Heir in Exile (18 page)

“You're impossible. I had it under control!” Which was a blatant lie. She
would
have been in big trouble had Laur not spared her a nasty fall, and if he would have called for guards. Thankfully, he hadn't. Sight of her journal paper caused her blood pressure to skyrocket.

Sander snarled at the obvious lie. “You're pushing it, Chey.”

“What are you going to do. Put me over your knee? I'm not five! And I'm back, and safe, which is more than I can say for your lies--”

“It wasn't a lie. You never asked me where I was. Besides that, it was safer for me to keep my whereabouts just then as close to the vest as I could. I
am
technically in exile. They need to believe I'm there, not here, until we clear this mess up. The next time I tell you not to go somewhere, listen to me!” He shoved the folded paper back into his pocket without offering it to her.

Their mouths were so close she could have kissed him. Right then, she wanted to sock him in the nose. Pivoting on a heel, she marched to the stairs and trotted up them.

“That's perfect,” he said to her back. “Walk away before the conversation's finished.”

“Oh, it's finished Mister! It was finished--” Chey lost steam when Sander stalked through an archway into some other part of the house. Furious all over again that he cut her biting retort off, she made the second floor landing, headed to her room, and slammed the door closed behind her hard enough to rattle windows in their frames.

. . .

The man is completely infuriating! How dare him tell me 'No', then read me the riot act the second we get home. If Sander Ahtissari thinks for one minute that I'm the type of woman to simper and swoon, he's got another think coming. Yes, I might have been in a spot of trouble when he found me, but honestly, I think Laur would have let me take the samples or the swabs if I'd explained, meaning I would have gotten out of there unscathed (let's not talk about my stumble down the staircase, where Laur saved me from falling) and had everything we needed from Laur's end for the tests.

I never expected Laur to be so genteel and kind. Who knew? But sometimes that's why you take risks. It would have worked out in the end.

Back to Sander—that man is on my List. I'm angry enough to spit nails.

Chey wadded the paper up and threw it against the far wall. Scowling, she tossed the pen on the nightstand and pressed the heels of her hands against her brow. An hour after the end of the argument with Sander, Chey knew all thoughts of sleep for the rest of the night were out of the question. It was three-something in the morning, when the house and the night were still and silent. Her mind raced over the events that led her here. She couldn't find that much blame in what she'd done. Not enough to cause the blow up between her and Sander.

What annoyed her more than anything was that she kept listening for him in the hallway beyond the door. Wondering if he was going to show up, tail between his legs, apology in his eyes.

She snorted at herself. Sander would never tuck his tail over anything. He might apologize, but he would never compromise his masculinity by creeping around, begging for mercy.

No, this little stand off was going to last much longer than a night.
She
certainly wasn't about to grovel and plead. Where was the sample from Helina? Did anyone have a hair root or a saliva swab?

She thought not.

Indignant, she rubbed a hand over her stomach, wishing the icky feeling would leave. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what didn't feel good. It wasn't quite nausea, not quite a cramp. Or a little of both? She didn't know. It made her more irritable than she already was.

Sliding down deeper into the covers, she tucked her hands beneath her head and stared at the far wall.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Fourteen

The tension in Mattias's home knew no bounds. For two days, Sander and Chey collectively seethed, alternating between dirty looks and silent treatments. She took her meals when she knew he wouldn't be anywhere near the kitchen or the dining room table and avoided parlors or sitting rooms if she knew he was in there brooding.

It didn't help that she felt increasingly worse. Chey began to worry by evening of the second day when the nausea plagued her to the point she had to spend three hours curled over the toilet in her private bathroom.

This was the wrong time for the flu.

The sound of a knock penetrated the haze but she felt too horrible to get up and answer it. Sander could glare at the door all night for all she cared.

A few moments later, Mattias appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“What's wrong?” he asked immediately, frowning.

“I don't feel good, obviously. I think I've got the flu.” She lolled her head to the side, glanced at him, then stared toward the wall once more. “If you're here to plead his case—”

“I came to tell you we successfully retrieved a hair sample, a few of them actually, from Helina. Both hers and Laur's are on their way to a lab for testing.” Mattias crossed to a cupboard and pulled out a folded, fluffy washcloth. Taking it to the sink, he ran it under the water, wrung it out, then walked it over to press against her forehead.

The caring gesture reminded Chey so much of what her mother might have done that tears stung the back of her eyes. Mattias patted her brow, the back of her neck, and her hairline.

“This is very un-Princely of you,” she said, voice thick with emotion. What was wrong with her?

“On the contrary, I think it's very Princely of me.” He set his other hand between her shoulder blades. “Better?”

“A little bit. Thanks.” Chey accepted his help with grudging appreciation. It wasn't Mattias's fault she and Sander were on the outs. “How long will it take to get the results?”

“You're welcome. A few days at the most. We should know something more definitive by then.” He took the washcloth away from her skin and set it on the counter.

“Then what?” she asked, cutting a look away from the wall to Mattias.

“We're discussing options. What I also came to tell you is that Laur is sneaking out and coming here for a couple hours. Not until later of course, when his house is mostly asleep.”

Chey sat up, hair tousled, and frowned at Mattias. “Sneaking out? Is that wise? What if someone discovers him missing?”

“They'll think he went into the woods. I doubt they'll notice him gone though for the little while he'll be here.” Mattias squeezed her shoulder, pressed to a stand, and paused near the doorway.

