Heir Untamed (10 page)

Ingel gasped when she saw the markings on Chey's temple. “Darling, what happened?”

Elise peered around Ingel's head, frowning.

“I left the door to the linen closet open and cracked myself a good one last night,” Chey said, hating to lie. She stepped aside to let the women in. Their arrival at exactly eight every morning had already become routine.

Ingel made a
tsk
sound and swept inside. “Do you need anything for it? I can
bring you cotton and antiseptic, or ointment--”

“No, no, thanks. It's just a bruise. It'll take a couple days to go away.” Chey left the door open and followed the women to the small table they took her breakfast to.

She watched as Ingel expertly prepared her a cup of tea. Steam roiled out of the expensive china. Setting the teapot down, Ingel faced Chey and got a closer look at the injury. Her eyes were filled with kind concern.

“You need anything, you call me, yes?” Ingel said.

“I will. Thanks for breakfast.” Chey still felt strange having anyone wait hand and foot on her.

Ingel smiled a motherly smile for the gratitude. “It is nothing. Good luck with your photos today. Come, Elise.”

Elise bid Chey good morning and followed Ingel to the door.

Once the women were gone, Chey sank down into a chair and nibbled on the toast. Her mind busy with the events of last evening, she sipped at the tea and ate several slices of fruit.

What a predicament to be in.

More than anything else, Chey wondered who had something to hide. Only a desperate person would sneak into someone's room and threaten them with blackmail—or worse. Desperate for what, or over what, however, Chey could not fathom. Her acquaintance with Mattias was a clear problem, one she would have to tread lightly around. Now that he had secured her agreement to photograph Viia, perhaps his attention would wane.

Wouldn't that be an ironic and tragic coincidence, she thought, if Viia had paid someone to threaten her while her own boyfriend had been the one to seek Chey out in the first place.

Chey, cynical straight from the womb, didn't believe in coincidences like that. If it
had
been Viia, there was something else driving her. Something more secretive than a matter of
conversation between herself and Mattias and a few harmless pictures.

Finishing breakfast, Chey returned to the bathroom and dressed for the day. For the private shoot with the King and Queen, she broke out the best suit she owned. Dark navy, with a modest hem on the skirt, the outfit sported white piping on the lapels, cuffs and hem of the shortcoat. Sliding her feet into a pair of three inch, sensible heels, she gathered her camera and deposited the rest of the equipment outside in the hall to be brought down by the aid.

Today, for the first time, she locked her bedroom door when she left.

Urmas waited at the head of the stairs leading to the third floor. The one that was off limits to Chey unless she had a direct escort. He watched her come up and checked the time on his watch.

Chey knew she was ten minutes early. She liked being punctual and was relieved that Urmas shared her tendency.

“Oh, Miss Sinclair, I--” Urmas paused after glancing up from his watch. He frowned. “What happened?”

Chey breezed to the top of the landing, desperately curious about this floor of
the castle, yet unwilling to stare and gawk in the presence of Urmas.

“Misjudged an open cabinet door,” she said. The lie didn't come any easier the second time around.

Urmas looked dubious. He lifted his chin and studied the mark with frank curiosity. “Did you have Ingel bring you something for it?”

“No. It's just a bruise.” Chey decided it was a good thing she'd gone into photography instead of stage make-up, where she would have obviously failed spectacularly.

“Hm.” Urmas hummed, then pivoted and guided her toward a tall arch at the beginning of a broad hallway.

Chey forced herself not to squirm under his scrutiny, and breathed a sigh of relief when he led her on. Adjusting the camera case strap on her shoulder, she finally absorbed the detail of the off limits third floor.

And what detail it was. White walls accented by gold trim provided a pristine backdrop for paintings taller than she was. Opulent chandeliers hung from the hallway they turned into, the ceiling inset with crown molding and hand paintings reminiscent of Michaelangelo. The atmosphere was somewhere between a museum and a cathedral, with archways leading into private parlors, a huge library and other formal sitting areas. Smaller hallways branched off left and right, with gilt doors leading into what Chey assumed were the private suites of the Royals.

