Prince and...Future Dad

by Christine Rimmer

  He forced his voice to gentleness. "Then you must tell me. Where would Cauley go?"

  The tears came then, twin trails of wetness down her satin cheeks. "He wouldn't hurt anyone. I'm sure he's only hiding. I know he—"

  "By all the gods, Eveline. Where?"

  She sobbed. Swallowed. And stood tall. "In the trees not far from the front gate. A tunnel he found beneath a shelf of rock. A tunnel that leads to a little cave. There's an old bed in there and a table and—"

  He remembered. The safe-tunnels. There were three or four of them, at strategic places around the estate. His great-grandfather had had them dug at the time of the Nazi occupation. More than one Jewish Gullandrian had made use of them, to hide and later escape to freedom. He'd thought they'd all been covered over after the Second World War.

  He grabbed his sister's hand. "Show me."

  Together they ran for the door.

  * * *

  The light in the tunnel grew brighter. Too soon!

  No time to free her feet. She glanced in desperate longing at the shovel in the corner. No time to get to it.

  Maybe the candle…

  But what kind of weapon would that make? She reached for her face, clawing, tearing at the tape. She yanked it down around her neck just as Cauley appeared from the tunnel, his lamp in one hand.

  And a knife in the other—a knife with a long, curved blade and serrations at the top ridge. A deadly-looking thing. He pointed it at her, his eyes narrowing as he saw that she'd almost managed to free herself. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

  He kept the knife toward her as he approached.

  Liv resisted the urge to shrink back. She looked at him steadily, her limited options racing through her mind. Of course, she would fight. But how best to do that?

  "Stop," she said. "Think."

  He held the knife higher as he slid the lamp beneath his upraised arm and onto the table. "I said keep your mouth shut."

  The hell she would. "You haven't done anything you can't come back from. Not yet."

  "Quiet."

  "No. Listen. Think. You know I'm right."

  He swallowed, his Adam's apple bouncing hard. "I have to do it."

  "No."

  "I'm sorry…"

  "You don't have to do this. You can stop. Stop right now."

  "It's too late." Suddenly he was shaking.

  "No, Cauley. It's not too late."

  He raised the blade. It wobbled madly. His whole arm shook.

  She saw the agony in his eyes and she knew. She was absolutely certain. He couldn't do it.

  "Put the knife down, Cauley. You're no murderer, we both know you're not."

  Tears glistened, pooled, spilled down the gaunt cheeks. "I … I don't know what else to do. You have to see, I don't have any choice."

  She remembered something her mother had said a few days ago, when she finally told Liv why she'd left her father. And she recalled what Cauley himself had said earlier. "Yes. You have a choice. Something good can come of this."

  He hiccuped, let out sharp moan. "Good? What good?"

  "A chance for you—a way to a better life."

  He sobbed, swallowed, swiped his nose with his free hand. And—oh, thank God—he lowered the knife. "A … chance?"

  She nodded slowly, holding his eyes. "Take me to Finn. Now. Unharmed. And you'll go to the Mystics. I am the daughter of your king and I will make it happen. I swear it to you. The wise men beyond the Black Mountains will teach you how to live, how to … get along, in the world. It won't be easy. But in the end, you'll have a life, and a good one."

  He was looking at the ground now, the knife at his side. She could have jumped him. She probably could have disarmed him. Maybe she should have.

  But she knew in her heart it was already done.

  His tears plopped to the damp earth between his battered boots. "I am nothing. Stupid. A gardener's boy."

  "Cauley. Look at me."

  Slowly he dragged up his ragged, wet head. "Give me the knife. Now."

  There was an endless moment when she doubted, when she feared she'd made a terrible mistake, the kind that would cost her life—and her baby's, too. But then he turned the knife.

  He held it her way, handle out. She took it.

  And that was when another light appeared from the passageway. They both froze.

  Clearly, she heard it—pounding footsteps running toward them. The glow grew brighter.

  Cauley spun for the other entrance.

  "Don't," Liv commanded. "Stay. Face them. I will stand by you. It will be all right."

  But the boy was already gone.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  « ^ »

  Finn burst into the small, dim space, his men behind him. He froze at the sight that greeted him. Liv.

  On her knees on a dirty mattress, a huge, swelling bruise on her delicate jaw, a loose cowl of silver tape around her neck, her ankles tied, a bracelet of rope on one bleeding wrist, bedraggled and muddy.

