Royal Captive (9 page)

“We met in a pit of mud,” he said the words on a low voice but distinctly.

For a moment, she thought he was joking but the way his lips flattened hinted otherwise.

She kept the tone light. “How romantic. I didn’t know you were a fan of mud wrestling.”

If looks could kill…

“She was an archaeologist, the most honorable woman I know.” He looked at her pointedly, then added, “A member of the Royal Valtrian Academy of Sciences.”

She almost said,
How boring,
but that
was
caught her attention and kept her quiet.

“We met at an excavation. Her find.” Pain came alive in his voice.

She couldn’t have spoken now if she wanted to. The sudden vulnerability in his eyes made him seem more real, more ordinary, more approachable than she’d ever seen him before. His guard was down, for the first time since they’d met. There was a moment of connection where none had existed before.

“Amalia died last year. A tunnel collapsed on her,” he finished.

“Were you there?” she asked at last, after a stretch of silence.

He shook his head somberly.

And she understood that it was part of his pain. That he hadn’t been there when Amalia had needed him.

She felt the same at times about her mother. She’d been there, but had done nothing. Granted she’d only been six, but she could have thought of
something.
Her father had been on his way. All she would have needed to do was find a way to delay.

“I was there with my mom. They hooked her up to an electric cable and made her scream into the phone for my father. I don’t think they meant to kill her. She had a bad heart that just couldn’t take it. I got loose and rushed to her. My fingertips got burned. And the top of my ears.” She rubbed one absently. “That’s why I don’t like electricity,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.” He seemed completely subdued all of a sudden, his gaze—filled with nothing but sadness—steadfast on her face.

She drew a deep breath, then scooted across the distance that separated them and slid back into his arms.

“Why are you doing this?” he murmured into her hair.

“Damned if I know. I didn’t exactly plan it.”

His comfortable warmth, the pillow of the nook of his arms and the gentle swaying of the ship made her sleepy. She had only rested in fits and starts in the past two days, always surrounded by danger. She wished they were off the ship and someplace safe so she could sleep.

The sun was low in the sky by the time she woke and found him watching her with an unreadable look on his face.

She blinked. “Did I miss anything?”

“There’s land ahead.” He pointed when she pulled away.

“Close enough to swim to?”

“Not yet, but we seem to be heading that way.”

“Turkey?”

“Too soon.”

Her mind was still fuzzy from sleep, surprised that she had nodded off, could sleep so soundly in the prince’s arms. A strange rapport seemed to have developed between them when she hadn’t been looking. She sure hadn’t seen that coming.

They watched the land grow larger and larger on the horizon as time passed. Neither of them spoke, each trying to figure out if this changed anything.

Then Istvan broke the silence at last. “We’re getting too close.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

His eyes narrowed to slits as he considered the land-mass ahead. “The captain talked about Mersin, a Turkish port. Of course, that doesn’t mean they didn’t have any scheduled stops before that.”

“You think the ship is going to port right now, over there? On some island?”

“On a large island. Looks more likely by the minute.” He pushed up to a squat. “Let’s go.”

He moved to the edge of the container and lowered himself. Lauryn did the same. They were close to the side of the ship so they didn’t have much open deck space to cross. They got in cover and waited.

When they were close enough to make out the row of hotels sitting on a sandy beach, Lauryn climbed over the railing. He hesitated behind her. She knew why.

“You’re not abandoning the royal treasure. You’re going to get help so everything can be retrieved.” She didn’t jump until she saw him nod. Then she pushed away, fell by a couple of portholes and prayed that nobody was looking out and saw her.

She hit the water hard, went under but broke the surface again soon and immediately began swimming to get away from the current the ship’s giant propellers churned up. Soon Istvan was there by her side and keeping pace. When they were at a safe distance, they stopped to tread water for a moment. At least the water was nice, it being the Mediterranean Sea at the end of summer. The sun was about to set. On the shore the lights were turning on one after the other.

“What do you think it is?” she asked, gesturing toward the island with her head, spitting out salt water.

