Mikayla glanced over. She said nothing but allowed her eyes to meet Victoria’s. There was silence before Victoria looked away to the boat that was slowly becoming smaller as it sailed further out to sea.
“Tell me, Mikayla, did he catch you by asking you to pose for pictures since he fancies himself a photographer? Or perhaps he took you sailing with a romantic picnic? Or perhaps he told you that he was an orphan and needed love and understanding?” Victoria’s eyes danced with humor but there was also understanding in them. When Mikayla didn’t answer, Victoria continued. “William has traveled all over the world. I suspect there’s a woman in every port of the world. Don’t be too upset if you fell for those gray eyes and that disarming smile.” She smiled at Mikayla. “He’s very charming, when he wants to be. Maybe someday, he’ll put that charm to good work for the country that he says he hates.”
Mikayla swallowed the lump in her throat. Somehow she had always known that she was just another conquest for Will; something inside of her had told her that all along, but she hadn’t allowed herself to truly believe it. It was hard not to believe it when the words came from his own sister. She fought the wave of sickness that washed over her and swallowed the lump in her throat. When she finally could speak, she asked the one question that had been on her mind since realizing that Will was part of the royal family. “Victoria, why does William hide that he’s the Dauphin?”
Victoria sipped from her drink and watched the sails of Will’s boat disappear into the horizon. “That’s a difficult question to answer, Mikayla, but I guess it goes back to the accident. I don’t think he hated Amor before then, but since, it is a true hatred within him.”
Mikayla frowned. “Accident? You mean the death of Prince Jonathan?” There hadn’t been much written about the present royal family, but what had been reported, she had read, going back to World War I. The reports of the eldest son had been sketchy, lacking details, facts, only speculation.
Victoria nibbled on a scone. Her blond head bobbed. “William’s alwaus blamed himself. He refuses to let it go.”
When Mikayla continued to stare at Victoria with disbelief and curiosity creased in her forehead, her blue eyes wide, Victoria continued. “About ten years ago, William, Jonathan, and I went sailing on an afternoon not much different from this one. A storm came up from nowhere. William went below to start the motor so we could get into shore faster since the wind seemed to be coming from all directions. While William was below decks, Jonathan got knocked overboard by a large wave. We never found his body.” She tore the scone apart in her fingers. Her face was sad, but as odd as it seemed, that sadness didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes were cold and chilled Mikayla to the bone. “William still blames himself for Jonathan’s death because Jonathan was a poor swimmer and William had wanted to go sailing that day. In some respects William was the older brother even though 4 years separated us from Jonathan.”
Mikayla cocked her head to the side. It was a very sad story, but she felt no pity for Victoria. She felt sadness and pity for the eighteen year old Will who carried the guilt of a death around with him daily. “Why isn’t there much information available about him? His death was a tragedy for your family.” Victoria’s hands stilled and she raised her eyes to meet Mikayla’s. “Jonathan was our brother.” Her voice was cold making Mikayla feel as if an icy wind had just blown through the tropical setting, freezing everything. “Once he turned eighteen, the media hounded him, making things up, blowing stories out of proportion. They reported his death as a drunken accident.” She paused. “I promise you, it wasn’t.”
Mikayla sipped her cooled coffee, attempting to find warmth that couldn’t be found in the cold green eyes that pierced her.
“It was a very difficult loss for our family.” She stretched her regal hands flat on the table. “It isn’t something my family is comfortable talking about, especially my mother. You see, she blames William for the loss of Jonathan, he was her favorite after all.” Her wry smile didn’t meet her eyes. There was no humor there, just a strange coldness that reminded Mikayla of an animal hunting at night. “I believe that Jonathan’s experience with the press led William to hide like he does. He hasn’t had a picture published since he was fourteen. The pictures of Grandfather’s funeral were the first ones in sixteen years.”
“I’m sorry about the loss of your brother. It must have been very hard for you to witness his death.” Mikayla stood from her seat and began to move towards the sand on the other side of the railing. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t sit there, couldn’t remain in one place. Her mind whirled with questions, questions that had nothing to do with the royal family or its history. Each one centered on Will and the pain he must still carry within his heart.
