Will pulled back from the kiss and laid a finger on her lips when she protested. When she quieted, he stepped back and untied the sash that held the filmy robe in place. It fell open, revealing her milky skin beneath glowing in the moonlight as he switched off the table lamp near the door. He turned to her and stared. She was like a goddess standing there, her hair falling over her shoulders, nerves dancing across her being. He smiled and took her hand in his own. He pressed a kiss to her palm always keeping his eyes on her own, watching the darkness come into them as desire swam to the surface and that fist of tension knotted in her belly.
“Mikayla,” his voice was soft like a lullaby, “I don’t want you to ever think you are an undesirable woman. I have wanted you since the first time I saw you.” He trailed a finger down her skin between the edges of her robe and watched her shiver, anticipation and wariness mixed within her.
“I knew the first time I met you that there was passion buried beneath your professional coolness.” She smirked slightly telling him she didn’t believe him. He slid a hand beneath her robe and cupped her breast, his fingers trailing gently along the curve of her body. He kissed her cheek and slid his other hand beneath her robe, caressing her skin. “I knew beneath all of the practical exterior, there was a woman of immense fire. I was right.” He closed his mouth over hers before she could protest. Her only answer was a moan that rocked him to his very soul, leaving him breathless as she rose on her toes to meet his kiss with one of her own. “My interest in you is not professional. It is completely personal. My interest is totally dishonorable.” He smiled into her surprised eyes as he pulled the robe from her shoulders and allowed it to slide to the floor, pooling at her feet. He gazed at her in the moonlight, milky white skin glowing. “Let me prove it to you.” He took her hands and pulled her to him with a smile that melted every barrier that had ever been between them.
Will rose in the early morning light, reluctant to move from the warmth beside him, but knowing he must. He brushed the hair from her face and watched as she slept, steeped in her own dreams, which a part of him hoped included him while another part argued that it was unfair to her for him to want to be unforgettable when destiny determined they weren’t meant to be. He pressed a kiss to her brow and laid the delicate yellow blossom from the porch climber on the pillow beside her. He folded her clothes that had been thrown about the room and laid them carefully on the end of the bed. He grinned as he folded the lacey under-things that she had worn beneath her clothes. She was full of wonderful, dazzling surprises.
Will carried his shoes down the steps so not to wake her and avoided the creaks on the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs he turned and gazed up the stairs. He wanted to climb back into the bed and wake her with lazy, sleepy kisses. He wanted to make love to her all day, feeling her come alive beneath him, all pretenses forgotten. But he had things that had to be accomplished before the funeral procession that afternoon. He leaned his head against the wooden door and breathed deeply driving away his own wishes and remembering his duty to country and family, a duty he had neglected all too often in his life.
His eyes strayed down the hallway to the cellar door. He grimaced and clenched a fist in frustration. Boldness was dangerous. That same boldness had almost been his undoing. With one last glance up the stairs, Will flipped the lock on the door and pulled it open.
Chapter 15
Red jackets glared in the sun as the horses trotted past with ribbons braided in their manes. The steady clip-clop of their hooves echoed in the still air. No sound stirred, even the wind had stilled, as if it dared not disturb the mourning of the king’s subjects.
Soft weeping whispered in Mikayla’s ear as the casket, born by four horses came into view around the bend. Citizens, dressed in black, wiped away silent tears and made the sign of the cross as the casket stately rolled by draped in the nation’s flag. White roses decorated the bridles of the horses who bore the leader of the ancient country to his final resting place in the Secluded City.
Mikayla’s eyes focused on the people lining the streets: citizens, tourists, famous faces that were known throughout the world whom had sought just a little of the fairytale within the boundaries of the island nation. Each person faced the casket as it rolled silently past, lost in his or her own thoughts. Lost in what could be the end of the only fairytale still in existence. Old, young. Male, female. Greek, French. American and British. All joined in a moment of sadness that would make a brief splash on the evening news world-wide, but would affect the life of every person who stood along the avenue that afternoon as King James rolled past, no longer living, but still so much a part of the lives of his people.
She wished for just a moment that Will were beside her, to hold her hand, to allow her to comfort him at the loss of his king, but he had left early in the morning, disappearing into the rising sun. She had woken with a warm glow spreading over her skin following their love-making. She had thought she would feel lonely and empty when he was gone, but the flower that had been left on her pillow and the carefully folded clothes on the foot of the bed had given rise to that warm glow again. There had been no loneliness, only a wish that he were beside her. She supposed he was with his family; after all, this was a time when family should come together, at the loss of a leader, but that didn’t prevent her from wishing that he were beside her on the street, to sit beside her in the cathedral.
Quick bursts of bright flashes of light brought Mikayla out of her reverie. Following the death of the king, as the island prepared for the funeral rites of King James, press from the world over had descended on the island, ready to exploit the death of a world leader simply for ratings and the profit margin. Cameras snapped photos of the casket and the pomp and circumstance as they rolled past, silent in the street. Flowers rained down on the street. Mikayla didn’t snap any of her own pictures. She knew there would be many photographers willing to sell their photos long after the experience of the royal funeral had passed. She would pay for the pictures to include them in the book, but she wasn’t willing to lower herself to becoming a member of the hated paparazzi for this event. Of course, she knew it would only get worse as the week wore on and the island prepared for the coronation ceremonies for the future king.
