The Princess is Pregnant! (13 page)

Jean-Paul suppressed a spurt of anger. “Megan and I have some problems to work out.”

“Is it true she expects a child?”

“Yes.”

“Yours?”

“Yes.” Jean-Paul couldn’t prevent the warning note in the word. He would not have Megan disparaged.

His uncle hesitated, then laughed. “You aren’t usually so hotheaded. It must be love.”

At the silence that followed, Jean-Paul knew the prince expected a reply. “Naturally there are feelings. Neither the princess nor I want a state marriage. This is private—”

“Nonsense,” the prince interrupted. “This is perfect, just perfect. Hmm, this is the last Tuesday of the month, too late to try for a June wedding. I don’t suppose we could have the wedding in Drogheda?”

“I hardly think so.”

“No, Penwyck wouldn’t stand for that,” his uncle agreed, obviously not noticing the frost in his nephew’s tone. The prince chuckled. “But they can’t refuse the alliance after the marriage, either. Good thinking there.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit,” Jean-Paul said dryly. “The thought didn’t enter my mind. Nor yours. You didn’t ask me to be your emissary until after the ambassador fell ill.”

“All worked out for the best. Fate is on our side in this,” the prince declared with all the lofty assurance of a monarch used to being obeyed.

Jean-Paul glanced upward, seeking patience, and said nothing.

“I will make her a magnificent gift. What do you think of the heirloom emeralds?”

Jean-Paul was startled. “Those are usually reserved for the bride of the reigning prince.”

“I have no son,” the prince reminded him. “I can hardly give them to my daughter’s husband. As a wedding gift to both of you, I am thinking of the Warwyck estate. A Penwyck ancestor built it when he thought he had Drogheda conquered. He never got to live in it.” Prince Bernier chuckled in gleeful satisfaction.

“That would be more than generous, Uncle. I promise to call you the moment we have a firm date.”

“What should we expect as a dowry?”

Resentment flared in Jean-Paul. “I don’t expect anything, but I’m sure the ministers from each country will work it out to the satisfaction of everyone involved.”

The prince gave him several instructions on the wedding and the agreement, which he only half listened to. When they hung up, Jean-Paul ate his breakfast while his thoughts churned within him.

The rebel in him wanted to thumb his nose at protocol. No wonder Megan didn’t want to marry. It wasn’t the union of a male and female, but of two countries, each seeking an advantage over the other through the bridal contract. For a moment, he actually contemplated sailing away with Megan and
marrying in some foreign land where no one knew them.

As if they could.

He considered how his life had changed in two short weeks. It had been two weeks ago yesterday that he’d gotten Megan’s request for a meeting. He’d immediately put aside everything to come to her. Two weeks. Now he was nearly a married man. In less than seven months he would be a father.

Smiling at the twists of fate, he finished the meal, showered, then went to see his bride. The nurse barred his way. “The princess isn’t feeling well,” she told him.

“What has happened?”

The woman hesitated, then said, “The fever is up again. The doctor is with her.”

Jean-Paul deftly stepped around the nurse. “I’ll speak with him.”

Ignoring her angry huff, he went into the isolation wing of the infirmary. Megan was alone and sleeping soundly. Jean-Paul looked up and down the hallway.

The doctor came out of the room opposite hers. He started upon seeing Jean-Paul, then came forward with a weary smile. He pressed a finger over his lips and pulled Megan’s door closed. “I don’t want her disturbed.”

“She’s worse?”

“A relapse. These things happen.”

Jean-Paul gestured across the hall. “Who is in the other room?”

“No one,” the doctor said quickly.

“I think you lie.” Jean-Paul started toward the door.

The doctor caught his arm. “It is no one important. A minor clerk in the foreign office who took sick after returning home to visit his parents.”

“He has the same illness as Megan?”

Dr. Waltham nodded, his gaze on Megan’s door. “Her fever is my fault. I asked that she arrange a seminar. When she came down here to check the arrangements with me, she must have contracted the virus…”

When he trailed off, Jean-Paul demanded, “How?”

“That is what has us baffled. The carrier is usually a mosquito, although it’s possible to transmit encephalitis through a fly or other biting bug.”

Jean-Paul stiffened with shock. “She has viral encephalitis? Isn’t that usually fatal?”

“Not if it’s put into remission before somnolence occurs. We have medicines. I hesitate to use them because of the child.”

A chill settled along Jean-Paul’s spine like the cold hand of death.

“She’s strong, more than we ever imagined,” Waltham said in assuring tones. “She’s holding her own.”

“But?” Jean-Paul demanded, sensing there was more.

