared her throat and turned the page to her book. “Let me tell you what I’ve found so far today.” Mikayla pushed her notepad across the table. Then, she pushed her glasses onto her head, where they were lost to a mass of curls.
Will took the notepad from the table and scanned the hastily scrawled notes. He nodded a few times and chewed at the nail that was irritating him. “I know this story. Where did you find it?”
Mikayla pushed the book across the table and took her notepad back. “What can you tell me about the Eye of the Wolf?”
Will leaned back in hi
s chair and set his booted feet on the table. Flakes of mud dropped off onto the table. He had been busy climbing the mountain that morning to get a good shot of the island at sunrise. After the rain the night before, the trails leading to the top of the mountain had been muddy ruts. His Jeep had handled the ruts well, but that hadn’t prevented the mud from caking his boots when he had climbed from the Jeep to perch precariously on a rock, the highest point of the island. The most peaceful point of the island. The place he had spent many hours during his childhood avoiding his obligations, avoiding the cameras, avoiding life, a life he didn’t want. But now, here he was, immersed in that life again, with no escape.
“What can I tell you about the Eye of the Wolf?” He ran a hand over the rough stubble that had sprouted on his chin over night. There had been no time to shave before heading to the top of the island that morning for that one glorious moment when all the earth was on fire. “Well, according to local legend, the Eye of the Wolf is a yellow sapphire, the rarest sapphire of all. It is roughly the size of a golf ball, uncut. It is supposed to be still meshed with the stone it was cut from originally. It weighs in at 33 carats, pure.”
Mikayla nodded. That information matched the notes she had been making from the Greek document before her. “What else can you tell me? For instance, what is the story with it? How is it connected to Amor?”
Will tipped back further in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned a loud, lengthy yawn. Mikayla impatiently tapped her foot on the stone floor beneath her feet. Will grinned. He was annoying her; he knew he was. “Well….” He drew it out hoping to get that fire to spark in her eyes. “I know that it was found by one of the Crusaders in Jerusalem after they sacked the city. It was found originally in the Sultan’s palace, according to the legend by Henry. It was taken because it was supposed to have mystical powers. Henry took the sapphire, along with other treasures, and loaded them onto the ship that eventually crashed here. He became known as the Wolf, which ,” he gestured to the cover of one of the many records where the Amorian seal was embossed, “explains the royal family’s seal.”
The Eye of the Wolf Page 5
