From Kiss to Queen

by Janet Chapman

  Mark lifted his own glass in salute. “It doesn’t matter what she is, so long as she’s mine.”

  * * *

  Walk with me.”

  “I . . . ah . . . I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.”

  “I’ve been watching you this week. Been enjoying yourself?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come down to the ocean with me.”

  “It’s cold out.”

  “Then take me to the kitchen and make me cocoa.”

  “Cook said she’ll cut off your fingers if she catches you in her kitchen again.”

  “Cook doesn’t speak English, Jane.”

  “She doesn’t need to. She gets her point across.”

  “While watching your antics this week, I’ve noticed you walking like an old woman.”

  Silence.

  “You’re in pain now.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Mark tucked a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to his. “Tell me.”

  “You’ll think I’m vain. That’s a sin, you know.”

  “What I think?”

  “No, vanity.”

  “Sister Roberta’s teachings?”

  “The Bible says so.”

  “What vanity causes you such pain?”

  “My limp. I’m wearing a new brace in my shoe to make my legs the same length. Dr. Daveed gave it to me.”

  “How does this new brace make walking painful? And why wear it if it does?”

  “Daveed said I have to retrain my muscles.” She scrunched up her nose. “And they’re protesting.”

  Mark smiled, finally understanding—some of it, anyway. “So how is a new brace vain?”

  “It’s supposed to make my limp less pronounced.”

  “Ah. And this is important to you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I see.”

  And he did see—probably better than Jane did. She may have been acting outrageous all week, even while trying to lessen her limp to make herself more acceptable.

  “I could carry you to the kitchens.”

  “You still couldn’t go inside.”

  “I’m not afraid of Cook.”

  “Yes, you are. I’ve figured you out, Markov Lakeland. You’re all bluster.”

  “You think so? And do you think I’ll be blustering when I vow my love to you in three days in front of God, my family, and my people?”

  Silence again.

  Mark took her hand and led her over to the library chair he’d found her reading in a few minutes before. She’d jumped up when he’d entered, looking as guilty as sin and just as tempting. She probably thought he was here to scold her after Reynard tattled on her for smoking. Mark knew she’d timed his father’s arrival in the library down to the minute.

  She was dressed in jeans like she had been all week, her hair escaping its bonds and her cheeks pink with guilt and the glow of the fire she’d set in the hearth.

  And he loved her.

  Mark eased her down in the chair, then knelt in front of her. Pleased she no longer needed her sling, he took both her hands in his and smiled into questioning eyes now level with his own. “I didn’t fail your test, angel.”

  Those deep pewter eyes went from questioning to innocent. “What test?”

  “There is nothing you can do that is outrageous enough to make me stop loving you, Jane.”

  “Oh, Mark.”

  He let go of her hand to reach in his back pocket and pulled out a small fir bough. He held it up to show her the small, simply set diamond ring dangling from it on a silver ribbon. And then he smiled when he saw that innocence turn to worry. “I wish to ask you, Jane Doe Abbot, to be my wife.”

  “Mark,” she repeated on a whisper.

  “You can wear jeans to our wedding if you wish, instead of the dress Irina is having made for you. You can invite your friends from jail to the ceremony, and come to me riding Arthur. And you can teach our children how to shoot a gun and curse like a nun. But Jane?”

  “Y-yes?”

  “The only thing you may never do is leave me. Please marry me in three days and make me the most important man in your life.”

  “Are you sure? How can you be sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, Jane.”

  “Can . . . can I think about it?”

  Mark inwardly frowned while outwardly smiling. “I’ve given you since that night on the Katrina to get used to the idea. And I haven’t slept a peaceful night since.”

  Jane, it seemed, had no qualms with outwardly frowning. But when she looked down at the ring dangling from the fir bough, her eyes misted again. She started to reach for it, but stopped and looked up at him. “You . . . you believe?”

  “In us. I believe in us, Jane. Marry me.”

  She reached out again with shaking hands and untied the ribbon, then carefully placed the ring in his waiting hand. Shaking almost as much as she was, Mark slowly slid the ring onto her finger, then raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you, Jane. I promise you this is right for us. Together we will make it right.”

  “You know, I . . . I actually believe you.”

  He stood up and brought her with him, then carefully pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “You’ll give me the words back? Soon?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. “I love you, Jane.”

  She buried her nose in his shirt and mumbled something to his chest.

  Mark touched her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Again.”

  “I love you.”

  He nodded, then pressed her face back to his chest to hide his grin.

  Ah, thank the good Lord, but he’d just captured an angel.

  * * *

  And a shy angel she was the next morning at breakfast. Jane was still walking like an old woman, but her face shone with the realization that love had come to her with simple acceptance. And her own love was radiating back at her new family in the form of a blush.

  “I . . . I’ve accepted Mark’s proposal,” she told them. “And agreed to be his wife.”

