The Formidable King

by Alyssa J. Montgomery

  She laughed, remembering how she’d caught him completely off guard. The fun had escalated afterwards as they each tried to squirt each other using the trunks of the elephants they rode on. She’d seen elephants trained in a similar way in Thailand. The huge animals seemed to enjoy the fun as much as their riders.

  ‘It was quite a challenge to stay on their backs too, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but far better for the animal than those horribly heavy seating platforms they use in other parts of the world to carry tourists around.’ His words revealed more of his caring side. ‘I was pleased to see how much the people of Misanti treasure their elephants.’

  ‘They’ve lived alongside the animals of Africa for centuries. They understand the importance of the family herds and they respect and preserve that,’ she agreed. An imp of mischief seized her. ‘My most vivid memory of you, King Gabriel, will be of your expression when you were bucked off your elephant’s back and landed face first into that lovely floating pile of—’

  ‘Enough!’ He shuddered as he laughed. ‘I’m glad I insisted the media stay away for our trip to the river. I don’t think my serious image would stand up to photos of that incident being plastered all over the tabloids and social media.’

  ‘It’s good to see you laughing about it.’ He had loosened up. But even though they’d enjoyed each other’s company, he’d kept a strict physical distance since that first night.

  Humour twinkled in the blue of his eyes and he looked a decade younger. ‘I haven’t felt so relaxed in years.’ A frown replaced his smile. ‘Actually, I’ve never been so relaxed.’

  ‘Maybe now you’ve had a taste of walking away from Santaliana for a week, you’ll do it again some time?’ God, but she hoped he would. Eden would’ve been so thrilled to see her elder brother enjoying himself.

  ‘Excuse me, Your Majesty,’ a flight attendant said. ‘I have a message here from the captain.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  India took another sip of Champagne and watched as his masculine hands unfolded the piece of paper. It wasn’t just the alcoholic bubbles that fizzed through her bloodstream. Even though Gabriel had kept a safe, physical distance, her awareness of him was acute. In fact, she was sure he still felt it too—it thrummed in the air between them; a current so strong simply couldn’t be turned off.

  There was a place deep at the juncture of her thighs that contracted whenever she looked up and saw him watching her—an ache so tangible she just wanted to walk over, wrap her arms around him, confess that her engagement was completely fake and admit that if he didn’t kiss her immediately she’d die of longing.

  Many times she’d been on the point of saying, ‘I don’t care if you won’t marry me, just please be my lover.’

  Then logic asserted itself. Gabriel was treating her with respect and friendship and it was fabulous. But if she crossed that boundary of friendship with him, she’d lose the friendship. It would be terrible if he ever looked at her in the same way Finn had—if he ever reached the point where he thought they were going to be lovers, then found out she was completely abnormal because she couldn’t relax enough in an intimate situation with a man to have a sexual relationship.

  ‘India, don’t be alarmed.’

  Despite his calm voice, his very words made her gaze fly back to his. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The pilots have just let me know that one of the engines is losing oil. They’ve shut it down to prevent a fire, so you may notice a little less engine noise, but there won’t be anything more dramatic.’

  Her heartbeat stuttered. ‘We’ve got two engines, right?’

  ‘Two Rolls-Royce engines, and the other is still fine but the captain will need to land so repairs can be made.’

  Gabriel was so calm and he always seemed so much in command of any situation that she believed all would be well simply because of his confidence. It was as though any problem would be overcome by his sheer force of will.

  Thankful for his presence and assurance, she let out a breath of relief and felt her apprehension drain away. ‘We’re going to turn back to Misanti?’

  ‘No. In this situation, because we’re down to one engine, the safest course is to land at the closest airport.’

  Tension hit hard. Her jaw was the only part of her body that went slack as she turned quickly to the window. Fruitlessly, she peered out in a far-fetched attempt to recognise some landform and to figure out just where they were headed. Of course she couldn’t determine a thing from this altitude. Swallowing down on her fear, she turned back to Gabriel. ‘Where’s the closest airport?’

