Royal Elite: Leander (3 page)

“But Leander. There are a
lot
of people I have to invite. All the girls at the castle, the friends I've made between here and the mainland and people from home.” Home, Seattle Washington, was a long way from the shores of Latvala.

Leander groaned and rubbed his eyelids with two fingertips. In a quiet voice, he said, “I really wanted something much smaller.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. This was the bare minimum though.”

“What would you say to getting married on the shoreline tomorrow? At sunset?” He uncovered his eyes and glanced her way.

Wynn sucked in a breath. “What?”

“Marry me. Tomorrow at sunset.”

“It sounds like you're inviting me to the O.K. Corral for a duel.”

He laughed.

Wynn smiled to hear the raspy, low sound that never failed to shoot heat through every part of her body. Addicting and sexy, Leander's laugh was one of Wynn's favorite things about him.

“I see that you didn't say no, though,” he said.

“I really want to get married at the chapel on the mainland. You should see it! Stained glass windows, tall beamed ceiling, and
stone
pews. It sits right in the middle of a giant meadow, the only structure in sight for miles. Really something.”

“It's one of those old places, right? That looks like a strong wind might blow it down?”

Laughing, Wynn said, “No. It's solid stone. Nothing short of a ten-point earthquake or an asteroid the size of a mini-van will bring those walls down.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you exaggerate a lot?” A thread of amusement colored the words.

“It's the truth and you know it. I really like the place. We're going to put up just a few decorations--”

“Besides floral arrangements? Like bows on the ends of the pews, candles in tall holders and streamers on the walls?”

“Streamers are for children. I'm using netting and tiny white lights.”

He groaned. Loudly.

“It'll be painless, you'll see,” Wynn whispered.

“About as painless as a nail in the eye.”

Laughing, Wynn said, “That's my man. Ever the optimist.”

“Marry me. Tomorrow. Sunset.”

Wynn hesitated, then whispered, “We'll see.”

The 'cottage' was the most misnamed structure on all of Pallan Island, Leander decided. It wasn't so much a cottage as a mini-castle. There was even a little turret that Wynn had loved from moment one. For the better part of the first year they'd dated, Wynn lived in the big castle, Kallaster, that housed the king and queen. Being close to her best friend after moving from the United States to the Baltic Kingdom was high on Wynn's list of priorities back then. After his proposal, they asked Sander and Chey if they could move into the abandoned cottage with its spectacular view of the shore and ocean. They'd been here ever since. Leander enjoyed the break from the chaos of Kallaster, enjoyed the peace of the shore front and the water beyond. It suited both him and Wynn to be close to Kallaster—within walking and viewing distance—in case of emergencies. Above and beyond all that, he thought it was a sin to allow such a charming house (such as it was) sit empty and unloved.

Standing in the kitchen, hip against the counter, cup of coffee in hand, he considered the view while thinking about whether or not Wynn would take him up on his offer. A simple wedding on the sand would suit him fine. The last thing he wanted was to stand up in front of eighty people to get married.

Running a hand through his hair, he brought up the mug for another swallow. He didn't want to deny Wynn the wedding of her dreams, either, which put him in a unique and slightly uncomfortable place.

“You look thoughtful.”

His attention veered from the view out the window to the rumpled woman he now called fiance, and in less than a week, would finally call wife. Her hair resembled a rats nest of curls, a different take than the usual sleek bob he was used to. He liked it like this. It made her oval shaped face softer, her big dark eyes more prominent and alluring.

“Contemplating the day,” he said, and took another drink of coffee. The way her eyes traveled his half naked body, landing on the cockeyed band of his pajama pants, made him want to drag her right back to bed.

“Contemplating whether I'm going to marry you this evening or not, you mean.”

That was Wynn. Typically blunt and forward. His lips ticked with mirth. “All the things I need to do around here before that.”

Striding up to him, Wynn wrapped one arm around his waist, tucked herself against his chest, and stole his mug for a sip. The plain baby blue tee shirt she wore kept a layer between their skin. He plucked at the waistband of her plaid pajama pants, tucking just the first inch of his fingertips into the elastic.

