The Princess

by Jude Deveraux

  Her dressers drew her hair back into a perfectly neat and tight chignon. They snapped the steel fasteners of the long Merry Widow and dressed her in a somber black suit with a big diamond brooch on the left shoulder. For a moment, Aria considered exchanging the brooch for the gaudy enameled parrot she had bought in Key West on a shopping spree with Dolly, but she didn’t have enough courage to carry out her idea.

  Outside her room, J.T. was not waiting for her and he wasn’t in the dining room. She was beginning to learn to ask a guardsmen if she wanted to know anything. J.T. had left the palace before six A.M. and had given no hint as to when he would return.

  She waited until the last minute but she had to reach the Blessing Festival on time. She tried not to let her face fall when she saw Count Julian standing by the car door. His expression was stern.

  “I thought perhaps you were going to discard your obligations again today,” he said in reproach.

  She didn’t answer him because she felt too guilty about yesterday. She had had a good time yesterday. But princesses weren’t supposed to have fun. They were to fulfill obligations, not play with the peasants’ babies and exchange gossip about American movie stars.

  “Aria, people are beginning to talk,” Julian began once they were in the long black car. A Royal Guardsman sat beside the chauffeur behind the glass partition, and a carful of guardsmen followed them. “The king is too ill to take the firm hand with you that he should so I am left with the duty. You are behaving like a…a woman of the streets with that crude, vulgar American. You spent every waking moment with him yesterday and it is all anyone could speak of this morning. If you care nothing for your own family, think of what the servants say. They do not want a princess who is one of them—they want a princess. I hear you even dared to invade the Royal Guard’s training ground. Have you no respect for the privacy of those men?”

  Aria sat in the seat, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, feeling more awful with his every word. Then, to her utter astonishment, the guardsman in the front seat turned and winked at her! She came very close to giggling. What especially surprised her was that he had obviously heard every word Julian had said—and she had always believed the partition to be soundproof.

  Julian kept fussing and Aria kept listening, but she wasn’t worried any longer. Maybe her family was ashamed of her, but it didn’t look as if her people were.

  Meeting the people today was very different from yesterday. The people were in their Sunday best and were using their best formal manners. They smiled at her, but no one laughed and they just asked her questions. It was really quite tedious for her.

  The people seemed pleased to see Count Julian and repeatedly asked when the wedding was going to be. “But I’m already married,” she wanted to tell them.

  It was one o’clock before they were on their way back to the car and over the heads of the people Aria could smell food. There was a break in the crowd, and some distance away, at the side of a tiny house, a woman was ladling something into a piece of bread and handing it to a little boy. Aria knew what it was; she’d had one as a child. A piece of thick Lanconian bread, still warm from the oven, with a thick, chewy crust, was split and inside was ladled a generous scoop of spicy chicken stew made with grapes. Fresh goat cheese was sprinkled on top.

  Aria wasn’t even aware of what she was doing, but she turned away from where Julian waited by the open car door, started saying, “Excuse me,” and made her way through the crowd to the woman’s house. “May I have one?” she asked the astonished woman.

  The old woman just stood there and stared.

  “Gramma!” the little boy said loudly, bringing the woman to her senses. She spooned stew into the bread, sprinkled it with cheese, and held it out to Aria.

  “Thank you very much,” Aria said, biting into it. She suddenly became aware of the silent crowd behind her. She turned, a bit of sauce on her upper lip. “It’s delicious,” she said, and the crowd cheered.

  A guardsman handed her a clean handkerchief to use as a napkin and she saw that there were four guardsmen near her. They had followed her as she went through the crowd.

  “Princess,” she heard, and looked down to see the little boy holding out a rough stoneware mug to her. “It’s buttermilk.”

  Aria smiled and took the mug. “Thank you,” she said.

  The little boy grinned. “You’re not like a real princess at all.”

  “Thank you again,” she said, making the crowd laugh. The guardsmen parted the crowd as she made her way back to the car.

