Royals: Wed To The Prince

The wide pool emptied over another lip of rock into a small stream that wound its way a few hundred yards to the sea. Through the feathery tops of the coconut palms she could see the white crescent of a beach and the oily stillness of a wide bay.

‘I’m surprised there’s no coral reef around the island,’ she said, uncomfortably moved by the exquisite allure of the scene. It roused a wild longing she’d never experienced before—an urge to shuck off the trappings of civilisation and surrender to the potent seduction of the Pacific.

Guy told her, ‘Not all South Sea islands have them. Right, it’s just about time for the show. Look at the waterfall.’

The moon soared above the horizon, its light transforming the fall of water into a shimmering gold radiance.

‘Oh!’ she breathed. ‘Oh, that is exquisite—like a fall of firelit silk! Thank you for bringing me here.’

When he didn’t answer she looked up.

He was watching her, the bold structure of his face picked out by the moonlight. His mouth was compressed, and his high, faintly Slavic cheekbones gave him a half-wild, exotic air. He looked, she thought feverishly, like the buccaneer she’d likened him to before—merciless and utterly compelling. Tension flamed through her, driven by a rush of adrenaline that took her breath away.

Dry-mouthed and desperate, she swivelled away to fix her gaze on the quietly falling water, glowing with an iridescent mingling of gold and silver and copper, and tried to defuse the situation with words. ‘It’s such a familiar glory, isn’t it, moonrise, and yet I get carried away by it each time. But I’ve never seen anything like this—it looks like cloth of gold, almost as though the light is coming through the water from the back.’

‘As you say, a familiar miracle.’ He took her arm and walked her across to the bank. The moonlight hadn’t yet reached the pool; it gleamed before them, a shimmering circle of obsidian.

His touch cut through her defences, bypassing will-power, smashing her hard-won control to kindle fires in her flesh.

Dark magic, she thought despairingly. She ached to surrender to its terrifying temptation so much she could taste the craving, sweet and potent and desperate.

Staring into the smooth black water, she clenched her muscles against desire, forcing herself to freeze, not to turn into his arms and lift her face in mute invitation. He said nothing, but she heard his breathing alter, and tension spiralled between them, glittering and seductive. All it would take was one movement from her, and she’d know the power of his kiss and shiver at the warmth of his hands on her breasts…

‘The stream comes from springs in the mountains, so the water is cold.’ His voice was steady, yet a raw note grated beneath the matter-of-fact tone.

Heat spread from the pit of her stomach, a sweet, piercing flame that took no prisoners.

Cold water, she thought feverishly, just might do the trick, because this instant arousal had never happened to her before, and one-night stands were not her style. Stooping, she dipped her hand in, whipping it back with shock as it numbed her fingers. ‘It’s freezing!’

Something in his stillness alerted her; he seemed to loom over her, almost threatening. She scrambled up again and took a couple of hasty steps away, turning to watch the transient radiance of the waterfall fade as the moon leapt higher in the sky. Her blood pulsed heavily, filling her with this strange, exotic madness.

The tropics, she thought feverishly, were notorious for this sort of thing. Get over it.

‘That is utterly beautiful,’ she said, striving for a briskly practical tone. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘My pleasure,’ he told her without expression. ‘Shall we go?’

She nodded and they started back towards the tree that hid the Land Rover. A few steps beneath the overhanging branches, Guy stopped and listened, an intimidating shadow in the darkness of the canopy. Startled and uneasy, Lauren opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but the hard impact of his hand across her mouth stopped the words.

Oh God, she thought, struggling violently, you utter moron, Lauren Porter!

Hand still across her mouth, he hauled her into the thicker darkness and slammed her against the trunk, judging his strength so that although she was crushed breathless between his body and the unforgiving tree, she wasn’t hurt. Imprisoned by his strength, she felt the iron strength of muscles flexed for action.

Think! she adjured herself, fighting the terror that tried to freeze her brain. Buying time and hoping to take him by surprise, she slumped against him and sucked in air, visualising just what she’d do to disable him.

His words pitched only for her ear, he said, ‘I can hear voices, and I don’t know who they are.’

Lauren strained to listen, but apart from the sweet singing of the waterfall she could hear nothing.

