Of Royal Blood

by Carolyn Zane

  She paused, with Sebastian at her side, and listened intently, straining to hear the past, both distant and recent. The stomping hooves and impatient snorts echoed those from centuries gone by. The faint reverberation in the back of her mind came from a time when St. Michel had had to fight for its precious freedoms.

  And the stronger sounds were born of times of peace—her papa’s low laughter, a horse’s eager whinny and the wind whistling as they flew.

  Marie-Claire drew Sebastian past a dozen stalls till she reached her father’s horse, Sovereign’s Golden Boy. Low nickers rumbled forth as his thoroughbred head protruded from the stall to greet his visitors. Ears twitching, he watched their approach with soulful brown eyes. His nostrils flared and blew as he strained to reach them.

  Marie-Claire buried her nose in the horse’s neck and inhaled the serenity she always found here. “Hey, handsome. How about a kiss for your girl?”

  Golden Boy lipped her cheek and snorted through her hair and after a bit of a slobber that could be construed by a creative mind as a kiss, he pulled back his whiskered lips and seemed to send Sebastian a challenging grin.

  “Should I be jealous?” Sebastian wondered.

  “Mm-hmm.” With a coy smile, she nodded and reached for a carrot in the pail behind her. “He’s mine now,” she murmured. “Lise, Juliet and Ariane weren’t interested, Jacqueline was too young and Papa knew I had loved him since he was a foal.”

  “Beautiful.”

  He was stroking the horse, but she knew his eyes were on her as she let Golden Boy lip the carrot from her palm. An exhilarating flutter of physical awareness bubbled in her belly. Unsettled by his blatant interest, she strove to appear as if the look in his dark, bedroom eyes had no effect on the strength of her knees or the steadiness of her hands. She touched her tongue to her suddenly dry lips and searched for a change of subject.

  “I’m so sorry you were subjected to that…” Marie-Claire groped for the words as she pushed away from Golden Boy’s neck and went to the tack room for a set of currycombs, “that…scene at dinner.” She was glad he couldn’t see the flames of embarrassment that licked her cheeks. “Had I known that Grandmama was going to sort the dirty laundry at the dining-room table, I’d never have invited you for tonight.”

  “Marie-Claire, your papa was like a father to me, too. He always had a way of making me feel a part of his life. Of his family. And all families have their good conversations and their bad conversations.”

  “Yes, but seldom do the skeletons come flying out of the closet at such a rate without benefit of air-traffic control.” When she emerged from the tack room she handed a brush to Sebastian and kept one for herself.

  Sebastian chuckled. “I have to admit I learned a few things about your family tonight.” Together, they tethered her horse just outside his stall and set to work brushing his satin coat to a high sheen.

  “So did I.” Her mouth curved in a rueful twist as she laid her cheek upon Golden Boy’s smooth flank. “I wonder why Papa never mentioned Katie to any of us?”

  Sebastian paused in his grooming of the horse’s broad chest and shrugged. “It was a long time ago. He probably didn’t think it was relevant any longer.”

  “Not relevant? Sebastian, they had a baby together! I’d say that might be worth mentioning.”

  Snuffing and blowing, Golden Boy swung his head down, and lipped Sebastian’s hair. Good-naturedly, Sebastian patted his nose, then nudged him away and continued brushing.

  “As king, your father was in a precarious position. Sometimes the hint of scandal in the tabloids can bring a country as small as ours to its knees.”

  “Yes, but we’re his family. I’d have liked to have known I had another sibling before now. After all, this person would have to be…” she did some mental calculating and stared at Sebastian, “…as old as you!” Her jaw sagged.

  “That’s ancient.”

  “Sebastian, I’m trying to be serious here.” She squinted at him. “You don’t have any old wives and children that may come popping out of the woodwork any time soon, do you?”

  Sebastian took a step and gathered her in his arms and rocked her playfully. “No wives and definitely no children. Although, I might be persuaded to get to working on that, if you were in the mood.” He nuzzled her neck, sending great waves of gooseflesh sailing down her back and arms.

