Under the King's Command

by Ingrid Weaver

  Kate whirled and kicked the speargun out of Chambers's hand, sending it spinning end over end past the gunwale.

  "Ow! Don't—"

  Kate wasn't listening. Fear was giving her strength she hadn't known she had. Her next kick caught Chambers square on the jaw.

  The woman screamed as she flew backward and hit the cabin wall. She slumped to the deck, landing on top of the inert form of her bearded accomplice.

  Kate lifted her pistol and aimed at Chambers. "Put your hands on your head and don't move."

  Chambers slid off her companion and got to her knees, cradling her jaw in her hands. She whimpered. "You hit me in the face. My face. My God. How could you?"

  Kate moved the gun to the side and fired a warning shot into the cabin wall. "I said don't move!"

  From between black strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes, Chambers glared at her. Slowly she lifted her hands to her head and laced her fingers together.

  Kate observed that the man didn't move. He hadn't even grunted when Chambers had fallen on him. Nevertheless, Kate kept the gun pointed in their direction as she dropped to her knees beside Sam. Battling to stay focused, she extended her arm and laid her fingertips against the side of Sam's neck.

  There was a pulse. She could breathe again. There was a pulse.

  Blood seeped through the fabric of her pants where she knelt. She swallowed hard and took her gaze off Chambers long enough to glance at the shaft that protruded from Sam's chest. It had gone in under his ribs. She couldn't tell if it had hit any vital organs. She wouldn't be able to help him if it had. Pulling the spearhead out could double the damage it had done on the way in. All she could do was to make a compress to slow down the bleeding and get him to a hospital as quickly as possible.

  Using her free hand and her teeth, she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and ripped off a foot-wide swath, then rolled the fabric into a cylindrical bandage to fit around the spear...

  Oh, God. This was Sam, not some first aid training exercise. The man she loved. And his blood was flowing over her hand. What if she couldn't save him? How could she live with herself if she failed him, too?

  No. She couldn't think like that. She ripped another strip from the bottom of her shirt and fixed the compress in place. "Sam Coburn, don't you dare die on me now," she whispered. "I love you, do you hear me? I love you."

  His skin was clammy. He still didn't move.

  Kate got to her feet. She spotted a storage box that was fixed to the deck near the cabin. She needed rope or duct tape, something to immobilize the two prisoners so she could leave them long enough to use the radio. "Don't move," she said, keeping the gun trained on Chambers as she hurried toward the box.

  "This is all just a misunderstanding," Chambers began.

  "Tell it to the king. He calls it something else. You killed his nephew."

  "That wasn't my fault."

  "And your sister." Kate undid the hasp and threw back the lid of the box. "You killed your own sister so you could use her child."

  "Jessica? I never killed Jessica."

  "We know she didn't die in an accident or childbirth."

  "Well, I didn't kill her. Who told you that?"

  Kate glanced through the contents of the box. Flares, life jackets and several coils of rope. She grabbed the rope and moved toward Chambers. "It doesn't matter."

  "It was Gretchen, wasn't it?" Chambers persisted. "That idiot. She's trying to blame it on me when she's the one who did Jessica."

  No. She couldn't think like that. She ripped another strip from the bottom of her shirt and fixed the compress in place. "Sam Coburn, don't you dare die on me now," she whispered. "I love you, do you hear me? I love you."

  His skin was clammy. He still didn't move.

  Kate got to her feet. She spotted a storage box that was fixed to the deck near the cabin. She needed rope or duct tape, something to immobilize the two prisoners so she could leave them long enough to use the radio. "Don't move," she said, keeping the gun trained on Chambers as she hurried toward the box.

  "This is all just a misunderstanding," Chambers began.

  "Tell it to the king. He calls it something else. You killed his nephew."

  "That wasn't my fault."

  "And your sister." Kate undid the hasp and threw back the lid of the box. "You killed your own sister so you could use her child."

  "Jessica? I never killed Jessica."

  "We know she didn't die in an accident or childbirth."

  "Well, I didn't kill her. Who told you that?"