Eventually, still in that same chilling monotone, he said, ‘Stay still and don’t make a noise.’

Eyes enormous above the ruthless hand that compelled her silence, she nodded.

His grip relaxed. Instantly, fingers curving into claws, Lauren reached for his genitals and opened her mouth to scream.

His cruel hand stifled any sound. With lethal strength Guy quelled her struggles and pulled her against him, locking his other arm around her.

‘Shut up!’ he said in a low, fierce thread of a voice that terrified her anew.

When she tried to fight with her teeth and her nails, he shook her hard enough to jar her, then muttered, ‘Listen, damn you! What can you hear?’

Above the softly lyrical music of the waterfall came voices. Male voices chanting something—the guttural rhythms becoming louder. Tension dried Lauren’s mouth and drove more adrenaline into every cell. The primitive fear of assault and rape was replaced by an even more basic one—that of death.

Yet possibly they were just villagers out on a fishing trip, and Guy was making sure there’d be no witnesses to—to whatever he wanted to do.

She had an instant to make up her mind whether or not to trust him. Later she’d convince herself that her decision was based on sheer pragmatism—she’d have a better chance of survival if she had to deal with only one man.

Yet it was instinct that convinced her, not common sense or good judgement.

In her ear he murmured, ‘Don’t move, don’t say anything.’

She nodded. Stealthily, slowly, he eased his hand away from her mouth. In spite of his size he moved as silently as a cat, positioning himself with his back to her, shielding her, she realised, with his body from whatever danger lurked out there. Terrified for his safety, she took comfort from the steady pounding of his heart as her apprehension condensed into ice.

The voices receded, but still Guy stayed motionless.

She was stiff and shaking when at last he stepped away.

‘Who—?’ she whispered.

Guy’s lethal, slashing gesture stopped the words in her throat. He was looking towards the sea; as she watched he moved with a fluid lack of noise to part the leaves on one of the branches that sheltered them.

Beneath his breath he said, ‘There—yes. Can you see them?’

They were some distance away, but the moon shone on lithe oiled bodies, already almost on the beach. About twenty men, carrying what appeared to be spears.

‘Out to sea,’ Guy said quietly.

Narrowing her eyes, she squinted into the glare of the moon. Small black shapes seemed to be skipping across its path over the sea.

‘Canoes?’ she whispered.

‘Dugouts. Banana boats, which have outboards, but they’re not using them tonight. And they’re coming from the wrong direction—heading towards the resort.’ He made up his mind. ‘Come on, we need to get out of here. Get into the Land Rover, but don’t slam the door until I turn the engine on. Then lock it and keep down.’

Numbly, Lauren obeyed. As the vehicle burst from beneath the tree, she locked the door and prayed that no one lay in wait along that narrow, treacherous track.

Guy had the night sight of a predator; without headlights, he drove at high speed through the thick darkness, confidently following the track Lauren couldn’t see. On the way to the waterfall she’d enjoyed the difference between the exotic vegetation and the woods she was accustomed to; now the jungle threatened, hiding who knew what danger.

‘Do you think they were going to join the canoeists, or fight them?’ she asked once they had left the waterfall and its black pool behind.

‘I don’t know, but that was a war chant,’ he said curtly.

Fighting a sickening knot of fear, she swayed as the vehicle swung around corners and surged through potholes and ruts. A sense of danger—palpable and chillingly pervasive—settled around them. Once, in a small clearing, she caught a glimpse of Guy’s profile against the moon, and a memory teased her mind with fugitive recognition.

She’d seen a photograph—and then the tantalising image vanished, wiped from her brain.

Where—and how—would she have seen a photograph of a beachcomber from Sant’Rosa?

He glanced at her and suddenly swore in a liquid language that sounded vaguely Italian before ordering, ‘Pull my shirt out of my trousers.’

‘What?’

He flashed her a feral grin. ‘Contain yourself. You’re showing far too much gleaming skin—far too obvious. Cover it with my shirt.’

‘But that leaves you exposed.’

‘I’m much darker than you, so I’m harder to see.’ The amusement was gone; this time it was an order. ‘Pull the shirt out from my waistband and haul it up over the arm furthest from you; I’ll tell you when to drag it over my head.’

‘Surely stopping—’

‘I’m not stopping,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know who else might be around. Get the shirt off.’

