The Princess

by Jude Deveraux

  “Don’t touch that!”

  Her hand came away and she turned to glare up at him. He was on the rise of land above the beach. “Are you following me?”

  He had his military rifle with him and he dropped it, butt down on the ground. “You say your country has vanadium?”

  “A great deal of it.” She bent again to touch the balloon.

  “That’s a man of war,” he said quickly, “and on the bottom are tentacles that can sting. The pain often kills people.”

  “Oh,” she said, straightening and starting back down the beach. “You may leave me now.”

  He followed her. “Leave you to get yourself killed? You have a propensity for getting into trouble. I don’t want you on the beach. Those two jokers who tried to kill you before might come back.”

  “Perhaps your navy will send ships looking for me.”

  They were at the palm tree now and he sat down, leaning his rifle against the tree. “I’ve just thought about it and I figure it’s my duty to protect you—or at least to protect the vanadium you own. You’ll have to come back to the clearing.”

  The edge of the beach disappeared into water. “No thank you, Lieutenant Montgomery. I would rather sit here and watch for ships.” She sat down on the edge of the beach, her back straight, her hands in her lap.

  J.T. leaned against the palm tree. “Suits me, just don’t get out of my sight. We have three more long days here and I plan to deliver you to the U.S. government safe and sound. When you get tired of eating your pride, let me know. I got blue crabs at the camp.”

  Aria ignored him as he lay down and appeared to be dozing. The sun was hot and her stomach was growling with hunger. She imagined spring lamb and green beans with thyme. The sun flashed off the water but there was no sign of any sailing vessel.

  Before her, swimming lazily in the water, was a large fish. She remembered how the man had speared a fish and cooked it over an open fire. It was the last meal she had had, so very many hours ago. She thought maybe she could make a fire, but how did one catch a fish?

  She looked back at the man and saw he was sleeping. A foot from him rested his rifle. Rifles were something she understood since she had hunted game since she was a child.

  Quietly, so as not to wake him, she climbed up the bank and had her hand on the rifle before he grabbed her wrist.

  “What are you planning to do with that? Get rid of me?”

  “I was going to catch a fish.”

  He blinked a couple of times before he grinned. “What? Use a rifle as a fishing pole? Bullets for bait?”

  “I have never met a man more absurd than you. I am planning to shoot a fish.”

  He grinned broader. “Shoot a fish. With an M-1 rifle? Lady, you couldn’t even fire the thing, much less hit anything with it. The recoil would knock you flat.”

  “Oh?” she said, and raised the rifle, drew back the bolt to check if it were loaded, and before he could speak, she had tossed it to her shoulder, aimed, and fired. “Another bullet,” she said, stretching out her hand to him.

  Speechless, J.T. put one of the long M-1 cartridges in her hand.

  She loaded again, but this time she swung the rifle overhead, aiming at a flock of ducks. She fired and a duck fell a few feet out into the ocean. She put the rifle down and turned to look at him.

  J.T. walked past her, down the bank, and stepped into the water. He picked up a large red snapper, the tip of its head blown cleanly off. Turning, he walked a few more feet out and retrieved a duck, its head missing.

  “Princesses can do some things,” Aria said, turning on her heel and starting down the path toward camp. “You may serve them to me for luncheon.”

  He caught up with her, the rifle slung at his back. He pulled her arms up and dumped the duck and fish into them. “You eat what you kill and you clean it. You’re going to learn that I’m not your servant if I have to beat it into you.”

  She smiled at him. “Men are always angry when I outshoot them. Tell me, Lieutenant Montgomery, can you ride a horse?”

  “I can dress myself and I’m not starving. Now go to the camp and start plucking feathers. And this time you finish the job.”

  * * *

  “I hate him now,” Aria said as she pulled out a duck feather. “I hate him tomorrow.” She plucked another feather. “I hate him yesterday.”

  “You haven’t finished that yet?”

  Aria jumped. “You must announce your presence.”

  “I did.” He looked at her bare arms. “Do you realize that you’re sitting in the sun again?”

  “I will sit where I please.”

  J.T. shrugged, bent over the crabs, and began to clean them.

  “I hate him for always,” Aria said under her breath. “I think this is complete,” she said, standing; then, to her consternation, the land began to twirl about her.

  When she woke, she was lying in the hammock, Lieutenant Montgomery looming over her with a frown on his face.

  “Damned dame,” he muttered, then louder, he said as he glowered at her, “you’re too hot in that damned dress, you’re sunburned, and you’re hungry.” He turned away, muttering to himself, “I ought to get a Silver Star after this.”

  Aria did feel awful, and as she looked at her arms, she saw the pinkening flesh. In minutes he returned with a metal plate full of fish and crab. She had some difficulty trying to sit up in the hammock, so after a few more mumbled curses, Lieutenant Montgomery set the plate of food down, bent, and picked her up in his arms.

  “You cannot be allowed to do this,” she gasped, sitting rigid in his arms.

  He set her down on the wooden crate and shoved the food into her lap. “I could have brought three kids with me and they would have been less trouble than you.” When she didn’t start eating, he groaned and handed her his knife. “Aren’t the words ‘thank you’ in your vocabulary?”

