Heir Untamed (18 page)

“I'm sorry--”

“Don't apologize for her, Chey.” He spoke in a quiet, no-nonsense voice.

Chey picked up her pace to match his long strides. A quick glance aside showed her his profile and the compressed line of his mouth. Mattias was
not
happy.

“I'm not apologizing for her, I'm apologizing because your evening was cut short. You don't have to walk me all the way back to my room. I can find my way from the stairs.” She brushed ineffectually at the stain on the dress. What a waste. Thousands of dollars down the drain.

“I'm not leaving you to walk alone back to your room. That was the preliminary greeting round—the more serious talks begin tomorrow morning. I won't be missed.” He guided her up the private staircase and out the door leading to the hallway on her floor.

“I overheard Severian,” she confessed. Her curiosity was killing her. “At least the part about the assassination.”

Mattias snapped a sharp look at her. “It's best to forget it.”

“Someone in this house, yes? The King or Queen?”

“There are often rumors. More than you might think. Separating the real from the fake threats can be trying and tiresome.”

“You didn't answer the question.”

“Yes, someone in the Royal family.”

“You're not going to tell me who, are you?”

“Trust me. The less you know, the better off you are. It's not safe to have knowledge of too many insider secrets.” He winked, but his expression remained hard.

Chey considered his words and found wisdom there. The more she knew, the more danger she probably put herself in.

At her door, Mattias released her elbow and faced her. “Thank you for accompanying me. Your presence was notable and noted.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” she said with a wry smile.

For the first time since leaving the event, he smiled too. “It's good to do the unexpected once in a while. Keeps them on their toes.”

“So that's what my function was. The 'Surprise Factor'.” Chey wasn't all that shocked to hear it.

He reached up to run his fingers along the delicate angle of her jaw. “No, your function was to entertain me and provide me an escort worthy of such esteemed company.”

“Viia isn't a worthy escort?” Chey arched a brow in disbelief.

“I think we have discussed what Viia's more prominent qualities are. It would not be seemly for me to discuss what I perceive her failings to be.” His fingers slid off the end of her chin.

“Right. Broodmare status. Mattias—it's disappointing to hear that. I've heard your reasons and I understand your position. Still. You seem like a strong enough man to make up your own mind and do what you want to.” Chey realized that she spoke from an inexperienced viewpoint, that she had no idea what life for a Royal must be like. All she knew was that she wouldn't be able to live that way, under such strict control and expectation. She'd been spoiled by the ability to make her own decisions and decide her own fate.

He regarded her with serious, dark eyes. Then, he whispered, “And
this
is why I am second in line to the throne, and someone like you is not.”

Any other time, Chey might have taken serious offense to what sounded like an insult. Except he spoke the truth, and Chey acknowledged it with a tip of her head. “Yes. No matter what else, thank you for inviting me. I would have never had the privilege of experiencing anything like it otherwise.”

“You're welcome. I'm sorry we were not able to squeeze in a dance. Maybe next time. If you leave the dress outside your door, I can have someone attempt to fix it.”

“Maybe next time,” she agreed, all while thinking of a dance with Sander instead. In the living room of the cabin, perhaps, or under the stars and moonlight. She glanced down at the front of the pretty gown. “There's an old saying: if it's red, you're dead. I don't think it will come out, but I'll leave it out here anyway when I change.”

“Very well. Good night, Chey.” Mattias bowed his head and pivoted to head down the hallway.

Fishing the key out of her bodice, because there wasn't a spare inch anywhere else on the snug dress, she unlocked her door and let herself inside.

Time to change and reflect on a very unusual day—and night.

. . .

In the spill of light falling in her window, Chey removed the stunning pendant and laid it on the dresser. The diamond shined despite the otherwise dim state of the bedroom. Struggling to get out of the dress, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled the zipper down her spine. What a pity Sander hadn't seen her in it before the advent of the bright red stain. She wondered what he would have thought, and whether he would have liked it.

Preoccupied with pulling a track suit out of her drawers, she made the change and walked the dress to the door. Folding it carefully, she left it just outside. Re-engaging the locks, she padded to the dresser and picked up the necklace. It went back into the original box Elise delivered it in and into her sock drawer. She felt conspicuous leaving it out where anyone might stumble across it. The only people who came and went in her room were the maids, however, and they never touched her personal things. Only the bedding, towels and general cleaning duties.

Stopping by the window, she stared in the direction of the woods. Sander was out there somewhere, doing who knew what at this late hour. Shuffling paperwork, taking care of security business, making plans for their outing tomorrow to the haunted castle. Despite her shower, she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her hips, the texture of his mouth on hers. It would be far too easy to allow that man to really get under her skin in the short time she had to spend here.

And yet, she couldn't imagine
not
taking advantage of every hour she could. Once she left Latvala, she would probably never see him again. Wasn't that a sobering thought.

Turning toward her bed, she reached down to snag the comforter and tug it back, when something on the surface caught her attention. She hadn't noticed it before, from a distance, because the squares were flat and flush with the material. Letting go of the cover before she could draw it down, she picked up one of the squares. That was when she realized they were paper cutouts, thin and crinkly in her fingers.

Snapping on the bedside table lamp, Chey got her first real look at the nightmare before her. A handful of photos from some local newspaper—or a rag, as Mattias called it—had been arranged haphazardly on the bed. All of them were shots of she and Mattias during their trip to Kalev. Taken with a high powered telephoto lens, it captured their jaunt into the exclusive store, their lunch on the balcony of the restaurant, and the stop at the park.

The message could not be more clear.
Someone
knew they were going, and had been watching the whole time.

A chill raced down Chey's spine. One of the papers had cutout letters taped to the bottom:
You have been warned.

