The Prince and I

by Karen Hawkins

  “Here now!” Loudan raised his voice. “You have until the count of ten, and then my men will knock down this door!”

  “Fine, then.” Ian cracked his knuckles. “In fer a penny, in fer a pound. Lass, take the grand duchess and get behind the bed.”

  “One!” Loudan yelled.

  “Pah! Do we look like dishrags to you?” The grand duchess lifted her cane. “Get out of our way and let us have at them!”

  “Two!”

  “If things go well, no one will have to do much of anything.” Max turned to Will. “Since they will not hide as they’ve been asked, watch over Lady Murian and my grandmother.”

  Will moved between them and the door.

  “Three!”

  “Orlov, you and Ian help move the table. Golovin, you know what to do.”

  “Four!”

  “Da, General.” Golovin sheathed his sword and went to the fireplace, where he hefted the fire iron judiciously.

  “Five!”

  Golovin returned to his position flat against the wall to one side of the door, the tire iron held like a cricket bat.

  “Six!”

  With the table safely out of the way, Orlov and Max stood in front of the door. Max said, “Ian, when we give you the signal, open the door wide, but do not let it go.”

  “Seven!”

  Max said, “Once we have the earl, you must close it quickly.”

  As Ian went to the door, Orlov warned, “You’ll have to put your shoulder into it. They’ll all be pushing, trying to get in.”

  “Eight!”

  Max said, “Ready? Now!”

  “Ni—”

  Ian yanked the door open.

  The earl stood slightly back from the door, two of his guards before him, their weapons drawn.

  They took a step forward.

  Golovin swung the tire iron directly across the doorway, hitting the two guards across their faces, the taller one taking the hit to his nose, the shorter one to his forehead.

  They fell to the floor like logs, their weapons clanging with them.

  Before the earl could move or new guards push in front of him, Max grabbed the earl by the neckcloth and yanked him inside. “Shut the door!”

  Ian pushed it shut as the guards rushed toward them, leaping over their fallen comrades. One guard managed to get his arm inside the door, but Golovin smacked it with the fire iron and, with a cry, it was withdrawn.

  With his shoulder to the panel, Ian lowered his head and shoved the door closed.

  Golovin latched it as Max threw the earl into a chair.

  Loudan clutched at his neck, struggling for breath, glaring all the while.

  Someone banged on the door. “Open this now or we will shoot through it!”

  “And kill the earl, who is directly in the line of fire?” Tata Natasha yelled back. “If you kill him, he will not be able to pay you for a long time. Perhaps ever.”

  A muttering arose.

  “Leave the hallway and go downstairs to await instructions,” she ordered, as if she were the general and not Max. “You will not force the door open, nor plan any tricks, or we will be forced to kill the earl, cut out his heart, and eat it.”

  Still panting, Loudan’s eyes widened, while outside the door, a horrified silence reigned.

  Max sighed. “Tata Natasha, must you do that? People already think you a witch.”

  She shrugged. “It amuses me.” She tapped her cane on the floor near Loudan’s feet. “You. Do something useful. Tell them to go.”

  Loudan looked at the tiara on her head and a sneer curled his lips. “I will tell them nothing, you Gypsy dirt—”

  Tata’s cane smacked his knee.

  “OWWWWW!”

  She smacked it again, getting one of his knuckles with it.

  “Stop! Please stop!”

  The guards outside the door grew deathly silent as Loudan whimpered loudly, cupping his knee with one hand, while he tucked the other under his arm and rocked back and forth.

  Tata said loudly to the guards outside the door, “Are you still there? You’ve been told to leave.”

  They heard the clanking of arms as the guards moved away.

  After a moment, Demidor’s voice sounded outside the door. “General, Raeff and I are here. We will guard the door and make sure no one comes.”

  “Very good. And Pahlen?”

  “He escorted the courier, but should return at any moment.”

  “Very good.” Max turned back to Loudan, who was now slumped in his chair. “Well. Here we are.”

  The earl scowled. “How dare you enter my home!”