  Aria ignored him but began to eat. It was difficult to remember her manners and not eat with the gusto she felt. She sat absolutely rigid, daintily picking up the knife, eating one bite, and putting the knife down. The man huddled over the fire, doing things to the spitted duck.

  Before she had finished the crab, he dumped a quarter of the roasted duck on her plate. It took her a few moments to figure out how to do it, but by using the knife and the tip of one finger to hold the meat, she managed to eat all of it.

  The man seemed surprised when he saw her empty plate but she gave him a look that dared him to say anything.

  “Now we get you out of those clothes.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You fainted, remember? Florida is too hot to wear that many clothes. I’ll unbutton you then you go into the trees and remove your underwear. Don’t look at me like that; if I wanted a woman it would be one with a little meat on her and one with a sweeter temper.” He turned her around and unfastened the back of her dress then pointed her toward the trees.

  As Aria went into the trees she kept her head high. She knew he was right, she couldn’t continue fainting, but right had nothing to do with his ordering her about.

  She removed her dress then stood and looked down at her layers of underwear. She removed her petticoat first, which she had had to roll up at the waist to keep from showing below her abruptly shortened skirt. The silk camisole came off next and that left her with a pink satin corset laced in tightly over a girdle, underpants, and hose.

  She could not reach the laces of the corset, twist and turn as she might. She put her dress back on, picked up her slip and camisole, and left the trees.

  He took one quick look at her and said, “Not enough off.”

  “I will not—”

  He turned her around, opened her dress at the back and cut away the fasteners on her corset. He pointed toward the trees.

  Aria removed the rest of her undergarments and felt heavenly. The tight, restricting girdle, which left marks on her skin, came off, and the removal of her hosiery allowed her skin to breathe. When she put her dres
s and low-heeled slippers back on, she felt absolutely decadent. The silk of the dress against her bare skin felt marvelous.

  Of course now the dress was a little snug in places. Without the heavy elastic confining her, she seemed to be larger in places—both top and bottom. She had never appeared in public without her foundation garments before. At fourteen, at the first sign of growing breasts, her mother had ordered foundation garments made for her. “A princess does not move about under her clothes” was what she had told her daughters. Except at night, in bed, Aria had worn them ever since.

  She hesitated before leaving the cover of the trees, but then she put her head up, her back straight—and her eyes widened. More of her protruded than before. Well, if she ignored this fact, she was sure that dreadful man would also.

  She was mistaken. He glanced at her as she entered the clearing, turned away, then looked back for a long, hard look. Aria ignored him. She turned toward the path to the beach.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To the beach to watch for boats.”

  “No you’re not. You’re staying here.”

  “Lieutenant Montgomery, I do not take orders from anyone lower than a king.”

  “Well, baby, I’m king here. I figure that if you have something the American government wants, then it’s my duty as a sailor to protect it. You stay here where I can see you and you don’t get out of my sight.”

  Aria just looked at him then turned toward the path again.

  He grabbed her arm. “Maybe your hearing doesn’t work too well. There aren’t just Americans out there. German submarines have been spotted in this area.”

  She jerked away from him. “My cousins are Germans. Perhaps they will take me home to my grandfather. I don’t think I care for America anymore.”

  The man stepped back from her and looked as if she were a monster. “We are at war with Germany,” he whispered.

  “Your country is at war with Germany, mine is not.” She took a few steps down the path before he caught her.

  “Look, you little traitor, you’re staying here with me whether you like it or not. And tomorrow when my friend comes, I’m delivering you to the government—to the United States government.” He took her arm and pulled her back into the clearing, then proceeded to ignore her as if there was nothing more to be discussed after his order was given.

  She sat on the ground against a tree and waited. She wasn’t going to try to explain to this man who saw only his side of a problem, but every minute she delayed was taking months off her grandfather’s life. He would know by now of her disappearance and he would be very worried. He had trained his only son, Aria’s father, to take his place as king but he had had to survive the tragedy of the young man’s death when Aria was five. From then on, his hopes had centered on his young granddaughter. Aria had been trained to be queen. She had been immersed in history and politics and economics.

  This man who now lay in his hammock reading thought he understood patriotism, but here he was enjoying himself while his country fought a war. No king or queen ever rested while his or her country was at war. The people looked to their royal family to set examples.

  Her grandfather had been able to keep his country out of this awful war that waged through most of the world and he dreaded what the Germans were going to do if he sold the vanadium to the Americans, but Lanconia so needed the money. When Lanconia declared itself neutral in this war, it had cut itself off from the imports of the outside world.

  This Montgomery had said Lanconia was mountains, goats, and grapes—and now the grapes were dying. Knowing how valuable she was, how likely a kidnap attempt was, her grandfather had still sent her to America—selling the vanadium was that important.

  Yet here she sat, a virtual prisoner of this stupid man who was much too provincial to understand, and she could not get off the island.

  She hoped the Americans would delay telling her grandfather that she was missing—but the American papers seemed to love telling everything.

