by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"As does his only son?"
"Yes." There was really nothing more to say, so he left it at that. He thought she was going to let the conversation die there, but after a long moment she finally spoke.
"You have sisters, don't you?"
"Three. Julia, Christina and Anna. Every one of them as strong-willed in her own way as our mother." He cast her a sideways glance. "So Luke has three aunts to spoil him."
He saw the flicker of pain in her eyes, and knew she was thinking of Luke's other aunt, the wicked, vicious Ursula. Quickly, he leapt into a spiel about Montebello, things about which he was most often asked about his homeland.
"We have three hundred days of sunshine a year. You never need anything heavier than a sweater, or a light jacket when it rains in the winter. San Sebastian is an international trading center, and we host leaders from all over the world on a regular basis. We have a variety of plant life to make a botanist weep, orchids and lilies of the field growing wild, side by side, and over three hundred and fifty species of birds, not to mention a rare species of goat that can only be found there."
"You sound like the Chamber of Commerce."
He grinned. "I know. And in a way, I am. Since my father is king, and he's healthy as your Brat there and likely to rule for many more years, I've got nothing more important to do than extol the merits of Montebello to the world."
He thought he saw a flicker of a smile curve her lips, but it didn't last.
"The Sebastianis are Montebello, because we've always stood for the rights of the people, and because they've granted us the right to rule. We've fought for them, and occasionally died for them, and they for us. Our history is inextricably linked, and our destiny is with the people. It always has been, and it always will be."
"And that," she said, "sounded like a speech."
"Perhaps it was, at some point," he said, not reacting to the slight edge that had come into her voice. "My father, and his father before him, and all the Sebastianis who have worn the crown believe those words."
"And you?"
"And me. When my turn comes, I will do the same."
She abruptly reined Brat to a stop and sat there looking at him intently for a long, silent moment.
"And Luke?" she whispered finally.
He drew in a deep breath, knowing the moment had come. "He is my designated heir. One day, he will assume the throne of Montebello."
"He will?Just like that, no choice?"
"He has no more choice than I have," Lucas said flatly.
Something hot and determined flashed in Jessie's eyes. "That," she said, her voice sharp-edged now, "is what you think."
She put her heels to Brat's flanks, and the mare leapt away as if catapulted. Lucas lifted his reins and the bay's ears shot up, but before he sent the horse rocketing after her, he hesitated. Jessie didn't get angry often, but when she did, there was no moving her. He'd do better, he thought, to let her go, let the far reaches of her beloved ranch and the steady, rocking-chair gait of the leggy buckskin calm her down.
So instead of pursuing the rapidly departing black-and-gold horse, he reined the bay around and sent him slowly back toward the house.
* * *
When Jessie reached the flats along the river, she gave Brat her head and yipped her up to a full, mad gallop. It had been a long time since the horse had had the chance to run free, and the mare leapt forward gleefully. Jessie leaned over her neck, concentrating on the ground-eating stride and the smooth, sweet action of the beautifully put together animal, marveling at her steady strength and her quickness. The horse's mane whipped back in the wind, and in her mind's eye Jessie could see her tail flying. On and on they ran, the pounding four-beat rhythm balm to her soul.
She knew the horse would literally run her heart out if asked, so when they reached the curve of the river she signaled Brat to ease up with a slight tightening of her fingers on the reins. Beyond the curve was broken ground anyway, where there was too much danger of the horse putting a foot wrong, or into a critter hole, to keep up such a pace. Reluctantly the mare slowed.
Jessie turned toward her favorite place, a small, grassy clearing on a bluff overlooking the river; a place she called the lookout. It was where she always went when she had heavy thinking to do. Or when she needed to escape. She'd spent many hours up here after her parents had died five years ago. More when she'd discovered she was pregnant. And after Joe had left her that cold winter night, she had lived up here for two days, until fear that she would become ill and endanger her child had sent her back down to the ranch.
When she reached the lookout she dismounted, loosened Brat's cinch and sat for a long time, staring out over the landscape.
The time had finally come. She had to fight for her son as hard as she'd fought for her own life. Harder, if need be. And she had to fight something that was so foreign to her she didn't know where to begin.
Calmer now, Jessie mounted up and turned the mare toward home, letting Brat pick her own path and pace. She knew she was not heading back to the ranch house for the hearty meal and peaceful evening she'd been hoping for. Instead she was facing what could be the biggest fight of her life, bigger even than the battle she'd fought to stay alive in poor, mad Gerald's clutches.
When they got back to the barn, Jessie took her time grooming Brat. She knew she was only stalling the inevitable, but she did it anyway, grooming the mare to a glistening shine, combing mane and tail, even clipping the bridle path atop her head, although it didn't really need it yet.
Finally the horse nickered in protest at the delay in the expected grain, and Jessie knew she'd dragged her feet as long as she could. She put the buckskin in her stall, dumped a portion of sweet feed in the trough, added an extra dollop of molasses by way of apology, and washed her hands at the tack room sink.