  “ ’Tis our home, not yours,” Murian said icily. “We found the journal, and we know what you did. You’ll be hanged as a traitor, and Rowallen will be returned to those who love her.”

  Loudan paled. “Where was it? I looked everywhere for that blasted thing?”

  “Does it matter?” Murian asked. She held up the journal. “We have this, and some of the letters you wrote.”

  Loudan’s lips thinned. “You cannot prove those letters are mine. I have many friends in Edinburgh. Your case will be dismissed before you even arrive.”

  “We’ll see aboot that. I’ll also tell Spencer what you’ve done. He will see to it that you pay for your errors.”

  Loudan smirked. “Mayhap you should write to him, as you’ve been trying to do this last year and some.”

  “I know you’ve intercepted those letters. I dinna know how, but when Spencer returns, he will listen to me.”

  “If my brother returns from war.” The thought seemed to reassure the earl, for he managed an ugly, cold smile. “Which I doubt will happen.”

  Murian’s heart tightened. “You wouldna harm your own brother.”

  “My half-brother,” Loudan corrected her. “And he’s done much to harm me. When our father was on his deathbed, he told Spencer I was to have half the estates and fortune.”

  “Aye—when he died. Spencer told me as much when I lived with him.”

  Loudan’s face reddened. “Why the hell should I have to wait for that? And then my bloodthirsty brother became embued with patrotic fervor. It is not cheap to provide for an entire army, so to fund himself and his troops, he began to sell estates. He sold every bloody one and left me with nothing.”

  “They weren’t yours, but his,” Murian said. “He loves his country.”

  Loudan laughed. “He loves his cause. His glory. His bloody title, and bloody medals, and bloody awards. People think him a demigod, and he drinks it in as if it were his due! They say the crown will reinstate his lost estates and fortune. And it might happen; he always knew how to come out on top. You think him a hero, but I know him for the petty tyrant he is.”

  “You said he would not come back,” Max said. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Murian caught Loudan’s smirk and a sick weight sank in her stomach. “What have you done?”

  Loudan shrugged. “My brother is not as smart as he thinks. I’ve had people near him this whole time—my people. People who will do as I wish, as I say. And I have told them it would be best if he didn’t return from war.”

  A noise sounded outside: the trample of horses, the creek of a coach.

  Tata Natasha went to the window. “It is a carriage, surrounded by guards. Many, many guards, all in uniform.” She looked at Max. “Did you do this?”

  Murian saw a smile flicker over Max’s face, and for some reason, her fears fled. “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Natasha said, as cries arose outside, followed by the clang of swords. “But the guards have no qualms taking on the earl’s men. There is a fight and—” She scowled. “It is already over. Loudan’s men are putting down their weapons. I suppose I cannot blame them. They are outnumbered.” She squinted at the coach. “What an interesting crest. A golden lion eating a baby. That is quite formidable—”

  Murian was on her feet, racing for the door. “ ’Tis Sp
encer! He’s returned!”

  Chapter 24

  Murian stood on the back terrace of Rowallen, the wind swirling her cape as she watched the sun setting over the lawn.

  The door behind her opened and she knew by her shiver who it was.

  Max came to stand behind her, close enough that if she leaned back only a little, she would touch him. So much had happened over the last few hours. Too much to comprehend. Spencer had indeed returned, bringing his soldiers and taking back Rowallen.

  Max’s arms slipped about her, his chin resting against her temple. Warm, and strong, he offered not a word but stood silently, waiting.

  Breaking the silence, she said, “Rowallen is finally free from Loudan’s grasp.”

  “Da. It is about time.”

  “And now it is Will’s, or it will be once the marriage license is authenticated. It is sad the old laird felt he had to hide his marriage to his housekeeper. I think his people would have been forgiving.”

  “Aye, but the neighboring nobility might not have been.”

  “Probably not.” She sighed. “ ’Tis a pity.”

  “Da. Spencer has already sent men to the parish church to check the veracity of the license. We will know soon.” Max’s breath warmed her temple. “What if it is real, dorogaya moya? What, then?”

