The Prince's Convenient Bride

by Robyn Donald

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ she said wonderingly, a wild mixture of delight and relief and sheer, blatant happiness blazing so brightly within her that she couldn’t stop smiling.

  He laughed and kissed her mouth, gently, and then not quite so gently. Against her lips he said, ‘You hold my heart and my future in your hands, my darling. If I don’t have you, I have nothing.’

  Tears filled her eyes. He kissed them away and said, ‘But next time I tell you not to move, stay still.’

  She laughed, and gulped back another sob. ‘I love you desperately, and when you pushed me behind you I was frantic. He could have killed you, and you had nothing to do with the whole sordid, appalling past,’ she said, remembering how useless she’d felt. ‘I want to share your life, not be protected like some fragile flower that will die in a shower of rain.’

  ‘I have to protect my heart.’ But he smiled and kissed her smart retort from her lips. ‘I’ll try,’ he whispered.

  She winced as she lifted her hands to him. He took them and kissed each palm, then got up and said with considerable irony, ‘No doubt it serves me right that when I want to take you to bed so much that I might well die from wanting, I cannot.’

  ‘You could have before,’ said tartly. ‘Ever since we’ve got here, I’ve lain awake night after night, hoping that you’d come.’

  ‘I didn’t feel I had the right. I had forced you into an engagement, and then manoeuvred you into a marriage I knew you didn’t want. I suppose I wanted you to have some independence.’ eyes kindled and he finished on a note that set her pulse slamming through her body, ‘I was a fool.’

  Drawing him down to sit on the edge of the bed, she said, ‘Can we let it go, darling? I’m sick of the past; Lexie once said that we’d lived in the shadows all our lives, and she was right. Can’t we all move out into the sunlight now?’

  His fingers tightened around hers so that she flinched. He loosened his grip immediately and lifted her hand to his mouth, holding it there as he spoke so that each word sent a heated shiver of hunger through her. ‘My dearest, will you be happy with me? We can live wherever you like, and I’ve already started to ease back on my workload.’

  ‘I’ll be happy wherever you are, whatever you do,’ she told him simply, and smiled mistily up into his beloved face. ‘I love you so much. I’ve been fighting it too, but—I didn’t put up much of a struggle. I think I knew right from the start.’

  He laughed at that, and kissed her wrist. ‘As did I,’ he said. ‘We danced in a mock-ballroom, and by the time the night was over I owned a heart no longer. So, shall we marry with Melissa and Gabe and their lovers in a triple wedding ceremony?’

  Suddenly realising what it would mean, she said worriedly, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘More sure than I have ever been about anything,’ he said, the words a vow never to be broken. ‘Surer than I am that the sun will shine on us tomorrow. Surer than I am that the sea won’t roll over the mountain top—even surer than I am that you love me.’

  She kissed him and he lifted her carefully, tenderly, onto his lap. ‘Ah, no—you know I do.’

  He laughed, soft and deep and low, and locked his arms around her.

  They were still like that when Marya came knocking at the door. ‘All is well?’ she asked, her tone and smile making it obvious she knew it was.

  ‘Yes,’ they said together.

  She said, ‘My lady’s cousin wishes to see her.’ She paused, saying somewhat hurriedly before either of them spoke, ‘He is very distressed, and needs to know that he is forgiven—or at least that you understand why he felt he had to do what he did.’

  Marco looked down at Jacoba’s suddenly pale face. ‘Do you want to see him?’

  A sudden fear battled with the knowledge that she should build bridges with the man who’d locked her up and terrified her. ‘Yes, all right.’

  Marco hugged her. ‘I’ll be here. Before he comes in, I believe, and my head of security believes also, that he didn’t want to kill you. If he had, he’d have shot you when he found you in the garden. Leaving you in the dungeon doesn’t make sense. He must have known that the castle would be searched from the topmost turret to the deepest dungeon—and he’d also know that Marya knows it as well as she knows her own face. I think he probably wanted you to be found.’

  Marya glanced at Jacoba, safe in her lover’s arms, and nodded vigorously. ‘Honour drove him to try to keep faith with his father, but he is a kind man. He would have been a doctor if he hadn’t been targeted by the dictator.’