“The child might not be so lucky. At this early stage of development, if the placenta is breached, the virus can harm the fetus.”

“In what manner?”

Waltham sighed grimly. “Brain damage. Malformations of body systems. Deformity.”

“God,” Jean-Paul muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face as despair such as he’d never known raged through him.

“You must be prepared,” Waltham continued. “Megan doesn’t know yet. You must help her through this. Perhaps it would be better—”

Jean-Paul waited, but the doctor said nothing more, only looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “An abortion?” Jean-Paul asked.

Waltham nodded. “First we can check the fetus by sonogram and perhaps tell if there’s any harm.”

Undefined feelings congealed into a painful mass in Jean-Paul’s chest. “I want to stay with her…to be with her when she wakes.”

The doctor nodded, looking too tired to argue.

Jean-Paul slipped quietly into her room and stood looking at her flushed face. She was so still, lying there as if life had already left her.

All the moments they’d spent together flashed through his mind. Megan at seventeen, her face glowing, their walk along the cove, the depths he’d sensed in her even then. Her picture in the paper at
twenty-two, a university senior in Art and History, with a minor in the Humanities, graduating with honors.

Megan at twenty-seven, delivering a speech before an international body of diplomats and world-class businessmen, competent and intelligent.

And finally that last night of the trade conference, when she had come to him…

Those moments, the delight and wonder of her, mingled with the present and his fears for her and the child they had made that night. Realization gathered in him, a heavy ball of self-knowledge that ripped pride and arrogance to shreds and left his heart open and raw.

This woman. This one slight female. She was his fate, his future, his one true love…

He clasped her hand. “You’ll not leave me like this, selky,” he ordered, his voice hoarse and urgent. “I mean it. You won’t. Do you hear me?”

Green eyes opened slightly. “Yes,” she whispered, but her voice was weak.

“You will not leave me,” he whispered fiercely. “You are my heart, my desire, my life’s mate. You are all that’s good within me. I love you…you, only you.”

She stared at him a second longer, then her lashes fluttered closed.

Darkness spiraled into his soul as she slipped further and further from him, edging toward the coma that could claim her life. The lonely call of his heart went without answer.

M
egan awoke to a startled cry, then realized she was the one who made the sound. Glancing rapidly around the room, she saw she was still in the infirmary. A head rested on the mattress by her side. She ran her hand into Jean-Paul’s dark hair, liking the warmth of his scalp under her fingers as she wondered if it was night or day.

Jean-Paul sat up and rubbed his eyes, then gazed at her. Dark beard accentuated the line of his jaw and throat.

“What day is it?” she asked, sounding oddly croaky.

“Thursday.”

“What happened to Wednesday?”

“You slept through it, also most of Tuesday.”

“Is it morning or night?”

“Morning. Around six. They’ll bring breakfast soon.” He touched her forehead. “You’re cool again.”

She frowned, trying to recall something. “I was cold during the night.”

“Chills. That was yesterday afternoon and early in the evening.” He poured a glass of water and held the straw to her lips so she could drink. She did so thirstily.

“You’ve grown a beard. Were you here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

He finished off the rest of the water before meeting her eyes. “You know, selky,” he told her softly.

“I dreamed…I think I dreamed that you said…was it true? Or were you saying it to make me feel better.”

She saw his chest lift in a deep breath. He exhaled like one admitting defeat. “I said it because it’s true.” He leaned close and pressed his face into her hair. “I love you, Megan of Penwyck.”

She smiled. “So it wasn’t a dream.”

“No.” He lifted his head and glared at her. “You damn well better love me back. I’m not going through this misery alone.”

Laughter bubbled in her, overflowed and filled the room with her surprise and joy.

He managed to hold on to his glare another minute, then he grinned. “Say it,” he said, and gave her shoulders a little shake.

But she was suddenly shy. She tugged his head down so she could whisper, “I do. I love you. Very much.”

His chuckle was wry. “How soon can we be married? I find myself an exceedingly eager bridegroom.”

“Within a month?”

“Yes. I will speed things along.” Then he whispered other things to her that were lovely to hear, and she whispered back with all the longing of her heart. They were still planning the future when their breakfasts arrived: sausage and an omelette and toast for him, porridge and red fruit-flavored gelatin for her.

“Huh,” she groused. “Why do I get this while you get all the good stuff?”

“Charm,” he said loftily. “Nurse Dora is mad about me.”

They were still laughing when the queen came in.

Queen Marissa paused on the threshold of the room and listened to her daughter’s and Jean-Paul’s soft laughter.