  “It changes nothing. If he is the new master, then I will help him run the castle. He was never raised to that position and he will need guidance.”

  “So you are not upset the castle is not yours?”

  “Not at all.” She was surprised at that, but all she could dredge up was a faint regret that she hadn’t known the truth sooner. “It was never about the castle, Max. It was about the people. They deserved their home back.”

  His arms tightened about her. Finally, after a long silence, he said, “I hoped that was the truth of the matter, but I was not certain.”

  She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “How is Spencer?”

  “Still furious. He has spoken with Loudan.”

  “And?”

  “The earl is now chained in the dungeon and Spencer has sent for the constable.” Max looked down at her. “I did not know your castle had a dungeon.”

  “Loudan is the first guest in over a century. His visit is overdue.”

  Max rubbed his cheek on her hair.

  She sighed. It felt so right when he touched her. Comfortable and yet thrilling, at one and the same time. He melted her heart and warmed her soul. God, she would miss him when he left. She turned slightly to burrow her head in the crook of his neck, her chest aching with her thoughts.

  He held her closer and she inhaled his scent, of leather and soap, and rubbed her cheek on his wool coat. Finally, she lifted her face to his. “I dinna know what I’ll do wi’oot you.”

  He smiled and slid the back of his fingers over her cheek. “We have to talk about that. But first, Spencer waits for us in the dining hall. I’m to bring you there.”

  “You should have told me right away.”

  “Perhaps.” His smile turned wry. “I could not give up this chance to hold you.”

  She nodded, but made no move to leave. They had so few of these moments left. Her throat tightened.

  He didn’t move, either, simply holding her, his heartbeat under her ear steady and strong. “I will miss you,” she whispered.

  His arms tightened about her and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  She closed her eyes, tears welling. She knew she couldn’t stay in his arms without weeping, so she forced a smile and stepped away from him. “We should join Spencer.” She turned and went inside, Max following.

  He didn’t say a word as they walked, and she wished he would. She knew he cared for her. Perhaps not as much as she cared for him, but she’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his embrace.

  When they reached the dining hall, Max leaned past her to open the door. Thoroughly miserable, she walked in.

  And came to a halt.

  The room was set for tea, cups and saucers at the ready, trays of tarts and cakes arranged in a neat line.

  At the head of the room stood Spencer, tall and golden haired, and looking every bit the lion king of his coat of arms. He was filling Tata Natasha’s glass with whiskey. Behind him stood Will, now dressed in borrowed clothes a bit too large but more befitting his station, Ian at his side.

  Ian nodded to her, and then smiled as her gaze went to the others in the room. “We’re all here, lassie.”

  Widow Reeves grinned. “Lord Spencer came fer us, he did, and brought us all back to the castle.”

  Widow Brodie stood by the windows, her sons lined up behind her, one of them secretly reaching behind her to taste the icing on one of the teacakes. “Ye did it, lassie!” Widow Brodie said. “Ye vanquished the earl!”

  Widow MacCrae, Pahlen at one side, her daughter at her other, smiled shyly. “His Grace says ye were brave. We’ve been tellin’ him how much tha’ is true.”

  The other widows nodded.

  Murian smiled mistily. They were her friends, her family. And she loved them all.

  “Och, no tears! Come!” Spencer said, his voice loud and booming as always. “We’ve libations and much to discuss.”

  She made her way to his side, where he bent and kissed her cheek. “I hear you’ve been busy since I left.”

  “I wrote and told you all about it, but you dinna respond.”

  “Aye, there was a snake in my grass, one I dinna know aboot until the general here sent me a missive.” Spencer slapped Max on the shoulder. “I owe much to this man.”

  Murian looked questioningly at Max.

  He shrugged. “You said your letters were not reaching the duke. I was fairly certain a missive from a Prince of Oxenburg might make it past Loudan’s lackey, whoever he was.”

