King and Kingdom (10 page)

“It does. There is also another one up past the castle in the other direction. It's a bit farther though. Probably forty miles or something, if I had to guess.” Wynn tried to measure distance with guesses instead of using the grid on the map.

Chey scooped a spoonful of soup into her mouth and leaned forward to get a look at the village further up the coast. She thought it looked like a good bet, too. “There are too many. We can't get to them all in one trip. I mean we can, but how many hours are we going to sit around, hoping he'll walk by the pastry shop we're sitting in? That's not quite as bad as looking for a needle in a haystack, but kind of.”

“I say until we have a better idea, or until we hear that the family is going to be at some function where the public has access, then we hit one town a day, starting really early in the morning.” Wynn grabbed up one of the tabloids and brought it closer. “Let's see here. This is a lot of stuff about foreign celebrities mixed with the Royals but nothing really jumps out. Most of it's hearsay or wild accusation. Listen to this:
Does Prince Gunnar's wife have a twin? Look-alike spotted in Kalev.
Except the picture they have here is from the back, and blurry. How in the world can they see anything?”

Chey scoffed. “Typical. Nothing about the Royals having a parade or something like that?”

“Maybe in the newspapers. Not these things.” Wynn tossed the tabloid onto the seat beside her and reached for one of the newspapers instead. “Let's see. There's a Festival coming up but it's three weeks away and it doesn't say, so far anyway, that the Royals are going. Did Sander ever say anything about it?”

“I don't remember. He might have. Or maybe it was Mattias.” Chey frowned, scanning her memory. She'd had a lot of little conversations with them both. A Festival sounded familiar. Then again, it might have come up in passing and wasn't on the Royal's radar to attend.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” Wynn asked three ladies who'd stopped to stare not far from their booth.

Drawn out of her reverie, Chey glanced outward. The women, of middle age and dressed warmly in coats and scarves, whispered among each other. One deigned to wave, almost as if she was nervous. Unsure who they were waving at, Chey looked side to side. The booth blocked the view of any other guests.

One of the women bowed her head and finally, they moved on toward the door.

“What was that about?” Wynn said, slim brows drawn into a frown.

“I have no idea. Do I have something on my face?” Chey turned toward Wynn.

“No. Nothing that isn't usually there.” Wynn brushed at the angles of Chey's cheeks and whisked fingertips across her chin, like there might be crumbs.

“Weird.” Chey put it down to a case of mistaken identity.

Ten minutes later, as the girls were deciding on dessert, it happened again. This time a couple, man and wife, both passed their booth with smiles and nods of their heads. As if they knew Wynn and Chey personally.

“Okay, are people here always this friendly?” Wynn asked.

“They
have
seemed pretty friendly during the times I've been out with Mattias and Sander. But not quite this friendly. We could be anyone, but they act like they know us.” Puzzled, Chey declined dessert in the end and started gathering up their maps and papers.

“They could just be welcoming strangers. We stick out like sore thumbs, most likely.” Wynn insisted on paying for dinner. After signing the check, she grabbed her purse and slid out of the booth.

Chey did likewise. Just as she got to her feet, a pair of younger women rushed up. One burbled out the native language, which Chey didn't understand, and stood right next to her while the other snapped a picture.

“You look like a deer caught in the headlights,” Wynn pointed out casually to Chey.

“Thank you!” The girls knew enough English to express their gratitude and hurried away.

Chey stared after them, maps and papers tucked under her arm. “They must think I'm a celebrity or something. Who do I look like?”

“Lucille Ball. You know when her eyes get all crazy and wild?”

Chey laughed and smacked Wynn with a folded paper. “I so do
not
look like that. Ever.”

In the lobby, the girls were treated to a few more stares. Someone else snapped pictures.

“I should have asked them who they think you are,” Wynn said as they got into the elevator.

“I'm not sure I want to know.” Secure in the carriage, Chey leaned against the rail.

“It could be amusing.”

“I'm sure it would be amusing for
you.”
Chey stifled a smile at Wynn.

“Of course.” Wynn brushed a nonexistent piece of lint off the shoulder of her sweater. “Are we going out tonight? Hit up any of the local gathering spots to see if he shows?”

“I think we should probably get some sleep. The jet lag will hit you hard in another four or five hours, and you can't believe how early daylight comes. The days get shorter and shorter as winter sets in.” Chey could do with a good night's rest herself. All this was taking more of a toll on her than she wanted to admit. She suspected Wynn knew, and that's why the girl kept the conversation light-hearted and distracted Chey at every turn.

Back in their room, they tossed down the maps and papers and prepared to turn in early.

Morning would be here before they knew it.

. . .

Renting a car turned out to be more convenient for the girls, and cheaper in the long run, than hiring a taxi. The proprietor gave them a good deal for the week and signed both girls up for temporary driving permits after thoroughly checking their licenses from the states. The policy dictated that drivers owning licenses longer than five years could apply to drive in Latvala as long as they took a crash course in rules and regulations. There wasn't too much to learn, all told, and considering both girls were seasoned drivers, everything made sense and was easy to memorize. The real test would come on the road and reading the maps so they didn't get lost.

Wynn insisted on taking the wheel first. They departed the rental shop at a snail's pace while Wynn got used to the tiny car and the lay of the street. The weather was overcast and cold, but no snow lingered on the pavement.

For that, Chey was thankful. All they needed was to deal with ice or other bad driving conditions.

“Oh, wait. Before we head up to the other town, let's stop up here and grab today's papers and a few of those tabloids, yeah?” Wynn pulled to the curb in front of an open market with the vendor hawking fresh food and other items that might appeal to tourists.

