McKinnon's Royal Mission (6 page)

“Where is that?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Afghanistan.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. His expression was troubled, and she knew he wasn’t seeing Echo Lake, he was seeing a mountainous, largely arid, war-torn country, a battleground for millennia. “You fought there,” she guessed. She started to tell him her brother had fought there, too, but changed her mind, not wanting to distract Trace from anything he might share with her about his own experiences.

“Yeah.” He looked at her, and she could see the scars on his soul reflected in the shadows in his eyes. “There’s no real winning in Afghanistan. Alexander the Great fought there. So did Genghis Khan, the Soviets, and the US under the United Nations banner. But even if we all left tomorrow, war would continue, innocent civilians would still suffer and children would still die. The tribal leaders fight among themselves, and nothing will ever change that.” He breathed deeply. “There are some breathtakingly beautiful places in Afghanistan, but few people will ever know about them. All they know is war and devastation and death.”

“How long were you there?”

“Two years. The Corps wanted me to re-up—that means reenlist,” he explained in an aside, “because I was able to sp—” He stopped abruptly, and Mara wondered what he had been going to say. “But I’d had enough. I’d already served four years by that time, two of them in Afghanistan. Two years in hell.”

He was silent for another minute, and Mara didn’t say anything. Couldn’t think of anything to say to take away the pain his memories invoked. But she wanted to. More than anything she wanted to erase that desolate expression from his eyes.

Finally he gave himself a shake. “How did we get on that subject?”

“I asked,” she said in a small voice. “I am sorry—I did not wish to make you sad.”

“It’s okay, Princess,” he said, but she could tell his lighthearted tone was forced. “It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.” He smiled briefly. “Shall we go on? Or did you want to turn back?”

“I want to go to the end,” she answered. “I do not like half measures.”

He laughed softly. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, and Mara could tell something had distracted him from his sadness. “Let’s do it, then.”

They walked to the end in silence, passing several other couples along the way. Just as before, Special Agent McKinnon unconsciously interposed his body between those other people and Mara. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, but his protective air was as unmistakable as it was unshakeable.

Mara glanced at the people they passed, realizing the marked difference between those people and Special Agent McKinnon and her.
They are lovers,
she told herself, watching the way the other couples walked arm in arm or hand in hand. Echo Lake
was
romantic and quietly beautiful, the ideal place for lovers.

Her throat ached as she cast covert looks at the tall man beside her, wishing he would hold her hand. Or put his arm around her. Or look at her with tenderness. But that was wishing for the moon.
You should just be glad he does not look at you with dislike,
she reminded herself, realizing with a little start of acknowledgment that not once today had he done so. She hugged that knowledge to herself with a tiny smile. Even when she had made him remember a place he wanted to forget, he had forgotten to dislike her.

Chapter 5

W
hen they finally made it back to the SUV Special Agent McKinnon checked his watch and told her, “We should probably just go up to the top now—not stop at Summit Lake. We can stop there on the way down if you want.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a good idea to visit the top of the mountain in the morning, and be gone by noon. Thunderstorms are common in the afternoon, so unless you want to take a chance on missing the view...”

“But the view is what the other professors told me I should not miss.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

They drove straight to the top, with Mara exclaiming the entire way. There were several places she was tempted to cry out “Stop!” so she could take in some particularly scenic view, but she didn’t say anything, trusting Special Agent McKinnon’s advice to visit the top first, then stop on the way down.

The road twisted and turned sharply, almost bending back on itself in places, and the incline was steep, so the going was slow. And as he’d told her that morning, there was no guard rail and very little margin for error. Mara wasn’t afraid—not exactly—but at one point she admitted, “I am glad you would not let me drive.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, but he didn’t say anything. Then they turned one last corner and pulled into the almost full parking lot at the top of Mount Evans. Mara’s chauffeur found a spot to park and carefully backed into it. When the SUV stopped Mara drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then thanked her chauffeur in Zakharan. “I am glad you were driving,” she told him with her best smile. “I felt safe with you at the wheel.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he replied, touching his cap. “It was my pleasure.”

“I know you stayed with the car at Echo Lake,” she said. “But please...please go see everything for yourself here. I am told it is an experience not to be missed. Do not wait for me.” She’d already broken him of the habit of holding her door for her, not wanting to draw undue attention to herself.

“I will do that now,” he told her, opening his door and getting out.

When he was gone Mara turned to Special Agent McKinnon. “I am ready,” she told him. “What should I see first?”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Before you do anything else,” he said. “Put some of this on.” He handed her a tube of sunscreen. “We’re over fourteen thousand feet up,” he explained. “That means you have fifty percent less protection from the sun, and I wouldn’t want you to get sunburned.”

Mara squeezed some sunscreen into one hand, rubbed both hands together, and tried to apply it to her face. But it was difficult without a mirror. Then she rubbed the remainder on her forearms and the backs of her hands.