  She glanced up at the man and saw that he was sleeping. As quietly as she could, she left the clearing and went down the path.

  She made it to the beach but the sun was going down and she couldn’t see very far.

  Suddenly, she heard what was distinctly the sound of a motor. She took off running as fast as her feet would move. Around the curve of the island was a motorboat just docking, three men hauling it onto the sand. She raised her hand and opened her mouth to hail them but the next minute she was flat in the sand, a weight on her that could only be the lieutenant’s body.

  “Don’t say a word,” he said in her ear. “Not one word. I don’t know who they are but they aren’t picnickers.”

  Aria was chiefly concerned with catching her breath. She lifted one hand and waved it.

  He rolled off of her but pulled her close to him so that she was still half under him.

  “You cannot be allowed—”

  He clamped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet! They’re looking this way.”

  She pried his fingers away then looked at the men. One stood by the boat and lit a cigarette while the other two, carrying a heavy crate, disappeared into the trees. When they returned, they were empty-handed.

  J.T. held Aria tightly while the men climbed into the boat and motored away.

  “You may release me now,” she said when the men were gone.

  J.T. kept holding her, his one hand creeping down toward her hip. “What kind of underwear did you have on? It sure made a difference.”

  Her mother’s training had not included this situation. She reacted out of a primitive female instinct: she elbowed him in the ribs then rolled away and stood.

  The man lay there rubbing his ribs. “I’ve been here too long if you’re starting to look good. Go back to the camp.”

  “What did the men leave in the box?”

  He rolled up on his feet. “Well, well, the princess is curious. I should have let you tell them you’ll not allow them to litter your island.”

  “This is an American island,” she said, confused.

  “Come on,” he said, groaning. “Does anyone in your country have a sense of humor?” He started down the beach and she followed.

  “Only when they are not being held prisoner. Keep your hands off of me.”

  “Someone should have put his hands on you long ago. How old are you?”

  “I don’t think—” she began, then sighed. “Twenty-four.”

  “That’s an old maid in wartime America. What’s this prince you’re going to marry like?”

  “He’s a count and he’s related to the English and Norwegian thrones.”

  “Ah, I see, you’ll breed pure-blood brats. Is he related to you?”

  She hated his tone. “Just barely. We are fourth cousins.”

  “No blithering idiots out of that. Who picked him out?”

  “Lieutenant Montgomery, I very much resent these personal questions.”

  “Maybe I’m just trying to find out about your country, your customs and such. Aren’t you curious about Americans?”

  “I have studied your customs. Your Pilgrims arrived in the seventeenth century, all the Texans were killed at the Alamo, your government is based on a constitution, your—”

  “No, I mean about us.”

  She was quiet a moment. “I find Americans to be a very strange sort of people. So far, this has not been the most pleasant of trips.”

  He gave a laugh at that and stopped where the boat had landed. “Stay here—and I mean that. Stay here.” He disappeared into the trees, returning a moment later.

  “Stolen navy property. There’s a big stash of it. I’m sure they’re black-marketing it.”

  “Black market?”

  He grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here. They could make a couple of more trips tonight. When I get back, the navy will hear of this.”

  Aria pulled out of his grasp and walked ahead of him down the beach.

  “Only
kings walk with you, is that right? Tell me, does Count Julius walk beside you?”

  She stopped, turned, and glared at him in the moonlight. “He is Count Julian, and in public, no, he does not walk beside me.”

  She turned and started walking away.

  “What about when he’s your husband and king?”

  “He’ll not be king unless I decree it, which I will not do. I will be queen and he will be made a prince consort.”

  “If he’s not going to be king, then why’s he marrying you?”

  Aria clenched her fists inside her skirts. This man had a way of making her forget that she was not to show emotion. “Lanconia,” she answered simply. “And he loves me.”

  “After four meetings?”

  “Three,” she corrected. “That will be all the questions I will answer. I’m sure there must be some books on Lanconia in your libraries. What are you serving for dinner?”

  “We are preparing seviche. Ever cut up onions, Princess? You’re going to love the job.”

  Chapter Four

  ARIA sniffed her hands and they did indeed smell as bad as she remembered. No amount of washing would rid them of the awful smell of those onions. She turned back to the campsite and saw Lieutenant Montgomery settled in his hammock for the night. There was no bed for her.

  “Where am I going to sleep?”

  He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Wherever you want, Princess. Ours is a free country.”

  It was beginning to turn cool and she rubbed her arms. “I would like to sleep in the hammock.”

  Eyes still closed, he stretched out his arm. “Be my guest, baby. I’m willing.”

  Aria gave a sigh. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’d leave that and let me have it.”

  “Much too much. I came prepared for one camper—one bed, one blanket. You can share what I have, though, and be assured that I won’t do anything except sleep.”

  Aria sat on the ground against a tree, feeling the night grow cooler. A breeze came up and chills broke out on her arms. She looked at him, warm and sleepy in the hammock. She leaned back and closed her eyes but her chattering teeth kept her from relaxing. She stood and walked about the camp.