  Marie-Claire reared back and, unable to help herself, laughed. “You are terrible.” She stared into his mesmerizing blue eyes for a long time, and felt herself go limp. “I feel so sorry for Papa,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “To have this…and then to lose it.”

  “We won’t let that happen.”

  “Promise?”

  “Mmm.” He pulled her close and gently kissed her lips. “I promise.”

  “I don’t understand how he could have married my mother, not knowing what had become of his first love and his baby.”

  “It was a more complicated time, back then. He had to fulfill his duty and bring an heir to the throne.”

  “We’ll never know, now that they are both dead, but I wonder if that’s why he really divorced my mother,” Marie-Claire mused. Hands dangling behind his neck, she plucked at the coarse bristles of the currycomb she still held. “Siring three daughters was not the most auspicious start on his legacy.”

  “No, but I know he loved you without reserve.”

  Marie-Claire felt her throat grow tight. “I know. But I don’t think he ever really loved Mum. She was too wild.”

  “Like you?”

  A tiny smile teased Marie-Claire’s lips. “More so. She wanted to be a freedom fighter. And a firefighter. And a bullfighter. She was an awesome woman. But she never should have been a mother. She died in a scuba-diving accident, somewhere near the Great Barrier Reef on one of her endless—and infamous—vacations.”

  “Philippe never mentioned that.”

  “Guilt, I’d imagine. Their divorce was a bit acrimonious.”

  “Still, you’re spontaneous, like her.”

  Marie-Claire lifted a shoulder and cast him a lopsided grin. “Unfortunately true.” Slowly, her hands traveled from his broad shoulders and over his powerful chest. Not trusting the sudden impulses she felt to unbutton his placket and to see if his chest was really as smooth and hard as she’d dreamed, she turned and began to vigorously brush Golden Boy’s mane.

  Sebastian set back to work himself. “Marriages of convenience are not unheard of even in this day and age,” he mused. “Chances are he needed her for their positive political alliance, but probably wasn’t in love with her.”

  “Or Hélène, for that matter.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I think there was probably some sympathy happening there, being that Hélène was his old friend’s widow. But again, a political alliance was advantageous for everyone.”

  “That’s just so…sad.” She wrapped several coarse strands of Golden Boy’s mane around her forefinger and, try as she might, could remember neither her father’s divorce from her mother, nor his marriage to Hélène when she was only three. “I’m sure that had a lot to do with it. Papa felt sorry for Hélène and her children, Georges and Juliet.” She finger-combed the horse’s forelock and kissed his soft, whiskery nose. “Poor Hélène. She was so desperate to prove herself worthy by bearing Papa a son.”

  “That’s how she died, isn’t it?”

  “Mm-hmm. The first baby boy was stillborn and that shattered her. When Jacqueline came along she fell into a terrible depression, and by the time she gave birth to her last baby, she simply did not have the strength. She and the boy both died within hours of one another. I’m not sure she ever even knew it was a boy.”

  A low sound of sympathy rumbled from Sebastian and he glanced at her with a look that spoke of his unconditional love. Of a love that transcended their stations in life and their age difference. A love that Marie-Claire knew would see them through battles both personal and political. A love
that would overlook bad hair and cramps and graying heads and wrinkles.

  Sweet and at the same time wildly exciting, it was the love Marie-Claire had craved her entire life. The kind of love her father had enjoyed for but a fleeting moment in his youth.

  “Papa carried a lot of guilt for Hélène’s death. That guilt and a healthy dose of mid-life crisis led him to Celeste, I think.” Marie-Claire’s laugh was mirthless. “I cannot imagine what else would have blinded him to her…her,” she grimaced, “…imperfections.”

  “A beautiful face will lure a man into all kinds of trouble.” He winked at Marie-Claire, and she responded with a cheeky smile.

  Sebastian moved into the tack room and Marie-Claire could hear him rummaging. He returned with a saddle blanket, a saddle and a bridle. These he dropped on the ground, save for the blanket, which he tossed up over the horse’s back.