“I'll get it. Don't turn the car off in case it doesn't start again.” Chey didn't have a lot of faith in the little blue sardine can. She got out, leaving the passenger door open. Crossing the sidewalk, she plucked up two of the most prominent newspapers and two tabloids. Chey was less convinced they would find what they needed in the 'rags' but it never hurt to check. She couldn't afford to waste any opportunity to meet up with Sander.

Paying the vendor in his own currency, she turned back to the car and got in. The newspapers went into the back, which wasn't quite a seat but more of a shelf where a few other personal items were stored. Coats, scarves, boots in case the weather turned.

“All right. Off we go.” Wynn pulled away from the curb, both hands on the wheel, a car honking somewhere behind them.

It was going to be a long ride up the coast twenty-four miles to the small town they'd decided to visit.

Chapter Seven

“You know, I have to say, Latvala really is a cool country.” Wynn peered at Chey above the rim of a steaming mug of coffee.

“I know, right? I didn't have a chance to see much while I was here, but what I did see was pretty neat.” Chey, sitting in a chair with her back to the wall, met Wynn's eyes across a small table in a quaint cafe they'd found in the small town just north of Kalev. There was only one main street that ran parallel to the shore, with shops and one old hotel on both sides. People parked out front in slanted slots and hurried from one place to the next bundled up in heavy clothing. It was the sort of scene one expected to find on a postcard for tiny, perfect towns with a total population of a thousand, no more. The buildings were reminiscent of alpine villages with peaked roofs and shutters on windows.

“Seriously. I could move to this town right here and be happy the rest of my life,” Wynn announced, twisting a look out the front windows.

“That's saying something for a girl who swore she wouldn't ever leave Seattle for any reason,” Chey said, shuffling the newspapers in front of her from an empty seat to her left. They'd stacked their purses and coats on it when they'd arrived.

“I know. But I kind of love how the trees back up against the shops on that side of the street,” she pointed with a finger. “Then on that side, is the ocean. Never mind the architecture here.”

“The winters can get pretty harsh, from what I understand. Once the heavy snows set in, they last until April or something.” Chey took another sip of her coffee and glanced out the windows but it wasn't the shops she was looking at. It was the faces of the few citizens out and about. None of them so far belonged to Sander.

“I love snow,” Wynn declared with a girlish grin.

Chey laughed and glanced back across the table. “Yes, I know. Admire the town later, when we're 'off the clock', so to speak. Help me keep an eye out the window.”

“I don't even know who I'm looking for,” Wynn admitted. “I need a picture of this guy.”

Chey dug her cell phone out of her pocket. Thankfully, she had transferred a few photos of Sander that she'd taken during their canoe trip. Turning the phone around, she showed Wynn who they were looking for.

Wynn's mouth fell open. “What? That's him? No wonder you're googly eyed over this guy.”

“I'm not googly eyed. What does that even mean?” Amused, Chey reeled her phone back, stared at the photo with no small amount of heartache and a little flare of anger, before putting it away. “Watch out the window.”

Wynn scooted her chair over for a better vantage, then set down her mug of coffee to pick up a tabloid. “Okay. Hottie search. I can scan the tabloid and look out the window at the same time.”

Chey did the same. She moved one newspaper over and unfolded the one beneath, prepared to scan it from front to back for news. A black and white photo at the bottom snagged her attention. A photo she'd yet to see. She gasped.

“What?” Wynn clued in to Chey's distress immediately.

Instead of explain, Chey turned the paper around to let Wynn see for herself. There at the bottom was a palm sized picture of Chey and Wynn walking through the lobby of their hotel. It had to be after their dinner last evening.

“
Back For More! Prince Dare's Consort Returns.”
Wynn glanced up after reading the headline accompanying the photo. “Dare? I thought his name was Sander.”

“
Wynn!
Who cares. They recognized me! And I'm not his
consort.
” Chey snorted and ripped the woolen cap off her head. A few haphazard hairs stuck up here and there.

“But you kind of are. Or were. Did they have other pictures of you in the paper when you were here before?”

“I don't know—wait.” Chey remembered the snippets left on her bed by the maid who'd tried to kill her. It dawned on her late, very late, that the tabloids and newspapers must have written several stories on her. The innocent shopping trip with Mattias had been quite a public spectacle. More recently was her trip to Monte Carlo with Sander. Holding hands, staring into each other's eyes. “Yes, I guess they did. It's not like I ran to town every day to check the papers, you know? There's no telling what they printed, or how many pictures there were.”

“Fix your hair. It looks like a bird tried to make a nest.” Wynn leaned over to swipe strands this way and that. Earlier, after they'd dressed in thick slacks, sweaters and knit scarves, Wynn had french braided Chey's hair.

“I don't care about my hair right now--”

“Trust me. If you could see it, you would.” Wynn fixed it as well as she could, then protested when Chey snatched the paper back. “Hey, I wasn't through reading!”

“You're supposed to be watching the window. I wonder if Sander saw this today.” Chey could only imagine what he must think. Did he know she was here? Would he try and make contact? “Maybe we should have stayed at the hotel. I never thought of using the media to try and lure
him
to
us.”

“I didn't either. Then again, I didn't realize you were a celebrity here.” Wynn picked up her coffee, propped both elbows on the table, and sipped while watching Chey.

“I'm not a celebrity.”

“Apparently those people last night think you are. The ones who paused for pictures and waved all shy and star-struck?”

Chey snorted. “They weren't star struck.”