He looked up at the cloudless sky where the first stars were coming out, and seemed to be orienting himself.

“Cyprus.”

Another wave splashed her face, but couldn’t wash off her optimism. She loved Cyprus. Her uncle lived on Cyprus. She could ask him for help.

“So we made it, right?” She could have shouted with joy, but although probably nobody on the ship would have heard her over the noise of the giant propellers, she figured it was more prudent to celebrate quietly.

“Unless the sharks or the currents get us,” he said, seeming immune to her exuberance. “Or they spot us from the ship.”

As if to underscore his words, shouting broke out on deck. Followed by bullets peppering the water all around them. So they
had
been seen from one of the portholes, she thought, then drew a deep breath and swam for shore.

In the end, it wasn’t the bullets that got them, nor the currents, nor the fearsome sharks, but the lowly jellyfish. Istvan’s skin burned as he climbed to shore. Now he knew how his brother Lazlo must have felt when he’d been trapped in a burning wreck at a car race. He could swear he felt the licking flames.

“How can something so small cause so much pain?” Lauryn sat on the sand next to him, pulling up her pant legs and blowing on the forming welts. Her wet shirt stuck to her like a second skin.

He glanced toward the hotel. “I’ll go call for help. Stay here.” He hesitated for a moment. “You
will
be here when I return?”

“I let you lock me in an electric closet.” She rolled her eyes. “I would like some of that trust returned.”

He waited a beat or two as he considered. Then he nodded.

“I’ll go soak.” She gave a soft moan as she rolled her pants higher, then stood to stride into the water up to her knees.

Salt water was supposed to be good for the stings. He’d be joining her as soon as he got back. “Be careful.”

The patch of jellyfish were a few hundred meters offshore, but that didn’t mean the waves couldn’t wash some closer. They liked coming up to the surface at night.

He ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed as much water out of his clothes as he could without taking them off, then strode barefooted across the sand, going around rows of beach chairs and umbrellas. They’d both ditched their shoes in the water to make swimming easier. His fake mustache was gone, too, along with the rest of his disguise. They hadn’t survived this last bit of swimming.

He walked right into the plush lobby and straight to the front desk, ignoring the curious stares from the guests. He kept his face from them, but couldn’t do that with the front desk manager, whose eyes went wide with recognition. The man’s hand flew up to adjust his tie. His back straightened. He drew a long breath and opened his mouth, no doubt for a ceremonial greeting.

“I need help,” Istvan said under his breath before the man could have spoken. “And your discretion.”

“Certainly, Your—” The front desk clerk caught himself and lowered his voice. “Certainly, sir.” Even his graying mustache seemed to stand to attention.

“I’ve had a boating accident with a friend. I’ll be with her on the beach. I need you to call the Valtrian Embassy and arrange for a pickup. Also if your security could keep the guests off the beach until we vacate it, I’d appreciate it.”

The man bowed. Caught himself too late this time. Glanced around nervously. “Yes, sir.”

“And I need your ID badge.”

The white photo card was handed over without question. “Let me give you some privacy,” the man said, then raised his voice as he addressed the guests milling in the lobby. Some were coming from dinner, considering a walk on the beach, others were meeting with friends to go out for a night of partying. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an open bar at the Roman Lounge on the first floor at the back of the hotel. All drinks are on the house. We are happy to have you here. For the next hour, all drinks are free.”

People began to move toward the back of the lobby, looking pleased and more than willing to be distracted.

Istvan turned on his heels and strode out, grabbing a couple of beach towels from a cart by the door, keeping his head down, avoiding looking at anyone who might have lingered.

He was relieved to see Lauryn still where he’d left her. He hadn’t expected her to run—she was injured, without money or any form of ID in a strange country—but he hadn’t been one-hundred-percent certain. She was good enough and troublesome enough to pull it off if she really put her mind to it.

He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He told himself it was because he still suspected her and he wanted to keep an eye on her until he figured out whether she’d had any part in the whole sordid heist business.

“How are your stings?” He draped a towel around her shoulders, the other one around his own. “On fire.”

