The Royal Doctor's Bride

“Their friendship began long before your father moved to Seattle. Countess.”

She drew herself up at the title she had a right to use but didn’t. “Do not call me that.”

“Deny your heritage all you want, but I have the proof.”

“And what if you do? It means nothing. I don’t have any official ties to Avelogne.”

“Ah, but you admit you do have ties.”

Feeling like a mouse caught in a trap, she bit her lip, reluctant to say anything else.

“You do,” he insisted. “You have a grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins.”

“Whom I never met,” she countered. “I’m thirty years old and I’ve lived my entire life without them. I’m not interested in changing my family dynamics now.”

With a blinding flash of insight, the pieces of the puzzle making up Ruark Thomas began to align themselves in a picture she didn’t like. His aristocratic bearing, his take-charge attitude, his familiarity with the security guards all suggested he was more than a physician, more than the new chief of emergency services.

She studied him with the same intensity she used when searching for bacteria under a microscope. “Who are you, Dr Thomas?”

CHAPTER TWO

RUARK watched the woman in front of him. Her green eyes flashed with fire and she bristled with a combination of indignation and suspicion. Breaking the news to her wouldn’t be easy; he’d known it for some time, which was why he’d planned and orchestrated the proper timing.

He clicked his heels together and bowed slightly. “Ruark Benjamin Mikael Thomas, Prince of Marestonia.”

“Prince?” she asked on a near squeak. “I thought you were a physician.”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive. I happen to be both.”

“What brings a physician slash prince of Marestonia to Belmont Memorial?”

“To work, like everyone else,” he promptly answered.

“Since when do princes need to earn a living?”

“It’s called serving the people,” he said lightly. “As the third son, I was free to choose my own career, and I chose medicine. Just as your cousin, Leander, did.”

Curiosity flashed in her eyes at the mention of a cousin who shared her interest and her profession, but a few seconds later indifference appeared, as if she simply refused to acknowledge any sort of connection between her and her father’s family. “And you chose to work in the US?”

“When I’m not involved in relief work.”

“How noble.”

“Please, feel free to tell me what you truly think.”

His gentle rebuke brought color to her face. “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “As a physician, I was out of line to say something so unforgivable.”

“Apology accepted.” Gina was many things, but she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind, he decided. From the reports he’d read about her, he hadn’t expected her to do otherwise.

She crossed her arms. “OK, you’re a prince who works for a living, but out of all the hospitals in this country, what made you choose Belmont?”

“Because you’re here,” he said simply.

She scoffed. “Oh, please. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “I came as soon as a job was available.”

She looked puzzled. “But why? We don’t know each other.”

“Your grandmother and my father sent me.” He reached into the left inside pocket of his suit coat, retrieved a white envelope and held it out to her. “The Queen Mother asked if I would deliver this.”

Recognition flashed in her eyes as her gaze traveled from one corner emblazoned with the royal crest of the House of Avelogne to the middle where her name appeared in large, beautifully precise script. “Why would the royal family send a letter to me?” she asked suspiciously.

“You’ll have to read the explanation for yourself.”

She eyed the envelope as if it were a pure culture of Hantavirus, but indecision flickered across her face. He hoped her curiosity would overrule the hard feelings she so plainly felt.

Reluctantly, she accepted the offering and hefted it in her hand before tapping the long edge against one palm. “If you wanted to be the Queen Mother’s errand boy, you didn’t have to accept a job at Belmont to do so.”

Although amused by her bluntness, he hid a smile. “For the record, your uncle is now King, which makes your grandmother the Queen Mother, but to answer your question, no, I didn’t.”

“Then why did a Prince of Marestonia, a Doctor Prince no less, move here just to deliver her mail?”

“You’ll understand when you read what your grandmother has to say.”

“If this is a ‘hi, how are you’ note, I’m not interested,” she warned.

“Read it,” he repeated. “I’ll answer your questions after you read the letter.”

“All right, I will.”

