Princess In Denim (6 page)

"I just thought if Your Majesty is displeased with Princess Moira, and if her father is willing to void the contract—"

"Over my dead body!"

Leonard's cheek twitched as he restrained a smile. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

William seldom rushed to or for anything; he was a king, and his world waited on him. But today he dressed quickly and rushed to the lounge, and he knew it was because he was in a hurry to see Moira again. To see if she still had heat in her eyes or if she would successfully mask it. To see if she still looked as stunning in red silk as she had earlier or if the soft look about her was due to just waking up. To see if he was as distracted in her presence as he had been in the past fifteen minutes without her.

* * *

If the airport in Santa Barbara was small, the one in Baesland was downright minuscule, a speck on a map at most, a dot on the side of a green mountain. The terminal had only one gate and no other planes in sight. There were, however, scores of people crowded near the entrance to the building. After the door of King William's jet opened, Chloe waited just inside, eager to see her new home, anxious about proper etiquette. Sunlight streamed in and bathed her in its heat. Children shouted, "There she is!" and "I saw her!"

Emma hovered just behind Chloe's shoulder, a little to one side, and quietly offered advice. "You may wave if you like, Your Highness, but wait here for His Majesty. You'll follow him down the steps."

"Okay." Chloe tested a small wave and got cheers in response.

The crowd on the tarmac below swelled to hundreds of men and women, old and young, and children.

"Shouldn't they be in school?"

"This is a historic occasion for them, Your Highness. They were given a holiday to come greet you."

They held signs reading
Welcome Home HRH
and We Love You, Princess Moira
. They waved banners and small Ennsway flags with their distinctive red, gold, and green diagonal stripes.

"I was told they've been here since before noon."

"Noon?" Chloe glanced at her wrist to check her watch, but she'd handed it over to Moira with the rest of her possessions. It seemed a princess didn't need a watch. "I thought it was morning."

"It is mid afternoon," William replied.

As she heard his deep voice, Chloe turned and watched him stroll through the lounge toward her. She was much happier to see him fully dressed in dark pants and a jacket, his white shirt collar open at the neck, than to see him in a towel. He looked no less manly, and her heart still skipped two beats when she recalled his smooth chest.

"Though it probably feels like morning to you, due to the time difference." William glanced out the door to the tarmac below. "My, look at all the people."

Chloe and Emma had had a few minutes to chat before his appearance. According to Emma, William was a bachelor king, with no announcements of a queen anticipated in the near future. "Though one never knows about the negotiations that go on behind closed doors," Emma had added.

Chloe took note of William's height, his dark good looks, the self-assurance he exuded just standing there, and imagined that every princess in the world hoped for such negotiations on their behalf.

"Shall we?" William asked.

Chloe, puzzled as to why he was asking her instead of stepping forward as Emma had said he would, nodded her agreement.

He extended his arm toward the stairs, definitely indicating that she should go first.

She hesitated.

"You have nothing to fear," he offered quietly. "Your people love you."

"Your people" had a nice ring to it, but that wasn't the part bothering her.

"And I will be right behind you."

That
was. Behind her back, she latched on to Emma's hand. "Oh, no, I couldn't, Your Majesty. You go first."

And I'll keep Emma right behind me.

"But I insist, Your Highness. Your people would never forgive me for stealing this moment from them."

Emma nudged Chloe gently in the back, and she deduced that she really had no choice without looking fearful or childish, neither of which appealed to her.

'Well, thank you, Your Majesty. That's mighty nice of you." Another nudge. "I mean, how thoughtful."

Chloe thought she could feel Emma rolling her eyes behind her, but, of course, that wasn't possible. Emma never rolled her eyes.

Chloe stepped through the doorway onto the portable landing. Should she pause and wave? Should she descend immediately, so as not to hold up the king?
What would a real princess do?

In the end, she paused briefly and waved a genuine, friendly, American wave. It seemed to be the right thing to do, as the crowd cheered and waved back.

"Are these people all from Ennsway?" she asked Emma over her shoulder.

Only it wasn't Emma who was there.

"Some are from Baesland," William murmured above her ear. "My people also have anticipated your return."

What would Moira say if she were here?

It wouldn't be so hard to figure out, if William wasn't standing so close, if his arm didn't brush against her shoulder, and if he didn't smell so darned good from whatever herbal shampoo was available in this part of the world.

"How nice." It sounded stilted and phony to her, but seemed to go over well with William.

* * *

William did not listen to what Princess Moira said so much as he watched her body language. The way she reached for her secretary from time to time, at the door of the plane, at the bottom of the steps, then again as she approached the Mercedes limousine, showed that the princess clearly relied too much on Emma. It was not good for anyone to have so much influence over a member of the royal family.

"Sit by the window so everyone can see you," Emma said, and the princess did so.

The driver left the airstrip slowly, due to all the people. They surrounded the limousine and walked beside it, all smiles and waves. The princess waved and smiled back. William lowered his window, and noticed that the princess glanced at her secretary before she lowered hers also.

"You do not mind the wind?" William asked.

She smiled, as if she knew a secret. "No, not at all."

And as hundreds of people lined up to see her, she continued to smile, in spite of the delay.

Outside the airport, the driver slowed to a snail's pace and announced, "I do not think we will make it to the castle by three o'clock, Your Majesty."

William resigned himself to that fact.

"What's at three o'clock?"

"Your father naps daily at three. He had hoped to see you beforehand."

The princess continued to touch every hand that made it through the window, large or small, clean or questionable. "And we won't make it in time?"

"No, Your Highness."

Parents crowded close to the car and held their children up so that they could see, or be seen, better. They chattered in Ennswayan, their native language. The driver slowed even more and muttered, "Crazy people, they'll get their toes flattened for sure."

