The Wrath of the King (25 page)

Leander also had secrets. Things about his life he couldn't, or wouldn't, tell her.

“I was just thinking what a dunce I can be sometimes,” she admitted. Why not be honest? Leander should know what he was getting into, she decided.

“You mean about liking Paavo and hating yourself for it?” He cocked a brow in question.

Floored by his perceptiveness, she changed the angle of her posture to see him easier. Should she be honest about
that,
too?

“You don't need to scramble for an answer,” he said next. “It's written all over your face. Just for the record, it doesn't matter either way. A thousand women have probably thought the same thing about him.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I'm good at picking up small details about people. It wasn't all that hard to figure out.” He didn't move from his lean.

“I don't know what to say.” Wynn spoke the truth. She really wasn't sure what to add to that. Leander had hit the nail on the head. For a moment, she wondered if Chey told Sander, and Sander told Leander. Right after that, she dismissed the notion. Sander didn't seem the type to run about, passing off gossip.

“You don't need to say anything. Although if you need to talk about it, I could use an hour to wind down from the day.”

Wynn gestured to a chair adjacent to her own. “Of course. I talked about it to Chey earlier, and just decided that I didn't want to think about all that anymore. It's behind me. I accept it for what it is, and now it's done.”

“Pragmatic, like I knew you would be.” Leander strolled over to the chair and threw himself down into the cushions. “Don't beat yourself up about it. You've probably done enough of that already and honestly, he's not worth the effort.”

“It's like you can read my mind or something,” Wynn said, watching him cross to the chair and sit down. The man was poetry in motion, no matter how cheesy the sentiment seemed.

“I'm observant. That's all it takes.”

“How do you know I'm not pretending?”

“Because someone doesn't wear such raw emotion on their face when they're pretending. You're easier to read than you think.” He set his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his hand near his mouth, regarding her with a dead on stare.

Wynn narrowed her eyes. Might as well go for the throat. “So you know that I've already put a claim in on you then, right?”

“Mhm.” He was as casual as could be with his hummed reply.

Wynn's mouth fell open a little. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “Seriously.”

“And how did you know
that?
Don't tell me I wore my expression on my face, because when I was with you last, we were under siege, trying to escape. There wasn't anything there then but fear and nervousness.”

“You flirted with me the first night you met me,” he countered. “And although you knew I was watching you walk the hall, you didn't bother to
stop.
You just let me keep looking.”

Wynn blustered and stammered, waving a hand dismissively. “That's a crock.”

“It's the truth.”

“And?”

“You've blushed like three times in my presence.”

Wynn laughed, slapping a hand against her knee. “That's because you caught me going through files or whatever! And because I was a prisoner! Embarrassment does not equate to a real blush.”

“You're blushing right now,” he pointed out.

“I am not.” Wynn refused to put a hand against her cheek. She
was
blushing though, she could feel it.

“And you hugged me.”

“I was relieved to see you! Any woman would have done the same.”

Leander arched a brow like he didn't believe her. “Really.”

“Well, how many women have you rescued?”

“That's classified information.”

“
What?”

“I said, that's classified--”

“I heard you!” Wynn laughed because she couldn't
not
laugh. “I bet they all hugged you with relief, though.”

He shook his head, negating her guess.

“It still doesn't mean anything. That couldn't have tipped you off.”

“You might as well wear a neon sign across your forehead that says,
I'm into Leander. Hands off.”

Wynn's cheeks burned with fresh surge of heat. “You're so cocky. That is
not
true.”

“Blushing,” he pointed out again, ticking it off his fingers. “And if you didn't like my company, you wouldn't be sitting here bantering back and forth with me.”

“Maybe I need the distraction.”

“And maybe you like me.” He flashed her a deviant grin.

“You're full of yourself.” Wynn chuckled. He made it easy to forget about everything except him.

“It's part of my charm.”

“I prefer tall, dark and modest.”

“But you can't strut for tall, dark and modest, and clearly, you enjoyed strutting for me.”