  The table erupted, everyone jumping up and pouncing on the startled woman with hugs and kisses of welcome. Reynard couldn’t seem to stop squeezing her, calling her daughter over and over again. They were all careful of her shoulder, but Mark finally had to rescue the poor overwhelmed woman. It took him three tugs to get her away from Reynard in order to return Jane to her chair, but the almost ex-king let go only to steal Alexi’s seat on the other side of her.

  “We’re sorry, you know,” Reynard whispered to her.

  “What for?” she asked in both surprise and confusion.

  “You can smoke all the cigars you want. I promise not to scold.”

  Jane’s flush turned crimson.

  “And you look nice in jeans,” Sergei offered from across the table.

  Jane looked down at her plate.

  “And I’ve been thinking,” Dmitri broke in, “that maybe we should pay more attention to all Shelkovans. Even—or rather, especially—your women friends.” He gave her a sheepish look. “We are guilty of forgetting some of our people. It took your eyes to make us see them.”

  Jane peeked at Mark and then quickly went back to studying her breakfast.

  “Will you teach me to play horseshoes?” Alexi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see your ring?” Aunt Irina softly petitioned, leaning forward.

  Jane held her hand out over the table to oohs and aahs and compliments from everyone but Sergei.

  He just lifted a brow at Mark. “Rather tightfisted in the jewelry department, aren’t you?” he drawled, nodding toward the simple ring.

  “Oh, no! It’s perfect,” Jane said before he co
uld answer. “I love it.”

  “That’s just a promise token,” Mark added. He shot Sergei a wink. “Wait until you see the wedding band.”

  Jane pulled back her hand and looked at him. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll love your band, Jane. I promise.”

  Mark let her know the topic was closed by resuming his breakfast, stifling a grin when his soon-to-be wife stabbed at her own food. The rest of the day was lost in preparing for the coronation and wedding. Mark was busy greeting and entertaining foreign dignitaries already starting to arrive for the ceremonies, and the palace was bursting at the seams by mid-afternoon.

  Jane and Irina, he’d learned, had escaped the confusion by going to visit a nearby orphanage Irina had told Jane about. When Mark had looked out the window, it had been to see two women and two bodyguards departing, the four of them laden with gifts. The poor trunk had barely closed and the bumper had nearly been touching the ground as they’d driven through the gates, and Mark was quite pleased at his future wife’s interest in her new country and people.

  His pleasure, however, lasted only until six that night, when Jane burst through the door of his office with enough force to slam it against the wall. Either not seeing or not caring about the group of men with him—all of whom stood up at her entrance—Jane stormed up to Mark and slammed her fist down on his desk.

  “I won’t have it!”

  “What won’t you have?”

  “I won’t have anybody getting hurt because of me!”

  “Who almost got hurt?” he asked, straightening in his chair.

  “Petri. My bodyguard.”

  “Calm down, Jane,” he whispered, finally rising and reaching for her.

  She stepped away. “I will not calm down, dammit! There was a series of three loud pops just as Irina and I came out of the orphanage, and Petri threw himself on top of me to protect me from only God knew what.”

  Mark became alarmed that Jane was cursing for real, which meant she was more than just a little angry. “What was the noise?” he asked, looking at the man who’d rushed in after her.

  “It was nothing,” Jane answered for him. “A car backfiring. That’s not the point!”

  “What is the point, then?” he asked, inwardly relaxing.

  “If that had been a bullet, Petri could be dead. Or hurt. Trying to protect me!”

  “That’s his job,” Mark said, also no longer caring about their audience. He could only focus on Jane right now and his own escalating anger. “That’s what bodyguards do.”

  “I won’t have it, I tell you.”

  “Yes, you will,” he snapped, walking around the desk to her. “It’s either that or sit in your room, all safe and sound, forever.”

  “Do you know Petri’s married? And that he’s got two little kids?”

  Mark closed his eyes and counted to ten. It didn’t help. He knew exactly where this conversation was going, and he didn’t like it. “No, I wasn’t aware of that,” he softly confessed. He opened his eyes, only to sigh when her glare intensified. “I know you don’t want anyone’s death on your conscience, but none of us have a choice in the matter.”

  “I don’t like it,” she whispered, her own eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I couldn’t stand it if he got hurt. What makes my life more important than his?”

  “That’s not a fair question to ask me, angel. Your life is the most important thing in the world to me. And I imagine Petri is the most important thing in his wife’s world. But that’s not what this is about.”

  “It’s not about anything else.”

  “He chose his profession, Jane. Nobody coerced him into guarding your life. And he’s well trained. Basically, it boils down to it being no one’s decision but his and his wife’s.” Mark waved the man in question to come closer. “Petri, please tell Miss Abbot how long and hard you’ve worked to get the position you have.”

  Petri looked at his mistress. “I have trained for three years, and was finally promoted to guarding the royal family six months ago,” he told her in heavily accented English.

  “But does your wife know exactly what you do?”