  Kate glanced through the contents of the box. Flares, life jackets and several coils of rope. She grabbed the rope and moved toward Chambers. "It doesn't matter."

  "It was Gretchen, wasn't it?" Chambers persisted. "That idiot. She's trying to blame it on me when she's the one who did Jessica."

  Did Jessica? Kate wanted to shudder at the callousness of the woman. "Tell it to the king. And to Prince Lucas. Hold out your hands."

  "Of course. Whatever you say." She shifted her gaze and took her hands from her head. "Edwardo, now!"

  Kate forgot for an instant that Chambers was an actress—the shout had been so convincing. Assuming the bearded man must have regained consciousness, she firmed her grip on her pistol and stepped back, prepared to defend herself.

  But the man was still out cold. Chambers used Kate's momentary distraction to lunge across the deck to Sam. Quick as a striking snake, she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the spear that still stuck out of his chest.

  "No, don't!" Kate cried. "Don't touch that!"

  "I won't hurt him if you put down your gun and slide it toward me."

  Kate knew that the moment Chambers got her hands on the gun, she would use it on all of them. Yet if Kate delayed, with one twist of her hand Chambers could rupture something vital in Sam's chest, and he would bleed to death before her eyes.

  No. She wasn't going to lose him. No matter what.

  With a cry that came from somewhere darker than her nightmares, Kate brought her gun around and took aim at Chambers's heart.

  Another cry mingled with her own, a deeper one. Before Kate could pull the trigger, Sam reached up and clamped his hand around Chambers's wrist. He squeezed, his blood-smeared forearm cording in a burst of strength. Chambers screeched in pain and released the spear.

  Sam didn't let go. Despite being flat on his back, despite being gravely injured, he flexed his arm and yanked her downward. Her forehead smashed into the deck.

  Kate was already running forward, her gun trained on Chambers. But Chambers wasn't moving. Sam had knocked her out cold.

  "Oh, Sam! Sam!"

  He turned his head. One corner of his mouth lifted in a weak smile. "Sorry," he rasped.

  "Lie still. I'll call for help as soon as I deal with her." She tucked her gun into her waistband and dragged Chambers aside. She retrieved the rope she'd found, pulled Chambers's limp arms behind her back and bound her hands.

  "Sorry," he repeated. "Never... hurt... a woman before."

  "For this one, I'm glad you made an exception." Kate had extra rope. She wrapped it around Chambers's feet for good measure and pulled it taut, trussing her like a calf.

  "Had to hit her, Kate. She would... have killed you... if she got... the gun."

  It wasn't his welfare but hers that had concerned him, Kate thought. She blinked back a rush of tears. She couldn't give in to her emotions now. She had to get Sam to a hospital. "I know, Sam. But you just saved her life."

  He frowned. "Don't... understand."

  Kate dropped down at Sam's side. She checked the compress, then laid her shaking fingers over his heart. "I would have shot her because she would have killed you."

  His eyelids drooped. He blinked, fighting to hold onto consciousness. He lifted his hand to her cheek. "You're one... hell of a woman, Kate." "I love you, Sam." His hand fell to his side as his eyes drifted shut. He didn't reply.

  The island of Montebello appeared in the west, gleaming like a j
ewel in the noon sun. Freshly washed by the rain, the stone buildings around the harbor of San Sebastian formed a beacon of white as the helicopter neared the shore. Kate glanced at the waves that blurred past beneath them and felt the lump in her throat grow.

  From the time she'd used the Penelope's radio to call for help, everything had seemed to happen in fast-forward. The search grid she and Sam had set up for the mission had worked, after all—even before she had completed her transmission, a sleek cabin cruiser full of Navy personnel had been bearing down on them with a Coast Guard cutter close behind.

  The mission was a success. The Montebellan police chief, Admiral Howe and the royal family had been notified that Chambers and her accomplice were in custody and were on their way back to face Montebellan justice.

  As a co-commander of the operation, Kate should have accompanied the suspects on the trip to shore. It was her responsibility to see this through to the end and ensure they were handed to the police.