Lauren gritted her teeth as her questing fingers skidded over sleek skin padded with muscle. Once his arm had been freed she waited, the material gathered in her hand.

‘There’s a straight length of road— OK, haul it over my head. Now!’

She jerked the soft, warm garment over his head in one smooth movement.

‘Get it off my other arm—now!’ he barked.

He made it easy for her, lithely shrugging free of the shirt. ‘Now cover yourself,’ he ordered in a tone that lifted every tiny hair on her body upright.

Silently she hauled it over her head, shivering as the material settled around her shoulders. The faint scent of his skin—vital, potent—almost banished the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.

Guy commanded, ‘Crouch down on the floor and stay there until I tell you to get out. Cover your face and your hands. If we stop, don’t move unless I tell you to. If we get stopped, don’t say anything—try not to breathe.’

The ice beneath her ribs expanding, she obeyed, folding herself into the foot well and praying that the maverick instinct to trust him hadn’t played her false. ‘Those men were aiming for the resort, weren’t they?’

He didn’t try to evade the truth. ‘That was the direction they were heading towards.’

‘Do you think there might be violence?’

When he didn’t answer immediately she said with sharp emphasis, ‘I’m not going to faint or scream or panic.’

The swift flash of his grin reassured her. ‘I believe you.’ But the momentary spark of humour dissolved into grimness as he swerved to avoid some small animal scurrying across the road.

Lauren braced herself, wincing as her elbow hit the floor.

He went on calmly, ‘What their leader—or leaders—plan, I have no idea. If they find the resort empty, they’ll probably take what they want, get drunk on the contents of the bar, then go back home.’

She nodded. ‘How long will it take us to get to the resort?’

‘We’re not going there,’ he said, changing gear.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT?’ When he didn’t answer she demanded, ‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m taking you straight to the airport,’ he said above the snarl of the engine.

Lauren peered up at an angular jaw harshly outlined against the radiant moonlight. She pitched her voice louder. ‘But we have to warn them.’

‘They’ll have been warned. The jungle might look empty, but there are eyes everywhere, which is why you’re sitting on the floor now.’ He shot a swift glance at her shocked face. ‘Worrying about them isn’t going to achieve anything; I’m not going back to the resort.’

Appalled, she demanded, ‘But—what about the children?’

‘Leave it,’ he bit back, his voice coldly adamant. ‘The resort’s in direct contact with the police—the staff will have evacuated the tourists as soon as they got the word.’

‘And if it isn’t just a ragtag and bobtail group of cargo cultists who want European-style beds and television sets?’ she almost shouted. ‘If they’re armed and they mean mayhem, what then?’

He concentrated on steering at heart-shocking speed around a tight corner. ‘Once we’ve got you all out of the way, we’ll deal with whatever happens.’

Lauren huddled uncomfortably against the seat, wondering if people were crouching in ambush with rifles and machetes. She was, she realised, afraid, but not terrified; somehow Guy exuded an aura of such authority that she trusted him to get them out of whatever situation they were in.

Something he’d said clicked. She blurted, ‘You’re planning to stay and fight, aren’t you?’ When he didn’t answer she persisted, ‘Why? Are you Sant’Rosan?’

‘No,’ he said curtly, a total lack of compromise in his tone. ‘But I know the people and I’ve got a lot invested in Sant’Rosa— Get right down!’

Before she could react, he swore and thrust her forcefully beneath the dash as he applied the brakes. The vehicle slammed to a stop.

Crouched in a heap, her heart jumping so noisily she was sure it could be heard above the noise of the engine, Lauren heard rough, angry male voices. In spite of the thick heat, she shivered and tried to slow down the quick, shallow pants of her breathing.

Calmly Guy answered, his voice level and without fear. When someone laughed Lauren relaxed slightly, glancing up as Guy asked a question. Harsh yellow light—a spotlight?—traced the sweep of his cheekbones; she recalled the Slavic horsemen who had ridden into Europe over a millennium ago, and wondered just what his ancestry was.

Someone said something that made him frown and fire another question. He looked so confident and completely in charge of the situation that she was startled when she saw his lean fingers tighten on the steering wheel. His next remark produced much more laughter; he grinned and added a few words that brought a babble of comment.