  ‘Bagazin.’

  Nooooo! Everything in her screamed a high-pitched denial. Not Bagazin. Anywhere but Bagazin.

  ‘India?’

  ‘We can’t land in Bagazin. Tell the pilots we have to go back to Misanti—or the next closest airport.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘It’ll be okay, India. I know Bagazin’s been a war-torn country and is under the rule of a dictator, but—’

  ‘President Mawandi isn’t just a dictator!’ Her fingertips flew to her temples. ‘My God, Gabriel! Aren’t you aware of the crimes he’s committed?’

  ‘Of course, but he’s not going to harm us. It’d be political suicide to mistreat us in any way.’

  ‘The UN is trying to bring him to justice for crimes against humanity.’ Her words tumbled out as rapidly as her pulse beat at the base of her neck. ‘He’s guilty of genocide. He’s used very young children in his militia—made them perpetrate crimes against their families, their neighbours...’ Her throat thickened in her panic, making it impossible to speak. ‘He’s a madman. A monster!’

  He reached out and took her hands in his, engulfing them in his warmth and his strength. He stilled the rapid wringing movements she hadn’t even been aware she made until he stopped her. ‘Mawandi has no quarrel with Santaliana,’ he said with calm authority, ‘and while there’s no British Embassy in the country for you as a British citizen, the French still have an embassy here because of their mining operations. Santaliana has an arrangement with both France and Italy whereby those two nations look after our citizens through their embassies. You’re travelling with me, so we’ll be received and well looked after by the staff at the French Embassy.’

  No. No. No! She couldn’t land in Bagazin!

  ‘Mawandi isn’t to be trusted.’ She shook her head furiously and was unable to quell the note of panic in her voice. ‘He’s a complete law to himself and he doesn’t care who he offends.’

  ‘But why would he want to offend the King of Santaliana?’ He rubbed her hands in his and his expression was deeply concerned. ‘You’re shaking. You’re really so afraid?’

  ‘Terrified,’ she admitted. ‘Please, Gabe, have the pilots go somewhere else.’

  ‘You’re overreacting. We’ll come to no harm in Bagazin.’

  ‘There must be somewhere else we can land. Please, Gabe, I know these countries better than you and I know far more of what goes on than is ever reported in the news.’

  He sent her penetrating look for several long seconds before he nodded. ‘I’ll go and speak with the pilots.’

  But less than ten minutes later, he returned with bad news. ‘Bagazin is our only option at this point, India. There’s nowhere closer with an airstrip that’s suitable. It’s too risky to try to make it back to Misanti on one engine.’

  Shit!

  For ten minutes she’d been trying to settle her nerves—trying to concentrate on her relaxation techniques and to steady her breathing. Balanced on a razor’s edge, his words tipped her over. Tears formed, blurring her vision.

  Tell him.

  Tell him why you can’t go to Bagazin.

  That option was a physical impossibility. Her vocal tract had seized up completely—as had the rest of her body. Tension stretched every muscle and ligament to snapping point.

  His voice barely penetrated her brain as he said, ‘I’ve spoken to the French Ambassador. There’ll be a car wait
ing at the airport. We’ll send a passenger and crew manifest ahead to customs, then it’ll merely be a matter of presenting our passports to customs very briefly, before we’re whisked straight through the city to the embassy.’

  Her passport.

  Dear God!

  ‘We’ll have the highest level of security in the motorcade,’ he continued.

  Although he tried to reassure her as he detailed all the security measures, she was way beyond reassurance. She leaned forward and grabbed his forearm, interrupting him mid-sentence as she insisted, ‘Use my title.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘On the passenger manifest. Please, identify me as Duchess Dunmorton.’

  He frowned. ‘You think there’ll be less chance of coming to any harm if you’re identified as British aristocracy?’

  She didn’t trust herself to speak again but nodded and implored him with her eyes to do as she bid.

