Behind the Mask (111 page)

He kissed her, and then Blaze poked his nose at Abbi and snorted, which made her laugh. “Yes, we know this is a red-letter day for you,” Cameron said to the animal. “You scoundrel, you.”

Abbi guided Cameron’s hand to her pregnant belly as Blaze snorted again. “I think he’s calling you a hypocrite,” she said. Cameron laughed and kissed her again.

Two days following Blizzard’s birth, Cameron was almost to the office when he looked up to see Captain Dukerk approaching, looking concerned.

“Don’t go in there yet,” Lance said. “There’s something I need to tell you . . . privately.” He then nodded toward the two officers posted outside the office door. “Give us a moment, please.”

They moved some distance up the hall before Cameron said, “What is it?”

“Apparently we have some zealot . . . a group of zealots who are—”

“Which? One or many?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who are what?” Cameron pressed.

“Who are boldly declaring that they want you dead, that they will avenge Nikolaus and see the crown given to some fanatic of their choosing.”

Cameron actually laughed. “Is this supposed to frighten me? The people would never stand for it.”

“The crown deferring to a fanatic zealot is not a concern, sir. The threat against your life most certainly is. Yes, it should frighten you enough to see that you do not leave the castle without a standard six.”

Cameron made a disgusted noise. “Do I understand this correctly? I cannot leave my home in broad daylight without six military personnel surrounding me?”

“That’s right. And the same for Her Grace. It’s my job to protect you. Those are my orders.”

Cameron felt humbled—and unnerved. “And where did we get this
frightening
information?”

“A messenger boy who delivered a letter to my desk. He was paid by a woman he cannot identify; she wore a hooded cloak and had a scarf around her face.”

Cameron blew out a harsh breath. “And tell me, Captain, what did my brother do to incite such devotion from half-crazed fanatics?”

“I suspect he made many promises he never intended to keep. Wealth, power, glory. I believe he’d say just about anything to get what he wanted. Now his death has shattered their delusions and they have it fixed in their minds that his empty promises somehow give them justification or false power.”

“So, we
are
talking about people who cannot be reasoned with.”

“That would be likely, sir. Yes. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Fruberg who—”

“Remind me,” Cameron said. He could connect the name with the face, but since his return he still hadn’t quite mastered keeping track of each man’s position.

“Committee of National Security. He’s a criminal analyst. He’s working on what he knows thus far, and will give us a full report when he’s ready. In the meantime—”

“Yes, I know,” Cameron interrupted, ignoring the way Lance looked past his shoulder. “I’ll stick to another form of exile. But until we know more, I don’t want anything said to Abbi or . . .”

Lance cleared his throat loudly and looked down, muttering under his breath, “Faux pas.”

“About what?” Abbi asked from behind him. Cameron squeezed his eyes closed and then swallowed carefully before she added, “Are we back to secrets, now?”

Cameron took a deep breath and turned to face her. “I simply did not want you to worry over something you can do nothing about. It’s likely meaningless, anyway.”

“What is this meaningless problem that I can do nothing about?” she demanded in a way that made him wonder how she could ever doubt her own ability to be a duchess.

Cameron folded his arms and looked at the floor. “Captain, would you please tell Her Grace everything you just told me, and assure her that you are omitting nothing.”

Lance gave the report briefly and with precision. Abbi glared at her husband, saying, “Meaningless? Will the struggle to keep you alive be a way of life?”

“No!” Cameron insisted. “I will not stand for it! These people will be rooted out and undone. We
will
walk the streets of Horstberg in peace; I swear it.”

“It is a noble goal, Your Grace,” she said with anger, “but perhaps not realistic. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m in need of some fresh air. Thankfully there is a place I can get it without a military escort.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Captain,” Cameron said, “but I have been led to believe that
I
am the Duke of Horstberg, and
you
are the Captain of the Guard.”

“That would be correct, sir.”

“And is it not reputed that our positions are the most powerful and prestigious in the country?”

“That is the rumor, Your Grace.”

“Then why, Captain, do I get the distinct impression that you and I have both been neatly reprimanded and put into place?”

Lance chuckled and then forced sobriety. “Um . . . I believe it might have something to do with . . . how did you put it? The fire in her veins that burns much hotter than any royal blood ever will?”

“Something like that,” Cameron said, still looking the direction she had gone. “And, oh, how I love her for it!”

“Indeed, sir. I think you’re late for your meeting.”

Cameron made a disagreeable noise and entered the office, trying to subdue the anger he felt over having his life in danger—again. Or was it still?

That evening, Cameron noted that Abbi seemed more tense than usual, even though the issue of fanatic assassins never came up. During a meeting the following day, Mr. Fruberg engaged in a long, boring speech about the importance of protecting the duke’s life at all costs for the sake of maintaining security and stability at every level of the government. Cameron appreciated the concern for his life. It was nice to have these people on his side instead of against him, but he wasn’t necessarily fond of having his life represent the security of the country. Mr. Fruberg also reported to the committee his firm belief that any loyalty to Nikolaus du Woernig could not possibly exceed more than one percent of the population as a whole. Cameron didn’t know how he came by such figures; he only knew that he’d done it methodically, and his methods had proven accurate in the past. According to the way the threatening letter had been written, Mr. Fruberg felt certain there was likely one person at the head of such an endeavor, and if that person were rooted out, the matter would be closed.