Oh, how she wished she understood the language! Fluency in French and German amounted to nothing in this turbulent part of the world.

Although her body soon began to complain, she didn’t dare move a muscle, not even when the vehicle started and they drove off to a chorus of deep farewells.

‘All right,’ Guy said a few minutes later, ‘we’re out of sight. You can sit up, but keep your head down.’

Stiffly she uncurled, stretching her arms. ‘Who were they?’

‘A police patrol, but they warned that there are roving bands of possible looters in the bush so we won’t take any chances. The resort’s been cleared—the guests are at the airport.’

Well, at least they’d be safe there, and she’d be able to resume her journey to New Zealand.

She said, ‘I’m so glad they’re all right.’ And then remembered something. ‘But you said there are no flights until tomorrow morning.’

‘Josef, the manager, has managed to radio a pilot who’s doing a chartered freight trip to Valanu from the Republic,’ Guy said briefly. ‘He’s prepared to take everyone. You’ll be sitting in the aisles, but you’ll get there.’ The note of the engine deepened as the vehicle picked up speed. ‘The only problem is, he wants to leave as soon as possible, so brace yourself. I’ve got twenty minutes to get you to the airport.’

Valanu? She frowned, then remembered what he’d called the place. A scatter of islands…

Her breath hissed out. ‘But why Valanu? Can’t he fly us to the capital?’

‘Communication with the rest of Sant’Rosa has been cut.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s almost certainly nothing to do with this business.’ His voice was reassuring. ‘Communications here are erratic at the best of times—it’s probably a coincidence.’

Lauren digested this. ‘Will the mine be safe?’

‘Against anything smaller than an army, yes. They have their own security, but they’re too far away to help us.’

He swung the vehicle around a corner, and after that there was no further chance to talk. Lauren was unclenching her jaw muscles for about the fifth time when above the sound of the engine she heard something else—a sudden outbreak of loud pops.

Guy said something under his breath in the language she didn’t recognise.

‘What was that?’ she asked, afraid she knew the answer.

‘Gunfire,’ he said laconically. ‘And that means serious trouble.’

Lauren’s stomach dropped endlessly.

He glanced briefly down. ‘Relax, I’ll keep you safe.’

Lauren didn’t doubt that; what frightened her was the possibility of him being hurt. And that was strange, because she barely knew the man. OK, so he had a bewildering effect on her, but she didn’t even like him much, although he’d been kind in his arrogant way. Apart from common humanity, why should she care about his safety?

‘Here we are,’ he said at last. He killed the engine and looked around with the curiously still intentness of a predator sensing prey, before ordering curtly, ‘Stay there.’

A swift, silent rush took him out of the Land Rover and around to her door. When it opened Lauren pulled herself onto the seat, groaning beneath her breath when her cramped legs protested painfully.

Strong hands caught her by the waist; as he lifted her out and set her down, Guy said, ‘You did well. I’m sorry you got caught up in this.’

Her legs refused to carry her; when she staggered, he lifted her and strode off towards the dim figure waiting outside the small terminal building.

From here the gunfire seemed harmless, more like fireworks. Locked in Guy’s safe, strong arms with the moon silvering his bare shoulders, Lauren hoped fervently that no one was dying out there—and desperately that the raiders would be repelled by the time Guy left the airport.

The waiting man gestured, saying something urgently. Lauren felt Guy tense, before he rattled out a question.

The answer didn’t please him. He replied in a quiet, deadly voice and put Lauren down, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders. The man stepped back swiftly to usher them both into the reception area.

Tiny, it was almost filled with the resort guests, several carrying children who cried or stared around with bewildered eyes. Suitcases were being shuffled onto an elderly cart, and everyone looked strained and serious.

The man who had met them glanced at Lauren and switched to English. ‘Passport, please, ma’am.’

Lauren said shakily, ‘It’s back at the resort. In the safe with my ID—with all my papers.’

The solid, middle-aged man whose glossy dark hair was greying at the temples looked shocked. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but—’

‘Josef, this is no time for formalities,’ Guy interrupted, his deep voice harsh. ‘You know she can’t stay here.’