“Uh, you have a little too much here,” Special Agent McKinnon said, raising a hand to her face and gently wiping away excess cream.

Mara’s startled gaze met his. His fingers were strong, firm, warm. And the masculine touch she wasn’t used to sent shivers through her so that she trembled. Noticeably. “Thank you,” she said when he finally removed his fingers and she was able to speak in something approaching a normal voice. “What of you?” she asked.

“I never burn,” he assured her.

“But that is silly.” She took the tube, squeezed a small amount onto her fingertips, and dabbed it on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose before he could stop her. Then she rubbed the cream into his skin, feeling his muscles tensing under her touch. Their eyes met again, and even though he wasn’t touching her, she was touching him, Mara shivered, and trembled again. “There,” she said at last. But she didn’t draw her hand away.

There was something wrong with her breathing. A tightness in her chest made every breath she drew ragged. As if in a trance her fingers slid slowly down his cheek, feeling the slight beard stubble of a man who had shaved very early that morning. Without volition, her thumb brushed itself against his lips. Strong, firm, unyielding. Like him.

He caught her hand and dragged it away. “Not a good idea, Princess.”

Suddenly Mara realized what she had done, and she felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. “I am sorry,” she whispered, turning away and fumbling for the door handle. She scrambled out of the car, appalled at herself. She wanted to run away and hide, but wherever she went he would go, too—there was no escaping him. Except one place. She bolted for the ladies’ room in a small building beside the ruins of the Crest House.

Five minutes later, composed but still ashamed, she walked out of the ladies’ room and found Special Agent McKinnon waiting for her, leaning one shoulder against the stone wall. There was an expression on his face that defied her ability to read it, but at least he wasn’t looking at her with the mocking expression that would have shriveled her.

“I am sorry,” she said again, humiliated, but determined to salvage her trip to Mount Evans if she possibly could. The day had been wonderful so far, right up till the moment when she’d practically thrown herself at him.

“It happens,” he said dismissively, as if women routinely made unwanted advances toward him that he had to fend off.

Not surprising, the way he looks,
she thought. But she didn’t want him to think she was like all the other women he knew, only interested in his handsome face. She knew in her heart she would have been drawn to him no matter what, but would he believe her?

“It does not happen with me,” she told him, her eyes crinkling in an expression she hoped didn’t betray how vulnerable she felt at that moment. “Truly.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek, but all he said was, “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled faintly. “Now that that’s out of the way, did you want to walk to the real top of the mountain. The summit?” He pointed at the outcropping on the other side of the parking lot. “The climb is only a hundred twenty feet, but at this altitude it’s not easy—the air is thin and you could tire easily. It’s up to you.”

Mara was grateful for the way he was trying to act naturally. “What is at the top?”

He grinned. “Nothing much. Just a USGS marker.”

“What is that?”

“That stands for US Geological Survey. Fourteen thousand two hundred fifty-eight feet. And the highest view you’ll probably ever see. Are you game to try it?” His voice was a definite challenge.

Her eyes narrowed, taking the dare. “I do not like half measures.”

“Then let’s do it.”

* * *

Mara stood at the top of the summit, gasping for breath. Special Agent McKinnon hadn’t lied—the lack of oxygen combined with physical exertion had made climbing the hundred twenty feet seem as if she’d climbed the entire mountain from its base. Without him ahead of her, encouraging her, Mara wasn’t quite sure she would have made it. At one point he’d even taken her hand to help her over a rough patch, but then he’d let go, so she could struggle up the last few feet on her own.

The view was worth it, once she finally caught her breath. She could see in all directions, and when she turned westward Special Agent McKinnon pointed out Mount Bierstadt, Grays Peak and Torreys Peak. “Those are three of what are called Colorado’s fourteeners—mountain peaks that exceed fourteen thousand feet, like Mount Evans,” he told her. “And from up here you can see a good portion of the entire state.”

“What are those mountains to the south?” she asked.

“Those are the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.”

“Blood of Christ,” she translated automatically. “Why?”

“Supposedly because of their red color at sunrise and sunset.”

“What about those mountains to the north? What are they called?”

Special Agent McKinnon laughed. “Would you believe that’s the Never Summer Mountain Range?”

Mara laughed, too, delighted. “Never Summer. How appropriate for mountains.” She rotated slowly, gazing at everything, imprinting the picturesque vistas in her mind. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I will always remember this.”

He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face. “I just realized you don’t have a camera with you. If you’d told me I could have brought mine.”

Her smile faded. “I do not like cameras,” she said, feeling suddenly so cold she shivered. “Photographs...”

“I don’t get it.”

At first she thought she couldn’t tell him, but there was something about his expression that told her he wasn’t just asking out of idle curiosity—he really wanted to understand. She drew a deep breath. “Ever since I was a little girl, the paparazzi were everywhere I went in public. Even in Zakhar. No privacy. No way to escape. I was their prisoner, and it was as if they felt they owned me.
Thousands
of photographs have been taken of me against my will.”

