From Kiss to Queen (20 page)

“You're going to get the bed all wet. This is embarrassing.”

“This is part of believing, Jane.”

Satisfied the towel was secure, Mark gently pushed her over and stretched out beside her.

She squeaked.

He grabbed the hand trying to push him away and anchored it against his chest. Then he took his other arm and tucked it under her head. Then, still holding her hand, he moved his arm to her waist and pulled her up against his hip. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.

“You can't stay here,” she said huskily.

“It'll be dawn in an hour,” he pointed out, not opening his eyes as he wiggled closer. “I'll just settle here for a little while. Don't worry, witch, I won't take advantage of you.” He opened one eye. “If you want a baby, you're going to have to marry me first.”

Mark wasn't sure, but he thought she was close to cursing for real. “One minute I'm a witch and the next I'm an angel. Can't you decide what to call me?” she asked instead.

“On our golden anniversary, Jane, I'll tell you which one you are.” He sighed and snuggled closer. “Hopefully I'll have it figured out by then.”

*   *   *

H
oly smokes. He intended to sleep here.

Jane didn't know what to make of that.

Or what to make of what he'd said earlier.

Or what to make of the fact that he'd just wrapped her ugly ankle in a towel.

What if the morning maid or the nurse or somebody came in? Mark had actually gone to sleep. Right beside her. In his father's house!

Darn. Jane thought about pushing him off the bed, but feeling his warmth, hearing his breath so steady and unguarded, and loving him, made the task impossible. She didn't want to kick him out; she wanted to snuggle closer.

Had he really said she'd take part of his heart if she left? A good part of it?

And that she should believe?

Believe in what? Herself? Him? Love?

Jane lay in the dark beside Mark and thought again of Sister Patricia reading her
The Little Engine That Could
so many times that she knew it by heart. Crippled, in pain after each operation and wanting to give up, she had clung to that story with the hope of a child wanting so much to be normal. To walk. To be like the other children.

She still owned a well-read, battered copy of that book. Or she had until those men had blown up her car. And right now she'd like to read it again; to look at the pictures; to see the expression on the little engine as it struggled up an impossible hill. And she wanted to see its expression when it had topped that hill and started down the other side.

She needed that little engine's determination now to believe she could overcome insurmountable odds and become not merely a queen, but a wife to the man she loved, a mother to their children, and a daughter to a retired king who desperately wanted one.

Either the Lakeland men were blind to who she was,
or she was the blind one. Maybe she wasn't nobody after all. They simply accepted her—limp, non-pedigree, and temper. They seemed sincere. All of them, including Aunt Irina. And especially Mark. He kept kissing her.

And now he'd fallen asleep in her bed.

Jane scooted closer and finally did the same.

J
ane. Jane, wake up.”

She tried, she really did. Irina's voice was soft and cajoling and inviting, but Jane felt like she'd just gotten to sleep.

“We're leaving in an hour. You've just enough time for a quick shower and lunch.”

“Leaving?” Jane croaked, finally getting her eyes opened enough to see Irina backlit by the late-morning sun. She became aware of others moving in the room.

“We're stopping at the hospital first, and then we're going shopping.”

“Shopping?” Jane echoed, realizing she sounded like a sleepy parrot.

“We'll have fun, yes? Spending Markov's money?”

“I'm not spending his money.”

The woman's smile broadened. “He says he owes you a new wardrobe.”

That's right, he did, since
his
enemies had blown up her car. “You're going with me?”

“Yes, if you don't mind. I know all the nice little shops in the city. And,” Irina added, a twinkle in her eyes, “I speak Shelkovan.”

Jane groaned. Not speaking the language had gotten her thrown in jail. “I'd love for you to come with me.” She finally sat up. “It's been forever since I went shopping with a friend.”

“Thank you for calling me your friend.”

“Oh, Irina. You're only the second female friend I've ever had,” she whispered, scrambling out of bed. Jane hesitated. “Maybe I'm being presumptuous. You may just be helping me for Mark.”

Irina planted her hands on her hips. “I would do many things for Markov, but never pretend friendship for him.” She took Jane's hand. “I want to be your friend. I've been alone in this male household since Katrina died.”

Jane practically threw herself at Irina and wrapped both arms around the older woman and hugged her. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes misting. “Oh yes. Thank you.”

Irina leaned away, her own eyes misted. “No. Thank you. Now come. Let's go fortify ourselves for the enjoyable task of spending Markov's money. It's a rare occasion when that one opens his purse.”

“Really?” Jane asked, headed for the shower. “He was practically throwing the contents of his wallet at Silas.”