She could soap and oil her saddle, she thought, looking at the racks she'd replaced them on. That would take a good hour, maybe two if she did a real thorough job.
Coward, she muttered to herself. Quit stalling.
She came in through the side kitchen door, intending to head straight up to check on Luke, who should be awake by now. Instead, she found Lucas sitting at the table, as if waiting for her. As he probably was, she realized.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"I feel fine," she said, not stopping but heading toward the door that led to the stairs.
"Luke is with Eliya and Mrs. Winstead. And Lloyd is outside."
She stopped in her tracks, then turned to face him. "On your orders?"
"We need to talk."
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you need to listen."
"Maybe," he agreed, surprising her. "So talk to me."
Slowly she walked back over to the table, pulled out a chair that was safely on the other side from him, and sat down. Now that she was face-to-face with him again, all the things she'd worked out on her long ride seemed to skate right out of her brain. It took her a few minutes to gather them together again.
When she spoke at last, she started with the most important one. "No one," she said firmly, "is taking my baby from me again."
"No," Lucas agreed.
She blinked, feeling as if he'd already taken the wind out of sails she'd only now run up the mast. But she forged onward.
"Besides, this whole thing of your role in life being chosen for you at birth—even before birth!—that's... it's...well, it's...."
"Un-American?" Lucas suggested.
"Unfair," she countered. "How can you look at that baby and tell him he has no choice?"
Lucas winced, and she knew she'd hit a nerve. But he didn't say anything, so she went on.
"I'll admit Americans have a hard time with the concept of hereditary leadership in general. We were built on an opposing principal, after all."
"Do you think I haven't thought that myself? That I, and all the Sebastianis haven't questioned the concept? Believe me, we have. But we also know no one has the best interests of our country at heart
more than we do."
"Fine. Good for you, and good for Montebello. But Luke is an American by birth."
"And he's Montebellan by blood," Lucas said. "He's a citizen, simply because he's my son."
She wasn't budging Lucas, she could see that. But she wasn't going to give in. Too much was at stake here.
"He can visit, then. But he's growing up here, in America, on this ranch, where he can be free to decide his own path."
"He isn't free. He's in line for the throne of Montebello. That can't be changed."
Something about the implacability in his voice set her off. "Because he's unfortunate enough to be your son?"
Lucas drew back, and she knew she'd drawn blood that time. She told herself she couldn't care, that her son's very life was at stake, as much now as it had been when he'd been taken from her at birth.
She had to fight for him. Even if she had to fight his father.
* * *
It had reached the point where he dreaded each morning. For now, not only did he spend long nights aching for the woman across the hall, he spent his days fighting with her. Fighting over the tiny child they had created out of love, who had somehow become the crux of the entire dispute.
This morning, up with the sun, he walked reluctantly into the kitchen, knowing Jessie was probably already there with Luke, because both her bed and the crib were empty. He found her giving him his bottle in the big rocker beside the woodstove in the corner of the homey kitchen. It was a picture that made his heart ache with a sensation he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before, a sort of longing that made him feel hollow inside.
Her hair was loose this morning, falling forward like a blond veil over her and the baby. He'd almost forgotten just how long and lovely it was. He stood, simply watching them, until that ache in his chest became a pressure almost too great to bear.
Jessie looked up then, saw him and went still. He braced himself for the adversarial expression he'd almost grown to expect to come over her face. But instead, after looking at him for a moment, she smiled. A soft, warm, inviting smile that made him think that at least something of what he'd been feeling must have been showing in his face, despite his practiced facade.
Encouraged, he walked toward them. He crouched beside the chair, and looked from her face to the face of his firstborn child, and the ache inside eased a little.
"He's so beautiful," he said softly. "Sometimes Ijust stare at him in awe."
"So do I," she confessed.
They lapsed into silence, watching their son as he fed. He wondered if they were both afraid to speak, afraid to start the battle again. He felt the undercurrent of tension that marred what should have been a perfect moment, and he knew until it was resolved they would have no real peace. Still he waited, not wanting to spoil this precious time with them both.
"He's so precious. Fragile yet strong. I spend hours looking at him, wishing I could guarantee he'll never be hurt, never be disappointed, never be treated unfairly."
"I understand," Lucas said, meaning it. He had more than once looked at his son and thought that he would kill anyone who tried to harm him. He'd wanted to kill Ursula. If Gerald hadn't so clearly been simpleminded, he'd have wanted to kill him, too.
Jessie looked up at him. "Then how can you possibly want him to live the life you're talking about? You should want your son to have the choices you never had."
So there it was, out in the open, simmering between them again. And the worst part was that Lucas had no argument against what she'd said, because he knew she was right. He stood up, jamming his hands into his pockets.
"I wish it could be that way," he said. Her expression changed slightly, as if she'd heard the genuine longing in his voice. "I really do understand how you feel, Jessie."
"But?"
"But it wasn't for me, and can't be for Luke, either. Montebello comes first. His life and path are set, just as mine were."
"If you never had any choice, you should understand why that's so wrong."