“Thanks for letting me know. I'll come down when he arrives.” Chey hoped she felt well enough by then.

“Good. I'll knock on your door to let you know.” He smiled, then exited the way he came.

Chey sniffed and crawled up off the floor. Closing the toilet lid, she picked up the washcloth on her way into the bedroom. Sliding onto the bed, she rolled onto her back and laid the cloth across her forehead.

If she wanted to see Laur, it would mean being in the same room as Sander. The thought upset her—and made her long for Sander's presence. Just now, feeling as crappy as she did, all she wanted was his warmth and scent. He had a way of embracing her that chased all her ills away.

“Don't get weak, Chey. It's just the flu.” She chided herself not to wimp out and get soft on Sander. He owed her an apology and that was that.

The next thing Chey knew, someone was touching her shoulder, shaking her awake.

Sitting up with a gasp, washcloth falling into her lap, she thrust a hand out to automatically ward off the shadow lurking at the side of the bed. Only then did she realize it was Mattias, dark gaze glinting in the low light.

“I wanted to tell you that he's here. Laur. Downstairs in the first parlor.” He removed his hand from her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh. Thanks.” Chey plucked the damp cloth off her lap and set it on the nightstand. “I'm—I guess it's better. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“All right. We're taking him back at three,” Mattias said before retreating. He closed the door quietly behind him when he left.

Chey squinted at the bedside clock.
1:15.

She'd been asleep for hours.

Putting her feet on the floor, she realized the nausea wasn't as severe as it had been. Part of her wanted to slump right back into the sheets and sleep the rest of the night away. Instead, she changed into jeans. Or tried to change into jeans. She struggled with the button, which didn't want to close.

“Seriously?” she spat, angry that bloat prevented her from getting the button done. Peeling the denim down, refusing to lay on the bed and wriggle into them, she flipped the jeans onto the covers and sought velveteen lounge pants instead. A matching dove gray, zip up top went over a thinner white shirt beneath.

Better.

Pulling on socks and tennis shoes, she hit the bathroom last and attempted to make herself look less like a pale ghost and more like a human. It required a touch of blush, lip gloss and a streak of color on her eyelids.

Even then, she thought she looked peaked and tired.

“Of course you're tired, Chey. You spent the whole evening puking and it's now the middle of the night.” Exasperated with herself, she departed her bedroom.

On the way down the hall toward the stairs, she braced herself in regard to Sander. She hadn't seen him since an accidental glimpse earlier this morning when they passed each other going and coming from the kitchen. Chey had steadfastly refused to acknowledge him.

He'd returned the favor, which had stung more than Chey wanted to admit.

At the archway to the main parlor, Chey was struck by the sight of Laur in more moderate light. He stood near the fireplace with a drink in hand, his deformity on vivid display. From one side, the left, one almost couldn't tell there was anything wrong. Not until he turned face on. Then the cavity and the depressed eye socket were impossible to miss.

He saw her standing there staring and lifted his glass her way in a silent toast.

Chey smiled, aware Sander sat perched on the arm of a sofa not far from his possible brother. “Hello, Laur. I'm very glad to see you could make it up for a visit.”

“Good evening, Miss Chey. Thank you, I'm happy to have the company. Can I get you a drink?” he asked. It might not have been his house, but that didn't stop Laur from stepping up like a gentleman to offer.

“No thanks.” On impulse, she crossed the room to kiss his cheek. His good cheek.

He bent his head and stooped his shoulders to make it possible.

Chey thought there was a little extra color under his skin when she leaned back. “Thanks again for saving me from a nasty fall on those stairs.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat and smiled again.

Chey, impressed with his chivalry and gentle giant manner, touched his arm with warm affection before diverting to a plush chair. Sinking down into the confines, she got comfortable. Mattias stood somewhere beyond Sander, a tumbler of amber liquid in hand. He arched his brows when she glanced his way. All Chey did was give him a quick smile before returning her attention to their guest.

After all, that's why they were here.

“So you grew up in that place?” Sander asked, apparently resuming a line of questions.

Laur glanced at Sander and nodded. “My whole life. It's all I've known.”

“And who are the other occupants?” Mattias asked.

“Others like me. Of my nature, I should say. One is a mute, one is severely disabled.” Laur gave a few examples. He glanced down into his glass and gave it a swish.

“How many, would you say?” Sander asked.

“There are twelve of us. Most have been there since early childhood.”

“But you're the oldest out of everyone, yes?” Mattias added.

“Yes,” Laur said, inclining his head. “The youngest is eight.”

Chey saw Mattias and Sander exchange a look. She thought they were wondering if all the occupants were of Royal blood. Not Helina's, per se, but maybe nieces, nephews or cousins. A repository for the Royal blooded who weren't up to snuff. The thought made Chey a little nauseous. They were still people, with thoughts and dreams and hopes like anyone else.

“Do any of them know where they come from, or do they arrive so young that the house is all they know?” Sander asked.

“They come as babies, usually,” Laur said.

“Amazing,” Mattias said. There was a note of discord in his voice, as if he too was dismayed at what he thought might be going on.

“But you're educated, and I see they followed tradition by encouraging English. Do you speak any other languages?” Sander asked. His expression waned serious and sober.

“Russian, German, Estonian and Hungarian,” Laur said.

Chey almost fell out of her chair. How many was that total? Six? She supposed that's what came of being forced to live in the same place, in total seclusion. One learned many things to keep their mind occupied. She wondered if Sander and Mattias also spoke that many languages.