The Prince's Bride

by Sophie Weston

  Jonas loved them. Remembering that, he gave a long, grateful sigh.

  “Free at last,” he said aloud.

  There was nobody in the Centre when Jonas let himself in. He saw from the new page on the desk diary that the Team Captain had signed in around dawn. Jonas chuckled. Taking his state-of-the-art devices to record the dawn chorus, no doubt!

  Jonas chose a room in the Spartan living quarters and flung his kit bag onto the single bed. The forest beyond the window was alive with movement. Time to go outside and breathe again, he thought.

  He divested himself of his leathers and dug into the bag for a fleece. The forest would be cooler than Liburno. He pulled it on, grimacing as he accidentally brushed the grated scar at his waist.

  That damned belt! He had to take a chisel and a tin opener to the buckle to unlock it, in the end. He’d have to write a letter of apology to the Hussars, whose property it was. And also find some way of making reparation for the insult to the Regiment. Noblesse oblige, damn it.

  He’d do it today. But not yet. The forest was calling too alluringly.

  It was mid-morning and the sun was striking through leaves still wet with melting frost. Sunbeams fractured. The forest floor crackled under foot. Birds flittered and chirruped. He knew the smell of the place, like he knew his own skin: new plants pushing up through old leaves; dead wood decaying; the damp richness of ferns and moss and lichen.

  He wandered in gentle meanders, circling the Centre. He felt too pleasantly spaced out either to set out on a serious hike or to go back indoors and rest. Weeks of tension unspooled. He stretched his arms out wide, wide, and felt his lungs expand with good forest air.

  And then he heard it. A noise he’d never heard in the forest before. A single animal, howling at the sky.

  A wolf!

  He had to be dreaming. There hadn’t been wolves in the San Michele Forest for five hundred years.

  But then it came again and Jonas shook off his abstraction and snapped into action. There was something – or someone – real out there making that spine-chilling sound. Possibly hurt. One for Jonas, Forest Ranger!

  He strode back into the Centre and shouldered one of the rescue backpacks and went looking. He crossed and recrossed the trails systematically, as he’d been taught, but saw no animal tracks that could account for it.

  Then he came to a clearing he recognized. And stopped dead.

  There was someone there. It was a secluded place. He’d never seen anyone here before except a fellow Ranger. And she was no Ranger. She was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, maybe twenty yards away. Turned away from him. Unaware.

  The hand holding his hunter’s knife fell to his side. Jonas drew a long breath.

  She shimmered in the silvery spring sunshine. Hair a swirl of rainbows. Still as a dryad on a Greek frieze, yet somehow vibrantly alive. A creature of myth, at one with trees and the sparkling air.

  Jonas shook his head hard and shut his eyes to clear his vision. But when he opened them, she was still there. Underneath those dancing rainbows, her hair was red. Her shoulders drooped. She was motionless.

  Unnaturally so, he thought now, as his Ranger awareness kicked into Danger mode. Was she lost? Hurt? Was it her voice he’d heard, then? Not an animal at all but a person? It had sounded so lonely. His heart turned over at the thought of a fellow human being so bereft.

  He started forward, treading softly so as not to alarm her, but not trying to hide his approach either. She still didn’t move. When he got within five yards of her he stopped, as advised in the Rangers’ guidance on search and rescue. Panic, they always said, was the killer. You had to keep the subject calm and that meant not creeping up behind them and spooking them.

  He pitched his voice carefully, aiming for relaxed but reassuring. “Hi there. Are you OK?”

  The woman jumped and leaped off her tree trunk. She looked round wildly. So at least her limbs were all working, he thought. That was a good sign.

  “I’m over here,” he said, not moving because you mustn’t crowd a disoriented victim.

  She pivoted, still searching. The dappled shadow of the trees must be camouflaging him, because it took her a while. He took a small step forward and she found him at last. She looked wary. Or was it borderline alarmed?

  Maybe she hadn’t recognized the uniform. He said reassuringly, “I’m a Ranger.”

  She frowned, seeming to concentrate hard, and eventually dredged up, “I understand. No. Not. I not understand.”

  So she was a visitor. Well, San Michele had more foreign residents than native-born citizens, though not many of them made it out this deep into the countryside.

  He switched to English, the language of the city’s most important economic activity. “I’m a Forest Ranger. Do you need assistance, ma’am?” The last was pure Iowa State Uni, not San Michele Forest Rangers’ style at all, but it seemed a good idea in the circumstances.

  She understood him then. Their eyes met. With a jolt. Jonas’s head went back in shock. The redhead looked stunned.

  And then a big dog-like animal moved out of the shadows into the sunlight, put back its head and howled like a soul in torment.

  It had to be hurt. In pure instinct, Jonas flung himself forward, ready to wrestle the animal to the ground before it could attack her.

  The woman’s eyes widened. They stayed fixed on him. She backed away. She looked terrified.

  “Stand very still,” he told her.

  She stopped dead.

  The dog looked at her, then him. Its lip curled back in a snarl. Jonas eased himself between the woman and the beast, no sharp movements, no haste.

  “Back away now,” he said over his shoulder, maintaining eye contact with the animal. “Calmly. Don’t run.”