So much happiness.
Tears burned behind her
eyes. It was every mother’s wish for her children. For Megan, her quiet child, she wanted a world of love and joy. Looking at the faces of the young lovers, she knew they had found all their hearts’ desires.

“Mother, please come in,” Megan called out, spotting her standing there observing them.

Marissa went to the bed and kissed Megan’s forehead. “The doctor tells me you are on the mend. Again.”

“I think it’s real this time. I feel wonderful. No headache. No muscle pains.”

“And you, Jean-Paul?” the queen inquired. “Nurse Dora tells me you haven’t left this room in two days.”

“I was worried about Megan.”

The earl looked charmingly disheveled with a dark beard on his cheeks. His hair was tousled and showed a tendency to wave naturally. His white shirt had definitely been slept in. Its wrinkles looked permanently creased.

A handsome pirate, she thought, this rogue who had stolen her daughter’s heart.

Her own heart contracted in hope and longing. She had thought the king might come to her last night, but after many restless hours she realized that wasn’t to be. She’d considered going to him, but some small doubt had made her hesitate, then decide against it.

It was odd to no longer know the man she’d been married to for thirty years.

“Are we planning a royal wedding?” she asked.

The couple locked hands and nodded together.

Again the queen felt the hot sting of tears at the young people’s mutual feelings. Really, she had to stop this or she would be a blubbering idiot at the wedding.

“As soon as possible, please,” Jean-Paul requested.

“Yes. I promise to rush things along,” she told them. She briefly laid a hand on Megan’s tummy where her first grandchild was developing. “The little one is fine?”

She saw a muscle jerk in Jean-Paul’s jaw. Fear intruded on the happy atmosphere.

“I think so,” Megan said, but she was watching her fiancé in a slightly puzzled manner. “The doctor didn’t say…” She stopped as worry entered her eyes. “Did he say anything to you?” she asked Jean-Paul.

He leaned his elbows on the bed and pressed her hand to his lips before replying. “There’s no way to tell if there’s harm—”

“Like what?” Megan interrupted. “What kind of harm?”

“It was a virus, love,” he murmured soothingly. “There could be complications. However, the chances of injury to the child are probably slight since your body threw off the infection so readily.”

“But if it reached the baby—”

The queen’s heart ached as her daughter abruptly stopped speaking and absorbed all the implications.

“Then we’ll face that when we know for sure. There are tests we can have done, sonograms and such.”

Megan laid a hand over her abdomen. She suddenly smiled. “It’s okay. I know the child is okay.”

Jean-Paul touched her forehead in a loving manner. “I think so, too. But if it isn’t, there will be other babies, my lovely selky, I promise you that.”

Their love was so sweet, so fresh and new, filled with all the hope of youth and ideals. The queen pressed a hand to her throat and withdrew from the room. Some moments weren’t meant to be shared.

“Your Majesty,” Dr. Waltham said, coming across the broad corridor and bowing over her hand. “The princess is doing quite well. The lab could find no traces of the virus in her blood this morning. A miracle, it is.”

“The miracle of love, I think, Doctor. Megan has much to live for.”

Waltham gazed into her eyes. “She does indeed. She is as beautiful in spirit as in the flesh. As with her mother, the gods smile kindly upon her. You are feeling well?”

The queen, meeting the doctor’s eyes, realized with a jolt that the man was looking at her with grave tenderness. Then his expression became that
of the royal physician once more. She might have imagined the emotion.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. So are Meredith and Anastasia. I have been keeping an eye on them. They don’t seem in the least affected by this mysterious virus. How could Megan have gotten such a thing? There have been no reports of illness in the kingdom.”

“Perhaps a chance contact while she was at the international trade conference two months ago,” Waltham suggested. “We are checking out the possibility, discreetly, of course.”

“Two months? Is that the incubation period?”

“It can be two days, two months or longer. Viral strains are unpredictable at best. We are trying to isolate and identify it.”

The doctor looked somewhat chagrined, as if he’d disclosed more than he’d meant. The queen sensed nuances she didn’t understand. “Is there a chance of an epidemic?” she asked quietly, already preparing, in her mind, the steps to see them through a national emergency.

“No, no, nothing like that,” the doctor assured her. “I’m sure this is an isolated incident. One of those things that happen with no rhyme or reason.” He smiled encouragingly, then looked relieved when a nurse approached and told him he had a call.

Queen Marissa glanced around the quiet infirmary and started toward the door across from Me
gan’s room without quite thinking about why she suddenly felt a need to investigate.

“Please, Your Majesty,” the head nurse called out, coming down the hall with her quick, silent tread. “This room is under quarantine.”

