MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way)

by Robyn Grady

  Balancing, she picked her way over the stretch. When she came to a cliff wall that jutted out into the sea, she turned to head back. Then, at her feet, she spotted a break in the rock.

  As a kid she’d loved to climb and explore. Sometimes she’d come home so grubby her parents would say she should have been a boy. That same let’s see how far I can go feeling gripped her now. Lowering onto hands and knees, she poked her head and then shoulders through the hole worn in the rock. Wiggling and pushing, she finally popped out the other side.

  The sight greeting her took her breath away.

  Back at the villa, Darius cleaned his face and paint-splattered hands as best he could. Then he took off his stained shirt, changed into white drawstring pants, and poured a glass of wine while thinking about the call he needed to make. If Helene Masters was a reporter, here to play him with her young and innocent act, she would have arrived under her own steam. Hopefully she’d be smart enough to shove off now before his posse arrived and rode her out of town. The press had their place, but their thirst for sensationalism, no matter the cost, left him cold.

  Out on the balcony, Darius put a call through to Yanni Kostas, his Chief Aide, and passed on the details of the situation. After disconnecting, Darius sipped from his glass as he imagined the computer searches already underway. Should this Alexio’s name be found logged alongside the caretaker’s position, one of Yanni’s men in the city would visit the registered address and learn the truth. Darius estimated fifteen minutes, tops.

  Down below, he saw Helene Masters strolling along the beach. Her hair was flying on a sea breeze as she edged her way along a far outcrop of rocks. Sprayed with seawater, the rocks would be slippery. Although she looked nimble—almost graceful—he worried she would slip. But she reached the cliff wall without incident. Now to see if she could make it back without breaking her neck.

  The phone rang. As always, Yanni was composed.

  “Helene Masters’ story has been verified—to a point,” the Chief Aide said. “She arrived at Tierenias three weeks ago and has since worked in a casual capacity for Alexio Moraitis, a taverna owner and long-standing primary caretaker of our smaller island. I need the name of the educational institution to authenticate her claim of graduating this year. Some journalists build covers over many months. Photographs of you on that island now would be worth the time.” A humble tone came into his voice. “I’ll organize a boat to collect her. When she is here, I will deal with the situation appropriately.”

  “Fine,” Darius said. “Good.”

  But then, watching Helene exploring in the distance, apparently innocent of any wrong-doing and probably having worked hard all morning in the sun, he hesitated. He eyed his glass and then recalled the intriguing hue of her eyes. The passion in her voice.

  “Actually, no,” Darius said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t send a boat just yet.” Helene was balanced on an elevated rock now, face tilted toward the sky, arms out like a bird, sarong and flaxen hair flying in the breeze. “I’ll call again and let you know when.”

  “You’re aware of tradition, Your Highness. This time is to be spent alone.”

  “With that tradition already breached, another few hours won’t hurt.”

  Setting his phone aside, he sipped again, waiting for Helene Masters to turn about. Instead she crouched—to check out a rock pool or, perhaps, a cut from an oyster shell on her foot. When she remained low, out of sight, his gaze narrowed. Finally he let out a growl.

  A freak wave hadn’t swept her out to sea. And she couldn’t have magically passed through that rock wall. There was a way into the ravine that lay on the other side, but its entrance was well-hidden. Still, he couldn’t take a chance on anyone finding out what was concealed beyond that point. If Helene found it—dropped it the way she’d dropped that bucket—

  Darius growled, set down his glass and raced out the door.

  Several minutes later, out of breath, he stood before the cliff wall where Helen Masters had disappeared. At ground level on this particularly low tide, he saw an area of rock that was eroded right through to the other side. While a man of his build could never struggle through, someone of Helene’s petite size would fit.

  Darius strode inland until he came upon a familiar groove in the rock. Using his shoulder, he pushed with all his might. Finally a stone louver grated open barely wide enough for Darius to squeeze through.

  On the other side, he sprinted down the pebble-filled corridor until he came to the hidden entrance of a cave. He cupped his mouth and called into the tunnel, “Helene Masters!” then threw a glance to his right. By design that path, too, was blocked by a cliff wall. No one was meant to find this entrance, although dainty footprints marked in wet sand said that Helene had somehow managed it.

  Many years ago, he’d ventured inside this cave with his father. Later, together, they’d pored over a map. This place was a maze, and meant to be. He only hoped Helene hadn’t wandered in too far and gotten hopelessly lost.

  The scent of moss and salt suffused his senses. All around, dank air pressed in. Farther into the cave, amid misty light, a craggy three-pronged intersection appeared. Following his mental roadmap, he took the left path where domed walls seemed to shrink and crowd in. His surroundings were faintly glowing, the result of a mineral in the rock. The constant eerie trickle of water down limestone echoed all around. He took three more turns and finally a svelte silhouette came into view. Helene. And she was reaching for a waist-high ledge.

  Horrified, Darius let out a booming cry.

  “Nooooo!”

  Helene jumped back with a loud yelp. Although these walls, too, gave off a luminous quality, the chamber was draped in near darkness. Now she leaned forward, squinting to see.

  “Your Highness, is that you?”