  Marco frowned. ‘Marya, you know what people are thinking. Is there likely to be any more talk of revenge or feuds?’

  The old housekeeper’s face grew solemn. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, but without her usual conviction. ‘Now we have police and officials who are not corrupt, and rulers who care for us, people are beginning to realise that a feud is not the only way to get justice. Prince Alex has told everyone that revenge only creates the need for more revenge. I think people are beginning to believe him.’

  Dismissing that with a gesture, Jacoba said, ‘But what about Lexie? Plenty of people have reason to hate her. Even if only one person wants to kill her, she’ll be a sitting target because she’s Paulo Considine ’s daughter. After my father went to fight with the partisans, when Mama was alone and unprotected, Considine forced her into a relationship. Lexie was the result. Then, once my father was dead, he married her.’

  Marco said forcibly, ‘So many deaths, so many tragedies, all caused by one man’s sick ambition and all, in the end, for nothing. Paulo Considine is dead. I swear, your cousin’s attempt will be the last time anyone attempts to live by the tenets of the blood feud. I’ll find a way to stop it once and for all.’

  He settled Jacoba back into bed and stood beside it, tall and dominant and formidable.

  But the residue of fear vanished once she saw her cousin. His agony of mind was obvious. Gently, Jacoba said to him, ‘Apart from my sister, you’re my only relative.’

  Blinking, he responded, ‘I swear on the saints—on holy St Ivan himself—that I shall not try to kill your sister.’ After a moment’s hesitation, he went on, ‘I could not carry out my father’s wishes even when I had you at my mercy.’

  ‘Because you knew they were wrong,’ said uncompromisingly.

  Jacoba interposed, ‘You will have much in common with my sister, for she also is a veterinarian.’

  He looked up eagerly, but his gaze fell. ‘I’m glad I failed. Perhaps it was because the lady was watching over her family as she always has.’ He bowed. ‘Sir, if you wish to kill me—’

  Jacoba’s instant outcry blended with Marco’s forceful reply. ‘Your cousin isn’t hurt, and I believe you when you say that you are sorry. Even if you’d killed her, I wouldn’t do the same to you. I’d prosecute you with the utmost severity of the law, but killing plays no place in Illyria now. Do one thing for us—for Illyrians everywhere: speak out against blood feuds whenever and wherever you can.’

  ‘I will,’ he vowed, straight and oddly formal. He made another bow to Marco, and turned to leave.

  Impetuously, Jacoba held out a hand to him. He blinked and stopped when he saw the bandage on her wrist, but when she beckoned he came up to the side of the bed. She lifted herself up and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you, cousin,’ she said softly.

  He froze, and then slowly, tentatively, he put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. Jacoba sensed his emotions, tangled and bewildered, and then he gave a huge sob and backed out of the room.

  When Marya had escorted him away, Marco said softly, ‘You’ve made another slave.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, colouring. ‘When he said the lady stopped him from hurting me, who did he mean?’

  ‘The Queen, our very distant ancestor.’ Marco shrugged. ‘The people of the valley believe that she is still here, still watching over her children’s children.’

  ‘Do you believe it?’ she said quietly.

  H
is smile was lopsided. ‘I’m a thoroughly modern man, and a cynic to boot, so I’ve been told more than once.’

  ‘But?’ she probed. Did he too think that Marya was not—quite—the peasant she seemed to be?

  ‘But sometimes I think they might have something. Are you satisfied that Lexie will be safe?’

  ‘Not—entirely,’ she said soberly.

  He walked across to the window and looked out over the valley, his face hardening. Heart beating unsteadily, Jacoba watched him.

  Without turning his head he said, ‘I feel that to scotch this once and for all we need some dramatic gesture of public reconciliation. The Illyrians are religious. Would you and Lexie be prepared to take part in a—say, a vigil in the cathedral where the relics of St Ivan , the patron saint, are held?’

  When she hesitated he finished, ‘You’d be guarded by sharpshooters, so you’d be safe.’ And when she still said nothing he said with brutal, unsparing candour, ‘No, I won’t lie to you. You’d both be as safe as it is possible to make you.’