"I never felt like I was deprived. It was just something I knew, from childhood. Like having blue eyes."
"You didn't have anything to say about the color of your eyes. That really is a matter of no choice. What you do with your life shouldn't be."
"I never felt I was missing anything."
"What if you'd wanted desperately to be a...a lawyer?
Or an airline pilot? Or—" she gestured toward the window "—a rancher?"
He smiled at her. "Actually, I am. In a way. I studied a lot of law in college, and although I didn't go for the degree, I can hold my own with most lawyers. I am a pilot, and a better one than my recent record might indicate. And I'm also a rancher. We raise purebred Arabians on our ranch near the palace."
She was staring at him, looking a little stunned. He wondered if she hadn't realized this aspect of his life, this benefit of his family's wealth and position. Whatever he wanted to do in life, he was pretty much free to do as long as it didn't conflict with the well-being of his people.
"Luke will have those same advantages," he pointed out. "Whatever he wants to do, he'll have the resources."
Jessie went very still. "I know you can give him more than I ever could. But material things aren't that important to me, and I don't want my son growing up thinking they are."
Lucas pulled a chair out from the table and straddled it backward, crossing his arms over the back before he said earnestly, "I know that, Jessie. I'm not trying to buy him. Believe me, he'll work hard for every privilege."
"He'sjust a baby. Let him enjoy his life. When he's old enough, he can decide what he wants."
"That will be too late. He has so much to learn, about our history, the needs of our country. He'll have to learn about business to address the economics, world affairs to understand our place in that world. He'll have to know how to deal with ambassadors, prime ministers and presidents. And the even more intricate protocol of dealing with other royal houses. He'll have to learn how to speak in public, for at all times he'll speak for Montebello. It must be ingrained, so deeply he never misspeaks. He'll have to—"
"What if he just wants to live his life?" Jessie burst out. "I don't want my son fettered and duty-bound, with no life of his own!"
"It's a good life," Lucas protested, sitting up straighter on the chair. "Yes, there's duty, and a great deal of responsibility, but that's not all. He'll have the world to draw on for whatever interests him. He can play as hard as he works."
"Another Playboy Prince? No, thank you."
Lucas winced. "I'm not proud of that nickname, or the reputation that hung it on me. All I can say is I know better now. I know what's really important, and it's not how I was living."
"Then how can you ask me to send my child into that life?"
"Because there is no other option. But I promise you he's going to learn that nothing is more important than family and caring about people. He's going to learn that he's entitled to have fun, but not at the cost of worrying those who love him. He's going to learn that his rank is a privilege, not a right. You'll have to help me teach him all that, Jessie."
Her head came up, and he saw the fire of determination glowing in her eyes once more. "I know nothing about that kind of thing. I can teach him about life here, about the beauty of a mountain sunrise, the joy of a newborn foal, the reality of a world where you get the work done or pay the price, the satisfaction of a job well done and the pure peace of a simple life in one of the best places on earth. Those are the values I want my son to treasure."
"They're good values," Lucas agreed. "But not the only ones that are worthwhile. And you can learn, you know you can. You're smart, you're quick, it will come easy, once you get started. There are many obligations, and the social etiquette will probably drive you crazy. But there's a certain comfort in following traditions that are a century old."
"Ranching is an older tradition than that. I'm happy with it, thank you."
She was closing off, he could sense it. He got
up and paced the kitchen as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He had to be fair about this; he had to convince her honestly, not trick her or force her in any way. She'd been through too much already. With an effort, he kept his voice business-like and unemotional.
"The next queen of Montebello will have a tough act to follow. My mother is incredible, and the people adore her. She is tireless in her pursuit of anything she feels will benefit them. She's charmed aristocrats and politicians the world over, but she exerts that same charm for the average person on the street. And they know it. They know they are as important to her as any world leader. My father may be the head of Montebello, but my mother is the heart."
"She sounds extraordinary," Jessie said, sounding a bit calmer now.
"She is. And another like her is what Montebello will need, when the time comes."
"Exactly," she agreed, as if he'djust proved her point. "A long time from now, I would hope," she added. "Your mother is still young."
"Yes. And that's for the best. There's plenty of time to learn what's needed to continue in her tradition."
"I'm not sure that can be learned," she said.
"It can. She did. She wasn't raised a royal, after all." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I know what I'm asking you to sacrifice, Jessie. And I don't do it lightly. I know this is a huge step, because it's a huge job. Your place would be unlike my sisters, for example, and not just because they were born to it and you weren't."
Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. He tried to explain it more clearly.
"My sisters are princesses, they aren't looking at ascending to the throne."
"You mean they can't?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharp. "Because they're female?"
Oops, he thought. Bad move.
"My father's working on that," he promised. "But it's going to take some time." He hurried on, not wanting to get hung up on the issue of a woman's rights in the succession. "What I mean is, that succeeding my mother isn't going to be easy. I know that. And it will be harder for someone who hasn't grown up in that world, who hasn't had the traditions drummed into them since birth. But you can do it. I know you can."