  Julian was fuming. He lectured her all the way back to the palace as she greedily ate her sandwich and drank her buttermilk. He wanted to throw the mug out the window but she wouldn’t let him.

  When they arrived at the palace, the guardsman who had sat in the front seat opened the door for her and she handed him the mug. “I would like to thank that woman for her food. Would you please find out what she needs?”

  “I saw an empty chicken coop,” the guardsman said softly.

  “Fill it,” Aria said before Julian gave her a sharp look. “Do you know where Lieutenant Montgomery is?” she whispered.

  “With the guards, Your Highness.”

  Aria turned her head so Julian wouldn’t see her talking. “Would you please see that my horse is ready in twenty minutes?”

  The guardsman merely nodded as they rounded the car and she was within earshot of Count Julian.

  * * *

  Aria had some difficulty escaping Julian and she saw a few other members of her family looking askance at her as she ran across the courtyard and made her way to the stables. Her horse was saddled and waiting for her and four Royal Guardsmen were ready to ride with her.

  It was a matter of minutes before she reached the guardsmen’s training field then halted her horse to watch the men. J.T. was with the guardsmen, wearing the white loincloth and battling with a stick against a guardsman. J.T. was as tall as the guardsmen but paler skinned and not as heavy. He wasn’t very good with the stick either and the guardsman he was sparring with seemed to be toying with him.

  “He will learn,” said the guard beside Aria. “In another year or so he will be the best fighter in Lanconia.”

  Aria smiled at that, but then she remembered that in a year J.T. would probably be back in America and she would be married to Julian.

  At that moment J.T. glanced at her, she waved, and the next moment J.T. was sent sprawling on the ground.

  “Keep your mind on what you are doing,” the guardsman standing over J.T. yelled.

  Aria went running to J.T. “Are you hurt?” she asked as she knelt beside him. She glared up at the guardsman. “I’ll have your head if you’ve hurt him.”

  J.T. smiled at her as he rubbed his bruised shoulder. “I may die of embarrassment but nothing else. Tell Rax you didn’t mean what you said.”

  Aria was aware that many of the guardsmen were now watching them with curiosity. She genuinely wished she had not made such a fool of herself, but before she could say a word, Gena came running across the field. She was wearing practically nothing: a short-skirted, one-shoulder dress, a heavy gold bracelet on her right upper arm.

  “J.T. darling,” Gena said, falling to her knees by his side. “Are you all right? Have you been injured?”

  Aria didn’t speak but slowly rose with great dignity and walked away. She reached her horse before J.T. caught up with her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the trees. Aria squirmed to get away from him.

  “Come on, baby, don’t be mad,” he coaxed, running his hands up her arms.

  His bare skin was hot and sweaty and her face was inches from his chest.

  “I had to do something with her. She was following me everywhere, so I gave her to the women to train. It’s keeping her out of trouble.”

  “And you enjoy her. No doubt the sight of her in that little skirt—” She broke off as he kissed her.

  She was breathless when he finished and she clung to him, her cheek a
gainst his damp chest.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he said after a long while. “This kind of thing will make our parting harder. Tell me what you did this morning.”

  “Gena is so pretty,” Aria said, holding on to him.

  He pushed her away just enough to look at her. “Not as pretty as you. Not as smart as you. Not as much woman as you.”

  “Really?” she asked, beginning to smile.

  “Really.” He kissed her again, but lightly. “Now tell me what you did. Did the guard protect you? Were you safe? Come back to the field with me and I’ll give you some beer and we can talk.”

  Aria ended by spending the afternoon at the guards’ training ground. For the first time she met the guardswomen and she saw Gena trying to learn to wrestle. The men were watching the event as if it were very serious, but Aria saw the light in their eyes. She was sorry she had been jealous of her little sister when she saw the way Gena looked up at her with such adoration in her eyes.

  Aria leaned toward J.T. “This Frank who is to come, what is he like?” she asked.