  He could hear her agitated breathing. She was poised for flight. He knew it. But still she stayed rooted to the spot. Meanwhile the creature quivered, its hackles raised, jaws slavering.

  Why didn’t she move?

  And then, to his astonishment, she spoke. Her voice was shaky but she said, “It’s all right, boy.”

  Boy? Was she crazy?

  He heard her swallow. Her voice strengthened. “Good dog.”

  The dog stayed where it was, eyeing Jonas. It looked ready to spring.

  At last she was beginning to move. But not away, fleeing out of harm’s way like he’d told her. Instead she was edging round the clearing in a wide arc. To his horror she approached the dog from behind.

  “Don’t.” He held up his hand in the international halt signal.

  But she kept creeping up until she was standing beside the dog. She even put her hand on the creature’s head. Jonas felt his heart squeeze tight with dread.

  But the dog didn’t turn and attack. It accepted her hand but it didn’t make any other sign that it knew she was there. It watched Jonas, alert, quivering in every muscle.

  He thought: it looks like a guard dog.

  He said, “Does this animal belong to you?”

  At exactly the same second, she said, “Will you please stop brandishing that machete? It worries him and, frankly, you’re making me nervous.” The words were strong enough but her voice was distinctly wobbly.

  Jonas was taken aback. He glanced down at his hunting knife. It was sharp enough to cut back undergrowth and looked it. And he supposed it was big if you weren’t used to such things. He sheathed it carefully and looked up.

  “Better?”

  The woman nodded. She looked very pale.

  In quick sympathy he said, “Is the dog injured? Do you know?”

  She stared. “No. Why?”

  “That howling to raise the dead.” Jonas was rueful. “I thought it was wolves.”

  “Wolves?” Her voice rose.

  He’d obviously really scared her. And who could blame her? Strange man bursting out of the undergrowth waving a knife and telling her to run! How could he have been such an idiot?

  He hastened to stop making bad worse. “No, no. A mistake. No
need to worry. Honestly. If a wolf showed up here today it would make the record books.”

  She gave a little puff of relief and her shoulders came down. And then reaction set in. Anger. “Then why think it?”

  “Because it gave me a shock,” he said honestly. And I’m running on empty after the week’s work and last night. My judgement is shot. But none of that was her fault. “Look. Let’s start again. This is your dog, right?”

  She bristled visibly. “And how is that your business?”

  Jonas gestured to the badge on his all-weather jacket. “I’m a Forest Ranger. Volunteer, here on a training programme. We have a code for dog walkers in the forest.”

  “Oh.” That caught her on the wrong foot but now that she had come out of panic mode, she was fighting her corner with a will. Her tone bit. “Sorry Moby made too much noise. But he isn’t injured. He’s sad.” She bent to rub the dog’s head.

  The creature butted her thigh in response, then flung itself on its back with its paws in the air and panted invitingly.

  So not a wolf, thought Jonas. He was aware of an almost irresistible urge to laugh. “Sad?” He couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. Not even at the dog.

  “His people have gone away on holiday. He misses them. I’m dog-sitting while they’re away.”

  “And you thought you’d bring him into the forest for a run?”

  It wasn’t an accusation, but she flushed and said defensively, “The family do. They told me so. And the father is a lawyer and the permit is in the car. I checked.”

  She looked adorable, unsure of her ground and hating it. The dappled sunlight was making those rainbows dance around her hair again, too. Jonas felt as if he had known her forever and understood her to her bones. Or was his judgement still off?

  He wrestled his thoughts back into order. “They probably didn’t tell you we have a dog walking code?”

  She winced.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not complicated. Just good sense. But it’s important to stick to the main paths at this time of year because we have ground-nesting birds. If a dog disturbs them, the birds can panic and leave their eggs.”

  “Oh!” She looked mortified.

  No otherworldly dryad now, he thought. This was a wholly twenty-first century woman in jeans and a utilitarian fleece. She had mud on those jeans and twigs caught up in her wild red hair.

  He wanted to gather her up in his arms, smooth the worry lines from her forehead and tell her there was no harm done yet.

  Get a grip. That’s completely out of order, and you know it. Well, you do when you’re in your right mind.

  “Look,” he said. “It’s no big deal. You’ll be fine, now that you know. I can give you another copy of the forest Code for dog walkers if you drop by the Rangers’ Centre. You and Moby are very welcome to San Michele Forest.”

  And he held out his hand.

  She didn’t seem to notice it. “Really?”

  He let his hand fall but he was not deterred. “Really. Just learn a bit about the lie of the land before you start playing in the trees with Moby. You’re a long way off any of the regular paths here, you know. In fact, are you sure you can find your way back to your vehicle?”

  She stiffened. “I did make made notes of the way we came. I didn’t think about birds, I admit, but I did do that.”

  He’d heard that from other footsore walkers whom the Rangers had turned out to rescue and return home. He didn’t say so. Instead he asked, “OK. Where did you leave your car?”

  She described the place as best she could. Jonas didn’t ask questions or prompt her in any way and he saw her slowly realize that she had no real idea of where she’d left the car at all. She fell silent mid-sentence.