  But there was no way she was leaving Sam's side until he was out of danger. To the surprise of her colleagues, who were accustomed to her rigid devotion to her duty, she put the first man to arrive in charge of wrapping up so she could board the helicopter with the medics.

  She shifted her gaze from the window to the man on the stretcher beside her. She brought Sam's hand to her lips and brushed a kiss across each of his knuckles. He hadn't regained consciousness. It worried her, but it was a mercy to him—the agony he must be enduring from his injury was unimaginable. How could anyone in those circumstances have had the strength to do what he'd done?

  The lump in her throat was getting too big to swallow past. Yes, love hurt, but she'd never run from it again.

  In another one of those spurts of fast-forward, the naval base appeared below. The helicopter swooped toward the landing pad on the roof of the base hospital. Medical personnel were gathered, waiting, their green gowns fluttering in the rotor backwash. Kate had to relinquish her post at Sam's side to let the doctors do their job. She held herself together and jogged behind the gurney as he was wheeled directly to surgery, but when the doors closed behind him, she felt her legs give way.

  Before she could hit the floor, someone caught her elbow. "Hang on," a deep voice said. "I'll call a doctor."

  "No, I'm okay. Thanks." She took a few quick breaths and lifted her head.

  At her first sight of the tall, dark-haired man who held her arm, she started in surprise. "Your Highness!"

  Prince Lucas lifted his eyebrows, evidently as startled as she was. "Lieutenant Mulvaney?"

  Kate straightened. She was aware how little like an officer she must look in her bloodstained pants and ripped T-shirt. She looked even worse than the first time she'd met the Montebellan royalty, but right now she didn't care. "Sam's in there. Lieutenant Coburn, I mean. I have to make sure the doctors know I'm here so they'll tell me—"

  "They will, Lieutenant Mulvaney," Prince Lucas said. He firmed his grip on her elbow and steered her away from the operating room doors toward a grouping of chairs. "When I heard what happened I came down to see how Lieutenant Coburn is. The doctors know where I am."

  She wavered on her feet and gazed at the closed doors before finally sinking into a chair. "Ursula Chambers did this, Your Highness. She's a snake, she's not a woman. She's—"

  "She's in custody, thanks to the two of you. I won't forget that. My country and I owe you a debt we'll never be able to repay."

  "We were doing our duty, Your Highness."

  "You did more than that. And please, call me Lucas. This is no time to worry about protocol."

  Kate raked her fingers through her salt-stiffened hair. "You might as well call me Kate, then. I'm not behaving much like an officer."

  "No, Kate." His blue eyes softened as he studied her. "You're behaving like someone in love."

  That's all it took. A kind look, an understanding word, and the tears she'd managed to hold back finally flowed. After the way she had wept this morning, she was amazed she had any left. "Does it show that badly?"

  He took a neatly folded square of linen from the pocket of his sport coat and handed it to her. "Let's just say I'm familiar with the symptoms."

  Even through her tears Kate recognized the Sebastiani family crest on the handkerchief. She should be aghast at her unprofessional behavior, but she blew her nose on it anyway. "Sam's not going to die. He can't. He's too strong. He's too stubborn. He won't stop fighting."

  "That's right. You have to have faith."

  "He doesn't even know how I feel," she said. "It took me too long to realize I loved him."

  "That's what happened to me. Jessica never knew, either."

  Kate wiped her eyes and looked at him. Behind his chiseled features she glimpsed a flicker of suppressed pain. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. Lucas. I didn't mean to remind you—"

  "It was my own fault, Kate. I left her because of duty. I thought there would be time. I hadn't known... life is so fragile." He leaned over, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he laced his fingers together. "Things would have been different if it hadn't been for her sister's twisted schemes."

  "Ursula Chambers denies she killed Jessica. She said Gretchen Hanson did."

  "Hanson? Do you mean that woman who abandoned my son?"

  "Yes, that's what Chambers told me on the boat."

  "What else did she say?"

  "I'm sorry. That's all I heard. I wasn't able to question her further. She was still unconscious when I came back on the helicopter with Sam."

  A flash of resolution chased the pain from Lucas's features. "We'll have plenty of time to deal with everyone involved later. Believe me, I intend to see that justice is done."