"Then perhaps I could get out and meet some of them," she suggested.

William thought it would be quite rude if he showed how truly surprised he was at her suggestion. "As you wish, Your Highness. Driver, stop the car."

Her secretary opened the door and preceded the princess out onto the road. William got out on his own side. He was a very hands-on king, no stranger or figurehead to his subjects. They approached him as always, with pleasant greetings in either English or Baeslese, and an outstretched hand.

Knowing her father and brother as he did, William had not expected such warmth from the princess. She did not stare at the patches on their pants and jackets. Neither did she shy away as they pressed closer.

A small, round woman, with a tattered blue scarf tied over her hair, grasped Moira's hand and spoke profusely and at great length.

The princess smiled at the woman and said, "Thank you. I'm happy to be home." She repeated it over and over as she walked along the paved road, the limo keeping pace with her.

Some people grasped her hand and, when they heard her speak English, said, "Welcome, Your Highness."

A child held out her arms for a hug, and the princess crouched down—it looked to be a tricky maneuver in her snug skirt and high heels, which were not designed for walking, much less crouching—opened her arms and obliged. After that, every child wanted a hug, and the parents melted back and smiled proudly.

William was pleased.

From time to time, the princess glanced at the mountain beyond, or at the flowers that grew in abundance in front of every shop, and William thought she took it all in as if she were a stranger to this land. A tourist. He tried to imagine what it would be like to return after being gone over half his life. Sixteen years ago, he had been eighteen and had taken an interest in the kingdom that would eventually be his. But at twelve, the age when Moira left, he had been more interested in falconing than progress and ribbon-cutting ceremonies.

A young girl, about four years old, approached with tears on her cheeks and muddy pawprints on her gold sweater and pants. She sniffled and looked uncertain whether to cry or to speak to Her Highness.

The princess held out her arms to her.

The child, with curly red hair and green eyes, hugged the princess, then quickly stepped back and pinned her with an earnest gaze.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"You won't send my puppy away, will you?" the child asked in her own language, which William understood clearly.

The princess brushed the child's cheek dry with her own thumb while she listened to whatever Emma whispered in her ear. "Of course I won't. And you won't cry about it anymore, okay?"

Emma translated to the child, whose eyes lit up.

"You must have a very special puppy. Will you bring him to visit me sometime?"

The child's mouth dropped open in surprise. She was the perfect mirror image of her mother standing behind her. She nodded vigorously.

"Good. Then I'll expect you."

And William's heart warmed as the princess stood up, shook the mother's hand and continued to move along the road. She was quite different from her brother. In a good way, even if she had become uncomfortable with the language of her people and allowed Emma to speak for her. Perhaps, William dared to hope, she would be of advantage to him in ways other than the size of her kingdom.

He would invite her riding later. It was an activity she'd always loved. As he'd hoped, they could begin their partnership with an easy friendship.

* * *

Chloe bit her tongue for the rest of the drive to Castle Ennsway, the stone curtain wall of which she could see from miles away. The limousine passed through the double-towered gatehouse and outer bailey, then the inner gatehouse, and finally crossed the inner courtyard and stopped in front of a magnificent redbrick great hall.

Chloe had seen Moira's photographs of the castle; they didn't do it justice. Colorful banners of red, gold, and green flew from every tower and flapped in the breeze. They hadn't been in the photos, and Chloe knew they heralded her arrival as a special occasion.

Still, Chloe was miffed.

"Gee, thanks a lot, Emma," she whispered sarcastically as she stepped out of the limousine in front of Castle Ennsway.

"What, Your Highness?"

"Don't play dumb with me." Her gaze strayed around the courtyard, over the lawn, took in the fountain and the colorful gardens. "I knew I needed language lessons."

"There wasn't time. Smile, Your Highness," Emma said through her own pleasant expression.

Chloe ditched the frown and smiled. When she was faced with this beautiful castle she was fixin' to live in, it really wasn't all that difficult.

"It would have been too risky for you to attempt," Emma continued. "It's better for you to stick to English than make a mistake.

"Hmph!" Fortunately, none of the people had backed off when she answered them in English, but had smiled and welcomed her in their own stilted attempts at the language. She hadn't understood a word they said otherwise, and they'd seemed pleased by her generic replies of "Thank you" and "I'm so happy to be home."

The castle itself was incredible, not because it was built spectacularly—Chloe wouldn't have known normal from outstanding castle architecture—but because she, personally, had never seen a castle up close before. It rose before her, several stories tall, with towers and arrow loops, battlements and wallwalks. She'd have thought it was all a dream, but the snap of the banners in the breeze was a sound she couldn't have imagined without actually hearing it herself.

"After you, Your Highness," Emma said, indicating the arched doorway through which Chloe should enter.

The crowd was gone, not permitted past the outer gatehouse. There were servants, however, and they, too, greeted her with broad smiles, bows, and curtsies. Chloe couldn't see any reason to treat them differently from those who had lined the road and, one by one, she shook hands with each.

Inside, Emma whispered, "Straight down this hall."

But Chloe, staring at the walls around her, barely listened. She'd had classes in art and she knew good work when she saw it. Painstaking murals were painted on the high-ceilinged walls, with delicate friezes carved above. Handwoven tapestries depicted the kingly pursuits of hunting deer, battling invaders and debauchery, with overflowing feasts and equally overflowing women.

"Try not to look like a tourist, Your Highness," Emma whispered in her ear.

"Oh. Right." Chloe reigned in her appreciation for all Moira had grown up with, but which must, of necessity, appear mundane to her now. Later, when she could get some time alone and unobserved, she'd come back to the great hall and study every piece until she could see them all in her sleep.

"Straight to the other end of the hall, then right and up the stairs. I'll direct you to your father's chamber when we get up there."

"Gotcha. Hey, Emma."