Wynn clapped a hand over half her face, laughing. She should have never kept pacing the hall that night. “I was indignant, which is not the same thing. If you'd been a gentleman, you would have looked the other way.”

“Then you would have been insulted because I
didn't
look. I know how a woman's mind works.”

“I would not! I might have thought you were chivalrous, a trait sadly lacking in today's male population.” Wynn was enjoying herself far too much.

“You wouldn't have thought anything, since you wouldn't have been looking. And since you
were
looking, that tells me you
wanted
me to watch. I'm just giving you what you want. Who's chivalrous now?”

“That's not chivalrous, that's advantageous.”

“One thing I will never claim to be is chaste. Since you're not either, then I know you appreciated me taking advantage of a golden opportunity. You liked it, I liked it, where's the harm?”

“How do you know I'm not chaste? I might be a virgin,” Wynn retorted.

“The only reason I'm not dissolving into laughter right now is because I'm chivalrous. See how that works?” His body shook with mirth.

“I see that you turn everything around to suit you. That's what. You talk in so many circles, a person can't even remember where the conversation started.” Wynn smiled despite herself.

“It started with me asking you on a date and you saying yes. I can't believe you don't recall that poignant moment.”

“You're impossible. Yes.
Yes,
I'll go on a date with you. Happy?” This time, Wynn didn't bother trying to hide the flirty way she watched him.

He sprawled deeper into the chair and looked mighty pleased with himself. “Absolutely.”

. . .

They took the tour in a helicopter, instead of a car. Sander wanted to cover more ground than they could achieve on the road. Chey peered out the window at the landscape of Latvala, pointing out trouble spots to Sander. Much to her surprise, he'd coordinated his military well and they were already breaking down encampments, making arrests, and diffusing the hard lines Paavo had attempted to make between 'regions'. It was technical, complicated and time consuming. Chey knew there was a long way to go, but she was heartened seeing the beginnings of progress.

What would take even more time, and more effort, was the damage done to the psyche of the people. Initial reports and polls indicated a majority still backed Sander. A strong contingent remained, however, who intended to cling to the promises Paavo made. The disgruntled gathered in the larger cities, some traveling hours to reach their goal. They picketed with signs, chanted their demands, and generally let Sander know how upset they were with the upheaval.

Because of the man Sander was, he ordered the pilot to set them down in one of the smaller towns. Against the advice of the security team, Sander exited the helicopter and, with only three guards in tow, went to talk directly to the people.

Remaining in the aircraft for her own safety, Chey could only imagine what might be happening a few blocks away. It chafed that she needed to stay put, even if she knew it was the wisest choice. With so few guards, there was little protection if the crowd turned into a mob. She wasn't exactly in the fittest shape to be running any length of distance.

Forty-minutes later, Sander returned. Climbing into the chopper, he put his headset and safety harness on, then glanced aside. “It went about as well as can be expected. They don't trust the leadership, which is something I'll have to work to overcome.”

“No one got violent, did they?” Chey asked.

“No. There were shouts and anger, but no violence. I can't expect people to flip-flop and switch allegiance, especially when they don't have all the facts. It'll come in time.” He made a motion to the pilot once the guards were inside and secure.

Shortly, the helicopter lifted off, swinging away toward another destination. They spent three more hours touring before Chey begged either to stop in a small town, or return to his holding. Her bladder couldn't take anymore.

Without complaint, Sander ordered the pilot to head for Pallan Island.

Shocked, Chey reached over to squeeze Sander's hand. She missed the castle overlooking the sea, missed their suite and her things.

Finally, she was going home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A long week later, Chey marched through the gardens with Wynn and Krislin at her side. The day was sunny and bright, the temperature a tolerable seventy-eight degrees. Birds trilled in the trees, the wind rustled leaves, and the burble of a fountain added a calm ambiance to the rather brisk pace Chey set.

Brow beaded with sweat, arms swinging, Chey came to the beginning of the path and set off for another turn.