  “Still,” Marie-Claire began, too lost in thought to really ponder his actions, then dropped to a bale of hay and tucked a straw into the corner of her mouth, “it’s all very tragic. I’d be willing to bet that Papa never found true love again after Katie. I wonder whatever happened to her. To her baby.”

  Sebastian hefted the saddle up over the horse’s back and reached under his belly for the girth. He was as comfortable in the barn as he was in the boardroom, she noted idly. She watched as, with deft fingers, he adjusted the stirrups. Oh, but he was handsome. And all male. Beneath his snug polo shirt, rugged muscles flexed and her eyes followed his smooth motions. He would age nicely, she decided, taking in the distinguished silver threads at his temples and the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes.

  Just like her papa.

  Sebastian and her father had a lot in common. A zest for life. A gentle, yet decisive nature. Above average height. King Philippe would have loved to have had him as a son-in-law, she just knew.

  The sobering memories of her father had sudden tears stinging the backs of her eyes and a burning lump of emotion lodging in her throat.

  Sebastian swung into the saddle and, as if he could read the direction of her thoughts, extended his hand.

  “Come on,” he instructed. She didn’t hesitate and, in an inkling, she was seated in front of him. “Let’s get away for awhile.”

  In his sparse apartment in St. Michel’s capital city, St. Michel, Luc Dumont hung up the phone and sank to the edge of his lumpy bed. He’d just been on the line with the offices at Interpol, the international police force, and a few pieces of his latest puzzle were beginning to fall into place.

  He scanned the fax they’d just sent of the thirty-three-year-old marriage certificate and the faded blurb in a small French newspaper announcing the marriage of Philippe de Bergeron and Katie Graham.

  Luc frowned. Either Philippe had bought the silence of the county clerks, or they’d worn some sort of disguise, because the news of St. Michel’s crown prince’s marriage should have been the stuff of a front-page headline, not a brief mention buried in the milestones column.

  Katie Graham, 17, student, Houston, Texas, U.S.A., and Philippe de Bergeron, 18, student, St. Michel, were wed in a civil ceremony,

  Tuesday, July 22, 1969.

  There were no pictures, but Luc imagined that, as teenagers, they were baby-faced innocents. He stared, unseeing, at a crude watercolor of the Eiffel Tower that clung to his wall and wondered at the fate of this woman and her baby.

  In a way, he could commiserate with this mystery child. He knew what it was like to lose a parent at an early age. This royal baby had never known his father. Luc, on the other hand, had lost his mother when he was only six.

  He shook his head. Raw deal, but those were the breaks.

  He reached for the phone and considered calling his father and telling him that he was working a big, prestigious case, knowing that Albert would be proud. It would be early morning, stateside. Albert’s wife, Jeanne, would still be home. On second thought, Luc set the handset back in its cradle. Jeanne had never liked Luc. He’d always figured it was because he resembled his mother. Riddled with insecurities, Jeanne was the reason he’d grown up in boarding schools. Even now, he avoided contact with her whenever he could.

  He’d call later, he decided. After Jeanne went to bed.

  Sovereign’s Golden Boy was surefooted and his canter smooth as Sebastian and Marie-Claire rode down the gravel road, away from the stables. Off in the distance, the setting sun peeked through a clear spot in the black thunderheads, causing a perfect—nearly neon in its intensity—rainbow to curve over the deep forest that loomed ahead. Wind whipped through Marie-Claire’s hair, twining strands around Sebastian’s neck as he held her firmly against his body.

  Instinctively, Sebastian led them to the edge of the trees, and slowed, picking his way toward their pond. Marie-Claire twisted around and looked up at him with a smile that he was sure only he could understand.

  After wending their way through the underbrush, they emerged at the outcropping of rock that protruded over the water’s edge. Over the years, not a thing had changed. Even the weather was the same. Humid. Sultry. Charged with electricity. A rumble of thunder clapped beyond the hills and overhead, fat, warm drops spattered to earth. One at a time. For now.

  The deluge was to come, Sebastian was sure. Of both rain and emotion.