Dropping the papers, Chey straightened and glanced around the room. She hadn't checked the bathroom or the deep, walk in closet since she'd arrived. What if the person was there, waiting to hurt her?

Shuffling to the end of the bed, she jammed her feet into her tennis shoes, foregoing socks in her panic, and backtracked for the cutouts. Gathering them as quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the desk, the hair standing up on the back of her neck, and fished the keys to the truck out of the top drawer.

Any second she expected a shadow to part from the wall, or a corner, and stalk her.

Hurrying to the door, she exited her bedroom and broke into a run down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she cautioned herself to make sure no one was there. After a quick look around, seeing no one close by, she went down as quick as she dared to the main floor. From there she doubled back toward the kitchens and a rear exit, bypassing all the other security at the front of the castle due to the guests. There was security here, too, though none stopped her headlong rush through the bailey toward the back gate.

If they thought her eccentric, so be it. All Chey cared about was reaching the truck. At the stables, she found the vehicle sitting right where she'd left it. Once inside, she fired up the engine and spun the tires, tearing off into the night for the safety of Sander's cabin.

Chapter Eleven

The bright shaft of headlights speared the gloom as she sped into the clearing. Applying the brakes a little too hard, the truck skid the last five feet to a halt. Cutting the engine, Chey scrambled from the vehicle and jogged to the door of the cabin.

“Sander? It's Chey. Hello?” She rapped her knuckles against the wood, impatient. He was head of security overall, he was the one who should see the pictures first. When he didn't answer, she knocked again.

Nothing.

Stepping down the porch, she cupped her hand near her eyes and peered in the front window. She could see a small light had been left on in the kitchen and another in the living room, but that was all. There was no movement inside to indicate Sander was home. Damn. That wasn't a possibility she had considered during her flight from the castle. She just expected, at this time of night, that he would be home.

Now what? Should she wait? Go back to the castle? Sit in the truck? Was she safe out here without Sander close by? Questions crowded her mind. If she went back to the castle, to her bedroom, and someone was in there waiting, they might get to her before
she
could get to a phone or scream for help. Maybe she should find Urmas, or Allar. One or both men would be prowling the front half of the castle with the gathering of dignitaries.

Before she could make up her mind, the distant sound of an approaching engine echoed through the woods. That must be Sander. Had to be Sander.

What if it's the attacker, following you from the castle? What if they know Sander is busy elsewhere?
The thought galvanized her into action. Jumping off the porch, she darted into the stand of trees adjacent to the cabin. Hiding behind a thick trunked tree, she waited to see who emerged from the darkness.

Headlights cut through the gloom, announcing the vehicle's approach. A rugged Jeep emerged from the same trail she'd driven down, and halted next to the truck. There was something unhurried about its progress that alarmed her.

She couldn't pinpoint why.

Your imagination is running away with itself. Stop it,
she chided herself. Adding more fear onto the already tense situation would do her no good. A fighter by nature, Chey nevertheless knew when to be cautious. She was out of her element here, dealing with the unknown.

The door to the Jeep opened and a figure got out. Tall, muscular.
Sander.
Chey left the cover of the trees.

“Sander!”

He looked away from the truck, which he'd been approaching, and faced her when he saw her running from the forest. “Chey, what the hell are you doing hiding in the trees?”

In the few seconds it took to reach him, she glimpsed his attire: green and black camouflage khakis, sage green shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows, and lace up boots of black. Nothing unusual where Sander was concerned. He must have been out patrolling the grounds.

“Something happened. I found these when I got back to my room tonight.” Chey came to a stop right in front of him and held out the squares of paper she'd found on her bed. They crinkled in her shaking fingers.

“Got back from where—I can't see these in the dark. Are you all right?” Sander took the papers from her and guided her with his other hand to the cabin door.

“I'm all right. I just didn't know what else to do. I didn't think to check my room when I got back, and after I saw this lying on my bed, I just grabbed them and ran.” She stepped inside after he unlocked the door.

Sander entered on her heels and threw both bolts. Taking the papers to the kitchen table, he snapped on an overhead light and spread them out across the surface. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

“Mattias invited me to an event, some gathering of dignitaries and other important people. We didn't stay too long because Natalia grew angry again and spilled wine on my dress. I got back to my room and found these in there.” Chey crossed her arms over her chest and watched him position each piece just so.

“She was angry because you were there with Mattias?” he asked, glancing over to meet her eyes.

Chey nodded. “She doesn't want me interacting on that personal of a level with him. With any of the Royals, I think.”

“Did she threaten you?”

“Not physically. She said she would have me thrown out if I spoke to her that
way again. I got a little...testy...when she ordered me to leave.”

Sander looked back at the pictures, then pushed away from the table. Out of a deep pocket on the thigh of his pants, he fished out his phone. Moments later he was speaking quietly in his mother tongue, stalking through the living room.

Chey waited, watched. She wished, not for the first time, that she understood his language. And although the situation was serious, Chey couldn't help but admire the breadth of his shoulders under the shirt or the way his hips filled the pants out. He resembled a prowling lion pacing its cage.

Finally, after fifteen long minutes, he hung up. “My men put cameras in your room, so we might catch whoever keeps visiting. But they didn't get them activated before being called away for the event, so there's no evidence to look at, unfortunately. And because they were pulled off duty, no one was there watching your room in person. I gave them orders not to balk or argue, because right now, I'm not trying to alert too many people that I'm having you watched and followed.”

“I see. Just missed an opportunity, then. Could there be fingerprints on the papers, maybe some on my door? Would that even help?”

“There could be. I'll keep those with your permission and have them checked. My men are doing another search of your room right now to make sure no one stayed behind or planted anything, like they said they would.” He pushed the phone into his pocket and closed the distance.