Princess Dottie

side stood a small building made of heavy logs. He took her inside and Dottie looked around in delight.

“It's like a little cottage,” she said.

“It's a 'hide' where you can watch animals and birds. My father had it built. Our happiest times together were spent here. And since he died I've sometimes come here alone. It's quiet and blessedly peaceful, and the noise of the world can't touch you.” He indicated a rustic bed by the wall. “Sometimes I stay all night. The best time is in the dawn.”

There was a large window where watchers could sit in the shadows, and Dottie went to sit by one, looking out ecstatically at the quiet scene. Now and then a soft rustle in the undergrowth revealed the presence of an animal. Sometimes she actually saw one. Or a bird hopped close, never knowing itself to be watched.

“Time for supper,” Randolph murmured, close to her.

“It can't be, it's only…good heavens, we've been here hours.”

“Yes, that's how it is. This place casts its spell and you forget everything else…almost everything else.” He took her hand. “Come, let's go back to supper, and afterward, we will sit chastely holding hands.”

“You dare and you're dead.”

It was wonderful to hear his laughter echoing up into the branches, and see the flock of startled birds rise into the air.

The days passed in a haze of summer. Once it rained and they stayed indoors, leaving the French windows open, lying in bed, watching the shower. The nights merged into one night.

One morning she awoke in the early hours, and lay for a moment without opening her eyes. She was lying on her face and she could feel a slight chill on her back that told her the bedclothes had been removed. Fingertips were sliding softly across her skin, touching her so lightly that she could hardly feel them, but there was no doubt about the sensations they were creating. She gave a deep sigh of pleasurable content.

His fingers had reached her spine, moving down it in a leisurely, lingering fashion until they reached the small of her back. There they suddenly vanished, to be replaced by his lips, beginning the return journey. She shivered with delight and tried to turn over, but he prevented her.

“Keep still,” he whispered. “I haven't finished yet.”

“Just keep on as long as you like,” she murmured blissfully. “At least…no, I don't mean that, because sooner or later I want you to do something else.”

His lips were working on the back of her neck while his hands traced her spine down and cupped her behind.

“I've wanted to do this,” he said, “ever since the day I found you naked in the cupboard.” She gave a deep throated chuckle that shivered through him, straight to his loins and made him take a sharp breath.

“I remember that day,” she said. “You were so shocked.”

“Shocked at myself. You were so lovely. I tried not to notice, but I couldn't manage it. And now, here you are, and you're all mine.”

“Getting possessive, eh?”

“Any man, looking at you, would get possessive.”

She rolled onto her back so fast that she took him by surprise. “Men aren't the only ones who get possessive,” she said as her arms closed around him with a strength born of newly discovered passion. “Come here.”

“My darling-”

“I said come here.”

They had been married a week, just a few days, but long enough for her to change into a woman of fierce needs, determined to fulfill them. This was her lovemaking and with her words and her movements she let him know what she wanted. Having seized the initiative, she kept it. Randolph grinned, understanding perfectly, and not minding in the least when she said fiercely, “Now, now!”

Just as she'd learned about her own body she'd also learned about his and she put her knowledge to use, demanding the power and vigor of his loins for her exclusive pleasure.

“You're wrong,” she whispered mischievously. “It's you who are all mine.”

“Your Majesty's obedient servant,” he said, falling in with her mood.

“So I should hope. Oh Randolph. Randolph…”

Later, remembering that enchanted time, Dottie found that it wasn't only the passion that stayed in her mind.

For one thing, there was the dog.

He appeared one day in front of the hide where they were watching together, and turned a hopeful face on them. He was a tramp among dogs, scruffy, muddy and with no one part of him matching any other. Dottie was immediately won over by his goofy charm, but she could imagine Randolph's reaction to this disgraceful creature.

Then she heard a soft whistle and looked up to see him grinning. He whistled again and opened the door of the hide. There were still scraps from their meal on the table, and he proceeded to offer these to the visitor, who wolfed them down. Seeing her regarding him with raised eyebrows, Randolph colored and said self-consciously, “I had a dog like this when I was a child.”

“You? Like this?”

“Yes, he was a stray that I adopted, but only for five minutes. My mother didn't like dogs, said they were messy creatures, and made me get rid of it.”

“What did your father say?” Dottie demanded indignantly.

“Nothing. He never interfered in domestic matters. That was her price for turning a blind eye to the way he lived. He sent him to the stables where he probably had a happier life than he would have done in a palace.”

“Perhaps it was because it was a mongrel. Maybe a pedigree dog would have been better.”

“She disliked all dogs. But I wanted a mongrel. Everything around me was pedigreed. My friends were chosen for me from among the aristocracy. Some of them I liked well enough, but it's not the same as choosing for yourself. And 'royalty must keep a proper distance,' even from friends.”

“That's terrible,” Dottie said, aghast. “No wonder you're so…so…”

“Yes, no wonder,” he said, understanding what she couldn't say. “Fritz, my dog, was everything the others weren't. He came from the wrong side of the tracks. He didn't have a bloodline-not a respectable one, anyway. He was spontaneous and he didn't understand rules. I can't tell you how attractive that was to a boy who was just beginning to understand how rules had to govern his life, and there was no escape for him.”

The light was fading fast but Dottie didn't light the lamp they sometimes used. She had a feeling that the darkness was helping him. This was a man who didn't confide his feelings easily, but today something had made it happen.

“What a pity that your mother couldn't ease up,” she said slowly, “just to make you happy.”

“She loved me in her way, but to her everything was subordinate to being royal. When I was old enough I had to give her a formal bow when we met in the morning. She was the queen, and only after that was she my mother. It wasn't her fault, it was the way she was raised.”

“Poor little boy!” Dottie murmured.

“It's sweet of you to say so, but don't feel sorry for me. That little boy doesn't exist anymore.”

He was so wrong, she thought. That lonely little boy was here with them this minute, so real that she felt she knew him. Such love as he'd received had come from a mother too rigid to show him real affection. His father had been kindly but weak, too selfish to limit his own pleasures to stand up for his son. Had anybody in Randolph's whole life loved him warmly, tenderly, unconditionally?

Yes.

She couldn't say, “It's all right, you've got me now,” because that would be to venture onto his private ground where he was still uneasy of intruders. He'd allowed her in, just a little, but there was a long way to go yet. But she could be patient.

The dog was gulping the last of the tidbits noisily.

“I expect he'll stay with you now,” she observed.

But the next moment a cry of “Brin!” came through the trees. The dog grabbed one last morsel of food, leapt onto the table and vanished through the window. From the distance came cries of welcome from childish voices.

“Obviously that was Brin,” Randolph said wryly.