  He picked up the in-flight telephone. ‘Carmen,’ he told the flight attendant, ‘Please identify Miss Hamilton on the passenger manifest by her official title—Duchess Dunmorton.’

  When Gabe headed to the back cabin to speak to his own security team, India prayed like she’d never prayed before. She prayed to every single god she’d learned of in all her childhood travels around the world, even while—having witnessed the ferociousness of nature—she’d stopped believing in any higher deity long ago.

  The aircraft began to make its descent, and with it her stomach plunged headlong into hopelessness.

  Different scenarios ran through her head. All of them were bad.

  ‘You’ll need to fasten your seatbelt now,’ Gabriel said as he rejoined her.

  Her arms were heavy as she went through the automatic motion of buckling up. ‘How long are we going to have to stay in Bagazin?’

  ‘A couple of days at the most.’

  ‘A couple of days?’ She’d been hoping for a couple of hours.

  ‘The captain has already been on the radio and organised a licensed aeronautical mechanical engineer to fly over from Santaliana. He won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. Once he assesses the problem, he may need to order parts in. Another day for delivery and fitting, then we should be right to go.’

  ‘But...’ She refused to believe there was no other option. ‘Can’t you charter another aircraft to get us home?’

  ‘I prefer to use my own jet, but if it’s going to be more than a couple of days, I’ll look into it. India, relax. You’ll be perfectly safe. Didn’t I assure your safety when I asked you to come?’

  He had assured her no harm would come to her in Misanti. Misanti was a vastly different nation from Bagazin.

  Plastering a small smile on her face, she exhaled audibly and hoped she gave the impression she was relaxing. ‘Of course we’ll be fine. But you’re the king. You have a kingdom to run and you’ve already been away from home for eight days. Don’t you have urgent things to do?’

  ‘There are always lots of things to do, but I’m not aware of anything that’s particularly urgent. If there is, Devereaux can handle it. He has my signed authority to act on my behalf while I’m out of the country.’

  There had to be another angle she could use on him. She had to get him to reconsider. ‘Look, Gabriel, you know I’ve experienced life in Africa, and I’m not being overly dramatic when I tell you that this isn’t a safe country to be in.’ The edge of her fear crept back into her voice again as she tried to sway him. ‘Calling Mawandi a criminal is being polite. The crimes he’s committed tell their own story. He’s an unpredictable lunatic.’

  ‘Trust me. The French Ambassador has sworn the capital is stable at present. Believe me when I say that this mining operation the French have in Bagazin is way too valuable to Mawandi to have him do anything that would upset the French, and we’ll be guests at the French Embassy.’ He reached over, placed his hand on her thigh and gave her a small pat. ‘The ambassador has assured me he doesn’t see any trouble brewing on the horizon.’

  It wasn’t the horizon the ambassador should be looking at. If he looked up through the clouds and saw the Gulfstream and knew just who was on board, he might see a tornado approaching.

  ‘Think of this as a pleasant diversion,’ Gabriel continued. ‘You’ll be perfectly safe, enjoying the best Champagne and cheese the embassy has to offer.’

  No amount of Champagne would dull her inner panic and there was no way a trip to Bagazin could ever be a pleasant diversion.

  ‘I have to admit, I’m not averse to spending another day or two in your company, India. While I haven’t successfully been able to turn off my wish that we were more than friends, I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed your company and conversation so much, I’ll miss you when you return to London.’

  Oh God.

  India opened her mouth to make her confession—to beg, to plead with him to order the pilots to set course to another country, but it was too late. The aircraft jolted as its wheels hit the tarmac.

  ‘Welcome to Bagazin!’ Carmen said smoothly through the PA system.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Your Majesty, may I have a word in private please?’ the ambassador asked that evening.

  ‘Of course.’ Gabriel stood up from where he sat opposite India. They’d spent their first afternoon in Bagazin absorbed in games of chess and he’d enjoyed every second of her company. ‘Excuse me, India. My move when I return.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ she returned with sarcasm. ‘You might just have saved me by breaking his concentration, Ambassador Rousseau. He’s beaten me the previous two games.’

