The Rebel King

Lady Zara laughed. 'I'm a newly wed, remember? I know how it feels-and what it looks like, too. I get to see it every day in my husband's eyes.'

'Great.' Rhia muttered on an exhalation. 'That's all I need.' Her eyes returned to the two figures in the garden as if pulled by forces beyond her control. 'I can't let him know,' she added bleakly.

'He doesn't feel the same way?' Lady Zara's voice was half-curious, half-sympathetic.

Rhia gave her head an impatient shake. 'It's not that-well, actually, to tell you the truth, I don't really know whether he does or not. But…it wouldn't matter if he did. In fact, I think that would make it worse.'

Lady Zara's forehead creased in a physician's concerned frown. 'I can't imagine why.'

The ache in Rhia's throat kept her silent for a moment. Down at the far end of the garden, Nikolas and the king were facing each other, deep in what was obviously a tense, even passionate conversation. 'Look at them,' she said at last, and left it there as that were explanation enough.

Following her gaze, Lady Zara nodded. 'They are very much alike, aren't they? Anyone seeing them together like this would know them for father and son, without a doubt.'

The ache spread into Rhia's chest. 'He's born to be king- will be, one day.' she whispered, then laughed and said flatly. 'And I for sure am not ever going to be anyone's queen.'

Lady Zara's mouth opened-in surprise, perhaps-then closed and curved into a knowing smile. 'Oh, Rhia. Never say never. If there's anything I've learned from all that's happened in the past few months, it's that anything is possible. Anything. Trust me on this.'

Rhia didn't bother to argue, or to explain to Lady Zara, daughter of a duke, whose husband had just been made a baron, that it was she, Rhia de Hayes, daughter of a blues musician who'd grown up barefooted in a Louisiana trailer park, who wanted no part of royalty. Instead she remained silent, her gaze focused once more on the two men in the garden. They had turned and started back toward the house, now walking side by side like old friends out for a Sunday stroll.

Lady Zara, watching them, too, spoke softly. 'What does a man say to a son who was stolen from him, after thirty long years?'

Rhia touched away a single silent tear. 'Or a son to a father he's been taught to despise?'

The other woman placed a gentle hand on her arm. 'They'll be back here in a minute, but…a word of advice- from one who's been there? The man himself will probably be too dense to notice-it's everyone else you have to worry about.'

She tapped the pocket of Rhia's jacket and smiled. 'With those eyes…I suggest you wear your sunglasses, darling-at all times.'

Rhia and Dr. Smith appeared to be comfortably settled in a pair of matching tapestry armchairs when Nikolas and the king reentered Weston's study. The women were drinking tea-and they might present the very picture of genteel ladies. Nikolas thought in some amusement, were it not for Rhia's sleek black leather, and the fact that he recalled her saying once that she didn't care much for tea. When his eyes had adjusted to the indoor light, though, he could see they were both smiling, and that their eyes were bright with laughter, and he felt a momentary twinge of envy for that lightness of spirit.

Both women instantly put down their teacups and popped to their feet when the king entered the room, but as before, Weston gestured impatiently for them to be seated. He touched Nikolas's arm. 'Mr. Donovan, if you would please…open that door over there and ask the gentleman standing outside to bring in the chest-he'll know what I mean. Then come have some tea-Zara, my dear, if you would pour, please…'

While Nikolas went to comply with his king's request, Weston lowered himself heavily into the big leather armchair, then immediately leaned forward to accept a steaming cup from the doctor's steady hand. 'Ah, yes… thank you, my dear. And do stay,' he added, when she stood up and turned as if to leave the room. 'You are the one who found it, after all. I'm sure Nikolas will have questions.'

Weston waited while Nikolas returned and took his seat in the chair he indicated-a twin to his own brown leather, set beside and at a slight angle to it. Then he took a sip of tea and grimaced at the heat, placed the cup and its saucer on the table beside his chair and turned his keen black eyes on Rhia. 'Miss de Hayes, I must ask you to forgive me.'

Nikolas saw her give a small start, like a wool-gathering student called upon unexpectedly by the teacher. She hastily lowered her teacup and produced a hoarse. 'Your Majesty?'

Weston smiled, although his eyes remained intent. 'I haven't thanked you for finding my son and bringing him back to me- although thanks alone don't seem adequate for what you've given me. If there is anything I can offer you in return…'

Rhia's cheeks turned dusky pink beneath her tan. She muttered, 'Oh-no-sire…I was just doing my job.' Then she reached to put her cup and saucer on the table and added in a dry tone more like her own. 'And I didn't 'bring' him.' Her eyes flicked toward Nikolas but didn't quite make it all the way. 'Nikolas-Mr. Donovan agreed to come. Entirely on his own.'

'Yes, yes. I'm sure he did.' Weston sounded amused, and with the chuckle he'd heard in the garden still fresh in his mind. Nikolas felt an inclination to squirm. 'Nevertheless.' Weston went on 'I am grateful to you for whatever part you may have played in influencing his decision-which,' he added, with a glance at Nikolas, 'if my son is anywhere near as headstrong as I think he is, I imagine was considerable.' He inclined his head in a gesture of honor. 'Thank you, my dear, from the bottom of this father's heart.'

During an awkward pause filled with throat clearings and rustlings and birdsong from the garden outside, Nikolas became conscious of an odd stiffness in his jaws, and at the same time a restlessness…an edgy sense of isolation…an unaccustomed need to make contact, to touch or lock eyes with another human being.

With one specific human being, Rhia.

But she was too far away to touch and seemed to be avoiding his gaze, and it came to him that the cramping in his jaws was tension, and that its source was the frustration he felt at being denied what he wanted. Needed.

I need her.

The thought was so new to him, so shocking, he was barely aware of the knock on the door…of the door opening to admit one of the uniformed guards-rather incongruously wearing latex gloves-carrying a medium-sized wooden chest. Still half dazed, he watched the guard march across the room and place the chest on the oriental rug between Weston's feet and Nikolas's. The guard then saluted, did a crisp about-face, and left the room.

As he blinked the chest into clearer focus, Nikolas felt a strange prickling in his scalp. Then a chill flooded him from head to toe, and the room and everyone in it receded, leaving him alone in a whirling vortex. Memories came at him like flying debris, and voices from his past filled his head, blocking thought:

Nikolas, it's past your bedtime. Put your toys away this minute.

Do I have to, Uncle?

Nikolas, are you still reading, boy? Put that book away and lights out. Tomorrow's a school day.

Yes, Uncle.

Nikolas, how do you think you'll do at Eton if you persist in playing games instead of studying?

I'm putting it away now, Uncle.

He became conscious of a choking sensation in his throat, and his lips moved as he silently said the only clear thought in his mind: Impossible.

It was very quiet in the room as King Weston took a key from his jacket pocket and inserted it into what appeared to be a new and very efficient lock. Everyone's eyes were focused intently on the chest-everyone's eyes but Rhia's.

At that moment hers were on Nikolas, which was why she was probably the only one in the room who saw his face drain of all color, his body jerk almost imperceptibly before going still as stone. She was the only one aware that the knuckles of the hands gripping the arms of his chair were bone-white… and that the eyes staring into the chest had gone glassy with shock.

In her concern, she almost… .almost spoke to him, said his name aloud. Instead, with her pulses pounding in her ears, she swallowed hard and shifted her gaze to the chest, forcing herself to think about it, focus on it, catalog every detail in her mind as she'd been trained to do.

In spite of some dirt and wear, it was actually quite attractive, she thought. And obviously very old, Rhia, who had a fondness for old things for their history and character, beautiful or not, felt a strong desire to explore it with