  And holding a hunting knife.

  "Oh, my darling," he whispered.

  With a glad cry, she threw the knife to the floor and held out her arms to him.

  It was all the invitation he needed. It took two steps to reach her. She surged up. He dropped the flashlight he held and grabbed her to him, tucking her head against his shoulder, rocking her, stroking her dirty, tangled hair. "It's all right, it's all right now."

  "I know. Oh, Finn. I love you so."

  It was all he'd ever wanted to hear. He kissed her hair. "As I love you. With all my heart."

  She pulled back enough that she could look into his eyes. "I was coming to tell you. I want us to be together, any way you want it. Oh, Finn, I opened my morning gift. I found my panties. And I knew I didn't want them back. Not ever. You're the only man for me and I want—"

  Tenderly he put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Shh. Wait." He gestured with a toss of his head toward the three gaping men packed tightly together at the foot of the bed.

  "Oh. Sorry…" Shyly she tucked her head against his shoulder again.

  Liv? Shy? It was a whole new side of her and it charmed him to his soul. He whispered in her ear, "Don't be sorry. We'll talk about it. In detail. Very soon. But now, I need to know…" She lifted her head and he demanded, "Who did this?" She looked away. By the runes, she actually seemed reluctant to say. He took her beneath the chin and made her meet his eyes. "I must know."

  "Finn, he's just a boy. A confused boy."

  His suspicions were confirmed. "Cauley."

  She babbled on, excusing her kidnapper. "When he heard who I was, he got some wild idea he could earn points with Eveline by getting rid of me. He's young and hurt and angry and he didn't think it through. He simply acted, knocking me out, tying me up, bringing me here. But in the end, he couldn't hurt me."

  He took her face in his hands. "Look at you. Beaten and bloody. How can you say he didn't hurt you?"

  "This was … a cry for help. Oh, Finn. Please. I want you to send him to the Mystics. I want—"

  "He'll pay."

  "No. Don't hurt him. Promise me."

  "Where is he?"

  She stuck out her black-and-blue chin at him. "Finn. I mean it."

  Where had that enchanting shyness gone? He wanted it back—or maybe not. By the tail of the dragon, he didn't care. Shrill or shy, he loved this woman, any way she chose to be. He grabbed her close again and muttered against her hair, "He hurt you and I'll have him dead. I'll see his severed head on a pike."

  "No. Please. Promise me." She clasped his shoulders and sought his eyes once more. "Promise. Don't hurt him."

  "Where is he?"

  "Promise me."

  When she looked at him that way, what choice did he have? He muttered an oath beneath his breath and turned to his waiting men. "Capture him. Don't harm him. Bring him to me." He turned again to his battered, beautiful wife. "Well?"

  She pointed at the far tunnel. "Through there. He ran
out when he heard you coming."

  The men pounded off.

  Liv slumped against him. "Oh, Finn. I hope your men obey you…" He said nothing. Wiser that way. She whispered in a broken voice, "I have missed you. And now that I've got you, I am never letting go." She lifted her poor, bruised mouth to him. He claimed it in an endless seeking kiss.

  * * *

  "We can't stay in this hole forever, you know," he said several minutes later.

  She snuggled closer. "Why not? I could get used it—as long as you're here with me."

  "Very touching."

  She brushed her lips against his throat and tipped her dirty, blood-streaked face up, grinning. "That's love for you."

  "But I think you should know…"

  "What?"

  "My sister's waiting outside."

  She wrinkled her patrician nose. "All the more reason we should stay right here."

  He kissed her forehead. "I promise you, Eveline is … much subdued. She's ready to apologize."

  "How strange. Is she ill?"

  "No. Just very, very ashamed of herself."

  "As well she should be."

  "Don't hate her too much. She did keep me from learning that you called. But she had nothing at all to do with … this."

  Liv said softly, "I know."

  "And maybe you'd like to get rid of that rope around your ankles?"

  She took his face in her hands and planted one more kiss on his mouth—a hard, possessive one. "Okay. Cut me loose." She dropped to her haunches, levered back and swung her feet out. And then she put her hand to the back of her head.

  "Whoa. Got a bump here. A big one. It hurts." She looked around, her bright expression fading. "And you're right. Even with your sister waiting outside, I think I'd still like to get out of here. For a while there, I was afraid I never would."