  Having taken a few steps away, Gabe spun back on his heel. ‘Fine. I’ll put you out of your misery.’ He moved his piece and pronounced, ‘Checkmate!’

  India groaned and he laughed as he followed the ambassador from the room. Gabe hadn’t won easily. She’d sorely tested every strategy he’d put into play and he’d enjoyed the challenge of playing against such a worthy opponent. India’s skills had been honed as a child. She told him her father had played whenever he had the chance and had taught her the rules very early.

  Gabe was in good spirits as he walked down the hallway towards the ambassador’s office. His pilots had confirmed it would be a minimum of two days before the aircraft could leave. Depending on what the mechanic found when he arrived in the morning, that time could stretch even longer. Despite India’s unease, Gabe was grateful he’d been given a few more days with her.

  He must be a sucker for punishment.

  Even though it was a strain to be with her and know he’d never have her as his lover, he still wanted her company. She was nothing like the party girl he’d thought her to be. It was obvious from the understated way she dressed that she didn’t splash her money about. Her clothes on this trip had been completely appropriate—sensible walking shoes, respectable tops that didn’t reveal too much flesh, and mostly long pants. It was just as well she covered herself up and dressed fairly neutrally. The floral dress she’d changed into when they’d arrived at the embassy had revealed her shapely calves and made it difficult for him to concentrate on his chess moves.

  India was smart, witty, compassionate, gracious...

  Hell! He couldn’t think of a single positive adjective that didn’t apply to her.

  No, he was definitely in no great rush to leave Bagazin. The streets surrounding the embassy seemed peaceful enough, and his own team had assured him embassy security was tight. Besides, he hated the thought of saying goodbye to India once they reached Santaliana. It was almost unbearable to know that he’d return alone to the castle, and she’d catch a flight back to London—back to her future husband.

  ‘What can I do for you, Monsieur Rousseau?’ he asked once he and the ambassador had reached the timber-lined office.

  ‘Please have a seat, Your Majesty.’ The ambassador closed the door and walked around to the other side of his desk, but didn’t sit down. If anything, he looked ill at ease. ‘There are a number of military vehicles parked at the fron
t of the embassy.’

  So much for thinking the streets were peaceful. Gabe tried to catch a glimpse of the street outside through the office window, but the angle of the blinds didn’t allow him a good view. ‘There’s unrest on the streets?’

  ‘No. I’ve received a direct communiqué from the president.’ He looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘How well do you know the Duchess of Dunmorton?’

  The nape of Gabe’s neck prickled and unease crept through him. ‘She was a close friend of my sister’s,’ he said guardedly as he sat back and attempted to project a level of comfort he was far from feeling. ‘She’s also the head of the charitable foundation my sister established.’

  ‘There’s no easy way to bridge this subject.’ Rousseau cleared his throat. ‘I’ve heard you call the duchess by her given name—India.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The president claims that we’re harbouring a fugitive at the embassy and demands we hand her over immediately.’

  A fugitive? He sat forward. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Perhaps you should speak to the duchess, Your Majesty. President Mawandi is certain the woman who travels with you is not a duchess at all, but an imposter. He says that her real name is India Hamilton and that is the name on her passport.’

  ‘He’s right about her passport, but India’s no imposter. She rarely uses her title of Duchess Dunmorton.’ His jaw clenched and he frowned. ‘I don’t understand why this is of interest to the president.’

  ‘Your travelling companion is wanted in Bagazin for murder.’

  Murder? The word echoed in Gabriel’s head and stuck in his throat before lodging heavily in his gut. He stood up. ‘That can’t possibly be true. I’m sure there’s been a mistake.’

  The ambassador reached inside his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper and passed it across the desk to Gabe.

  One look at what was actually a poster and Gabriel’s heart seized for several seconds.