Victoria followed Mikayla off of the porch. The sand squished between her toes as she removed her leather pumps. It was a pleasure she rarely had time to indulge in. “Tell me, Mikayla, how was your research going before everything was stolen? Had you learned anything interesting about my family?”
Mikayla glanced over at Victoria and was greeted with a bright cheery smile and genuine interest etched into the fine, aristocratic features. That coldness that had frozen Mikayla while sitting on the patio had disappeared, almost as if it had never existed. She tried to relax the tension that had appeared in her shoulders. She must have imagined the feeling of dread that had centered itself in her stomach. She must have been affected by the horrible tale of the loss of a brother overboard during a storm in this paradise. She smiled slightly and picked her way over the sand. Her tennis shoes dangled from her fingers. The wetness from the cellar was just beginning to dry in the hot sun. “Well, I uncovered records that showed there was a charter between the natives, Greece, and King Henry and his Crusaders allowing Henry to set up the monarchy. I found that very interesting since it was before charters were used, before the Magna Carta and so on.” She shrugged. “I also found some interesting records showing a rebellion by the natives against King Henry and then King Richard.”
Victoria shook her head. “No, no, I mean, have you found anything about the Eye of the Wolf?” Her voice was light, but beneath that breezy attitude, steel laced her words.
Mikayla glanced over, but Victoria’s eyes were out to the ocean as she attempted to skip a stone across the waves that rolled in gently. “Um,…mostly I just have legends about the Eye of the Wolf. Your brother told me that it was brought here by the Crusaders after they stole it from a sultan in Jerusalem. He also said it disappeared sometime during King Malachi’s reign never to be seen again.”
Victoria nodded. “True, but have you found anything new?” She turned her head slightly and looked at Mikayla who splashed her feet in the waves mindlessly. She hoped Mikayla didn’t find it odd that she would question about this one part of the history. It was important that she know what Mikayla knew before she went any further.
Mikayla moved her feet through the water, finding the coolness refreshing after the heat of the sand. She thought in her mind of what she knew about the Eye of the Wolf. Her mind rested on the phrase she had found in the tapestry and on the stone. Something inside her held back from telling Victoria. She knew if it had been Will questioning her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell even if she didn’t trust him completely. She would have blurted it out, asked his opinion, let him stew over the meaning of the odd phrase. But something inside her held her back from sharing with Victoria. Something inside her didn’t trust Victoria even though Victoria had been friendly, kind, helpful. Something inside her worried about sharing too much. She had shared some of her findings with Dejeune and the next day, her research had disappeared.
Mikayla turned and looked at Victoria who stood just a few feet away, an expectant look on her face. Curiosity infused with intellect. Her eyes shone with the same excitement that had appeared when Mikayla had burst through the wall from the secret passage. Her eyes were clear and interested, none of the cunning, shrewd coldness that had been there when she spoke of the
death of her brother, Jonathan. Mikayla grinned. She was being foolish. Victoria was innocent. She was the Princess Royale of the royal family of Amor. Whatever Mikayla discovered would be old news to Victoria. She probably already knew what the messages said and what they meant.
Mikayla willed her shoulders to relax. “I discovered a matching message in the tapestry in the Hall of the Crusaders as carved in the stones on top of the mountain.”
Victoria’s mouth opened wider and her eye brows shot up. “And?” Her voice rose an octave higher, anticipation written in every movement, every feature. She gripped her hands together in front of her much like a child waiting for a present or a new toy.
Mikayla shrugged. “I don’t really know if it relates to the Eye of the Wolf, but I translated. It means ‘Look to your mother’s hand.’” She shrugged again. “I don’t really know what that means.”
Victoria tapped a finely glossed nail against her perfect white teeth. “Very interesting.” She looked again at Mikayla. Her perfect green eyes narrowed slightly and the smile seemed fake. “And you’re sure that is what it means?”