  With his bare feet slapping puddles, Darius strode forward. “Helene, what in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”

  He could make out the fall of her hair, the sweep of her curves. But this minute his interest lay not in the feminine form—or not the flesh and blood kind.

  As he focused on the stone figurine which sat on that ledge, Helene sighed,

  “Isn’t it amazing? I think she’s the real deal. I mean thousands of years old.”

  When she reached out for the figurine again, Darius lunged and his hand snapped around her wrist. As soon as skin met skin, volts hurled up his arm. From the jump she gave, Helene felt it, too. The sensation was intense. Electric. Obviously a by-product of adrenaline overload.

  Her expression was one of dawning understanding. “You knew she was in here all along, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew she was here in this cave.”

  Releasing her, Darius turned to the ledge. Outwardly the figurine was a rudimentary piece. Her shape was embellished with heavy breasts and ample hips, thighs, and belly. But she signified a great deal more than that.

  “This figurine is integral to my time here,” he replied. “I’ll take her with me when I leave.”

  “Why?”

  His annoyance spiked. “Ms. Masters… ”

  “You called me Helene before.”

  Groaning, he conceded. “Helene—this is not a game.”

  Carefully, he reached for the figurine. He expected the stone to feel cold and yet her surface was warm. Some thermal activity in the rock, he supposed. He tried to lift her but the base stuck. Gentle rocking didn’t help. Would he need to come back with a pick? His ancestors would roll over in their graves.

  “She’s your goddess, isn’t she?” Helene asked. “The one with all those powers to mesmerize. A fertility statue. Lots of people all over the world still believe in these things. There’s a huge market for replicas on eBay.”

  Darius had no interest in forgeries.

  With his gaze adjusted to the shadows now, he scanned the ancient stone’s curves and a sense of destiny overcame him. Helene needed to appreciate the gravity of her find. She needed to understand that this
place must remain secret.

  “The eldest Vasily child enters this cave three times in his life,” he explained. “Once as a boy, later to retrieve the figurine in manhood, and a third time when his bloodline is assured, to show his oldest son the route and return the goddess to her home until she is needed again. If the figurine were to be broken, it is said the Vasily line would be broken too. To restore and retain her powers she must return again and again here to this cave. Only kings, their eldest sons, and the most senior palace aide in each generation know of her hiding place and whether, in fact, she is merely myth or truly exists.”

  “Except now I know.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “You must tell no one. She doesn’t belong on the black market or in a museum.”

  “Of course not. I won’t tell a soul.”

  In the trickling quiet, they both studied the goddess for a long solemn moment while the statue’s sightless eyes gazed back.

  “When you return to the main island,” Helene said, “where will you put her?”

  “In a special vault. The villa here has one, too.”

  “Oh.”

  She sounded so unimpressed.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing… Except, well, it doesn’t seem fair. She finally gets out of this cold dark cave only to be locked up again.”

  He was about to state the obvious. This piece was made of stone and wouldn’t know the difference. Instead he stopped. Listened. The sound of water running down limestone had suddenly grown louder. Beneath the bare soles of his feet, the ground seemed to shift and the echoing trickle swelled more.

  At the same time as his muscles locked and his gaze flew toward the tunnel entrance, the walls began to shake. When the ancient ceiling rumbled, Helene Masters jumped and threw her arms around his neck. A heartbeat later, the first boulder fell less than a foot away. With a final agonized glance at the goddess, he swept Helene into his arms and bolted for the exit. At that same instant, the roof buckled and caved in.

  Chapter 3

  With boulders dropping and barely missing their heads, Helene held on as the prince bundled her in the sling of his arms and shuffled away from the chamber’s exit. When an almighty crack ripped out overhead and an even heavier rain of rock fell, dust plumed and all light was snuffed out.

  They were trapped in the dark, cut off.

  Alone.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the sky stopped falling, and deafening silence crept in. Helene felt numb. Hands. Heart. Brain. She tried to scan the scene but the world had turned black. The air was clogged with dust and stirred-up moss that stuck in her nose and throat. She hacked and coughed. When she’d finally settled, Vasily set her down. Neither one spoke. Helene guessed he was listening for creaking—noises that might lead to another cave-in. But the only sounds were the echoing trickle of water and her own ragged breathing.

  His deep steady voice drifted over. “Are you all right?”

  When his big hand found hers and squeezed, she exhaled and squeezed back. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  He grunted and his fingers slipped away from hers. Then she heard a sizzle and a small flash went off. The scent of sulfur permeated the air and swirls of yellow-blue flame appeared before Darius Vasily’s smudged face. He was holding a torch plucked straight out of the middle ages.

  “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

  “Torches line this chamber’s walls. Matches are always kept on the ledge.” Slipping a box into a pants pocket, he stopped to study the figurine from head to toe, back and front. “She’s still in one piece.”

  Helene slumped. With all due respect, she felt that was the least of their worries.

  “A person can survive without food for a time,” she said, “but what about water?” Then she remembered. “When Alexio gets here and can’t find anyone, he’ll send out the alert.”

  In the flickering light, she read his bleak look. If they could be dug out at all, it could take days. Or weeks.

