Heart's Demand (43 page)

Matthew nodded. “You’ll be a fine soldier when you’re a bit older.”

“Thank you.”

“Get going,” Matthew urged. “We’ll meet you at the secret spot.”

Michael reached in his boot and pulled out a knife. He handed it to Nicholas. “If you have any trouble, use this. Don’t dither. Stab like you mean it.”

Nicholas stuck the knife into the sleeve of his sweater. “I will. Where my sister is concerned, I won’t hesitate to protect her.”

Matthew grinned at Michael. “I’m liking this boy more and more.”

“Welcome to the family, Nicholas,” Michael said. “You too, Isabelle.”

“We’re grateful that you’ll have us,” Nicholas replied.

He bowed to the two men, and Isabelle curtsied, then she strolled away. Nicholas followed behind her as if he was her servant. They been highly trained, reared in the royal way, and they knew how to play their parts.

*   *   *   *

“Where have you been?”

Kristof barked the question at Katarina. It had been an eternity since he’d sent Captain Romilard after her.

His head was pounding, his wound throbbing. The doctor had declared it to be a minor scratch, but it stung much more than Kristof could ever have imagined it might. He’d been doused with laudanum and had also downed three tall whiskeys. Opiates always made him nauseous, and the liquor being dumped on top wasn’t helping.

He felt faint, and if they didn’t get a move on, he’d either vomit up the contents of his stomach or fall asleep before he could complete the vows.

“Hello, to you too, Kristof.” She sounded quite snotty. “I see you’re in your usual sweet temper.”

“I summoned you ages ago.”

“You’re constantly laboring under the impression that you can command me.”

“I’m not in the mood for your haughty attitude, Katarina.”

“And I’m not in the mood for yours.” His royal arm was heavily bandaged and cradled in a sling, and she gave it a cursory glance. “I hear you had a problem with your chum, Pippa Clementi.”

“The deranged woman almost killed me.”

“It appears she missed.”

“She didn’t
miss
. A few inches to the left, and I’d be dead.”

“Lucky for you Pippa never was good at anything. I hope you’ve had her locked in the dungeons, for I must tell you—after how she treated me in Egypt—I really shouldn’t bump into her in the halls. It would be…unpleasant.”

She flashed such a dangerous glare at Kristof that he could barely keep from flinching. How did she exude such imperious disregard? It was probably from being born to the title. She’d had twenty-five years to learn how to be imposing. He was only just figuring it out.

“You must cease your complaints about Pippa,” he scolded.

“Never.”

“When she was with you in Egypt, she was serving the Crown.”

“Pippa is a traitor to my family and a disloyal shrew. Don’t presume to extol her virtues. I won’t listen.”

Kristof tried to match her glare, tried to seem as forbidding, but he was feeling ill and was simply desperate for the horrid afternoon to end.

He gestured to the priest. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kristof was seated in a chair and too wobbly to stand. He waved at Katarina so she’d come over and stand next to him. Instead she sat in a chair too.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“We’re holding the wedding ceremony.”

“I’m not speaking any vows.”

“You are, Katarina,” he fumed. “Don’t argue over it.”

“We’re supposed to have a grand celebration with the whole country fêting us. Yet you want to slink off and do it in secret. Why?”

“The masses are restless. I don’t wish to stir the flames of discord.”

“You’re scared of our citizens?”

“At the moment, when my arm is throbbing and I could have died? Yes, I’m absolutely terrified of them.”

“Our people don’t like you? I wonder why not?” She smiled a cocky smile. “They love me, and I demand the wedding I was promised.”

“Well, you’re not having it,” he snapped.

“My brother and sister aren’t here either. I won’t proceed without them. Nicholas planned to walk me down the aisle.”

“We’re not waiting for them.” He motioned to the priest, but the idiot hemmed and hawed. Kristof bellowed, “Get on with it!”

“Majesty,” the toad groveled, “if the Princess is opposed, I can’t possibly carry on.”

Kristof glowered at Dmitri. He was the only other person in the room with them, would be the only witness.

“Dmitri, you have sixty seconds to explain this dunce’s role to him. If he’s not ready to begin by then, it will be the last ceremony he ever performs.”

The priest blanched and started leafing through his prayer book, looking for the correct page.

“I won’t marry him,” Katarina said to the priest. “He can’t force me, can he, Father?”

“Ah…ah…” the priest mumbled.