As her thoughts turned to the new king, murmurs rippled through the crowd around her as more flashbulbs popped, leaving stars in her eyes. The murmurs faded away as the Royal Guard came into view, following the casket through the streets. Their red uniform coats were stunning under the brilliant blue, cloudless sky. White plumes decorated their black hats and swayed in the faint breeze that blew in from the ocean. They strode through the streets, faint clicking of black paten boots on the pavement. Backs straight, proud of the heritage they protected.
Mikayla shifted slightly as the Royal Guard passed and the royal family came into view, walking sedately behind the casket. The silver-blond hair of the Dauphin shone in the sunlight, a stark contrast to his navy pin-stripe suit and navy tie. A red sash crossed his shoulders instead of a crown upon his head, denoting the rank he had been born into. He was tall and proud; his fine, aristocratic features stoic. His deep, gray eyes stared straight ahead, oblivious to the people around him, his grief heavy in his footsteps. His father, the only parent he had known since his mother had died when he was but a child, was now gone into the world beyond the castle of the Secluded City. Soon, he would be the King of Amor, and the daily affairs would come to him, the concerns of the people would be his concerns. He towered over the people but the weight of his destiny weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he blinked back tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks.
Beside the Dauphin walked his wife, the Princess Royale, tall, regal, and imposing. Her blond hair shone in the afternoon sun, twisted into a severe bun at the back of her head while the diamonds of the tiara glittered in the sunlight leading one to wish this were a happy occasion, instead of sad. It perched on her head, reminding the world that now that her father-in-law was past, she wou
ld soon reign as Queen of Amor. Her hands were clenched together in front of her denying the power she would wield and making her seem small, even though she was close to five foot eleven. Her black suit was tailored to her firm physique, and her legs sculpted to her perfect two-inch heels that clicked softly in time with the boots of the Royal Guard. She held her head high, pride mingled with grief. A refusal to lower the façade of royalty before the people who supported the monarchy of Amor so faithfully. The people must see her as their future queen; they could not know how much she mourned for her lost family and for the future of the island nation. They must believe that life would continue, uninterrupted from that moment on, under the new monarchy even when the changes came that were inevitable now. The Princess Royale kept her eyes down-cast, paying no attention to the people who lined the streets, praying for a small smile from their Queen. Her own grief swamped her now as it had the day the news had come that the King had died.
Behind the Princess Royale walked her children. The Crown Princess Victoria drooped her head, avoiding eye contact with all those around her. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, dotting the color of her suit. Her fine navy suit clung to her various curves, and she knew the French chignon in her hair was very becoming of her. Her small pearl-ladened tiara was nestled in her hair, glistening in the sunlight, reminding the world that she had lost a grandfather, a person very dear to her. Her grandfather was gone, and now, the world was changing. Amor was ceasing to be the fairytale that once had existed, lost in the Mediterranean where lost Crusaders had sought shelter on a stormy night and instead had found a home. Her home. She sniffed and pressed the lace hanky she clutched in one hand as her other hand groped for the man beside her, her twin brother, the Crown Prince William.
Mikayla allowed her eyes to take in the royal family and to feel their loss. She knew what it was to lose a grandfather who had been the center of life and family. It was a loss that a person never recovered from. It was a loss that could strike through the heart, leaving a gaping wound. The Dauphin and Princess Royale, the future monarchs of the island stood tall, reminding the people that the civilization of Amor would continue on, uninterrupted as it had for the previous 900 years. The Crown Princess walked slowly behind her parents, her grief overwhelming. The face that had laughed and befriended Mikayla just days before was contorted in pain. It struck through to Mikayla’s very heart to see the woman she now thought of as a friend in such pain, suffering from such obvious grief. Her eyes followed Victoria as she reached for the tall man before her, held his hand tightly in her own and wiped her tears.
Mikayla looked to the man beside Victoria, tall beside his tall sister. His sandy blond hair blew into his face in the light ocean breeze. His looked down at his shoes as he walked slowly, holding his sister’s hand, saying nothing. Then, as he rounded the bend and neared the spot where Mikayla stood, he lifted his head and pierced her with those stormy gray eyes, drowning her with one glance.
Will.
Mikayla sucked in a breath. Her notebook fell to the ground unnoticed, and the world moved in slow motion as he walked by, holding her gaze. Pleading for forgiveness at the deception. Begging for understanding. Conveying his grief that had brought him to her the night before.
Mikayla staggered back, clutching her chest as a pain ripped through her. She couldn’t breathe. There was no air. The masses of people closed in around her. Sweat broke out on her brow and her mouth was dry. “No.” She whispered but it was a cry that echoed in her head. She pushed at the people around her, moving them aside in her need to be free. She pressed through the crowd until there was a break. The ocean was there, just across the beach, beckoning as sunlight glinted off of the waves rolling into shore. She wanted to run to that sea and get lost in it. To go back to the night before, when Will had lain in her arms. Loving her.