Suspecting she’d leave under the guise of needing privacy and then, when she was alone, she would destroy her grandmother’s letter unopened, Ruark positioned himself in front of the room’s only exit. “I’ll give you all the time you need, without saying a word.”

She clutched the envelope until it wrinkled. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Of course you can. You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked, hoping she’d respond to the challenge in his voice.

She did. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze as she defiantly slid her finger under the glued flap and pulled out a piece of expensive stationery. “Happy now?” she asked crossly.

“Not until you read it.”

“Then stop hovering,” she snapped.

Once again, he hid his amusement and moved closer to the door. “Sorry,” he said, unapologetically. It was clear she was as irritated with him as she was at her grandmother for breaking years of silence, but a journey began with a single step and Gina had taken hers.

Gina took a deep breath as she unfolded the single sheet. The words written in the same beautiful script as on the envelope jumped off the page.

Greetings, dearest Granddaughter,

We trust this letter finds you well. Although we have never met, we still consider you an integral part of our family.

Gina inwardly scoffed, but read on.

You will never know how much I deeply regret the family differences that have separated us all these years, but I hope you will find it in your heart to put the past behind us and look to the future.

Avelogne needs your help, my dearest Gina. Its alliances with Marestonia are threatened and neither country can afford to lose the goodwill we’ve enjoyed for centuries. We realize your loyalties do not lie with us, but your parents are at the heart of the matter and I hope you will find it in your heart to honor them by being part of the solution. Prince Ruark shall relay all the details and explanations necessary.

We know our request will come as a great surprise, but your decision will affect countless people. You are a woman who chose a profession because you care about others and we are confident you shall follow your nature and choose the right course of action.

We shall look forward to hearing from you and soon meeting each other face to face.

With best wishes,

Your Grandmother, Juliana

“What does she mean, my parents are at the heart of the matter?” she asked.

“Today’s problems are linked to the government’s decision to withhold approval for your parents’ marriage.”

Her father had mentioned something about that, but had glossed over the details. “Sounds to me like the government made its own dilemma, so they can fix it.”

“My family was involved, too.”

“Then you can do whatever it is you need to do, but count me out.” She stepped closer and tried to reach around him for the doorknob.

He gripped her arm and didn’t budge. “My aunt gave questionable information to the committee which led them to refuse your father’s petition to marry your mother.”

“You mean, someone lied, and they believed her?” No wonder her parents hadn’t spoken of those days except in the most general terms. Her dad, especially, must have felt betrayed by his countrymen who’d trusted the testimony of an outsider instead of his own.

“Unfortunately, yes. Now, after all these years, the truth has come out and tensions are running high. The fate of our nations depends on us.”

If not for one woman’s pettiness, her entire life might have been different…she might have grown up as a member of a royal family, with doting aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents marking every major event in her life, sharing in her triumphs and failures, and, most importantly, supporting her after her father’s death.

But even if Ruark’s aunt had been involved, the decision ultimately rested upon the members of Parliament. In her opinion, they were as much at fault as Ruark’s relative, if not more so.

As she’d already pointed out, it was too late to change the past. Neither was it her responsibility. One thing, however, was certain. She didn’t count gullibility among her faults.

“Oh, puhleeze,” she scoffed. “Fates of two countries. You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

According to the grim set to his jaw, he was. “Why would I want to help the same government who carelessly changed my family’s life?” she asked.

“Avelogne is your heritage,” he said simply. “You also hold dual citizenship, which means you have a legal as well as a moral obligation to Avelogne.” He paused. “Do you honestly believe your father wouldn’t want you to help his homeland avert a crisis?”

Admittedly, her dad had stayed abreast of all the happenings across the Atlantic. Their home had been littered with newspapers and magazines from various cities. In later years, those had given way to Internet news and emails. Arthur Sutton may not have been in close physical proximity to the land of his birth, but his heart had never left.