Kristof scowled at Katarina. “I have Nicholas in my custody. If you refuse me, he will pay in all the ways I swore he would.”

“You don’t have Nicholas,” she smugly retorted. “I know exactly where he is and he’s not with you.” She stared at the priest again. “Are we finished?”

Suddenly there was a pounding on the outer doors to Kristof’s suite. No one was there to answer. Everyone was down in the presence chamber, gleefully gossiping about the shooting.

“Oh, for bloody sake,” Dmitri grumbled, and he spun as if he’d march out to learn who had interrupted.

Before he could though, the inner doors burst open and Lord Radcliffe bustled in, his twin brothers flanking him. Katarina rose and went over to them. Lord Radcliffe murmured in her ear, then shoved her behind him so they were blocking her from Kristof’s view.

Dmitri spoke up. “I’m sorry, Lord Radcliffe, but this is a private meeting. You’re not welcome.”

Radcliffe ignored Dmitri and kept his gaze locked on Kristof. “We heard there’s about to be a wedding.”

“Yes, there is, Radcliffe. The Princess and I are marrying.”

Radcliffe frowned. “Katarina is marrying you?”

Kristof bristled at his using Katarina’s Christian name. “Yes. In light of today’s excitement”—Kristof pointed to his sling—“we thought we should avoid any pomp and circumstance. If you’ll excuse us…?”

Radcliffe didn’t budge, and Dmitri said, “Really, Lord Radcliffe, you’re being a boor. I’ll just escort you out.”

He huffed over to Radcliffe as if he’d manhandle him, but the twins stepped in his path. They engaged in a staring match Dmitri could never win, and he skulked back a stride or two.

“You can’t wed her,” Radcliffe told Kristof.

“Why can’t I?” Kristof snidely inquired.

“Because she’s already married.”

The priest and Dmitri gasped, as Kristof demanded, “To whom?”

“To me,” Radcliffe boasted. “We were wed in Cairo before she left.”

“That’s a lie!” Kristof raged.

“No, it isn’t,” Radcliffe claimed, “and I hate to tell you this, but I believe she’s increasing with my child. You wouldn’t put my son on
your
throne, would you?”

The priest shut his prayer book and hurried out without a word.

Kristof felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He studied Radcliffe and his brothers, loathing how handsome they were, how tall, dashing, and dynamic. How dare they be so spectacular! How dare they ruin everything!

“Is it true?” he snarled at Katarina. “Don’t think to further deceive me.”

She peeked around Radcliffe and her expression was impish. “Yes, I’ve been married for ages.”

“Why didn’t you confess it?” Kristof roared. “Why persist with the ruse that you might ultimately be my bride.”

“You had threatened Nicholas and Isabelle, and I couldn’t risk that you might harm them. I’ve simply been waiting for my husband to arrive to save me from you.”

“Where has he been all this time?”

Radcliffe answered for her. “Your Captain Romilard ordered my murder in Egypt, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

Kristof was incensed. With Katarina. With Radcliffe. With Captain Romilard who never seemed to accomplish any task he was assigned.

“Dmitri,” he seethed, “summon the guards. I want these men arrested.”

Radcliffe chuckled. “You actually imagine they could succeed?”

He nodded to his brothers, and in a quick minute, Dmitri and Kristof were tied to their chairs and gagged so they couldn’t call out.

Radcliffe towered over Kristof, and as a final insult he said, “We’ve spread the story everywhere of how you treated Nicholas and Isabelle. We’ve told everyone that Kat was wed to me, that you tried to have me killed because of it, that you tried to force her into matrimony when she’d been adamantly opposed.”

Lies, all lies!
Kristof complained behind the gag, his hatred wafting out of his eyes.
I am King here! You shall not belittle me this way!

“Rumors about us and
you
have been circulating,” Radcliffe continued. “Soon the entire country will know what you did to the Morovsky heirs.” He scoffed and taunted, “May the rest of your reign be as stable and productive as the first part has been.”

One of the twins sarcastically said, “I’ve heard the first part hasn’t been all that grand.”

The other said, “I’m betting the remainder of it won’t last too long.”

Katarina couldn’t leave well enough alone either. “Goodbye, Cousin Kristof. Nicholas is a boy now, but he won’t always be. He’ll return one day and recover what you stole from him. You have a few years where you’ll be safe, but you’d best keep looking over your shoulder.”

