As if he’d somehow managed to divine her thoughts, Rafael gripped Annie’s shoulders and held her a little distance away so that he could glare at her. He gave her a slight shake, but she knew somehow that he was more exasperated with himself than with her.
“Damn it,” he hissed, “it would serve you right if I took you to my bed this minute and showed you what it means to surrender to a man!”
Annie felt her eyes widen. “I think I know,” she said loftily. But she didn’t, of course, not really, even though she’d seen the act of love once, in a book of erotic drawings one of her classmates had smuggled into St. Aspasia’s.
Rafael laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. It was a low, harsh bark of fury and frustration. “You think you know?” he taunted. He took her hand in his and pressed it to the long and frightfully hard bulge at the front of his breeches. “Feel the reality, Annie,” he commanded. “Imagine taking me inside you—deep inside you—”
Heat suffused Annie, body and soul, and she nearly swooned, she was so overwhelmed, but she made no effort to pull away. Even though touching Rafael that way terrified her, it also made her want him more.
Quietly, boldly, she turned the tables. “Imagine being deep inside me,” she told him. “Think how it would be, Rafael.”
He released Annie with a furious motion and turned his back on her, and she watched, fascinated, full of joy and power, while he struggled with emotions she could only guess at. Tentatively, she laid her hands on his shoulders, felt him flinch beneath her touch as if her fingers had burned his flesh.
“I’m not afraid,” she said softly.
Rafael tilted his head back, but he did not turn to face Annie. “Well, I am,” he replied hoarsely, and then he strode away, leaving her there on the balcony to stare after him.
Annie stood still for a few moments, breathless and flushed, then hurried off in the opposite direction. She did not regret anything she’d said or felt or done, but the sensations were new to her, and powerful, and they raged inside her like a sweet storm. She hurried down the stairs and out of the solarium, stopping only when she’d reached the privacy of her bedchamber.
There, she tore off the confining dress and the petticoat beneath, replacing them with her beloved breeches and shirt. After adding boots to the ensemble, Annie left the keep, by way of the kitchen, heading in the opposite direction of the stables, where there was a great deal of activity. If she didn’t keep moving, if she didn’t find a way to dispel the frightening energy that had gathered in her middle when Rafael kissed her, and then pressed her hand to him, she was certain she would explode.
The important thing was to do something, to avoid standing still and thinking at all cost.
Beyond the kitchen was a vegetable garden and beyond that, a chicken yard and a variety of small, ramshackle sheds. Annie made her way past them, toward the high outer wall, with its crenelated top. No trees were allowed to grow near the structure, for obvious reasons, and a close examination proved that there were no handholds in the ancient stone.
She’d gone less than a mile when she found a gate hidden behind a cascade of thick ivy.
The iron latch was rusted, and Annie struggled with it until she was breathless, until her hair was tumbling down and her shirt was damp with perspiration. Finally, however, her persistence paid off, and she was able to slide the long bar to one side.
The gate’s hinges were almost as recalcitrant as the latch had been, but she managed to haul it back far enough to peer through the opening.
At first, Annie was disappointed, because she’d expected to see open countryside, and the distant ocean, on the other side. Instead, she found a dark, cavelike room, full of dust and cobwebs and spiders. After making sure that the gate wasn’t going to close behind her, entombing her in that cool and spooky place, she took a few steps inside.
At first, there was only gloom, but as Annie’s curiosity drew her farther, she saw that thin splashes of sunlight were spilling through in places. The cave had not been used in decades, perhaps even in centuries, but here and there she glimpsed indications of human habitation.
There were crude cooking pots in one corner, and a rotted saddle in another. At the far end, swathed in spiderwebs, was another gate, but this time, even using all her strength, Annie could not get it open.
When a rat the size of a house cat brushed against Annie’s ankle, her fascination give way to fright. She dashed back to the entrance and floundered through the ivy and out into the sunshine. There, Annie stood gazing upon her discovery and wondering if Rafael, or anyone in St. James Keep, knew of its existence.