She combed a hand through her hair as people began to move past her on the sidewalk, heading up the curving street to the cathedral just outside of the Secluded City. How was it possible that she hadn’t known? How was it possible that she had failed to see what every shred of evidence had pointed to?
Mikayla began to move up the hill with the observers. Despite that she was still reeling from being played the fool, she had a job to do. She was hired to cover the history of Amor. The funeral of the most recent king was definitely history, and it should be included in the book. She straightened herself and adjusted the jacket of her suit. She was a professional, and she was going to act like a professional.
Mikayla followed the crowds of mourners through the city streets, past her small house on the beach, and up the hill to the cathedral that loomed large over the people and even dwarfed the gates of the Secluded City. Gargoyles and flying buttresses pierced the sky, leaving the crowds who would have to wait in the street in shadow. Its gray stone was cold and unwelcoming. The stained glass windows looking out on the street depicted each of the knights who had arrived with King Henry on Amor. They stood tall and angelic in the windows that streamed full of light. Halos circled their heads as angels floated above them. Their faces were turned to Heaven and streams of light surrounded them.
Mikayla stepped up to the side entrance of the cathedral. People pressed in against the ropes all around her. She held up her royal pass and was ushered through the doors by a member of the Royal Guard. The guard showed her to a seat along the side of the cathedral where she could see both the royal family and the priests who would preside over the Catholic ceremony that would give guidance to the soul of the departed King James as he sought redemption in the next life. Angelic music floated through the air from the choir loft high in the cathedral. Voices blending together in harmony, rising and falling like the tides of the ocean. Murals of conquests and peace danced across the ceiling, gold-leaf wearing away with age. Joseph and Mary, the Holy Family, looked on from beside the altar rails, sad and joyful at the same time. Jesus hung upon his wooden cross along the wall of the altar reminding the believers that he had died for their sins.
The St. John’s Cathedral was full, people from around the world who had come to say goodbye to a monarch who had reigned peacefully for forty years. The royal family of the United Kingdom bowed their heads in sadness as another of their elite group passed from this world to the next. The President of the United States and his wife sat silently, hands clasped. It was an impressive display of respect for a man who had lain in his bed for the last two years, struggling with the last stages of lung cancer. It was a display of respect for a man who had managed to remain friendly with all countries around the world while still remaining apart, preserving the history and culture that was uniquely Amor as blending of cultures became more evident around the world.
The Cardinal and his bishops walked sedately up the center aisle, bearing the gold cross of Christ. Their long robes trailed the marble floor of the cathedral. The King’s casket was born to the front of the cathedral by the Royal Guard, draped in its royal flag. Behind the casket came the family of the King, heads bowed. The family took the seats at the front of the cathedral, beside the casket.
The Cardinal’s voice rose in Latin, echoing through the cathedral, asking for the Lord’s blessing on the kind soul of the King who was now before Him in heaven. Mikayla tried to focus on the mass, but her eyes were drawn to the back of Will’s head where silky hairs were neatly arranged on the back of his neck. His head was bowed, and his arm cradled his sister close. He whispered softly to Victoria and Mikayla could almost hear his words in her head, the soft British accent from years of living in London rolling over her.
Watching him, tender with his twin sister who wasn’t so much of a twin, brought tears to Mikayla’s eyes for she suddenly understood what inner turmoil had brought him to her bed the night before. It hadn’t been that he had wanted her; it had been a need to run from the pain of losing a loved one. Perhaps it had even been because of the knowledge that following today, he would never live his life in secret, hidden from the press again as he had done for the m
ajority of his life. The last picture that had been published of Crown Prince William had been when he was fourteen and heading to Britain to go to Eton College. There had been no other photos, no other ways to watch him grow, even following his graduation from Oxford. There was sweet irony in the knowledge that he lived as a photographer even as he hid from the press.
Mikayla watched as Will stood from his seat next to his sister and made his way to the altar. He climbed the steps to the lectern and adjusted the microphone. He looked down at his family briefly and then raised his head, looking out at the people gathered to mourn the King’s passing. His clear voice rang out, echoing in the hallowed stone walls.
“King James wasn’t just a king. He was a father, a grandfather, a husband, and a friend. He was likeable for the laughter he brought to a room, always the one to tell a joke in the most unlikely time. He worked hard to bring respect to this small nation that has shunned attention from the outside world for so long. He created alliances with some of the most powerful nations in the world, simply by being a great man.” Will paused and gripped the lectern beneath his hands. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek. “He volunteered with the British Royal Air Force during World War II, the first member of the royal family to do so. He fought with bravery and compassion to bring an end to the tyranny that held Europe in its grasp. He convinced his own father that it was necessary for Amor to shed its isolationist beliefs, if only for a short time, to help the Allies free Europe. And once the war was passed, he married a young woman who had climbed the steps to the Secluded City to beg for forgiveness of the late taxes that plagued her family.”
The Eye of the Wolf Page 17