Mikayla frowned slightly, her eyes looking from side to side. Suddenly, she very much wished she had listened to that inner voice that had told her to not tell Victoria anything. “Uh-huh, I’m sure. I contacted a friend who specializes in Greece. She translated it for me so I trust it.” She arched an eye brow and cocked her head to the side. “Why? Does it mean something to you?”
Victoria glanced over. Suddenly, she burst into a smile that could have dimmed the sun with its brightness. She laughed that tinkling laugh that reminded Mikayla of wind chimes. She waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss Mikayla’s suspicions. “Me? Oh, heavens no! I find the legend of the Eye of the Wolf intriguing, that’s all. I honestly don’t believe it exists, but it’s interesting to imagine.”
Mikayla relaxed slightly. “You sound just like Will!” She mumbled and turned to move down the beach towards her house. She wanted to make sure she blocked the door in the basement before she went to sleep that night, otherwise, she wouldn’t sleep for a week. She paused when Victoria laid a delicate hand on her arm.
“Mikayla, I have something I would like to ask you.” Mikayla nodded slightly, waiting for Victoria to go on. Victoria was suddenly very serious; it seemed the woman moved among her moods like a pendulum moved back and forth. Victoria slipped a hand inside her pocket. Before she withdrew it, she made Mikayla promise to speak to no one about this conversation. When Mikayla assented, curiosity brimming now at the promise and the seriousness in Victoria’s tone, Victoria unfolded her hand and revealed a glass vial.
“Mikayla, I found this in the bed chamber just before you appeared through the wall.” When Mikayla said nothing, Victoria continued, her voice hitching slightly with unshed tears that brimmed her eyes. “My grandfather was dying. I will never deny that. He was very ill and had been for quite some time, but Mikayla, I believe someone killed him.”
“Why do you think that? You said he was ill, perhaps this is from his medicine.” Mikayla gestured to the vial in Victoria’s hand, but her heart beat dully in her chest. Something close to fear filled her for a reason that she couldn’t fathom.
Victoria shook her pretty blond hair and allowed a tear to roll gracefully down her cheek, only making her more beautiful, Mikayla thought. “My grandfather didn’t take medicine. He believed only in herbs that were administered in his tea. I think someone injected him with whatever was in this vial and caused his heart attack.”
Mikayla’s head shot up. Her ears were perked. The palace officials had reported that the King had died from his cancer after the long illness. There had been no reports of cardiac failure. “Are you sure about the cause of death?”
Victoria’s bottom lip trembled. “Yes, Mikayla, he died of a heart attack during the night not from the cancer.” She laid a hand carefully on Mikayla’s arm. Her hand shook slightly from the strain of carrying this secret with her. “I’m afraid, Mikayla.” Her eyes pleaded as delicate tears rolled off of her lashes. “If you find anything in your research, please tell me. It may lead to the discovery of the killer of my grandfather, especially since your research was stolen, and there’s a passageway that connects your house with my grandfather’s room.”
Mikayla nodded thickly. Murder? How was this possible? This was paradise and this wasn’t some stupid novel where the pretty tourist gets thrown into the middle of a murder mystery where she’s the prime suspect.
That thought about being the prime suspect had Mikayla sucking in a sharp breath. She fought the sudden panic that bubbled inside of her. What if they suspected her if this was discovered? How would she explain? She forced herself to calm. She would never be a suspect. She was a historian hired by the King to complete a job. She would do that job to the best of her ability and return to the United States. If the King had been murdered, it had nothing to do with her.
Mikayla agreed to keep Victoria’s secret and to provide any information she might learn that might have something to do with the King’s death, if in fact he had been murdered. A foolish chill swept up her back as she then moved into the house, leaving Victoria on the beach, staring after her.
Victoria pocketed the vial and moved around the house to the staircase. A faint smile played across her lips as she climbed towards the Secluded City.
The shadows danced across the room, shifting with the flames from the fireplace. Waves crashed with a sound similar to thunder on the rocks below adding to the innate gloom of the room, a room where death haunted the stone of the walls as if it were part of the very stone.