She hoped not.
After carefully closing the gate and making sure the dusty vines and leaves of the ivy hid the passage completely, Annie started back, by a different way, toward the castle.
There were at least fifty horses and riders in the outer courtyard, and the main gate stood open. Annie, hiding behind a mossy statue at the edge of the garden, caught her breath when she saw Rafael, mounted on the magnificent black gelding. Beside him, as usual, rode Edmund Barrett.
Although Rafael had told Annie he was leaving the keep, she was devastated by the reality of seeing him go. She watched, in silent despair, as Rafael and Mr. Barrett led the troops through the great gate.
The hooves of all those horses, striking the hard wood of the drawbridge, raised a deafening clatter. Annie watched until the last rider had passed through the archway and winced when the portcullis crashed into place.
Closing her eyes, Annie offered a quick, silent prayer that Rafael would return, safely and soon. When she turned to go inside the castle, she nearly collided with Chandler Haslett.
She would have preferred to encounter no one at all, but at least she didn’t have to pretend with Chandler. He knew how she felt about Rafael because she’d confided in him the day before, in the garden.
Taking in her tumble-down hair, her smudged shirt and breeches, Chandler smiled and shook his head. “What a delightful little hoyden you are, Annie Trevarren,” he said, with gentle humor. “I almost envy Rafael the reckless passion you feel for him.”
For one wretched moment, Annie thought he’d witnessed the interlude between her and Rafael on the solarium balcony, and she went crimson with mortification. Just as quickly, she realized that she’d jumped to conclusions, and she smiled shakily as she ran damp palms down the sides of her dusty trousers. “Was that a compliment or an insult?”
Chandler laughed and took her arm, pulling her gently toward the castle. “The former, of course,” he said. He looked at her disreputable clothing again. “Good heavens, what have you been doing? Climbing trees? Crawling through gopher holes?”
Annie didn’t want to tell anyone except Rafael about the hidden gate she’d found, or the stranger chamber beyond it, though she couldn’t have explained her reasons. She changed the subject. “Where were Rafael and Mr. Barrett going with all those soldiers?”
He sighed. Annie saw concern in the pleasant, aristocratic face and liked Mr. Haslett all the more for knowing that he cared about Rafael’s safety. “It would seem that my future brother-in-law has decided to meet with the common people.”
Annie stopped in her tracks, as chilled as if someone had flung a bucket of icy well water all over her. “But that’s dangerous—Rafael has so many enemies!”
Chandler nodded and tugged Annie gently into motion again. “Yes,” he agreed solemnly. “Even a day ago, I would have feared that Rafael was deliberately riding out to meet his own death. I spoke with him before he left, however, and I saw an interesting change in him.”
They entered the great hall, but not before Annie cast one last, longing glance toward the main gate, which was just visible through the portcullis.
“What sort of change?” she asked, as hope pooled like sun-warmed honey in her heart.
Chandler gave her a wry, sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t presume to guess,” he said. “Now, I’d suggest you take yourself to your room, put on
some proper clothes and pack your bags.” He laughed at her startled expression and hastened to go on. “No, my sweet, you’re not being banished from the castle, if that’s what you’re thinking. There is to be an engagement ball in Morovia at week’s end, remember? You and Phaedra and I are traveling to the palace—Miss Covington will accompany us, as a chaperon—to make ready.”
Annie recalled then that Rafael had mentioned the journey earlier, and her heart sank. Without a certain prince in attendance, it wouldn’t be much of a ball.
CHAPTER 8
Annie stood on the terrace outside her bedchamber, still clad in her mannish garb of breeches, boots and shirt, watching Rafael’s party moving away along the seacoast road. Her throat was tight and her eyes burned, and several minutes passed before she heard the soft, wretched sobbing coming from the room next to hers. Frowning, Annie turned and saw that the French doors leading onto Phaedra’s terrace were slightly open, their gauzy curtains blowing in the breeze.