  Jacoba had thought that if only Marco could love her, she’d be completely happy. Now she discovered that even such glorious relief and pleasure and hope wasn’t unalloyed. Always, he’d put Illyria first, even if it meant exposing her and Lexie to danger.

  But it no longer stung. Marco wouldn’t be the man she loved if he could ignore his obligations.

  Perhaps it was time for her to take up the burden of her heritage too. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said quietly. ‘But no soldiers, no guns. If it’s to mean anything we need to be honourable about it, and to trust the people. After all, you Considines are asking them to trust you; it should be a two-way thing. As for Lexie—why don’t you ask her?’

  Lexie was silent for long moments when Marco had put his suggestion to her in Gabe ’s study. Prince Alex had been consulted; he’d checked with his council, who seized on the idea.

  Gabe said, ‘You don’t need to do this, Lexie.’

  ‘I think I do.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘He was my father and if this is necessary to make things right for the country he trashed, I’ll do it.’ She looked at Jacoba. ‘But you’re not going to.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ her older sister said stringently. ‘You do it, I do it.’

  She stood firm during the week that followed—a week when Prince Alex and his council prepared the people for the event.

  In the end, Lexie accepted her sister’s presence, although, as they were driven through the dark streets to the green and white striped cathedral, she said, ‘I wish you weren’t here.’

  ‘Scared?’ Jacoba asked. There were so few people in the streets the city seemed deserted.

  ‘Yeah.’ shrugged. ‘But it’s the only thing to do, I feel. I’ve been reading about the Considines—Marya’s been putting me through a pretty strenuous education regime! They were big on duty.’ She looked acutely self-conscious. ‘I’m glad I’m one. I feel I owe it to the Illyrians to do what I can. I just hope it works.’

  So did Jacoba. Both were silent as they were met at the cathedral door by the archbishop. The huge building was echoing and bare, with no flowers, the only lights the candles on the altar.

  Silently the archbishop led them towards it. Jacoba felt an icy scud of foreboding down her spine. She couldn’t help thinking that they’d be silhouetted against the light—perfect targets. And although it had taken Alex’s intervention, they’d managed to prevail on Marco not to ring the cathedral with snipers, so they were on their own.

  They both sank to their knees. Jacoba heard the soft swish of the cleric’s robes as he left them there. She prayed for Illyria, for its people and its culture, for the children who’d grow up in freedom, for its well-being…

  Almost immediately, soft sounds almost drove her to her feet. Her heart thudded, beating so heavily it almost drowned out the sounds of people coming quietly into the cathedral. The skin down her spine tightened, and she started to reach for Lexie’s hand to drag her to her feet so that at least they’d die facing their murderers, when she realised that this was no small group.

  The first quiet footsteps gave way to the shuffles of many; she sensed them come in, hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, their coughs and sighs and the slight rustle of clothes as they knelt filling the huge building. And above all, the soft sibilance of whispered prayers. The people of Illyria had come to join her and Lexie in their vigil.

  Stunned and joyful, she knew then that everything was going to be all right.

  But it wasn’t until later, when they emerged from the cathedral, that she realised how many people had supported them. As Marco, his face sharply honed, half-carried her from the cathedral, she was astounded to see the square filled with silent, black-clad people, more kneeling in the side-streets, others obviously making their way home.

  Gabe , an arm around Lexie, said quietly, ‘It’s been the same all over the country. The churches and chapels have been packed. It’s been a huge vote of confidence in you two, but also inAlex’s rule. I imagine it’s marked the end of the blood feud.’

  Marco’s black head moved in a quick nod. ‘Dictatorships are built on betrayal, on a million small treacheries every day. Lexie’s relationship to Paulo Considine , which seemed an insurmountable problem, has turned out to be yet another element in bringing the country together.’ He looked down at Jacoba’s pale face, and his eyes heated, became intimate and crystalline. ‘And you, my heart, are going to bed the moment we reach the castle.’

  ‘All right,’ said with a yawn. ‘Where were you?’ he was silent, she said, ‘I know you were in the cathedral somewhere. You gave in too easily.’