  Finding her hand again, he led her between chunks of rock to the far wall. He gave a simple instruction. “Sit.”

  He meant on the cold rocky floor? “Thanks. I’ll stand for a while.”

  In a halo of torchlight, she watched him find a seat and get settled. “It’s soft,” he said, “if that makes a difference.”

  She made out some cushions fringed with gold brocade. What the―? “This cave is furnished?”

  “Just this ledge.” He leaned back. “A small comfort during times of meditation.”

  She joined him. After setting her sandals down beside her and brushing away pebbles from under her thighs, Helene’s jangled nerves settled a little, and clenched muscles began to relax. She squinted at the figurine, but, from this distance, even an outline was barely visible. It was a miracle that no one, including the goddess, had been harmed—yet.

  When an icy ball settled in the pit of her belly, Helene couldn’t contain a shiver.

  The prince asked, “Are you cold?”

  “Not really.” She pulled up her legs to hug her knees. “Just edging a little toward terrified.”

  He held the torch and its light a foot above his head. “Watch the flame. It sucks back. Oxygen isn’t cut off completely. If air can get in, there’s a way out. Even rock wears away over time. Your doorway into that ravine is proof enough of that.”

  She dropped her feet to the cold uneven ground. “Well, let’s get started.”

  “We’ll gather ourselves first. Catch our breath.”

  That would have been fine, except she hadn’t felt this claustrophobic since she was a kid when she’d been grounded an entire month for sneaking out to see an R-rated movie. Back then, being cooped up had seemed like the end of the world. Talk about gaining perspective.

  A low-pitched creak sounded overhead, and both their gazes shot up. After an interminable time with her fingers gripping the seat’s lip, she summoned the courage to ask, “Have there been other cave-ins?”

  “None I’m aware of. Soon as I get back, I’ll have the structure reinforced.”

  She arched a brow. “I thought this cave was meant to be a big secret.”

  “I’ll need to cut out the tongues of all workers involved, of course.” When her jaw dropped, his dark eyes glittered in the torchlight as he grinned. “Don’t lose your sense of humor, Helene. We’re going to need it.”

  After a time, when the constant trickle of water started driving her mad, she asked, “Do you think the rock’s settled yet?”

  “No way to be sure.”

  He went to say more but cut himself off. In the torchlight’s relief, she studied his profile—that proud hawkish nose, a muscle pulsing high on his smudged cheek, the tight line of his mouth. What was he hiding?

  “If you have something to share, go ahead. I won’t fall apart.” At least she’d try not to.

  “If we poke around,” he finally said, “the rock might be disturbed again.”

  “If we don’t, we’ll dehydrate and…”

  Well, she didn’t need to spell it out.

  “We’ll wait,” he said. “Let more edges settle into place.”

  She wanted to argue and get this show on the road, but she couldn’t explore on her own. Irrespective of going nuts simply sitting here, wondering how this might all end, what choice did she have?

  Passing minutes cobbled together, dragging by like weeks. Gradually Helene’s vision adjusted.

  Across the way, she made out the figurine’s shape while her companion’s steely presence grew clearer too. She took comfort in his regular breathing and in the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad bare chest with its sheen of sweat. He held the torch with two sure hands with the stem between his opened thighs. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but imagine how hard those thighs might feel to touch. If they’d lived in another time, the man sitting beside her would have led armies.

  She shivered again. The torchlight gave off some heat but not nearly enough to get rid of her goose bum
ps. Raising her legs, she hugged her knees again. When her teeth began to chatter, air crackled as the torchlight arced over to one side and a strong arm looped around her. Helene’s eyes widened and her cheeks flashed hot. She hadn’t expected the contact. But she was a thousand times grateful for the comfort…for this incredible skin-on-skin heat.

  She eased out a breath and settled her cheek against a slab bare chest. Her drawn-up legs gradually moved to rest lightly against his lap. Fisting a hand under her chin, aware of his palm stroking her arm to generate warmth, she snuggled in.

  After a time, he asked, “Is that better?”

  Her eyes had drifted shut. “Way better.”

  “Your skin is like ice.”

  “Yours is like fire.”

  “The perfect complement then.”

  Perfect is how she’d describe it.

  As his palm slid up and down and his chin lowered to lightly rest on top of her head, she began to thaw. More minutes ticked by and reality seemed to turn in on itself. Crazy, but Helene would have sworn she felt another presence here, waiting right along with them.

  The goddess?

  As much as she enjoyed the stories, she didn’t believe in witches and goblins and magical powers. But weren’t legends in some way connected to fact?

  “Tell me more about your goddess,” she said.

  “She isn’t my goddess. She belongs to our history. And our future.”

  Helene’s lips curved against his gorgeous hard chest. “You really believe in her, huh?”

  “I believe in her the same way I believe in the blood that flows through my veins.”

  “So you think her powers are real?”

  “We give power to a belief through our faith. You must have things you believe in, Helene.”

  Her stomach swooped. He wondered if she had faith? Cloaked in this darkness, she could be honest.

  “After my dad died, I stopped believing in a whole pile of things.”