“This is quite melodramatic, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, struggling to shore up her wavering resolve. “Avelogne and Marestonia losing centuries-old goodwill over a thirty-year-old incident that most don’t remember.”

“The past hasn’t been forgotten,” he assured her. “The people of Avelogne lost a favored prince and demand restitution for your parents going into exile. If not, they plan to break off all ties with Marestonia.”

She crossed her arms. “So?”

“Each country provides goods and services to the other, which makes them somewhat trade-dependent. This includes everything from agriculture to military technology. If ties are broken, thousands of jobs on both sides of the border will be lost and the economic impact will be huge. It will take years to recover. Meanwhile, people will lose their homes and businesses, farmers won’t have an accessible market for their products, children will go hungry. The list goes on.”

She’d treated patients who couldn’t scrounge together enough money for bus fare, much less their medication. She’d lost track of the number of families she’d fed, either in the cafeteria or a nearby restaurant. As much as she wanted to help them all, she couldn’t take responsibility for everyone who walked through Belmont’s doors.

“I sympathize with your situation, but the last time I checked, my credentials were limited to medicine, not détente. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

“There is no one else to ask. You’re my only option.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.” She tried to nudge him aside, but he didn’t budge.

“You’re a coward.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Because I choose not to immerse myself in the politics that sent my father away from the home he loved, I’m a coward?”

“You don’t even know what we’re asking,” he accused. “The least you can do is listen to the unabridged story before you decide. Refusing to do that is either a show of cowardice or being self-centered. Take your pick.”

For a terse moment, the silence became so complete, only the distant ringing of a telephone could be heard.

“I’m sorry Avelogne and Marestonia are suffering a diplomatic crisis,” she said quietly. “But I’m just an average woman on the street, so to speak. I work in a hospital in a relatively bad part of town and deal with drug addicts and gang members on a daily basis. I don’t know what you or my grandmother think I can accomplish. I can’t undo the past and I don’t run in lofty social or political circles of influence, so you’re only wasting your time.”

“I disagree. You are not an ‘average’ woman. If you reestablished ties with your family, you would enter influential circles,” he pointed out. “You are, after all, a countess.”

“What if I like my life the way it is? I don’t want to be known as Countess. Anonymity suits me just fine.”

“You can remain anonymous and still become reacquainted with your family. The point is, life is too short to bear grudges.”

Thinking of her father, who’d died as much from heartache as heart disease, Gina’s eyes burned with unexpected moisture.

“Aren’t you the least bit interested in hearing their side of the story?” he coaxed, as if hoping curiosity would sway her.

“Will it change anything?” she demanded. “Rewrite the past? Restore my father to the family he loved? Take away my mother’s sorrow and guilt for causing him to choose between her and his family? I think not.”

“I agree those wrongs can’t be undone, but we have to resolve this crisis.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she retorted, blinking away her unshed tears. “My father left Avelogne and his family long ago. I don’t intend to get involved with either now.”

He fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If you don’t want to deal with the royal family, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t?”

He shook his head. “The real solution lies between the two of us anyway.”

She stared at him, puzzled. “You’ve lost me.”

“While it would help matters if Avelogne could show the world a reunited royal house—namely that Arthur’s daughter has been reinstated into the fold—it isn’t required. Your relationship with me is the important thing.”

“Because of your aunt?” she guessed.

“Yes. On behalf of my entire family, I’d like to apologize for her selfish actions.”

She tapped one foot on the floor. “What exactly was her motive for ruining my parents’ lives?”

He didn’t comment, although he heaved a great sigh. “Margret fell in love with your father and believed that if your mother, Lizbet, disappeared from the scene, she would be able to earn Arthur’s affections.” He paused. “She was quite shocked when he relinquished his claim to the throne and moved to America. The situation didn’t play out quite as she’d planned.”

“I’ll say,” she said wryly. “Whatever her reasons, though, I don’t hold you responsible. Neither the past nor your royal connectionswill interfere with our employer-employee status. As far as I’m concerned, we’re simply two physicians who happen to work together in the same department, in the same hospital. So you can call whomever you need to and announce the good news. Then life for everyone can return to normal.”