  "We all are." She glanced once more at the closed doors. "It's the least we can do for the people we love."

  It was a long, slow climb back to consciousness. Sam noticed the sounds first. The beeping of electronic equipment, the steady whoosh-dick of a respirator. The murmur of voices and the squeak of shoes. Then came the smell of antiseptic and boiled cotton. And then, of course, the pain.

  Sam rode the wave of red agony until he was on top of it, then pushed it into a corner of his mind. He knew this drill. He'd been here before. What was it this time? Another gunshot? A saber wound? Shrapnel? What about the mission? Where was his team?

  "Lieutenant Coburn?" It was a stranger's voice, but Sam recognized the tone of brisk concern. It was the same on every base around the world. Had to be a medic.

  Sam concentrated on opening his eyes, but his lids were too heavy. He must have been anesthetized—whatever had happened, it must have been bad.

  Something warm brushed his forehead. Mixed with the hospital smells came the scent of... gardenias.

  Kate. She was here. He tried once more to open his eyes. This time, he saw a sliver of light.

  "Go and get some rest, Lieutenant Mulvaney." It was the medic's voice. It was receding as if he were turning away. "The surgery was a success, in large part because the internal lacerations from the barbed spearhead were limited by the way you immobilized the object so promptly." There was the scratch of a pen on paper. A door opened. "You won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. Aside from his concussion, the drugs in his system would knock out a horse."

  The door closed. There was a long silence, but Sam knew he wasn't alone. The touch came again. Sam turned his head toward the caress. He parted his lips and said Kate's name. But it didn't come out that way. It sounded like the creaking of a rusty hinge.

  Frustrated, he gathered his strength and willed his eyes to open.

  Kate was leaning over him. Her eyes were red. He lifted his hand to touch her cheek. "Okay?" he asked.

  She seized his hand and pressed his fingers to her mouth. Her lips quivered. "Yes, Sam. You're going to be fine."

  "Not me. You." He felt a tear drop onto his thumb. "Are you okay? You're crying."

  She made a noise that was half laugh, half sob. "Oh, Sam. I'm all right now. Everything's going to be
all right now."

  "The mission?"

  "It's over. It was a complete success."

  "Over?"

  "I'll tell you about it later."

  "Not over," he tried to say. The rusty hinge noise was back. He could feel himself fading. But this was important. He had to tell her something. "Please. Don't say it's over."

  * * *

  The prison-issue coveralls were no protection against the cold that seeped through the stone walls. What kind of backward place was this, anyway? She was an American citizen. She had rights, didn't she?

  Ursula rubbed her arms, wincing at the tenderness in her wrist. That lawyer and the consulate guy they'd sent to talk to her yesterday had been idiots. She'd told them to sue someone for police brutality or Navy brutality or whatever they wanted to call it—she'd even agreed to let the lawyer take a percentage of the settlement—but they kept pointing out that she had committed murder, attempted murder, kidnapping and assault and resisted arrest.

  She never got a break. That was the story of her life. She was surrounded by fools. It was all Scarpa's fault that she'd been caught. And now her face, her perfect face, it was... it was... Oh, God. How bad was it?

  With trembling fingers, she lifted her hand and tenderly touched her jaw. There was no mirror in here. No one had listened to her pleas for one, so she hadn't been able to see the extent of the damage, but she'd felt it.

  Her fair skin and beautiful bone structure had been the few gifts her father hadn't been able to take back. But she could no longer trace the clean line that had defined her face so strikingly because her jaw was too swollen. Gingerly she moved her fingers to her forehead. The lump there was going down, but she could feel that her skin was rough with unsightly scabs where she had struck the deck.

  Oh, it was simply too upsetting to think about. She sank to the bunk, shocked to feel real tears well in her eyes. She could produce attractive little tears on cue when she needed to play a role, but she never actually wept because it was unflattering. It would make her eyes puffy and her nose red. She hadn't cried for her sister or for Desmond, but she couldn't help crying for herself.

  There was a shuffle of footsteps outside her cell. "Chambers, you have visitors."