“Which says how worried he was about you,” Irina called after her.

Jane thought about that while she showered. Thinking back, Mark
had
seemed frantic about her illness. Heck, he'd bought her enough M&M's and Pepsi to feed a school. All of which she'd managed to clean up on the painful jet ride to Shelkova.

Maybe he did care.

It wasn't until she emerged from the bath that Jane realized there were two other women in the room. They were packing all the things she'd been using. “What are they doing?” she asked Irina, who was laying out clothes for her to wear.

“You're moving.”

“I am? Where?”

“To our wing of the palace.”

“Why? What's wrong with this room?”

“What if I told you we need to clean this wing?” Irina offered, not turning, but clasping the slacks she was holding to her chest.

“I'd say you're prevaricating.”

“Then how about it being easier for the staff if we're all in one place?”

“I'd say you're reaching with that one.”

Irina turned to face her. “Then I would say Reynard simply wishes it.”

“A decree?”

“Close enough.”

Jane gasped, covering her blushing cheeks with both hands. “Oh no! He found out Mark spent last night here.”

Irina laughed. “That rascal. He said he was just going to escort you to your room.”

“He did.”

“Hmmm . . .” Irina suddenly frowned. “He didn't . . . pester you, did he?”

“If I say yes, would it get him thrown in the dungeon?”

Irina laughed again. “Doubtful. Reynard would have a mutiny of the staff if he did. No, about the only thing Markov would get is a scorching lecture on proprieties.”

“He only stayed a little while. And he didn't pester me.”

“Too bad,” Irina returned with a wink. “Markov is a handsome man. And very sought after by many women.”

“He's a prince who's about to be a king.”

“He can't help that.”

“He wouldn't want to if he could.”

“What's wrong with being a king? Aren't you being a bit prejudiced?”

Jane gasped. “I am not.”

“You think because you're an orphan he couldn't want you. But you don't want him because he's a king.” Irina turned back to her task. “Sounds like prejudice to me.”

“But it's not only my being an orphan,” Jane tried to explain, moving around the bed to face her. “I have a terrible limp.”

Irina picked up a blouse and shrugged. “We all have flaws.”

“And I don't know anything about being married to a king, much less anything about being a
queen
. Heck, I never even went to college.”

Irina looked at her. “Yet you obviously have a brain. Learn to be a queen.”

“But I'm nobody!”

Irina sighed and sat down on the bed, closing her eyes.
“Jane,” she said quietly, “when you pulled Mark from his sunken plane, he wasn't anybody, either. He wasn't a prince or a son or a nephew. He was nobody to you.” Irina looked at her. “But you risked your life to save his. And you kept on saving him by leading him out of the woods and getting him to his meeting on the coast. He was only a man named Mark, but still you helped him. You also fell in love with him, didn't you?”

Jane bit her lip, completely unaware her eyes answered for her.

“Even if he were nobody special, your love would have made him the most important person in the world to you. Think about that,” Irina finished softly, getting up and walking out.

And think Jane did, all through dressing and lunch. Which was why she was surprised to find herself sitting in the backseat of a huge car full of Lakelands less than an hour later.

“Are you all going shopping with us?” she asked Mark.

“I am,” he answered. “Sergei and Alexi are only riding with us as far as the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

Mark frowned. “Did Irina not tell you we're stopping there first?”

“Yes, but she didn't say why.”

Mark sighed. “To have your shoulder checked.”

“My shoulder feels just fine. I don't need to have it checked.”

“You have stitches,” he explained, sounding exasperated, if a little annoyed. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Where have you been for the last hour?”

“Mentally going over maps in my head, trying to remember where the dungeons are.”

Only Irina laughed at that one. But she kept the secret to herself, despite the questioning looks she got from the three men.

When they stopped in front of the hospital, Jane noticed the car that had been following them. As Sergei and Alexi exited to the sidewalk and two men got out of the other car and started down the sidewalk behind them, she grew alarmed. “Someone's following them,” she told Mark.

He turned and looked. “Their bodyguards,” he explained, leading her to the hospital door. “We have a couple ourselves,” he added, nodding toward the two men following them.

“I don't feel like going shopping after.”

“Jane, don't. There's no reason for you to be afraid.”

She blinked at him. “I'm not afraid. I just don't want to go.”

“And there's no reason for you to worry about the men. It's their job, and they're trained very well to do it. They can take care of themselves as well as us. Let them.”

“I don't like it.”

“You'll get used to it.”

“No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.”

She was about to give him a scathing comeback when she spotted Dr. Daveed, and wiggled free and all but ran up to the man.

“Dr. Daveed! Hello!”