Cameron sat through another meeting with a few select members of the committee and the highest officers of the Guard where possible methods were discussed for rooting out such an insidious character, and what his possible motives might be. Mr. Fruberg stressed that making a bold example of the leader was imperative to see that anyone else with similar ideas would never dare contest the crown. Over the next several days, two more threats were received, and Cameron sat through another five such meetings where officers proposed different scenarios to bring the matter to a head. These men were sharp and skilled, and Cameron fully trusted them to protect him and his wife. He simply didn’t like the fact that every possible plan involved putting him in public view with regular habits, alongside military escorts who were discreet and appeared lazy and distracted. And he
really
didn’t like the unanimous decision that Her Grace should not be allowed into public view, whatsoever.

Cameron’s insides knotted when Mr. Fruberg looked him in the eye and stated, “We must keep Her Grace safe at all costs and not leave her vulnerable to
any
possible harm—especially after what your brother did to her.”

Grueling silence responded, and Cameron wondered what the general opinion might be of what his brother had done to the duchess. He finally snapped, “Fine. You all know what needs to be done. The meeting is over.” As the men filed out of the office, he added, “Captain, Mr. Heinrich. A moment please.”

When the door was closed and it was just the three of them, Cameron said with sarcasm, “This is
just
what Abbi needs to help her adjust to being a duchess. Let’s lock her up and hide her away and see how that helps her spirits. Make these castle walls some kind of prison; that ought to help the situation.”

“I thought she was doing rather well,” Lance said.

“She’s
pretending
to do well,” Cameron countered. He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. “Captain,” he said, “I need you to tell her. I can’t do it. And . . . I need both of you to . . . be mindful of her. She trusts you both. I fear there are things she’s feeling that she won’t say to me because she doesn’t want to hurt me. Just . . . try to be there for her . . . without being too obvious. That’s all I ask.” He sighed again. “Georg, would you send for her now, and let’s get this over with.”

Abbi was sitting in the garden with a book, enjoying an especially warm autumn afternoon, when an officer approached. He stood at attention and said, “His Grace wishes to see you immediately. He’s in his office.”

“Thank you,” Abbi said and the officer followed her there, as if to be certain she didn’t tarry. At her appearance, the officer at the door opened it and she stepped inside. The three men in the room came to their feet as the door was closed behind her. The sobriety in their expressions was unnerving.

“Your Grace,” Cameron said, nodding slightly. “You know Captain Dukerk, and Mr. Heinrich, my highest advisor.”

Abbi expected some evidence of humor in such an introduction. But there was none. He’d meant it clearly as a preamble to the fact that this meeting was all business, and it was to be treated as such. She wanted to scream that Georg had been her most trusted friend since childhood, and she’d very nearly married Lance. She wanted to remind Cameron of the intimate conversations she’d had with these men, and how she’d cried in their arms. She wanted to insist that Cameron not refer to her so formally in front of them. But she swallowed and said, “Of course.”

Cameron motioned her toward a chair. She took it and the men returned to their seats. Without looking at her, Cameron said, “The captain has something he needs to report to you.”

Abbi turned her attention to Lance and listened with growing horror to the evidence of threats against her husband’s life and details of their plans to rectify the problem. She looked at Cameron, then back to Lance. “You’re using him as a trap.” No one responded. Their silence verified the truth. She said to Cameron, “And what if your plan fails? What if these men assigned to protect you aren’t quite fast enough? Or not quite as clever as these fanatics who are after you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cameron said, and she wanted to shout at him. Instead she just gave him a harsh glare. He ignored it and added, “The captain is not finished yet.”

“What else?” she demanded like a duchess.

Lance went on to explain their concerns for
her
safety, and the need for her to stay in certain areas of the castle. Abbi just listened, not wanting to admit that she actually liked
this
part of the plan. Her pregnancy was making it too awkward to ride, and she had come to find a certain security within the structure of limited rooms and the gardens. She didn’t want to be publicly seen as the duchess, but she had difficulty explaining why. How could she explain it when she barely understood it? When the captain was apparently finished, she asked, “Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “If anything changes, we’ll let you know.”

“No secrets?” she asked.

“No secrets,” Lance said, and she noticed Cameron giving him a firm nod.

“Thank you, Captain,” Cameron said. Then to Abbi, “Mr. Heinrich will be available at any time to discuss the issue.”

Abbi couldn’t help her sarcasm as she said to Georg, “Why, thank you, Mr. Heinrich. It’s nice to know that I have the privilege of your expertise and guidance at my disposal. If I ever—”

“Would you leave us alone, please,” Cameron said.

“I’m leaving,” Abbi retorted.

“I
meant,”
Cameron clarified, “for you and me to be left alone.”

The other men stood and left the room. After the door had closed, Cameron said, “Is it necessary for you to be so belligerent?”

“Is it necessary for you to be so formal?”

“It’s appropriate under such circumstances.”