  “So he wrote me,” Spencer said, “and a long and involved letter it was—like a novel, filled with intrigue and danger, and a maiden in distress.” He chuckled, though there was a sharpness to his gaze when he looked at Murian. “There was also a part about Robin Hood. I shall ask you more aboot that later.”

  Tata Natasha snorted. “She still owes me four chickens.”

  “So you were able to find the traitor in your midst after the prince’s letter?” Murian asked.

  “Only two of my aides touch my mail, so it took very little to find the culprit. After some ah, persuasion, he admitted all. We searched his belongings and found letters from my brother, as well as a vial of poison.”

  She couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Your own brother!”

  Spencer’s gaze grew shadowed. “It was a bitter pill, but he was always weak. Father worried about him, and with reason. He was easily led astray and wont to think of himself as short-changed.”

  “And now?”

  “He will face his crimes in court. Meanwhile, I owe much to you, Murian, both for alerting the prince and for taking care of Robert’s people after his death. Rowallen is in your debt, as am I.”

  “I’m glad to see her back in the proper hands.”

  Spencer began, “Ah. Yes. About that—”

  Max slipped an arm about Murian’s waist. “Murian is already well aware the castle will go to Will.”

  Spencer looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. There is an entail on the castle and lands, so the castle would have never gone to you, as the widow, but to the next male in line for the title, which is Will. The records at the parish church have confirmed it.”

  She turned a smile on Will. “I canna think of anyone who would love the castle more.”

  Will flushed. “I’m shaken, me lady. Bu’—” His expression grew fierce. “I can promise ye tha’ no one will take better care of her.”

  Ian slapped Will on the shoulder. “Tha’ is the way to step oop.”

  Spencer agreed. “With the marriage license now proven, and Robert’s journal as evidence, we should have no problems filing Will’s claim.” The duke turned to Will and began expounding on a number of im
provements that could be made right away, leaving the young man with a stunned look upon his face.

  Murian watched, though Max noted that her smile did not reach her eyes. He alone knew how much this latest turn cost her. How much pride she’d swallowed to give up her claim on a castle she’d fought for in such a fierce and determined manner. Though, as she’d said, it wasn’t the castle that held her heart.

  He’d never wanted to kiss her more.

  Tata Natasha took a healthy sip of her whiskey. “It is for the better, Lady Murian. You do not belong here, but with my grandson. Tell him you love him and settle this once and for all, for I wish to eat cake.”

  “Tata!” Max snapped. “That is not how this will happen.”

  “How what will happen?” Murian asked, turning her clear silver gaze his way.

  Blast it, I wished to do this in private, but . . . He looked at the people around them, all of whom were now staring at them expectantly. Perhaps now is the best time, after all.

  He turned back to Murian. “Murian, when Spencer realized all you’d done for Rowallen and her people, he thought to offer you another estate—one he will receive for his service in the war.”

  “There are several, I’ve been told,” Spencer said. “The crown will be very generous and you may have your pick.”

  “My own estate?”

  “Aye, lass,” Spencer said. “Bigger and better than Rowallen Castle, too.”

  “Nay.” Murian shook her head. “I dinna want another estate.” Her gaze flickered past Spencer, back to the widows and their children. “I belong with my people.”

  Max took her hand, the warmth immediately drawing her gaze to his.

  She’d never seen such an expression upon his face. It was hope, and worry, and uncertainty . . . “What is it?”

  “I was hoping you would say you didn’t want another estate.”

  She blinked up at him. “Why?”

  Widow Reeves chuckled. “Duke Spencer is no’ the only one who came fer us in the forest. The prince came, too, and he asked us to marry him wi’ ye!”

  “What?”

  Max muttered, “That’s not—bloody hell—this is not how I wished this to happen!”

  “But ’tis true,” Widow MacCrae said, sneaking a peek at Pahlen, who beamed back. “The prince asked us all to come wit’ ye to Oxenburg, and be yer family there as we’ve been yer family here. We’re to all ha’ our own houses, wi’ gardens and such, and I’m to be the new housekeeper, I am.”