“Phaedra?” she called.
The weeping ceased, and the princess came out onto her balcony, her dark hair tangled and trailing down her back, her eyes huge, her skin pale as lilies on a moonlit night. She was wearing a long, flowing white nightgown, even though it was midafternoon, and the garment added appreciably to her air of tragedy.
Annie crossed to the railing and leaned forward, shocked by the state of her friend’s emotions. “Good heavens, Phaedra,” she whispered, “what’s happened?”
Phaedra was following the progress of the departing troops, her arms folded across her bosom. “Suppose he’s killed?” she murmured.
Although Annie had fears of her own, she felt duty-bound to encourage the princess and help her see the situation from a positive prospective. “Rafael is an excellent swordsman, and I’ll wager there isn’t a better rider in the whole of Bavia. We must depend on his strength and skills, and our own prayers, of course, to see him through—”
Phaedra’s eyes were haunted when she turned, in slow surprise, to look at Annie. “Rafael?” she murmured, as though she’d never heard the name before. Recognition stirred, followed by impatience. “I wasn’t thinking about him.”
Annie was confused and not a little annoyed. “Then who?” she demanded.
Another change came over Phaedra just then; she straightened her back and raised her chin, and when she looked toward the rapidly disappearing soldiers again, Annie saw color rise in her face. She met Annie’s gaze once more, and this time her eyes were bright with some fiery emotion—resolve, perhaps. “Lucian,” she said, in a brittle tone. “Didn’t you hear? Rafael forced him into the army. He’s a soldier, now.”
Annie did not believe for a moment that Phaedra had been weeping so aggrievedly over Lucian; the two had never been close. She knew, however, that it wouldn’t help to press for the truth while the princess was upset, so she forced a cheerful note into her voice and asked, “Have you started packing for the trip to Morovia, yet?”
Phaedra shook her head, cast one last forlorn look toward the coast road, then turned and retreated into her room.
That afternoon, when they set out for the capital, there were three passengers in Chandler Haslett’s spacious and well-appointed coach besides himself—Annie, Miss Felicia Covington and a silent, distracted Phaedra. Another carriage would travel behind theirs, loaded down with trunks and boxes, and a contingent of two dozen soldiers had been reserved for the purpose of escorting the little group safely to the front entrance of the palace.
Although she missed Rafael dreadfully and feared for his well-being, Annie was cheered by the prospect of adventure. It would have been excruciating to be left behind at St. James Keep for upward of a week, with nothing to look forward to except the prince’s return. And if she wasn’t particularly thrilled by the idea of attending the ball, there was still the pleasure of exploring Morovia in general, and the palace in particular.
Phaedra stared wanly off into space, while Chandler and Miss Covington engaged in benign gossip about a mutual acquaintance in England. Annie listened for a while, grew bored, and turned her attention to the sparkling blue-green sea. She caught its salty scent through the open carriage window, felt the mist on her face, and knew a poignant longing for the peace and relative safety of the family island in the South Pacific.
The trip from St. James Keep to the walled city of Morovia was short, and they arrived at the great outer gate after only about two hours of travel. Phaedra remained listless and inattentive, even after they had been granted entrance and the carriage was rolling over stone streets so old that knights and wandering troubadours had trod upon them. Annie saw that Chandler had noticed his future bride’s pensive mood, and that he was troubled by it. Felicia, too, had turned thoughtful since their arrival, though a vague smile played at the corners of her mouth.
Annie had concluded that Rafael and Miss Covington were not lovers, but she knew the bond between them was a close one nonetheless. It would be a grave mistake to think the other woman wasn’t a rival for the prince’s affections. As Annie had already learned, marriages among the European aristocracy were seldom based on love and passion.
Evidently sensing Annie’s perusal, Miss Covington turned from the window and smiled. Her brown eyes shone with good-natured amusement and some private and vaguely frenetic excitement.