  Gabe snorted. ‘He was in the gallery with his band of specially chosen sharpshooters.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed—’ Lexie protested, only to be cut off by Marco.

  ‘I told Jacoba that you’d be safe here,’ he said coolly. ‘So it was my responsibility to make sure you were.’

  Lexie gave him a scathing look, but grinned as her eyes met her sister’s astonished gaze. ‘We should have known, I suppose,’ she drawled.

  In the palace overlooking the city they ate a light supper, and then went up to bed. Jacoba had just crawled into an old T-shirt when someone knocked on her door. Hauling on her robe, she went across to open it, unable to stop her sleepy smile when she saw Marco.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, piercing eyes scanning her face.

  ‘Tired, but relieved. It really did mean something, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ mouth compressed. ‘I loved you before, but last night—I’ve never admired a woman so much. It took a huge amount of courage to do what you and Lexie did. And it worked. Just before I came up, Alex got word that the killer who was acquitted after the last feud handed himself in to the police this morning.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ she said, her face lighting up.

  ‘My beautiful heroine,’ he said, and kissed her. ‘My love—my dearest heart—I adore you.’

  She clung, and kissed him back, relief and an indefinable lightness of spirit making her even more giddy than his kisses. When she could breathe again, she said, ‘I know it’s a royal tradition, but do we have to wait for a year to get married? Would it be cheating if we had a tiny wedding on the beach in New Zealand—my beach—with just Melissa and Hawke and Lexie and Gabe and Sara as witnesses? Say, in a month’s time?’

  His arms hardened around her. ‘I can think of nothing I’d like more, but we still need to be married here. It’s part of the Illyrian constitution.’

  She rested her face in the hollow of his throat, smelling the faint, sexy scent that belonged only to him. ‘I’ll enjoy that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘A woman can’t have too many weddings.’

  ‘Provided I’m the only groom in your life,’ he said, his tone low and not quite threatening.

  ‘You will be the only man in my life,’ promised quietly, her heart singing. ‘Forever.’

  But when he’d kissed her again, she added with a catch
of infinite delight in her voice, ‘Unless we have sons, of course…’

  Bells rang all through the capital city, sending birds wheeling above the crowds. Beneath a brilliant sun the city buzzed as revellers enjoyed the occasion. Cafés and bars were crammed, every window and balcony was filled with onlookers trailing music and laughter.

  Illyria was en fête, celebrating the weddings of the three Considine siblings. Those who could get to the capital lined the streets, ready to cheer until their throats were hoarse. In the countryside, people who ten years before had hardly dared to hope waited to light bonfires, prepared for a day and night of feasting and dancing while they toasted the three couples. The harvest had been excellent, and the summer had held on. People were already talking of a blessed year.

  The Considines met before the ceremony, Melissa graceful in a gown cut on mediaeval lines that revealed her slender figure, the Considine tiara—resplendent in diamonds from Golconda and rubies believed by some to have been mined and polished in Atlantis—poised on her proud head.

  She inspected her two brothers, tall and dark and outstandingly handsome in the full regalia of princes of Illyria. ‘You look utterly gorgeous! I fully expect to see two brides swoon when they walk up the aisle in the cathedral.’

  ‘Sara’s not likely to,’ Gabe said drily. ‘She might look delicate, but she’s made of spun steel.’

  Marco grinned. ‘And Jacoba’s not into fainting.’ unless she’s starving and dehydrated and traumatised, he thought, his heart stopping a moment as he relived those terrifying hours when he’d thought he’d lost her forever.

  Banishing the horror, he eyed his sister. Happiness had given her a radiance that still made him blink. ‘I’ll bet Hawke won’t be able to keep that trademark cool of his when he turns to see you. Am I allowed to kiss you?’

  ‘Of course you are!’ She kissed him back. ‘Are you satisfied that Jacoba and Lexie are safe?’

  Marco said uncompromisingly, ‘I’m satisfied, otherwise they wouldn’t be riding through the streets in a carriage. The Illyrians now consider them both to be innocent victims of the past. As we all do.’