“If you throw away everything on the kitchen table, I'll beat you senseless,” Wynn said, as if she'd read his mind.

Leander cut her a grin and re-stole his mug. “Thief.”

“Scrooge.”

He kissed her on the mouth. “Tastes minty.”

“Wish I could say the same for you. Use mouthwash now and then, it helps.”

Leander pinched her backside, earning a swat to his chest for the effort. “I brush every morning, thoroughly mind you, unlike
some
people who think ten seconds is too long to clean their teeth.”

Wynn flashed her teeth at him, perfectly straight and prettily shaped. She took excellent care of her dental hygiene but it wouldn't be a typical morning in the Morgan-Hudson household unless he was heckling her.

“Looks good. All except the piece of pube hair left over from earlier this morning,” he retorted with a downright indecent grin.

“
Leander!
” Wynn blushed and laughed and peeled away from his body. Leaning over the sink, she turned the water on and cupped her palm beneath. Scooping water into her mouth, she rinsed and rinsed and rinsed.

He laughed and finished off his coffee. Giving her backside a firm swat, Leander caught her hips and dragged her away from the sink. Once she shut the water off, he hauled her into his arms and stole her away to the stairs, which he trotted up with no trouble.

“Did you decide, yet?” he asked as he walked into the master bedroom. Large and airy, the suite boasted a high, domed ceiling decorated with a hand-painted mural in the tradition of Michaelangelo. It was old, done by the hand of a talented artist sometime in the eighteen hundreds, and the highlight of the cottage's many charms. With a sitting area, rows of windows, french doors leading to a quaint balcony and a master bathroom half as large as the bedroom, there was nothing more to want for a place to live.

Leander, although he enjoyed the age and uniqueness of the cottage, preferred it's security features over all else. The secret doors, basement passages and high walls made for excellent protection. Unless one knew where to look, it wasn't an easy place to break into.

“I'll decide if you come with Chey and Sander and me to see the chapel on the mainland.”

Leander bit back a groan. He set her down near the shower and began methodically stripping off their clothes. Twisting the lever for the water, he stepped in before heat infused the spray and hissed as a rush of icy needles broke against his skin. The age old habit invigorated him for the rest of the day, usually, and helped clear any lingering cobwebs from his mind.

“Do I have to?” he asked, tipping his head under the spray. The water shifted from icy to lukewarm.

Wynn dipped her hand under the deluge to test the temperature. Never, ever, ever had she been cajoled into trying his method of waking up. Leander snatched her wrist and gave a gentle tug, pulling her into the stream with him. The tiled shower was roomy enough to fit five people comfortably.

“Leander! I hate cold water!” Wynn danced out of range, hugging her arms over her chest.

“It's not cold. It's tepid and getting warmer by the second now.” He splashed her and laughed when she assaulted him with pinches.

“And yes. You have to go. I'm putting my foot down.” Wynn kissed his mouth, then turned to the built in shelf and sorted through no less than eight bottles of shampoo and conditioner for the one she wanted to use today.

“All right, all right. I guess you better get on the horn and arrange it. It's already after nine.” A late, late start to the day as far as Leander was concerned. Normally up before the sun, he was a man used to getting a full day's work in before most people's alarm went off.

“Thank you, Leander. It means a lot. Then we'll know if we're getting married later today.” Wynn winked over her shoulder.

He slapped her flank, playful and light, and reached for the lone bottle of shampoo-slash-conditioner he always used.

No muss, no fuss. Just the way he liked it.

. . .

Dressed in jeans and a loose button down that concealed his knife sheath, Leander wandered into the kitchen for the second time. He ate a banana, a piece of toast and several bites of cantaloupe Wynn left on a plate.

“Did you call?” Leander asked.

Wynn popped a strawberry past her teeth and turned around, coffee mug in hand. “Not yet.”

He gave her a mock exasperated look.

“Well!” Her cheek bulged with the fruit that she spoke around. “I had to get us something to eat.”

“I appreciate you setting me something out, but I'm capable of grabbing breakfast on my own, you know.”

After wiping her hands on a napkin, Wynn slid her feet into two inch platform shoes, adjusted the leggings beneath her modest plaid pencil skirt, then brushed her fingers up the buttons of her collared shirt, checking to make sure she was in order. The curls had been washed out with the shower and the sleek, shiny bob was back.