She struggled to find the words. “I learned early never to show emotion in public. Never to let them see what I was thinking. Never to display a single vulnerability they could exploit—I was always on display. I would turn around, and there they would be—the paparazzi.
Click. Click. Click.
I used to have nightmares when I was young, and for a while I was even afraid to take a bath, that is how paranoid I was.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she remembered another princess, hounded by the paparazzi to her death in a Paris tunnel, and she whispered, “I honestly believe if I were being raped or murdered and the paparazzi were there, instead of trying to help me they would just photograph it. That is why I hate cameras.”

She covered her face with her hands, suddenly shaking. Then gentle arms enfolded her, wrapping her protectively in warmth. “Shhh,” a deep voice said over her head. “It’s okay, Princess. I’m sorry I asked. I’m sorry I made you remember.”

Mara knew she should withdraw from his embrace, knew it was dangerous to let herself seek shelter and comfort in his arms. But he was so warm. So strong. So understanding. So much the man she’d dreamed of in her lonely bed. In this instant it was as if she could be herself with him. Just Mara. Not a princess of Zakhar. Not even Dr. Marianescu. Just Mara, no more, no less. A woman with a man.

* * *

They were past the worst of the switchbacks on the way down when storm clouds moved in, shrouding the top of Mount Evans from view. And by the time they reached Summit Lake, an alpine lake nestled in the cirque formed by Mount Evans and Mount Spalding, it had started to snow. Dainty flurries, wind born, that didn’t even require the use of windshield wipers.

“Better not stop,” Special Agent McKinnon said, viewing the Summit Lake parking lot, which was rapidly emptying.

“But this might be my only chance,” Mara protested. “They close the road the day after tomorrow.”

“We’re still close to thirteen thousand feet elevation here,” he explained to her. “We need to get at least as far as Echo Lake before it really starts snowing.”

“Half an hour,” she pleaded.

He gave her a considering look. “Fifteen minutes. But if the snow thickens, we start back immediately.”

They pulled into the parking lot, and although the chauffeur had his pick of spots, he kept driving until he got as close to the lake as he could. Before Special Agent McKinnon could say anything, the chauffeur told him in his thickly accented English, “I will wait with the car.” Mara saw the two men exchanging meaningful glances, and realized they were both worried about the weather.

She jumped out of the SUV and walked as quickly as she could toward the lake, zipping up her jacket and fumbling for her gloves, which she soon realized she’d forgotten. It had gotten colder ever since the storm clouds had blotted out the sun, so she thrust her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. Snow flurries were swirling, but the lake was still easily visible, the cliffs and ridges surrounding it mirrored in the water’s surface.

She heard Special Agent McKinnon behind her, but she didn’t waste any of her precious seconds turning around. She breathed deeply, pulling the crisp, clean air into her lungs as she drank in the view, wanting to preserve this memory. Someday, when she was old and gray, she would bring it out of her mental photo album and remind herself of this special day—the lakes, the mountains, the meadows, the man. Especially the man, but she didn’t need to see him again to remember him. He was already imprinted in her mind...and her heart.

The wind picked up suddenly, sending ripples across the surface of the lake, carrying heavier snowflakes with it. The few small groups of people still wandering around the lake’s edge turned and headed for the parking lot. The last couple was just passing them when Special Agent McKinnon said, “We should go, too, Princess.” Perhaps he raised his voice to be heard over the wind, or perhaps the wind itself carried his voice farther than he intended. Because that’s when it happened.

“Wally! Wally! Look!” the woman of the couple said excitedly, tugging at the arm of the man at her side. “It’s her. That’s Princess Mara! I’m sure of it. I saw her on a TV special last summer!”

The man named Wally turned, camera in hand, and before Mara could shield her face he had snapped a picture of her.

“No!” Mara couldn’t prevent her cry of dismay. But even before the word left her mouth the man named Wally was staring down the business end of a SIG SAUER held in the steady hand of Special Agent McKinnon.

“Camera,” he demanded, his voice as cold as the icy wind blowing across the lake.

“What?” said the man named Wally, as he and the woman with him stared in sudden shock and horror at how quickly the incident had escalated into something neither of them had expected.

“Give me the camera,” Special Agent McKinnon said, holding out his left hand while his right hand never wavered. Mutely, the man named Wally held out the camera, which was snatched from his hand. “You’ve got three choices,” Special Agent McKinnon said, his voice as implacable as his face. “One, I can toss the camera in the lake. You’re out an expensive camera, as well as any pictures you’ve taken today. Two, I can take the memory card. Then you’ve only lost whatever pictures are stored on it. Or three, I can erase one picture. But to do that I need two hands. It’s your call.”

The man named Wally seemed too terrified to speak, but the woman with him said, in a high-pitched voice, “Just erase the picture,” and she huddled behind the man she was with.