Caught staring, Annie blushed and looked away. Mentally scolding herself, she fixed her attention on the narrow streets of Morovia, the little stone houses with their ornate balconies and tiled roofs, the fountains and statues in the squares they passed. Housewives and merchants and tradesmen, children and old women, gathered in doorways and shop windows to watch the procession, their expressions sullen and sorrowful. Even with Mr. Barrett’s guards on all sides, Annie didn’t feel safe.
When the streets grew wider and the houses were larger and farther apart, Annie concluded that they were nearing the palace. Before they could reach it, however, a stone or brick struck the side of the carriage, and there was a great commotion among the soldiers. There were shouts, fearful cries from the horses, and then a shower of stones.
Annie’s fear was exceeded only by her curiosity, and she tried to lean out the window to get a look at their attackers, only to be wrenched unceremoniously back onto the seat by Chandler Haslett. He’d already pushed Phaedra to the floor of the carriage, where she crouched, trembling, along with Felicia.
“For God’s sake, Annie,” he rasped, as gunfire was heard outside, along with angry bellows, “get down!”
When she didn’t immediately obey—she was stunned, not stubborn—Chandler swore and virtually flung her onto her face on the carriage seat opposite his own. Having done that, he attempted to shield the women with his own person, an act that won him Annie’s eternal admiration.
There was a great clanging sound, and the terrible din outside subsided a little. Annie looked up, through the crook of Chandler’s elbow, and saw one of the soldiers peering in through the carriage window.
“You’re safe now,” the guard said.
Chandler rose and climbed nimbly out of the coach. Annie scrambled out after him, while Phaedra and Felicia untangled themselves and got up from the floor to follow.
They were inside the palace courtyard, Annie quickly deduced, and soldiers and horses milled all around them, in a sort of organized uproar. The gates, twelve feet high and made of what appeared to be woven iron, were closed and secured, and the brick walls on either side were being patrolled by sentries. The mob could be heard grumbling and shouting in the street beyond.
Felicia came to Annie’s side and took her arm, ushering her toward the entrance of the palace, a massive building constructed of quartz-speckled white stone. Annie glanced back over one shoulder just in time to see Phaedra slip into a swoon. Fortunately, Chandler was standing close by, and he caught the princess deftly and lifted her limp form into his arms.
“Hurry,” Felicia said, pulling Annie between the towering pillars, up the marble steps and into th
e vast entryway beyond. “Some of those people out there might have guns.”
Phaedra was already coming around as Chandler carried her inside, but her skin was the color of milk, and her eyes seemed twice their normal size. Jawline tight, Chandler called for a servant and proceeded up the curved stairway to the second floor.
Annie started to follow, then stopped, gripping the gilded newel post. “Do you think Phaedra will be all right?” she asked.
Felicia spoke matter-of-factly. “Yes, the St. Jameses are a hardy lot—it takes more than a mere revolution to finish them.”
When Annie turned, she saw that the other woman was adjusting the hairpins that held her masses of silver-blond curls in place. She had already shed her cloak and tugged her gloves off.
Even inside the palace, with the doors closed and servants bustling up the stairs in response to Chandler’s brusque summons, Annie heard shouting between the soldiers and the people outside the gates. For the first time, she truly understood the seriousness of the situation that Rafael faced and she was shaken to the heart.
At that moment, she would have given everything she had to be at Rafael’s side, wherever he was. Even if she couldn’t protect him, and she was wise enough to know that she couldn’t, she would at least have known what was happening to him.
One of the maids stood ready to show Annie and Miss Covington to their rooms. The girl was understandably agitated, and Annie wondered if there was a riot every time someone left or entered the palace grounds. She decided to ask the question later, along with a few others.
Her chamber was a charming, airy place, with a balcony overlooking a small rose garden. Within the tangle of budding flowers was a fountain encircled by a stone bench. An enormous yellow tabby cat slept there, sprawled on its back, paws akimbo, abandoning itself to the afternoon sunshine. Obviously, the incident in the street hadn’t disturbed the puss unduly.
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