He smiled, as if she’d amused him with her simplistic solution. “It’s a start, but, as I’ve already said, your people demand more than an apology. They want their prince back.”

Do you hear that, Dad? A pain shot through her heart. If only he’d lived long enough to see this day. “Impossible,” she said flatly.

He nodded. “Which is why the situation is complicated.”

“I was afraid you would say that,” she said dryly. “But, complicated or not, I can’t help you.”

He started to speak, but the door edged open and Lucy poked her head inside.

“We’re getting a couple of traumas in about five minutes. Two stabbing victims.”

Gina had never been so relieved to have patients coming into the ED before. She could deal with medical situations far better than she could sort out diplomatic problems of countries she’d only seen on the map and in occasional family photos.

“Thanks, Lucy,” she said. “We’ll be right there.”

Lucy vanished, apparently without noticing the tension in the office. From the look on Ruark’s face, he was clearly glad for the reprieve as well.

“We’ll discuss this further tonight,” he said. “When we won’t be interrupted or distracted.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she protested.

“You need to hear everything,” he insisted. “The least you can do is listen.”

She wanted to refuse but, after seeing the fierce determination on his face, she knew he wouldn’t give up.

She faced him squarely. “OK, but in the meantime you will not breathe a syllable of this conversation to anyone. No one knows my background and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“You have my word,” he agreed. Immediately, he opened the door. “After you, Dr Sutton.”

Setting aside her host of questions to mentally gear up for her patients, Gina hurried toward the centrally located nurses’ station. “Page Frank,” she told Ruby, the desk clerk, referring to their surgical resident, Frank Horton.

With the phone tucked under one ear, Ruby mouthed, “I’m already on it.” Then she spoke into the receiver. “I don’t care where you have to find him, just do it. We need him in the ER, stat!”

Gina rushed into the opposite hallway to check if Trauma Room One was available, and found Ruark following her like a shadow. “What are you doing here? Bill didn’t—”

“It’s a new day. Bill isn’t here any longer,” he pointed out. “As I understand the job, I’m supposed to be available for traumas, and here I am.”

Only if I need you, she wanted to protest. But then, with two patients coming in and not knowing the condition of either, she might need an extra pair of hands. The only question was, would he function like Bill and be more hindrance than help?

“Afraid I’ll find your department doesn’t run smoothly?” he asked.

“We run just fine,” she defended tartly. “Feel free to observe for yourself.” Already dismissing him, she asked no one in particular, “Where’s Casey?”

Another nurse scurried past. “Dr Casey left for his dentist appointment ten minutes ago. Remember?”

How could she have forgotten? Of all the days for him to lose a temporary filling. But considering what had happened so far this morning, she would count herself fortunate if a natural disaster didn’t occur.

“Dr Powers is supposed to cover, but he can’t come until one-thirty.” Toby Powers was a physician who was close to retirement and worked two shifts a week.

“Staff problems?” Ruark asked.

“Nothing we can’t work around.”

The ambulance bay doors near the nurses’ station swooshed open and she rushed forward to greet the two paramedics and the gurney carrying her first patient.

“Twenty-five-year-old male with multiple wounds to the chest,” one of the paramedics, Tim Abbott, reported. “Open pneumothorax. BP is one ten over sixty-five…”

Gina listened to his recitation as she donned her protective gear, including a face shield, while following the gurney into the trauma room. Not only was the man’s blood pressure low and his heart rate increased, but his skin was cold and clammy and he appeared restless in spite of his cervical and thoracic spine immobilization. Tim had already inserted an endotracheal tube in the field, but her patient still struggled to breathe and showed jugular vein distension.

She raised the large bandage covering his bloody chest and saw eight puncture wounds, with the largest one near the heart showing frothy blood. Because air and blood were leaking into his thoracic cavity, his lungs couldn’t inflate properly. Her work was cut out for her.