  J.T. looked at Gena and began to smile. “He may be exactly right for her, although I don’t think he’ll want to stay here. He won’t fit any more than I do.”

  Aria felt like laughing because if anyone fit it was Jarl. He was dressed in a white robe, his big legs bare, sitting on one of the wooden chairs, drinking beer. He could have been one of the guardsmen. The captain of the guard caught her eye and smiled as if he knew what she was thinking.

  Five minutes later all hell broke loose because Julian arrived in a long black limousine. He was horrified by Aria’s common behavior and told her she was late for tea with the Ladies’ Historical Guild.

  Aria left with him, surrounded by guardsmen, before he saw Gena in her skimpy dress.

  For four days Aria tried to behave herself. She rode with Julian and six guardsmen in the morning, then answered requests from people until midmorning, and at ten she left the palace to attend one function after another. She did not see Jarl. He did not come to dinner nor did he attend one evening’s festivities when the Lanconian Opera Company performed. The soprano was not very good and the tenor kept stepping in front of her so the audience could not see her—which made the soprano angry and her singing worse. Aria was afraid she might nod off.

  On the fifth morning, she was having breakfast when J.T. strode into the room. He looked tired. “Frank’s plane is about to land. You coming?”

  Aria gulped a cup of tea and left with him to the astonishment of her relatives at the table. He didn’t speak until they were in the backseat of the car and on their way to the airport. He turned to her and his eyes seemed to eat her.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, then took her hand in his and held it tightly. They were silent for a moment, then both began to speak at once.

  J.T. told her how he had been working eighteen-hour days, traveling all over Lanconia, trying to educate the farmers about selling their grapes as raisins. He had twice been in radio contact with President Roosevelt and it looked like America was going to buy raisins. “But not very many,” J.T. said. “America has California with millions of raisins.” He sighed. “There has to be something else we can do to help this country stand on its own feet.”

  “We,” Aria whispered. “We.”

  The two American airplanes were just landing when they arrived at the airport. Out of the first plane came several older American men then a hundred soldiers. These were the men to mine the vanadium.

  Off the second plane came a six-foot-tall man who could have been twenty or forty-five. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a big, thick body that looked like it could carry a great deal more weight than it did and a handsome face set in a scowl.

  “There’s Frank,” J.T. said, taking her hand and pulling her behind him.

  “He is seventeen years old? Why is he angry?”

  “He was born angry but don’t let him scare you. He’s a good kid.”

  Aria stood back while J.T. and Frank shook hands.

  “This is Her Royal Highness, Princess Aria,” J.T. said.

  “Pleased,” the boy said, holding out his hand to shake hers, and Aria accepted it. He seemed to dismiss her as he looked back at J.T. “When do we get to work? I brought crates of tools and I’m ready as soon as they unload them.”

  Aria looked back at the plane in time to see three children being helped down the stairs. She touched J.T.’s arm. “Who are they?”

  J.T. looked at one of the pilots near him. “Who are the kids?”

  “Orphans. Their relatives were killed in France and a couple of guys smuggled them on board. We’re stuck with them until we get home where we hope we can get somebody to take them.”

  Aria had no idea she was speaking; the words might have been someone else’s. “I’ll take them,” she said.

  “But Your Highness…” Lady Werta had followed Aria and J.T. as soon as possible to the airport and now she was giving warning looks to Aria.

  Aria looked at the pilot, her chin up, her voice clear and loud. “I will take these children and Lanconia will take all the orphaned children you can find.”

  The pilot smiled indulgently. “Lady, there’s a war going on and there are thousands of orphans out there. This place doesn’t look like it could feed them.”

  At that J.T. stepped forward. “If Her Royal Highness says she wants children, then she’s gonna get them. We’ll take any children of any country and don’t worry about food, we’ll feed them.”

  The pilot obviously didn’t like J.T.’s attitude. “Okay, buddy, you’re on. If it’s kids you want, it’s kids you’ll get.”