Cunning green eyes peered from the darkness sending a chill down Dejeune’s back. The other stood near the door, guarding it, as if to prevent Dejeune’s escape. His eyes darted from the Wolf in his corner to the servant near the door. He licked his lips nervously. Sweat dribbled down his back, soaking his shirt but leaving him cold.
“Tell us, Rene, why is it that you stole her research yet she still moves forward in her investigations about the royal family and history?” A thin line of smoke rose from the red glow in the darkness beneath those searing green eyes.
Dejeune’s eyes darted back and forth. Again he licked his lips. His mouth was dry but his hands were clammy. Nervously, he took a drag on the cigarette that smoldered in the ash tray at his elbow on the ancient scarred table. He tried to calm his heart that felt as if it would explode in his chest. His breathing was shallow. He swallowed stiffly. His voice was weak, denying the strength he wanted to exhibit, denying the strength his employees saw when he stood before them. Of course, he wasn’t afraid of his employees. He was terrified of the Wolf.
“Sire, I can’t explain why. All I have is what the boy brought me when he stole into the house in the night.” He licked his lips nervously. “Remember, she interrupted him, surprised him by coming down the stairs when he thought she was sleeping.” He shrugged helplessly.
The Wolf leaned slightly forward so the light in the room just barely hit the blond hair that covered his head. “Rene, she has the diary of King Malachi. That diary is the key to everything. We spent five years looking for that diary and she finds it within two months. Explain that to me!” His voice exploded, echoing off of the stone walls. Dejeune cringed in his chair, wishing not for the first time that his greed wasn’t stronger than his sense of right from wrong. Wishing that he hadn’t sold his soul to this devil for money.
Dejeune held his hands out in front of him in a helpless gesture, begging for mercy. He slid bonelessly from his chair and kneeled at the feet of the Wolf. He gripped the pant leg in his hands, crying, begging for mercy that he knew inside would not come. He clung even as the servant lifted him and dragged him back to the chair. The servant’s hands were strong as they forced him into the chair and held him in place.
The Wolf exhaled slowly and lowered back into the chair. A slow, steady stream of smoke rose to the ceiling as he exhaled from his fine French cigarette. He turned his eyes a
gain to the quivering Frenchman across from him. Anger threaded through him as he thought of all of the time that had been wasted on this one. He was weak and a fool. The herbs laced in the tobacco calmed him. He was able to think clearly. “Tell me, Rene, how did the American get a translation of the carving and the tapestry when it wasn’t supposed to be able to be translated?”
Dejeune swallowed with difficulty as the servant’s hand wrapped itself slowly around his neck, applying pressure. He gasped for air and fumbled at the hands that gripped his trachea. “I don’t know, Sire. I don’t know.” He whimpered into the darkness as stars came in front of his eyes. His hands grabbed at the vise that held his throat, weak now from lack of oxygen. Then, the pressure was gone. He gasped for air, falling from the chair to the floor beneath him. On his hands and knees, he dragged in deep breaths of air as his vision cleared again.
The Wolf leaned forward and tipped Dejeune’s head up until they were eye to eye. “This is your fault. She knows more than she should. You will solve this debacle, and you will do it tomorrow!” He exhaled sweet smoke into Dejeune’s face, a feral smile appearing when Dejeune gagged on the smoke. “I don’t like it when my subjects ruin my plans because they are stupid. Show me how smart you are, Rene. Take care of the problem you have created!” He flicked a finger down Dejeune’s nose and then sat back. “Get out of my sight!” He ordered, his voice cold as ice.
Dejeune scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. Out into the night he stumbled, his eyes wide with fear and hope. Fear of what he must do and hope that there still might be a way to save his own skin.
The Wolf watched Dejeune disappear into the darkness. He then turned those animal eyes on the servant near the door. The servant began to move out into the night, but the Wolf’s voice called him back. “Antonio, be sure he doesn’t live to see the sunrise once he has completed this newest mission.”
The Eye of the Wolf Page 22