Shocked all over again that people actually lived like this, Chey tried to fathom the money, the responsibility, the centuries it must have taken to ascend to this seat of power. Every so often she was struck with a sense of the surreal, like she might wake up from a vivid dream in her tiny apartment back in Seattle.

“Remember, no pictures of anything up here besides the formal sitting room we'll be using,” Urmas reminded her. He turned into an archway between two marble statuettes of draped cherubs wearing solemn expressions.

Following, Chey entered the sitting room of the King and Queen. One wall was nothing but windows, the panes alternating between clear and stained glass arches. All the furniture matched the white-on-gold theme of the walls. Modern looking divans with gold scroll sat next to sleek sofas with gold tasseled pillows and ottomans with burnished gold buttons. Two high backed chairs situated near an enormous fireplace was the spot Urmas led her to.

“This is where you'll set up. Decide how you want the furniture and a few staff members will be in shortly to move it for you,” Urmas said with a gesture.

“All right. Thank you.” Chey set down her camera case. Urmas stepped away, cell phone already in hand.

Chey got down to work, more than glad to put her troubles from her mind.

. . .

The session with the King and Queen went exactly as Chey expected. Urmas,
the go between, transferred new sitting positions after Chey snapped the angles
she wanted. Aksel and Helina made little fuss, moving and posing as directed. Helina looked about as bored as she might have watching grass grow for an extended period of time. Chey struggled to snap shots that didn't convey her
boredom to the public. Or her indifference. Aksel was a little more animated with the few people he deigned to speak to during the ordeal, once even laughing over this comment or that.

After, when the Royal pair had left the room and Chey was breaking down her equipment, Allar surprised her with a question.

“A cabinet door, hm?”

Straightening, Chey turned to meet his inquisitive gaze. “I see good news travels fast in these halls. Yes, an unfortunate accident.”

He quirked his lips and studied the injury with as much doubt as Urmas. “You should be more careful, Miss Sinclair,” he said in a quiet voice. “Next thing we know, you'll be falling down the stairs.”

Chey sucked in a breath. For a moment, she wondered if Allar had been behind the event. What were the chances he would suggest exactly the same circumstance the attacker had?

He arched his brows and cocked his chin like he was waiting for her to say something.

“...yes. Of course. I'll be more careful. Excuse me.” Chey stepped around him, snagged the camera case strap and exited the sitting room. Urmas stood in the hall, ready to escort her back to the lower level. Back to the territory she was allowed to roam.

Along the way, Chey ran through the reasons Allar might do such a thing. Unfortunately, they weren't many. In fact, she couldn't come up with a single explanation that would motivate him to threaten her.

Unless—unless she'd unknowingly snapped a compromising picture. But of what? She'd only gone out on her own twice, once inside, and once out. Oh, and the walled garden, which turned out to be a failure on all fronts.

“You're starting to make suspects of everyone,” she muttered under her breath.

“Pardon, Miss Sinclair?” Urmas paused on the stairs to glance back.

Chey met his eyes. Realizing he'd heard, she said, “Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.”

No she didn't. She needed a cover for her muttering, however, and the excuse was a handy one.

He held her gaze before continuing. At the juncture of the hallway to her bedroom, Chey paused when Urmas detailed her schedule.

“You'll have the next three days to shoot the castle and the grounds. Then we have a session scheduled for an outdoor event with the young Royals. When you're out and about, see what setting looks good to you. Find a few choice locations that capture the fall foliage and some of the landscape. Let me know if you'd like an escort to drive you deeper into the property.” Urmas glanced up from his phone.

Chey inclined her head. “I'll let you know. Thank you, Mister Urmas.”

“I'll be by to collect the photos you took today in the morning, as usual. Enjoy your day.” He departed, walking with a brisk stride back toward the stairs leading to the third floor.

“Good day.” Chey watched him only for a moment. Then she headed down the
hall to her
room, ready to change and get some fresh air.