The group whipped away and marched out, Katarina in the center of the trio and obviously protected by them in a manner Kristof could never have offered. They pulled the door shut and spun the key in the lock.

Kristof and Dmitri sat in a stunned silence, listening as their strides faded down the corridor. Then they started to kick with their feet and struggle against their bindings. But they couldn’t seem to generate much noise and—as if they suddenly hadn’t a friend in the world—no one came to assist.

*   *   *   *

Bryce rushed Katarina toward the rear of the palace. They had hidden clothes for her in the nursery, but there wasn’t time to retrieve them. It was more important to get her to the horses and ride off. The border was fourteen miles away, and while guards could follow them, he’d feel much better once they were in another country.

They rounded a corner, and to his dismay, they ran into Captain Romilard. Thankfully he was by himself, his usual contingent missing. The halls were abnormally quiet with everyone downstairs, clucking over the shooting, bragging about what they’d witnessed.

Bryce bristled with offense and dislike. Romilard hadn’t attacked him in Cairo, hadn’t beaten him within an inch of his life or sold him into slavery. But he’d ordered all of it done.

“Your Grace,” he said to Kat. “Or is it Your Majesty now? Is the ceremony over?”

“Yes,” Kat smoothly lied. “Lord Radcliffe and his brothers are accompanying me to my rooms.”

“That’s odd.” Romilard’s smile was cunning and sly. “Your suite is in the other direction. You’re going the wrong way.”

Kat glanced up at Bryce. “Lord Radcliffe, this oaf has always been insolent and impertinent to me. His brother is Kristof’s chief advisor, so he feels free to disrespect and disparage me.”

“Does he?” Bryce replied.

“Turn around, Princess,” Romilard dared to command. “We’ll speak to the King and ask him if you’re supposed to be traipsing off with these men.”

Kat scowled at Bryce. “See what I mean, Lord Radcliffe? He is the most rude, impudent dog I’ve ever met.”

“I see that,” Bryce agreed as the twins stiffened, ready to deal with the prick so Bryce wouldn’t have to. But Bryce was more than happy to ensure Romilard never insulted a female ever again.

Bryce assessed Romilard and couldn’t conceal a blanch of astonishment. He had a sword on his hip. It was an ancient weapon made from gold and polished steel with jewels in the hilt. It dangled from a delicately-tooled leather sheath.

“That’s a fine sword you have there,” Bryce said.

Romilard put his hand on the hilt, sensing a fight coming too. “Yes, it is. It’s very fine.”

“Where did you get it?” Bryce hissed.

“It was a gift from my men. They took it off a criminal in Egypt.” Romilard stared into Bryce’s blue eyes, and he frowned. He’d only glimpsed Bryce in passing at Valois’s villa, and he asked, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“No, but
I
am the criminal your accomplices stole it from in Egypt.”

“Bugger off, Radcliffe,” Romilard crudely retorted. “It’s mine, and I’m not inclined to part with it.”

He had the audacity to grab Kat’s arm as if he’d pull her away from them, and Bryce couldn’t decide if he was deranged or if his ego was so inflated that he assumed he could beat Bryce and his brothers in a brawl. But no man could. Not when they stood shoulder to shoulder like a brick wall.

“Let’s go, Princess,” Romilard said, “to your husband, the King.”

Kat jerked out of his grasp, and Bryce hit him as hard as he could. He collapsed to his knees and hovered there, blood dripping from his nose. He braced and would have leapt up, but Michael was on him before he could, a hand on his throat, a knee crushed into his back.

Bryce peered over at Matthew. “Would you escort Kat to the horses? Michael and I will join you in a minute.”

“Certainly.” Matthew’s steady gaze apprised Bryce he understood precisely what was about to transpire.

“What is it?” Kat asked. “What’s happening?”

“The sword on Romilard’s belt belonged to my father,” Bryce said.

Michael and Matthew gasped with surprise, saying together, “What?”

“A man who befriended me in Cairo, he knew Father well. Years ago, Father left it at his house, and he’s had it all this time. He gave it to me. It’s a priceless memento, and Captain Romilard doesn’t get to keep it.”

Kat looked as if she’d argue that she should stay and watch the ending, but Bryce nodded to her. “Go, Kat. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“We shouldn’t dally, Princess,” Matthew told her. “They can finish up without us.”

Kat bit down on whatever her comment might have been, and Matthew hurried her out.