As he and Weston stepped through the French doors onto a small terrace of shade-dappled slate, Nikolas could feel his protective cloak wearing thin. It was one thing to keep a man at arm's length in the abstract, or while listening to his voice and watching his face from half a room away. It was quite another when the man's hand was resting on one's arm and one knew that the warm blood pumping beneath die thin, age-spotted skin was the same blood that ran through one's own veins.
The whole insane thing was in danger of becoming real to him. He wasn't at all certain he was ready for that.
Beyond the terrace, a path thick with bark mulch and pine needles wound through a garden of perennials and shrubs in an autumn state of blowsy disarray, rose hips and berries of various shades clinging to sparsely-leafed branches, a few sturdy asters and chrysanthemums still blooming among the browning stalks of last summer's lilies. They strolled slowly along the meandering path, the king evidently in no hurry to disclose his purpose in requesting this moment of privacy, Nikolas mentally bracing for whatever might come.
Weston paused finally, plucked an autumn rose from an overgrown bush and tucked it almost absentmindedly in the breast pocket of his jacket. 'First, I must tell you,' he said, in a voice that seemed to have regained much of its power and authority, 'that most of my advisors were strongly opposed to my meeting you alone like this.' He gave Nikolas a glance along his shoulder, one eyebrow arched. 'Seemed to think I might be in some danger.'
Nikolas, distracted by the eyebrow-
'Carrington-Lord Southgate-seems to think you are a man of principle and honor. He trusts you, and I trust him. Which is why…' Weston paused and turned to face Nikolas, meeting his eyes with his intent black stare. 'Why I must ask a favor of you, Mr. Donovan-one I suspect you will not be happy to grant me.'
Startled and a bit wary, Nikolas began a murmured protest. Weston lifted a hand to silence him.
'I want you to know…Nikolas…that I've learned a great deal about you since this whole incredible affair was revealed to me. By all accounts, Carrington's evaluation of your character is on the mark.' His frown turned fierce, his voice gruff. 'In fact, my boy, I think you are everything a man might wish for in a son, and I will be proud to call you that one day, when we've both had some time to get used to the idea. I suspect your mother would have been proud as well.' He paused to clear his throat loudly, while Nikolas squinted intently into the woods and swallowed hard several times.
'However.' Weston went on after a moment, with a quiver of anger in his voice, 'in spite of his shortcomings. I raised and loved Reginald as my son for thirty years. Nothing he did could have changed that-as I hope you will find out for yourself one day, a father's love is unconditional. But…blood will tell, evidently. And it did concern me, as the time approached for him to assume my crown, that he hadn't matured and. er…hmm… settled down to the degree I had hoped he would. Nevertheless, I believed…' He shook that off. and when he turned once again to face Nikolas, his face had hardened.
'Someone murdered him, Nikolas. Someone did this-to him, to you, to me. Someone has plotted against me for more than thirty years. Thirty years ago, someone took you from me and put that poor boy in your place, a child ill- equipped for the life he'd been thrust into, thus dooming him to failure, to a lifetime of expectations he wasn't equipped to meet, and, ultimately, to a terrible and much too early death. Someone robbed him of his life, me of my true son, and you of your father. Your mother, the queen. God rest her-' He broke off, shaking his head.
He took the rose from his pocket and regarded it for a moment with such unfathomable sadness that Nikolas felt his own throat tighten. Then Weston crushed the petals in his fingers and placed his closed fist on Nikolas's arm. When he spoke again his voice was strong and vibrant, like that of an orator. 'This is the favor I ask. I ask it of you as my son, as my heir, as the future king. Find the person or persons responsible for these heinous acts. Find out who has done these things to you, to me, to Reginald…to Lady Zara-yes, she was nearly killed, as well, you know. I want the wretch found and brought to justice. I want this… this cloud that has hung over Sihershire since Reginald's death lifted. Will you do this for me, Nikolas…my son?'
Chapter 9
Nikolas was surprised by a contrary surge of resentment- contrary, because he knew hearing the words should be a cause for joy, not anger. And he did feel anger, though not with Weston, not even for such a blatant assault on his emotions- perhaps even deliberate manipulation. He was angry with himself for the way his heart kicked when those two words replayed in his mind. For the way they'd arrowed right through his protective shields and found the hidden desires of his soul.
'I'll be happy to do as you ask, sire,' he said evenly. 'Or at least try. Not, however, as your heir, and definitely not as 'future king.' Understand this-I don't want anything from you, least of all your crown.'
Weston inclined his head slightly. His eyes were shielded, but his lips had twitched into what wasn't
'Because I was planning to do so anyway, for one thing. And then-' he smiled sardonically, making a valiant effort to keep his eyebrows level as he made a little mocking bow '-there is the small fact that you are my king, and as such, your wish is my command.'
Weston's features spasmed briefly, as if he'd felt a twinge of annoyance, or maybe pain. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and said gruffly, 'When I give you a command, Nikolas, you will know it. However…' He drew a breath and straightened his spine. 'Whatever your reasons for accepting this charge, I thank you for it. And now, there is something I would like-' He turned as if to retrace their steps, then halted when he saw Nikolas had remained in place, feet firmly planted in the thick layer of garden mulch. 'Yes? Is there something more you wish to discuss?'
'Two things.' Nikolas said bluntly, folding his arms on his chest. 'First, I'd like to have Rhia-uh, Agent de Hayes-the woman who came with me today-working with me on this. And second…' He hitched in a breath. 'I'd like to see the evidence-the proof-whatever it is that makes you so certain all this is true-that I am, in fact, this missing heir.'
Weston's eyebrow shot up. 'Proof-other than your appearance, you mean?' His smile tilted, and his strong bony hand closed on Nikolas's elbow. 'That proof is what I am about to show you. Come.
'Of course,' he added grandly as they strolled back through the overgrown garden, 'you may have whoever and whatever you need to assist you in solving this mystery of ours-the resources of my kingdom are at your disposal.'
They walked on, footsteps crunching on garden debris and pine straw, releasing earthy scents into the warm autumn air. 'This agent of Corbett Lazlo's…de Hayes. She seems like a capable young woman. A competent agent. I assume?'
Nikolas kept his expression and tone neutral. 'More than competent.'
'Yes, yes…I suppose she must be, if Lazlo chose her to find and bring you back.' Nikolas didn't reply. Their footsteps crunched slowly on. keeping step. Weston threw him a sideways glance, and his tone became…could it be
Nikolas opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was almost certain, above the crackle and scuffle of footfalls, that he heard King Weston chuckle.
'Don't you wish you were a little bee out there in that garden right now?'
Despite its softness. Lady Zara's voice startled Rhia. She was standing beside the open French door, so intent on watching the two men outside that she hadn't realized anyone was behind her. She gave a little spurt of laughter and placed a hand over her quickened heartbeat. 'Oh-I didn't hear you come in. Sorry.'
'That's okay-I can see you have…someone else on your mind.' Zara's smile and sympathetic eyes left no doubt as to her meaning.
Rhia closed her eyes and sagged against the draperies. 'God…is it that obvious?'