  He picked up the knife and cut the rope. Liv sighed. "Oh, that feels good."

  Her ankles were rubbed raw. He couldn't bear that. He threw the knife down and went to his knees in the dirt. Carefully, gently, he cradled one foot and then the other. He kissed each ankle, pressing his lips against the reddened flesh, wishing a kiss really could heal any wound.

  "Ah," she said, as if his kisses had done exactly that. "Much, much better."

  He looked up into her waiting eyes. "By all the gods, Liv Danelaw, we're going be so happy…"

  Her mouth bloomed in a glowing smile. "Oh, Finn. I know it. I know we are. I understand now. This is the starting point. You and I. We make the future … together."

  He had nothing to add to that. She'd spoken his thoughts exactly. He took his flashlight and blew out the lamp. "Come."

  Hand in hand they went into the tunnel and together they made their way toward the light of day.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  Liv's stalling had given Cauley a substantial head start. The men never caught up with him.

  Two days later, he turned himself in.

  Finn kept his promise to Liv and sent the boy north under armed escort, into the Black Mountains and beyond, to the Vildelund, where Cauley swore to submit to the tutelage of the Mystics.

  Shortly after that, Finn and Liv—and Eveline—left for America. They'd decided to live there. After all, Finn could attend to his investments anywhere. They could pay frequent visits to Gullandria. And Liv had her dreams—dreams Finn meant to help her fulfill. She'd be back at Stanford in the fall.

  They found a house not far from the university. It was going to be a challenge, with the baby coming. But they would manage. They had plenty of money, her mother and aunts and grandmother nearby to help out if they needed it. And most important, they had each other and so much love.

  Eveline moved in with Ingrid, who had a way with strong-minded young girls. She welcomed another "daughter" in the house. Right away, Eveline's manners and attitude improved. She adored Ingrid. And she tolerated Hildy, who was tough and uncompromising and sometimes seemed to have eyes in the back of her gray head.

  At the end of August, Ingrid threw a party in the backyard. She called it a wedding party—a wedding party for both of her newly married daughters. She said she wanted to make it up, a little anyway, to Liv and Elli, for missing the moment a mother should never miss: the moment when a daughter says her marriage vows.

  It was a small gathering—family only. They tried to keep it low-key in hopes that the press wouldn't get wind of it.

  Osrik appeared just before the two brides cut the matching tall white cakes. He'd wanted Liv and Finn to stay in Gullandria. But he was reasonably content with the way things had turned out. At least they were married in the truest sense now. They'd promised to visit him often—and to bring his grandchild.

  Later in the afternoon, Elli took him aside and whispered in his ear that she'd been very sick that morning—she'd been sick and then she'd fainted. And yes, the Freyasdahl rash had appeared.

  Osrik knew a deep happiness then. So much had been lost. But life did renew itself. He looked across the backyard at his beautiful wife and he wished…

  But Ingrid was cool to him, cool and never more than carefully polite.

  Well, cool and polite was something, he told himself. A start, and a good one. A huge improvement, in fact, on all the years of bitter hatred.

  Perhaps a healing had begun.

  His one unmarried daughter stood off to the side. He winked at her.

  Brit saluted her dad with her glass of champagne. She was happy for her sisters.

  But her thoughts, really, were far away. In Gullandria. On a man she'd never met: the mysterious Prince Eric Greyfell, the man who, essentially, had started all this—the man her father had been scheming to get one of his daughters to marry.

  Brit had been snooping, learning all she could about her lost brothers. Greyfell had been Valbrand's closest friend. From what she'd been able to learn, they were like brothers: blood-bound, as they said in Gullandria. To be blood-bound meant that they had shared absolute loyalty, each to the other, loyalty until death.

  Always, it had been understood that someday Valbrand would take the throne and Eric Greyfell would step into his father's shoes as Grand Counselor.

  When Valbrand disappeared at sea, Eric had set off to find the truth about what had really happened to him. What had Eric learned? Brit wanted to hear it from Eric himself.

  Her dad said the prince was in the Vildelund, with the mystics, simple mountainfolk who lived, for the most part, by the old Norse ways. Her sources confirmed that. Greyfell was at home with the Mystics. His father, after all, had been born among them.

  Brit set down her glass at the end of the cake table. Time to go. Back to Gullandria. Time to head for the Vildelund. Time to track down the elusive Prince Greyfell and find out exactly what he knew.

  * * * * *