A uniformed man—the pilot, Lauren realised—strode swiftly in from the other side of the building. ‘Guy!’ he said, grinning largely, ‘I might have guessed you’d be here! No show without Punch, eh?’ He examined Lauren with interest.

Guy acknowledged the greeting and concisely told him what had happened.

The pilot frowned. ‘Man, I can’t take her to Valanu without papers! You know they won’t let her in—they’ve been paranoid ever since that drug syndicate tried to infiltrate.’

‘You’ll take her,’ Guy said curtly. ‘There’s no alternative.’

Frowning, his voice tight with concern, Josef interposed, ‘She cannot travel to Valanu without papers.’

In a voice that could have splintered granite, Guy said, ‘She’ll leave Sant’Rosa if I have to hijack Brian’s plane.’

The pilot looked at Lauren’s startled face and away again. ‘You know what they’ll do with her, Guy. They’ll chuck her in prison with the prostitutes and the addicts, and she won’t get out until someone vouches for her or she gets new papers. In Valanu that could take weeks—everything goes through Fiji. Now, if it was you, Guy, it would be OK. They know you—they’d let you in without a passport.’

Lauren said, ‘Look, it’s all right. Don’t worry about me.’

All three men stared at her with identical expressions, and then at each other.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Guy said brusquely.

Naked from the waist up, with light gleaming gold on his broad, tanned shoulders and strongly muscled arms, he looked like a barbaric warrior, his unshaven face only emphasising his formidable presence.

Between his teeth he said, ‘Josef, you’re a pastor in your church, aren’t you?’

Josef glanced at him with astonishment. ‘I am,’ he agreed.

‘Very well, then. You can marry us and I’ll vouch for her.’

The pilot gave a crack of laughter. ‘Yep, that’d do it. Trust you, Guy, to come up with the goods.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But you’d better tie that knot as soon as you can. I’m leaving in ten minutes. That gunfire’s getting closer.’

Stunned, Lauren gasped, ‘That’s utterly impossible. I don’t even know your name.’

‘Guy Bagaton,’ Guy said indifferently, adding with brutal candour, ‘And you don’t have a choice.’ He nodded at the airport manager. ‘All right, Josef, let’s get it over and done with.’

A ragged salvo of popping noises silenced everyone in the terminus. It faded away, to be followed by a heavy whoomph that seemed to lift the ground beneath their feet. One of the women stifled a scream and a child started to whimper. With a muffled oath, the pilot raced out of the building.

The harassed Sant’Rosan marshalling the passengers had jumped along with everyone else, but recovered himself quickly. ‘Please, board in a line. Women and children first, please.’

The small crowd clumped into a disorderly file and began to follow the pilot across the grass airstrip.

Guy said shortly, ‘Josef, get going! We don’t have time to waste.’ He took Lauren’s elbow in a grip that meant business and urged her after the manager, already heading into a small office.

Once there, Josef said, ‘I am a minister in my church here, but perhaps such a marriage will not be legal anywhere but on Sant’Rosa. However, ma’am, it will mean that you will get out of here and they will not put you in prison in Valanu.’

Lauren protested, ‘No! Look, prison can’t be that bad—and it shouldn’t take long to get another passport from Britain. Anyway, how do you know they’ll let me in even if I do go ahead with this?’

‘Trust me,’ Guy answered, his expression grimly determined, ‘they will. And trust me again—tropical prisons are more than unhygienic, and it could take weeks to replace your papers—always assuming the Valanuan authorities let you contact the British representative in Fiji.’ The hard authority in his tone and the granite cast of his features silenced her objection. ‘Just say yes in all the right places, otherwise you’ll be caught in a war zone. If that happens, you’ll endanger anyone who has to look after you.’

It was that final truth that convinced her. White-lipped, she said, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Don’t worry about me.’

Nightmarish images from television screens clouded her mind so that she couldn’t think beyond a silent, urgent plea that he stay safe.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, a cynical edge to the words. ‘The marriage will satisfy the bureaucracy on Valanu that you’re not a beachcomber intent on drinking and drugging the rest of your life away at their expense.’ He drew the gold signet ring from his little finger and turned her to face Josef.

Numbly, Lauren went through with the brief ceremony, backed by the sound of the plane’s engines and punctuated by the ominous sound of gunfire and a couple more of those heavy explosions.