“Help will be here in a few minutes. Lift your leg.” He squatted before her and helped her balance with one foot on his knee while he ran the edge of the ID card along her skin to shave off any adherent nematocysts. “All right, let’s do the other one.”

To do the job right, he had to touch her. Her skin was hot where she’d been stung. He could feel the shift of muscles in her calf when she moved slightly. There were a few stings even on her thigh, the thin material of her pants having provided little protection. His jeans had done a better job, as well as his jacket. But his shirttail had worked loose while he swam, so he’d been stung around the abdomen. He was feeling a lot less of that pain now, however, as he did his damnedest to focus on her injuries and nothing else, certainly not the way moonlight reflected off her smooth skin.

“Let me help you,” she offered when he was done.

“I got it.” The thought of her nimble fingers on his lower abdomen was more than he could handle. He scraped the skin with painstaking care, making sure he got everything. “Now there won’t be any more toxins released, at least.”

“Neat trick with the card.” She patted down her hair and squeezed water out of the ends. “Where are we in Cyprus?”

“I didn’t ask.” His main goal had been to arrange for help and get out before any of the guests recognized him. He glanced around and saw hotel security higher up the beach, on the large patio, turning guests back inside. They must have also escorted inside the handful of guests who’d been lingering at the edge of the beach when Istvan and Lauryn had reached shore. They were now completely alone on the stretch of sand.

“Thank God for the weather.” Her hair arranged to her satisfaction, Lauryn moved on to dabbing the towel over her clothes to wick some of the water away from her body. “If we had a storm or if the water was cold, this could have been a lot worse.”

He resisted the urge to offer help. “We’ll have food, water and medicine soon. Hang in there.” He scanned the road. How soon help would arrive was anyone’s guess. The Valtrian Embassy was in Larnaca, the capital city. For all he knew, they were on the other end of the island. He could see several restaurants and hotels from where he stood, but as luck would have it, none had the town in the name.

He was craning his neck, trying to catch something he might recognize, so absorbed in the task that he almost didn’t notice the black limo pull up ten minutes later, displaying a diplomatic license plate.

A uniformed chauffeur stepped out, along with a bodyguard. Istvan helped Lauryn out of the water and walked to meet the men halfway.

“Your Highness,” they said at the same time.

“Thank you for coming. Where are we?”

“Porto Paphos.” The chauffeur was better trained than to show curiosity either at the question or the disheveled state of his would-be passengers.

Porto Paphos.
Should have figured. One of the major ports on the north side of the island, but not anywhere near Larnaca. “How did you get here so fast?”

“The ambassador is in town with his wife for the international cat show. And he’s giving a welcome speech for contemporary Valtrian art at one of the galleries tomorrow morning.”

Probably set up by Chancellor Egon. “Good timing,” Istvan said, catching from the corner of his eye as Lauryn worked to roll down her pant legs.

“Should I call an ambulance?” the bodyguard asked, apparently having seen the welts already.

Istvan looked at Lauryn.

She shook her head.

“That won’t be necessary. Have a doctor dispatched to the Duke of Oskut’s estate along with a half-dozen guards from the embassy.” He walked to the limo and then, seeing that Lauryn was uncomfortable with the men, told the guard to ride up front.

“How far are we going?” Lauryn asked once the divider was rolled up and the car was moving.

“Not far. Relax if you can.” He reached for the mini-fridge. “Champagne or something stronger?”

“Plain water if you have it. And maybe some ice for the stings.”

He poured mineral water into two tumblers and handed one to her, gave her another glass with nothing but ice, then picked up the phone and called the embassy, identified himself. “There’s a Turkish ship by the name of
Suleiman’s Glory
probably docking right now at Porto Paphos.”

Once they’d jumped, he’d made a point of looking at the name painted on the ship’s side. “I want it stopped and searched. All hands are to be held along with the cargo. Nothing is to be removed from that ship until I get to it in the morning.” He hung up and took a drink. He needed a shower, food and at least a couple of hours of sleep. His brain was barely functioning. Lauryn, too, looked dead on her feet.