  Petri nodded and smiled. “My Ileana is proud. She say it is safer than common soldier. And I am near home most time.”

  Some of the bluster went out of Jane at his obvious pride. Mark led her back around the desk with him, sat down, and settled her on his lap. He nodded to Petri and bid him farewell in Shelkovan, then lifted her chin to look at him. “He’s right, you know. Being a bodyguard is actually safer than being a soldier. And Jane, soldiers have been dying since the dawn of man, protecting their loved ones.” He softly rubbed her arm. “No occupation is safe. Our fishermen risk their lives every day so people they don’t know may eat. And some of them die at sea. Our lumberjacks face untold dangers in the forest, but go to work anyway. Petri and the other guards are doing the jobs they’ve chosen. Let them.”

  “I couldn’t stand it if he got hurt.”

  “I couldn’t stand it if you did,” he softly countered. “So we will all be careful. I assure you Petri is. He’s trained to see a threat before it arrives. The sudden sound took him by surprise and he reacted instinctively to protect you.” Mark then swept her hair back on her bent head to see her face. “What of Aunt Irina?”

  “She didn’t take it very well, either, and was shaking all the way home. The other man had grabbed her and actually carried her back into the orphanage.”

  “Then I should give both of them raises, should I not? They are good men.”

  “I don’t think this is going to work, Mark,” she whispered to his chest. “I don’t know if I can live like this.”

  “We will make it work,” he said, giving her a gentle squeeze. “But understand that because you’ve spent twenty-seven years taking care of yourself, it will take time to get used to letting others taking care of you.”

  She pulled in a deep breath and looked up, appearing hopeful. “You’re sure?”

  Mark cocked his head. “Did you not risk your own life to save mine in Maine? Couldn’t you have drowned in the lake or been killed by my assassins? And after, when you led me to safety, what were your thoughts? How did saving me make you feel?”

  “I didn’t think or feel anything about it,” she admitted. “I knew you were in the plane, so I just went in after you. And it was only natural to help you after.”

  “And you didn’t even know me. So imagine how I want to take care of you, especially knowing how much I love you.”

  “I . . . I guess I understand,” she said, looking away—only to suddenly stiffen and look back at him, her eyes widened in horror. “There are a bunch of people in here,” she whispered. “I’ve been carrying on in front of strangers.”

  “Then I guess I should introduce you.”

  Jane suddenly looked as though she wanted to punch him, but apparently was too busy blushing in mortification. She was also eyeing the underneath of his desk.

  Mark set her on her feet and stood up, keeping a possessive arm around her. “Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the woman who has agreed to marry me in two days, Miss Jane Abbot of Maine.” Keeping a possessive arm around her—more to keep her from bolting for the door than for support—Mark led her to the still-standing men. “Jane, this is Randall Creighton, the American Ambassador to Shelkova. The embassy is just now under construction.”

  “Mr. Creighton,” Jane responded, her blush kicking up a notch.

  “And this is Richard Sholms, an old school friend of mine from Oxford.”

  “Mr. Sholms.”

  “I’m enchanted, Miss Abbot. And Mark is lucky,” he returned, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

  “And lastly, this is Peter Banks. He’s from England, and very interested in buying finished lumber from us. He, too, is an old school friend.”

  �
�Mr. Banks.”

  “Hello, Miss Abbot. I must say, I wasn’t sure they made a woman brave enough to beard this lion,” he said, also taking her hand but not kissing it.

  Mark took pity on Jane, who he knew was fighting to remain calm. “Why don’t you go check on Aunt Irina,” he suggested as he started walking her to the door. “You’ll see our guests again at dinner tonight.” He left the office with her and closed the door to shield them from the onlookers, looked up and down the hall at the dozens of people running in different directions, and decided he didn’t care. He kissed his fiancée until she started kissing him back, and continued kissing her until he heard her whimper.

  “Just two more long nights and we won’t have to stop,” he promised, kissing her swollen lips again when they opened slightly in shock. “Can you wait that long?”

  “Y—” She had to clear her throat. “Yes,” she finally got out, staring at his mouth.

  Mark used her chin to lift her gaze to his. “And Jane?”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t be the only one shouting this time.”

  He left her standing in the hall after firing that shot, his last glimpse before he closed his office door being Jane’s eyes nearly crossed and her cheeks a hot, passionate pink.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jane came instantly awake just as a large hand closed over her mouth. The decision not to panic didn’t come easy as she felt a large, masculine weight dip the bed. But most alarming was the realization there was more than one man in the room.

  “Don’t scream,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear. “You’ll wake the others.”

  That wouldn’t be a bad thing, Jane decided.

  “Get up and get dressed. Quietly,” he ordered, the voice beginning to sound familiar to her. “But you must hurry. Is five minutes enough?”

  Enough for what? A light suddenly came on and Jane blinked up at the man whose hand was still covering her mouth to find herself eye-to-golden-eye with a rascal prince. “Mhmlexi!”