Donning a pair of kelly green khakis and a thin ribbed sweater in peach to combat any chill in the air, Chey scooped her dark hair back and secured it into a messy knot atop her head. A few stray wisps tickled her jaw and throat. When she stepped in front of the bathroom mirror to make sure it didn't look
too
messy, she gasped to see how dark the bruise had become at her temple and the corner of her eye. Blue and purple now, the mark definitely looked like more of a backhand than any encounter with a cabinet door.

There was nothing she could do about the lie now.

Collecting a smaller, more portable camera, she laid the strap around her neck and went to the door, swinging it wide. There stood Mattias with his hand raised like he was just about to knock.

“Miss Sinclair, I--” He paused when he got a look at her temple. His dark eyes darkened further. “What happened?” he demanded.

Surprised to see him, she blustered over an answer. “I...well it was silly, really. I misjudged one of the cabinet doors. In the bathroom.”

Mattias, wearing black slacks and a crisp white button down with tiny black pinstripes, frowned. “You did that on a cabinet door?”

Why didn't anyone believe her?
Because it's a piss poor lie.
“Yes. Urmas has already urged me to be more careful.”

Mattias took a step forward. Using just his fingertips, he whispered a touch across the edge of the bruise. Then he met her eyes. “You would tell me if a guard got out of line or something like that, wouldn't you?”

Chey stared up at Mattias, close enough now to catch a scent of his masculine cologne. “Of course. Are you here to inquire about Viia's pictures? I haven't finished editing them yet.”

A subject change was in order. Chey hurried to distract him. She pinned her gaze on his throat and left it there for the time being, diffusing the heat and friction they were starting to generate between them. It bothered her for more than the threat she received about spending time in Mattias's company. After Scrabble with Sander, and their upcoming canoe trip, Chey wanted to squelch any attraction she had to Mattias. Not that she'd egged it on by any means. What woman wouldn't be affected by his easy charisma and charm? Only daft, blind, really old women on their deathbed, she assured herself.

Mattias eased his touch away from her temple. “No, actually. I am not here about Viia's photos.”

“You're not?” Chey risked a glance at his eyes.

“I thought to take you into the city. Shopping, lunch, sight seeing. It will be a prime opportunity for you to take aerial pictures as well as those of the city. Are you interested?” he asked.

Was he kidding? Chey would have chopped off her little toe for the opportunity to shop, sight see and take photos in such an exotic location. She wasn't sure any city trips were on her agenda—though she could be mistaken. Urmas didn't tell her anything that far in advance.

Then she remembered the threat. Her expression waned from a gleam of excitement to one...less excited. She felt the shift and could do nothing to correct it in time.

“I'm...actually, I'd love to go, Mister Ahtissari, except I have an assignment I'm supposed to be getting ready for. I need to scour the property for a place to set up our next photo shoot.” How she hated to miss out on such a golden opportunity. There was no help for it, though.

Mattias's brows arched high. “Well,
Miss
Sinclair, I have a helicopter waiting, so you'll forgive me if I would like to upset your schedule for a handful of hours. I promise to have you back early enough that you may wander the property at your leisure.”

Damn the man. A helicopter? How was she supposed to say no to that? Chey glanced past Mattias to the hallway. As if she thought a dark shadow would be lurking in the nearest crevice to glean all her secrets.

Mattias glanced behind him, too. Then he twisted back, a clear question on his features.

If she wasn't careful, she was going to tip her hand that something else was wrong. For a moment, Chey hovered on the verge of confession. She wanted to tell him everything. Would he believe her? Chey couldn't be sure. Never mind that one of her prime suspects was his own girlfriend. And speaking of his girlfriend, what would Viia think of this little foray into town? Already the woman had been shooting her warning glances, and perhaps had sent someone into her room to warn her away from the Prince.

“You know, if I was a less observant man, I might think you were just shy or intimidated by the offer to accompany me into town. But I'm not, and I don't believe for a second that you're shy, which leaves me thinking that there is something you're not telling me,” Mattias said.

He
was
observant, disturbingly so, and she didn't know how to talk her way out of this without lying her backside off. The longer she stood there debating, the more suspicious he was going to become.