  Without words, Sebastian handed Marie-Claire to the ground. After he’d spent some time tethering Golden Boy, he turned and looked up to find her poised at the edge of the rock. His jaw worked and his mouth went dry at the sight. She’d removed her sandals and sweater, but still wore the filmy white sundress she’d worn to lunch. Seemingly the heavens had sent down an angel as the twilight sun set her hair aflame with a golden haze. The dark shadows of her long, shapely legs were backlit beneath her translucent skirt.

  Sebastian felt as if he’d stepped back in time, only now, Marie-Claire was a full-fledged woman. Fire kindled in his belly and he stood watching her, unable to move. Her slow gaze traveled to his and locked. In silent communion, they stood, intrinsically knowing things about each other that no one else ever could.

  He studied the emotions that flitted across her face.

  He could feel the depth of her sorrow. Her feelings of betrayal, inspired by Simone’s shocking news. And, the fierce devotion she held for him. These emotions seemed to war within until she was driven to escape.

  Taking flight, she executed a graceful arc and dove into the pool below. This time, she surfaced immediately, shook her head and the poignant look on her face spoke of a loss of innocence. His throat tight, Sebastian mourned for that carefree girl, even as he fell in love with this evolving woman.

  As she waded toward him, water ran in rivulets from her hair, over her face, landing in sparkling droplets on her full lips. Her thin sheath clung to her body, drawing him inexorably toward her.

  Stripping off his shirt, he waded waist-deep into the water and pulled her into his arms. With the pads of his thumbs, he smoothed the drops—tears or water, he couldn’t be sure—from her cheeks and lips.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. His chin grazed hers as he spoke.

  Gaze plaintive, she stared up at him, her arms locked at his waist. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  “I do.”

  “Who then?”

  “The other half of me.”

  Her eyes fell shut and her sigh was sweet against his cheeks.

  “It will all work out.” He only wished he was as assured as he sounded. Feeling suddenly afraid that his words rang false, he pulled her close and kissed her with a fierce possession that rivaled any emotion he’d ever experienced before.

  Though Marie-Claire was famished and chilled as they rode back to the stables on Golden Boy, the strong arms that kept her firmly in place in the saddle fortified her. Sebastian’s chest was warm and solid against her back, and Marie-Claire nestled against him, cupping his biceps with her palms. The five o’clock stubble that shadowed his jaw caught strands of her hair, giving her an excuse to occasiona
lly reach up and brush his lips with the hills of her knuckles.

  He smiled down at her with a look that couldn’t have felt any more intimate than if they’d made love, back there on the sweet spring grass. But they hadn’t.

  It would have been wrong.

  As excited as they’d been, they both heard the powerful echo of her father’s voice cautioning them to live up to the royal code of ethics and morals. To make him proud, even now, in his absence.

  And since Sebastian was an honorable man, he’d mustered his last shred of willpower to tear his lips from hers and set her away from him. Even though his labored breathing told her that he’d been just as tortured to stop at kisses as she was.

  Marie-Claire heaved a disgruntled sigh. She’d never listened to Papa when he was alive. Why start now? She peeked up at Sebastian’s rugged jaw, hovering just over her shoulder and knew the truth.

  Because this was more than merely important. Sebastian was her soul mate. The first time they came together, it had to be perfect. And right.

  Soon, she promised herself. Soon enough, they would be man and wife. And they would spend whole days in bed together. Marie-Claire shivered at the vivid thoughts that exploded in her mind and—thinking she was cold—Sebastian held her tighter and kissed her neck, which only caused her to shiver again.

  “We’ll be home soon,” he murmured.

  “Mmm.” Not nearly soon enough.

  When they’d put Golden Boy up for the night, they rushed to the palace and sneaked in through the servants’ entrance and into the kitchen. While they raided the pantry for leftovers, wearing terrycloth robes, one of the evening housekeepers dried their clothes. They made banal conversation, designed to convince the staff that there was nothing going on between them.

  As they ate, Marie-Claire had to wonder at the success of their ruse. She could see the knowing glances and small smiles exchanged by the kitchen staff in the reflection of several large windows. No doubt rumors would be flying by morning. She didn’t care. Sooner or later, the world would figure out that little Marie-Claire de Bergeron was all grown up and madly in love.