“Hello to you, Miss Abbot,” he returned, bowing formally.

“Oh, stop that. You used to call me Jane. How's everyone on the
Katrina
? How's Dorjan?”

“The envy of his shipmates,” he said, laughing. He stopped suddenly, turned, and bowed formally to Mark and then Irina. “Your Highness. My lady.”

“Daveed,” Mark answered, smiling at Jane's surprised look. It was as if she kept forgetting they were royalty. Which was fine with him, as the more often she forgot, the less guarded she was. “We've come to have you check your work.”

“How come you're not on the
Katrina
?” Jane blurted out.

“I've been transferred here, to the city of Previa.”

“Oh. Did you ask to be transferred?”

“No,” he admitted with a smile. “I was . . . offered the position.”

Jane shot a frown in Mark's direction.

“Which he quickly accepted,” Mark added. “As he wanted to come home.”

She took Dr. Daveed's arm and started down the hall. “Then let's get to it, Doc. I've got lots of shopping to do,” she said loudly enough for Mark to hear.

“You're healing well, Miss Abbot,” Daveed decided ten minutes later as he carefully removed her stitches.

“Because of your good work.”

“And the special care you've received?” he added.

“Maybe.”

“Miss Abbot. Jane. I . . . I would talk to you candidly, if I could,” Daveed said softly, still standing behind her, still working on her shoulder.

“Sure.”

“It's about your ankle.”

She turned just enough to see his face. “Did Mark put you up to this?”

“His Highness? No. This is my own forwardness. While you were on the
Katrina
, I took the liberty of looking at your ankle.”

Heavens, the poor man sounded like he was confessing a cardinal sin.

“I realize I was supposed to be treating your shoulder, not your ankle, and I'm sorry for invading your privacy.”

“But?” she urged, smiling now.

“But I was curious. I've been a military doctor for thirty years,” he explained, “and have seen every injury a body could have. Your ankle was crushed, no?”

For all of his remorse for invading her privacy, Jane could tell Daveed wasn't merely curious but sincerely interested. “Yes. Nobody knows how it happened. I was discovered with the injury, only a few days old.”

That startled him. “Discovered?”

“I was left on the hospital's doorstep.”

“Oh. I see. So you were just an infant when you were injured. You've had operations.”

“Three.”

“And now you wear a brace.” He smiled a little. “A rather battered brace.”

“This one is six years old.”

“Can I ask if it pains you to walk?”

“Only when I've overdone it a bit. Then my ankle just gets lame.”

“But when you walk, you're not limping because of pain?”

“No.”

“Do you know why you limp?”

She frowned at him. “Because my ankle's deformed.”

He shook his head, making Jane wonder if the man had been tipping a bottle of vodka. She gave him an exasperated look. “It's not deformed?”

“Yes, it is, but that's not why you limp.”

“Maybe I limp because I like to,” she shot back, getting annoyed. “Or maybe I want everyone to feel sorry for me.”

“Or maybe your right leg is slightly shorter than your left,” he said, not the least bit intimidated.

“Shorter!”

He walked around to face her, took her right foot in his hand and pulled off her shoe, then pulled off her brace. And then her sock. Jane instinctively tried to tug her foot away, but he held fast and tickled the bottom of her toes, so surprising her that she stopped tugging. “Now look,” he began, lifting her leg. “There is a lack of muscle around your ankle, thus you need the brace for support. But the bone itself is what was crushed. When it healed, and with ensuing operations, this leg ended up shorter than your other one. Do you understand?”

“I guess so,” she agreed, leaning over and peering down at her ankle. It looked like its same old ugly self to her. She'd never thought it could be shorter.

Lovely. Just what she needed—something else wrong with her.

“Would you like for me to take precise measurements to see how much shorter it is?”

“Why?” she asked, trying to tug her foot back again.

“So we can make up the difference.”

“What? You mean to make my legs the same length by jacking up my shoe?”

“Something like that,” he agreed with a nod. “Only I don't think the difference is so great that you would need an obviously thicker shoe. I could fashion you a new brace to not only fit under your arch, but under your entire foot.”

“But then my boots won't fit.”

“I would make the sole out of neoprene, which would be supple for when you walked. You'd only have to pull the bottom lining out of any shoe you wished to wear and it should fit fine.” He held up her old brace and examined it. “And this,” he continued, tapping the metal hinge, “would be made of hard nylon and pivot easier. And I don't think it would have to come all the way up to your knee,” he added, setting down her old brace and lifting her foot again. He touched her leg just above her ankle. “The bone and muscle is fine from here up. I can make you a lighter, less cumbersome brace.”