“Who is in there?”

“No one. The patient has gone home, but the room has been sprayed with a disinfectant solution that mustn’t be disturbed for several days.”

“Did the patient have the same thing as my daughter?”

Nurse Dora hesitated. “I don’t know. He had a fever and muscular aches, the same as the princess.”

“But he recovered, too?”

“Yes.”

The queen narrowed her eyes on the nurse, but the woman didn’t glance away. Satisfied that was the truth, Queen Marissa nodded and returned to her quarters. She had a full schedule to get through that day. She would have Gwen, her lady-in-waiting and confidante, check on Megan’s progress and keep her informed by the hour.

Please, no more relapses,
she prayed as she took the elevator to the upper level.

“Yes. Yes. Deliriously happy,” Megan said to her brother, Owen. “The wedding is next month. You’d better be home for it,” she warned with a dire threat in her tone.

She hung up the phone beside her bed. It was good to be in her own familiar room in the palace. Glancing up, she met the smiling look Jean-Paul bestowed on her.

“Both your brothers have reported in,” he said. “Will you stop worrying about them now?”

Ignoring his mock-serious frown, she nodded. “They are adventurers at heart. I wonder if either will be satisfied being tied to official duties as king.”

A flicker of emotion showed in his beautiful blue eyes, then was gone.

“What?” she asked. “Is something worrying you?”

He shook his head. “My uncle wishes to give us an estate in Drogheda for a wedding present. I fear we must live there at least part of the time.” He smiled in resignation. “It is a lovely place that borders the sea. You’ll like that.”

“It sounds wonderful.” She thought any place where her lover was would be heaven, but she refrained from voicing the sentiment. That he had her whole heart he already knew.

“Wherever we are together will be paradise,” he murmured. “There is another problem.”

Her heart contracted slightly, but nothing could destroy the peace she felt inside. “Tell me.”

“The prince is sending out hints that he is considering a royal heir to the principality.”

“He has a daughter.”

“It must be a male, according to law.”

“The daughter has a husband. Doesn’t he have royal connections to Majorco?”

“Yes, but…”

She was silent as the full impact hit her. “Prince Bernier is thinking of you?”

“He hasn’t said outright, but there is that possibility.” He sighed, then laughed softly.

Megan frowned, thinking of all the official duties they would have to perform if that was the case. “Our lives will have to be very circumspect,” she finally said.

“Not all the time. There will be moments when we shall be alone…when I will summon my selky to come join me in the sea. There we will play to our heart’s content.”

Leaning forward, his elbows propped on the bed, he sealed the words with a kiss.

The kiss started out as very tender, then rapidly escalated into hunger.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered.

“I don’t think I could hold you in a chaste embrace,” he admitted, “and you aren’t well enough for passion.”

“We shall see about that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a mighty tug.

Jean-Paul let himself be pulled into the bed. Carefully keeping his weight off her, he let them engage in playful passion for long, sweet moments.

Just as things were getting particularly interesting, a shriek rent the air.

“I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness,” Candy said, red faced. “I’ll return later. Just send for me. If you need me, that is. That is…if…when…” The maid fled the room.

He gave his future bride a rueful smile. “A forecast of things to come, I fear.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Megan assured him. “Let’s just remember to reserve private moments for our family, just us and our children. Then we can bear anything else.”

Gazing into her earnest face, he realized anew that this was the woman of his heart. There was the rebellious part of her that she kept under control, just as he did, but there would be moments that were theirs.

Like the night on the ship.

Like the moments at the mountain lodge.

Like this one.

“Selky,” he said just before he kissed her again. “Together we are the magic.”

Her eyes glowed when she looked at him. “Together,” she said, and showered him with enchantment through her touch.

His restless spirit stilled as love filled his soul. It was more than he’d ever imagined, more than enough for a lifetime.

Megan basked in the warmth that flooded her like a great tide. Love was a vast ocean, she thought as
she snuggled into her lover’s embrace. The ebb and flow of life moved through them. She sensed the child, secure within her, and knew it would be a fine baby, loved and protected by its parents and grandparents and all in their combined families.

A link to the future.

No matter what it might bring, whether increased duties and a more public life than either of them wanted, she would make sure there were many private moments, too. She had the example of her own parents to go by. So did Jean-Paul.

She’d spoken to his parents, and they were very supportive of the couple. That was nice.

From the island in the cove, she heard the bark of a seal. From far out at sea, another answered, its call lonely and distressed.

Smiling, Megan knew the one on the island called the other to land. “Home, selky,” she murmured to the wandering one. It was the best place to be.