“I know, I know. I'll call her right now.” Wynn spun away to the table—which was suspiciously clear of wedding paraphernalia now—and picked up her phone.

Before she could even turn the thing on, a knock came at the front door.

Leander frowned and pushed off the counter. “Who is that?”

“I don't know.” Wynn paused with her finger over the screen and followed Leander into the hall.

Wary and alert due to the fact that Mattias, Sander or any of his other friends always came in the back, Leander swung the door open. Mattias, dark haired and dark eyed like Wynn, stood there with his hands in his pants pockets. Right away, Leander noticed two things: Mattias wasn't dressed in a fine, expensive suit with his hair groomed and face shaved clean of whiskers but all black clothing of the sort they always wore on missions for the Royal Elite. Mattias also held his gaze in that way the men in the group did when they had something serious to communicate. Often, just a look and a lot of silence spoke better than words ever could.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Mattias said without preamble. He did pause to break eye contact with Leander and cordially smile at Wynn. “Good morning. My apologies for the intrusion.”

Wynn, standing at Leander's flank, returned the prince's smile. “Morning, Mattias. It's no trouble at all.”

“I'll be right back.” Leander twisted to brush a kiss on Wynn's cheek, then stepped onto the porch, pulling the door almost shut. A three inch gap remained. Outside with Mattias, Leander squinted at the glare of the sun while his eyes adjusted to the lighting change. He knew something big was coming, a mission of all things, because Mattias wouldn't be here at this hour, with no warning, wearing those clothes.

“We have a situation. Kristo has been...detained.”

Leander contained his surprise. “By who?”

“We don't know. All we know right now is that Kristo was en route home and someone, a group of someones, intervened. They're holding him for two million dollars ransom.”

Leander whistled long and low. Kristo, heir to the throne of Weithan Isle, was a man Leander had never met personally. He'd seen the prince many a time at social gatherings, but hadn't ever engaged him in one on one conversation. “They're not messing around. Is Kristo's father going to pay it?”

“Apparently, the King has told those in his inner circle that he doesn't have the money.” Mattias's closed expression gave nothing away.

“I'm not sure I believe that. Or, at least, that he can't get his hands on the money. Sell off a few valuables or some of the gold we all know he's probably got locked away in his dungeons. Hell, why doesn't he offer to just trade the gold for Kristo for that matter?”

“I haven't spoken to the king, so I don't personally know what's going on with his financial troubles. I just know that Kristo is being held against his will, and we should probably step in.”

“How long do you think the extraction will take? Do you know where he is?” Leander calculated travel times and the probabilities of whether he'd make it back for his wedding—or not. Wynn would kill him.

“I wish I could say for sure. It depends how long it takes us to get going, and whether we have any trouble when we get there. Maybe two days, possibly three. And yes, we know the general vicinity of where they're holding him. We intercepted one of the calls and traced it back an hour ago,” Mattias said. Then, he added, “I know it's pushing close to the wedding. We'll be back in time.”

“All right.” Leander wouldn't turn it down. None of the members of the Royal Elite, a group of men involved in a secretive sect that stepped in when this kind of thing happened to one of their own, would turn their back on someone in need. They helped each other out of big and small scrapes alike. This particular scenario could go either way.

“Excellent. The plane is fueled and ready to go. The faster you can gather your stash of clothes and weapons, the better. Meet us at the helipad for transfer in fifteen minutes.”

“Us?” Leander arched a brow.

“Sander is coming.”

“...is that wise?”

“He knows Kristo better than anyone else in our group, and his presence might come in handy, depending on what we find.” Mattias's expression never changed. If he was wary to have the king of Latvala engage in a mission as complicated as this could become, he didn't show it.

“If something happens to Sander, and something happens to
you,
that leaves the Kingdom of Latvala in Gunnar's hands.” Gunner, the youngest of the Ahtissari brothers, wasn't prepared to take the throne. Leander didn't need to be told that the Kingdom might suffer if someone as inexperienced as Gunnar had to take over before he was through training and being groomed for that kind of scenario.