where the lapping Channel waves met the rocky shores of Silvershire.
The helicopter's route brought them into Silvershire's airspace just north of the town of Dunford, in Danebyshire. As they crossed the gleaming ribbon of the Dane River. Nikolas nudged Rhia with his elbow and pointed; she nodded in reply. It was an acknowledgment, nothing more. He knew it wasn't necessary for him to tell her Dunford was where he'd lived and worked for the past five years, teaching history at Dunford College of Liberal and Fine Arts. She would have learned that fact, and just about everything else there was to know about his life, from the Lazlo Group's dossier. Though right now, looking down at the slate roofs and church spires of the town and the campus, he felt as disconnected from that life in spirit as in body.
That was his past. No matter what happened at the coming meeting, he had to accept that he could never go back to the way things had been.
Though he stared out his side of the chopper, watching its shadow flit across the forested landscape below, he was intensely aware of the woman sitting beside him. She was dressed once again in the black pants and leather jacket she'd worn for breaking and entering Phillipe's flat in Paris, though the chemise had been replaced by a black pullover embroidered just above her left breast with the green-and-gold plaited pentagram that was the Lazlo Group's logo.
Rather ironic, he thought, that she should be the one bright spot for him in all of this, when she was the one who'd yanked him out of his former life and pitched him kicking and screaming into this new one he'd never dreamed of nor wanted. In any case it would have been idiotic to blame her for it, and he didn't. She'd only been doing her job. And as for what had happened between them, he acknowledged that was more his doing than hers, and furthermore, in his selfishness he'd caused her some degree of pain.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened… making love with her. Or to contemplate the possibility that it might never happen again.
To block that thought, he turned his mind instead to the coming meeting. Another irony, that was. He'd tried so many times, as head of the Union for Democracy, to arrange a meeting with His Majesty, to discuss his plan for phasing out the centuries-old and outdated monarchy and ushering in a form of democratic government based-in his opinion quite reasonably-on that of their neighbor, Great Britain's responsible monarchy. In the past, he'd never gotten past Weston's advisors-not hard to understand their diligence, perhaps, since most of their jobs no doubt depended on keeping the status quo. And now…here he was, on his way to a private, one-on-one meeting with the king at his secret mountain hideaway. But not to discuss politics.
What, he wondered, as his heart lurched and a pulse began tap-tap-tapping in his belly, does a man say to a long-lost father who is not only his sworn adversary, but his king?
The chopper churned on across the Dunford Wood, the province of Perthegon. and crossed the Kairn River into Chamberlain.
His mouth curved in a sardonic little smile as the chopper banked sharply south over the Lodan Mountains.
The helicopter settled onto the grassy clearing, a little meadow surrounded by pine trees not far from the lodge. As the rotors slowed to a lazy swishing. Nikolas opened the door and stepped down onto the yellowing grass. He paused to wait for Rhia to do the same, and then they both hurried at a half crouch through the turbulence to meet their welcoming committee.
Three people had emerged from the woods on the edge of the clearing. Two were men, obviously security guards, resplendent in the king's livery and looking gloriously out of place in that rustic setting. The third person, Rhia was startled to see, was a woman, casually dressed in slacks and a windbreaker. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and it was a moment before Rhia recognized the king's personal physician, Dr. Zara Smith-or was it Shaw, now? she wondered. Lady Zara had recently become the wife of Dr. Walker Shaw, the Lazlo Group's chief psychologist and an old friend of Rhia's.
While the two guards stood stiffly at attention, Lady Zara, whom Rhia had met only briefly at her wedding reception, greeted her with a smile and a brisk handshake. 'Hello, Rhia. it's good to see you again.'
'Likewise, Lady Zara.' Rhia said, returning the smile. 'Good to see you looking so great. Married life must be good for you.'
'Walker is good for me.' Lady Zara replied, with the soft eyes and satisfied smile of a woman deeply in love, and Rhia couldn't help feeling a small, treacherous stab of envy.
'I'm surprised to see you here,' she said. 'I thought you were still on your honeymoon.'
Lady Zara's forehead creased momentarily with a tiny frown. 'Lord Southgate suggested I be here for the meeting.' she said in an undertone. 'He is…concerned. But it was His Majesty who insisted on it.'
She turned curious, champagne-colored eyes on Nikolas and offered him her hand. 'Mr. Donovan, I must tell you that I have strongly advised against this meeting.'
'I imagine you have.' Nikolas said drily as he shook her hand. 'You, and I'm sure many others as well, considering I'm suspected of murder for hire-among other things.'
'That's for others to determine.' Lady Zara said without smiling. 'My concerns are for His Majesty's health. The king is still recovering from his recent illness, as you know. He is still not entirely himself, which is to be expected given the series of shocks he's had to deal with. His son-ah, Reginald's death, then surgery for a brain tumor, and the hospital bombing and his subsequent coma on top of it. The news that Reginald wasn't the king and queen's biological son, and the fact that he was murdered…and now…' she shook her head '…learning his biological son and the true heir to his crown is none other than the man who's been trying to take it from him-' She broke off, realizing, perhaps, that she'd been a bit too frank.
Nikolas said with a touch of impatience, 'Of course, I'll try not to say or do anything that might upset His Majesty.'
Rhia winced at the note of sarcasm, but the doctor only said mildly, 'Your presence alone will upset him quite enough, I expect. If you will come this way, please. He's been waiting for you-somewhat on edge, as you can imagine.'
She turned and led the way to a broad pathway that wound through the pine forest. One of the guards fell in behind them while the other took up a sentry's position at the edge of the meadow-to keep an eye on the helicopter and its pilot, Rhia guessed. She turned once to look back at the chopper, sitting motionless now, like a great black insect, the pilot leaning relaxed against the Lazlo Group logo on its door.
The path beneath her feet was spongy with pine needles, the air pungent with the scent of the pines and the dusty earth. She breathed deeply as she walked, filling her lungs with that warm dry air. hoping it might help to quell the butterflies rampaging through her middle. Wondering whether Nikolas had butterflies, too.
If he does, no one would ever know it. she thought, stealing glances at him as they made their way along the pine-carpeted path. His eyes were cool as rain, his face might have been chiseled from the earth itself. There was only the tiny muscle working in the side of his jaw to tell her of the turmoil inside.
Was this what Nikolas would call empathy, she wondered? Or was it only her newborn feelings for him that made her feel his turmoil too. and ache to take his hand?
The mountain setting was idyllic and beautiful, no doubt a perfect place for healing both body and soul, if Nikolas had taken notice of it. But he had gone far away for the moment, retreating inside the chilly isolation of his analytical mind. It was where he often took refuge from the chaos of his emotions or circumstances beyond his control. The meeting ahead, the current upheaval in Silvershire, the unanswered questions, even his new and unsettling feelings for the woman walking silently beside him. all these things were manageable, he believed, if he could simply reduce them to problems to be solved.
Yes, he would be courteous. But not cordial. Weston was the sovereign ruler of his country and as such, deserving of respect, no matter how Nikolas might feel about the monarchy itself.
And, he reminded himself. Weston no doubt had the same reservations about him. After all, the man had raised that twit Reginald as his son and heir for thirty years, and undoubtedly felt a father's love for the blighter in spite of his rather considerable shortcomings. That sort of feeling didn't disappear because of a few mismatching strands of