  Feeling very pleased with herself and with her husband, Aria went to the frightened French children and began to talk to them. Lady Werta didn’t want her to touch the dirty children but Aria waved her away.

  In the car on the way back to the palace, Aria held the two-year-old on her lap, while the three-and four-year-olds sat on either side of her. J.T. and Frank talked about making pulleys for getting the grapes off the hills.

  At the palace, Gena came running to greet them, as usual, a little late and more than a little flushed after her run down the stairs. Her cheeks were pink, a curl had escaped her careful coiffure—and she looked divine.

  Aria turned to greet her sister but then Gena’s eyes widened and she came to an abrupt halt. A second later she moved past Aria as if in a dream and stopped in front of Frank Taggert and just stood there staring. Frank’s angry look left his face as he gaped at Gena, his lower jaw slightly dropped.

  “I think they want an introduction,” J.T. said, smiling. He lifted a hand of each teenager and put them together. “Gena, Frank. Frank, Gena. Now, Gena, take Frank outside to play.”

  As if sleepwalking, the two teenagers started down the hall.

  “I’m not sure…” Aria began. “I mean, Gena is…And Frank is…”

  “Young. Both of them are young. Come on, let’s get something to eat. I bet these kids are starving.”

  With one more glance at the backs of Gena and Frank, Aria followed J.T. toward the dining room.

  That night Aria bathed the children and had beds put in her bedroom. The next morning four couples begged to see her, said they had heard of the children, and asked to be allowed to raise them as their own.

  Aria didn’t want to part with the children, but she turned them over to the couple that spoke French.

  Forty-eight hours later an American plane landed and it was filled with one hundred and seventeen children, mostly French but some Italian. They arrived just as the entire royal family was assembled to watch a ceremonial parade celebrating the defeat of the northern tribes in 1084 A.D.

  The Royal Guard brought the children to the capital city on horseback, in jeeps, on motorcycles, and in goat carts. The parade came to a halt. J.T. began thrusting children into the arms of the royal family.

  After some initial protests from the family members, the dirty, tired, scared child
ren were taken back to the palace, where tub after tub was filled with hot water and the scrubbing began.

  Freddie, Nickie, and Toby found they had a new audience for their stories of their bravery against ferocious fawns and demented doves. Lady Barbara chose three pretty little Italian girls and washed them herself. Great-Aunt Sophie bellowed orders to two big boys who had fought all the way on the plane and they obeyed her meekly. Aunt Bradley chose two handsome boys of about fourteen.

  Aria and J.T. parceled out the other children to various retainers until everyone was scrubbing behind ears.

  “That’s it,” J.T. said. He and Aria had personally bathed fourteen kids and sent them off with the ladies-in-waiting to be fed and dressed in whatever could be found for them.

  They were sitting on the damp marble floor of her bathroom, alone in the suite.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “I was remembering the woman on the island who demanded everything. You wouldn’t even let a commoner sit with you and now you wash these very common children.”

  “Lanconia needs children. Whatever I have done, I have done for my country.”

  “Have you?” His eyes were beginning to grow hot. “Has everything been for your country?”

  He was on her in seconds and their hands tore at each other’s wet, soapy clothes, their hunger making them urgent.

  “Baby, oh baby, I’ve missed you,” J.T. kept saying as his hands grabbed her breasts.

  They made love on the cold marble floor, then J.T. lifted her and set her on the side of the tub and attacked her with a renewed, driving force until she fell backward into the dirty water. He didn’t even pause but grabbed the plug chain and kept up his long, deep strokes as the water drained.

  They finished together, wrapped inside the marble of the sunken tub.

  J.T. was the first to move. Quite suddenly, he looked at her as if she were something horrible and got out of the tub. “I have to go. I have to get out of here,” he mumbled as he began pulling on his uniform. He had to get out, had to get away from her as quickly as possible. He murmured good-bye to her then fled the room as if a thousand demons were on his heels.