“Chey, really?
I'm
tired and I'm not even pregnant,” Wynn said, brushing a wrist across her brow to remove a vague sheen collecting above her eyebrows.

“Oh come on. You walked five miles on the beach a few days ago, before Leander left,” Chey scoffed. “You just want to go upstairs and see if he left you an email. Quit pining.”

Wynn and Krislin both laughed.

“This must be thirty-five times around the garden, at least. My feet hurt and I'm sweating buckets. It has nothing to do with Leander or any emails.”

“It's useless, Wynn,” Krislin said, easily keeping up with Chey. “We know better.”

Feigning a fuss, Wynn fell into step and joined the girls for yet another trip around the pathway.

“And if you want to talk about whose feet hurt--”

“Okay, okay! You win, Chey,” Wynn said, laughing. “My feet don't really hurt--”

“We know,” Chey and Krislin said at the same time.

“But it's been three days. I have a lot to tell him,” Wynn said, defending her desire to dash upstairs and check her mail.

“What, that you've daydreamed the hours away? No one can get your attention half the time,” Chey teased. With her due date a mere week away, Chey was doing all she could to help the process along. Even if it didn't help, it kept her mind off wondering
when
the baby might come. A round of betting had begun in the castle and across the land, along with wagers over names, the weight and other things, like hair and eye color. Chey thought it might be helping to bridge a few awkward gaps between otherwise divided families. Small steps, she reassured herself, were the best to healing the nation.

“That's just not true. I played Scrabble with you for an hour last night, Wynn protested.

“And how many times did we have to go, 'Wynn, Wynn, it's your turn!',” Krislin said, sending Wynn an amused glance.

“Eight. Eight times,” Chey said, pulling a number off the top of her head. In reality, they
had
needed to get Wynn's head out of the cloud a time or two.

“I don't want to hear it,” Wynn scoffed. “Chey, you do a lot of your own daydreaming, and if I didn't know better, Krislin and Gunnar are actually on honeymoon number two.”

Chey chuckled and glanced at Krislin, who tucked her chin and blushed.

“I think it's fantastic that they're so happy,” Chey said. When Krislin bit her lower lip, Chey stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes.

Krislin and Wynn both stopped walking as well. Krislin looked evasive suddenly, staring off at the trees and birds. The fountain. Her shoes.

“Uh huh. Something's up. Spill it, Krislin,” Chey said. She knew the woman well enough by now to know that there was something Krislin wasn't saying.

“Is there time for me to go check my email?” Wynn asked in a small voice, obviously teasing.

The girls all laughed.

“Actually, we were going to wait until dinner tonight, but...” Krislin hedged, then said, “I'm pregnant!”

Chey bounced—as well as she could bounce at nine months pregnant—and snatched Krislin into a hug. Wynn circled them both, making it a trio of squeals and giggles.

“You said you'd been trying in the hospital, but I didn't think you actually might be!” Chey said.

“I didn't know, either. I wondered if I might be, then decided I wasn't, then forgot about everything when all this happened. But yes, we're due next spring.” Krislin, all smiles, released the girls with an excited sigh.

“Our babies will be close in age, I love that,” Chey said. “I hope you have a boy, too, and then we can have a gaggle of girls.”

“And I get to be Auntie Wynn to them all,” Wynn said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

“Or, you could join the fun.” Chey gave Wynn a pointed look.

“I
could.
But if you don't let me check my mail, then I can't write Leander back, and then he can't write
me
back, and then there will be no more long walks and no more dates, and then--”

Laughing, Chey held up her hands in surrender. “Okay,
okay.
Go check your--” A sudden cramp in her stomach cut her words off mid-sentence. She pressed a hand over the spot, wincing.

“What is it?”

“Was that from walking, or was that labor pain?”

“Do we need to get you inside?” Wynn and Krislin talked over themselves, jostling for position on either side of Chey.

“No, no, it's fine. Those Braxton-Hicks or whatever. I've had them all morning.” Chey waved their concern away. “Really, it's not 'time'.”