To her surprise, a similarly gowned and gloved Ruark appeared in the room. “I’ve got it under control,” she said as she, Tim, Lucy, another nurse and now Ruark prepared to move her patient from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed.

“Are you warning me away from your patient, Dr Sutton?” he asked coolly.

She mentally noted that she didn’t need to take charge, but old habits were hard to break. While she’d have to defer to him for the time being, she’d maintain a watchful eye until she assured herself that the royal doctor truly knew what he was doing.

“Not at all,” she answered. “One, two, three, lift!” On Gina’s command, their patient made the transition with minimal jostling. Seconds later, she began barking her orders to the nurses who were busy affixing a pulse oximeter, monitoring the IV and taking over ventilation duties. “Get me a chest tube on the double, a CBC and type and cross-match for four units. Where’s Horton?”

Becky answered. “He’s not here yet.”

“Page him again. If he doesn’t answer in the next sixty seconds, page Dr Ahmadi too.” Ahmadi was Frank Horton’s supervisor.

Gina wiped blood away from the largest and most worrisome puncture and revealed heavily tattooed skin. A closer look at his torso showed her what she’d missed before—his entire body was tattooed with mythical creatures. The detailed dragon which was prominently featured on his left bicep was quite distinctive.

“I see we’ve gotten another one of Picasso’s customers.”

“Who?” Ruark asked.

“Pablo Picasso. Pablo’s his real name and being a local tattoo artist, he calls his parlor Picasso’s,” she said as she began to palpate along the man’s rib cage to determine the chest tube placement site. “He thought the famous name would give his place some class. We see a lot of his work in here.”

“Doesn’t say much for his choice of clientele,” Ruark remarked.

“Pablo is interested in his art, not in people’s lifestyle choices,” she defended.

“How did you meet him? I wouldn’t think a physician and a tattooist would have much in common.”

“He came into the ER with pneumonia when I was an intern and we started to talk about all sorts of things. He invited me to his workplace—he dared me to visit, actually, and I did. His drawings are fantastic.”

“Did you pick one for yourself?” Lucy asked.

“Sure did. Lidocaine.”

Lucy slapped the required syringe into Gina’s hand. “Oh, my gosh. You have a tattoo?”

Conscious of Ruark listening intently, Gina wished she hadn’t said a word. Her tattoo was none of his business, even if she wasn’t ashamed of it. “Yeah.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Come on, Lucy, it isn’t that big a deal,” Gina defended.

“Hey, any time you veer off the straight and narrow path of respectability to walk on the wild side, it’s interesting,” Lucy announced. “So what did you choose, and where is it? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“It’s a frog,” Gina snapped. “On my foot. Scalpel.”

“I should have guessed. You collect them, don’t you?” Lucy slapped the instrument into her hand.

“Yeah.” From the sheer volume of inked skin, Gina suspected her patient took as much pride in his body art as Pablo did, so she made the smallest incision possible to accomplish what had to be done. As she punctured the pleura with a Kelly clamp, blood spurted from the hole.

Working frantically, she hardly noticed the appearance of another nurse, and two more paramedics as they wheeled in a second victim who, like the first, had an IV line established and wore an oxygen mask.

“We’ve got problems here, Doc,” Andy Carter, one of the paramedics, announced.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Ruark abandoned Gina’s patient for the new arrival.

“He’s got a pneumothorax and I couldn’t intubate him before we brought him in. I tried, but couldn’t get through and I didn’t want to waste more time trying in the field.”

Gina inserted the tube into her John Doe’s chest. Immediately blood filled the line and ran into the attached drainage bag. “Hang on, buddy,” she told her patient. “We’re taking good care of you.”

“Give me an endotrachael tube,” Ruark ordered as he moved to the head of his patient’s gurney.

Andy glanced between her and Ruark. “Doc?”

“Where’s Frank?” she asked no one in particular.

“I asked for an endotrach tube,” Ruark ground out. “Must I get one myself?”