  When he was certain she wasn’t going to say any more, he said carefully, “I think I know the place. I can guide you back there, if you like.”

  Even aware that she might be lost in the forest, she wasn’t giving an inch. She shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  Aha, thought Jonas, who had qualified as a lawyer in London. “British, right?”

  “What?”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that is British English for sod off.”

  She stiffened. “It’s English for I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “But you’re not asking. I’m offering,” he pointed out, amused.

  “You have your own stuff to do,” she said between her teeth.

  Jonas was beginning to enjoy himself. “This is my own stuff. Rescuing people lost in the forest is what Rangers do.”

  For a moment he thought she would scream with frustration. He waited hopefully.

  But she regrouped well. After a moment she said with icy dignity, “Thank you but I’ve got my notes. I just have to trust them.”

  “And the odds are that you’ll get lost again. Then one or more of us will have to come out looking for you.”

  “I wouldn’t ask –”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I have to report that I’ve seen you and then, if you don’t come out of the forest in a couple of hours, we’d have to set up a search and rescue operation.”

  She didn’t like that. “How would you know that I hadn’t come out of the forest?”

  “If your car was still where you left it. I know where it is.” He didn’t have to add, unlike you.

  She went down fighting. “Moby can probably find the way.”

  Jonas just looked at the dog, still wriggling on the fallen leaves with paws flying and eyes closed in ecstasy. Even the spiky dryad seemed to take the point. She gave a snort, quickly cut off, but he thought there was just a faint possibility that she was starting to see the funny side of this encounter, too.

  Encouraged, he said, “Look, if I’m right, your car is maybe ten minutes from here.”

  That startled her, he saw. She must have been walking in a wide circle from the Crossways Clearing.

  “Ten minutes,” he said persuasively. “Then, if you really want to be helpful, you can drive me back to the Rangers’ Centre.”

  He watched with appreciation as deep dudgeon warred with British courtesy. In the end courtesy won. But it cost her. Interesting. Did she hate having been in the wrong that much? Or was there something else going on here?

  “Very well,” she said stiffly.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded, called the dog and went with Jonas. He led the way back. She wasn’t obvious about it, but he noticed that she made sure the dog was between them at all times. It needled him but he took himself to task. It was a sensible precaution for a lone woman in an unfamiliar place to take with any stranger, even one in a Ranger’s uniform. She was obviously used to taking care of herself. Maybe she hadn’t needed his assistance, after all.

  But when they got back to her car, she stopped dead and looked around.

  “I set off from over there,” she said in a wondering voice. She pointed to a small animal track on the other side of the clearing. “How did I manage to get here?”

  “If you come into the Centre, I’ll show you on the big map,” Jonas said, tempting her.

  She looked at him for a long moment. He couldn’t read her expression but he felt the tension shift. He waited for her to make up her mind.

  She said slowly, “I’ve been making a complete prat of myself, haven’t I?”

  Jonas shrugged. “You’re quite safe with me. But then I’d say that anyway, wouldn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, accepting her tacit decision. “Well, I’m glad you and Moby have found your vehicle, at least. Take my advice. Don’t go wandering in the forest again without a map of the trails. And get a copy of the Code. It’s not just ground-nesting birds. There are wild pigs and even cattle in some places. You need to be prepared. You can download everything from our website, if you don’t want to pick one up at the Centre.” He turned away. “Safe journey.”

  B
ut she surprised him.

  “Wait!”

  Jonas turned back. Their eyes locked. Her gaze flickered, became intent. He straightened involuntarily. Suddenly his pulse was racing.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said gruffly. “I mean us, Moby and me.”

  Well, that was unexpected. He brought his voice under control and tipped an imaginary hat. “Code of the Rangers, ma’am.”

  Her eyes lit with instant, grateful amusement and she smiled at him for the first time. It took his breath away.

  Was it his irregular pulse or were they remarkable eyes? Clear. Candid. Warm hazel with flickers of witch green. Was that even possible? Eyes that seemed to look right through to the core of him. Jonas felt as if he was smiling right back into her as if they were already ...

  ... already ...

  Friends?

  Yes. And?

  Allies. Each other’s confidant. Companions in forest exploration.

  Oh, come on, Jonas. Witch-green eyes and you just want to go hiking with her? Get real.

  Lovers, then. The moment the word occurred to him it seemed to whisper through his whole being, mind, blood and bone. Right. Inevitable.

  He came back, with an effort, to what she was saying.

  “I’m truly sorry. We were lucky you came along.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She laughed aloud at that. “Very generous and more than I deserve. I promise I’ll take your advice from now on.”

  Jonas seized his chance. He patted the side of the 4X4 as if it were a horse. “Back to the Centre then?”

  She shook back her tumble of red curls and their attendant rainbows and laughed again. “Whatever you say, Ranger.”

  He found he couldn’t speak.

  So this time it was she who held out her hand. “I’m Hope Kennard. New to San Michele, the forest and apologies. Glad to have made all three. Good to meet you.”

  He took her hand. It was cool and firm. The blood in his fingertips tingled as if he’d touched a live electric connection.