Heir Untamed (4 page)

But the rest of the castle and the grounds she was free to roam. The guards all knew who she was, and what her purpose was, so she could expect to be given hassle free passage.

She spent an hour on the second floor, beginning to snap pictures of some of the fine detail. The corner of a painting with half the person in the portrait visible. A long shot down a hallway with light spilling in a round stained glass window.

There were literally thousands of shots to take like this.

What she tried to capture this time around were the vantages normal people might never see. Angles of Royalty, of the money and power that made the family who they were.

Walking backwards away from a doorway leading to a huge library, camera up at eye level, she bumped into a body behind her.

Startled, she stopped and whirled, an apology already on her lips. Expecting a guard, Chey found herself face to face with Mattias. Leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, still in his suit from the photo shoot, he smiled. It was a temperate smile, not unlike a wolf walking into a sheep's pen might wear.

“My apologies, I didn't--” she began, before Mattias cut her off.

“Why are you apologizing? I put myself in your path,” he said, sliding his gaze down to her camera and back again. “I believe we have not been properly introduced. I'm Mattias Ahtissari.”

Chey let the camera come to rest against her chest, confident the strap around her neck would hold. She searched his face, his eyes, unsure what to do, exactly. Her mind went on the fritz when the reality hit that she was sharing space with Royalty.

“You have no name?” Amusement flashed through his dark gaze. “Or has the cat got your tongue?”

“No, no—I mean yes, of course I have a name. Chey. I'm Chey Sinclair.” Remembering about the curtsy, she performed an awkward one.

He laughed, brows arching when she dipped. “Well, Miss Sinclair. Someone has been giving you instruction. I didn't think Americans went for all that pomp and circumstance.” He straightened from the wall and held out a well manicured, long fingered hand.

Licking her lips, she glanced down at his hand, then around at the hallway, positive it was a trick of some kind and the guards would rain hell down around her head for thinking to touch him.

He rumbled another laugh, still holding his hand out. “I don't bite, if that's what you're worried about. And if it's the guards—don't worry about that, either. I choose who I greet and who I do not.”

Caught out, she looked back and slid her hand into his. Chey shook with meaning, with purpose, grip firm. “We usually don't. Well,
I
usually don't. It's nice to meet you.”

Just when she would have pulled her hand free, he turned it over and brought it to his lips. There he brushed a kiss across her knuckles before releasing.

Chey, dumbfounded, stared like a green schoolgirl. Why was he kissing her hand? Was that another Royal custom? Why, oh why, was he even paying any attention to her? She was the lowly photographer, not worth his time. Right?

“The pleasure, Miss Sinclair, is mine.” He retained strict eye contact while gesturing to the hall. “Walk with me?”

Unnerved by the weight of his attention, Chey inclined her head and turned to walk with him along the hall.

“I thought to take some pictures of the interior. There are so many unique ways to capture the essence of your home, it's hard to know where to start,” she said, sticking to the safe subject of work.

“I suppose there are. It's a lot of ground to cover. But then, you will be here a while, which gives you plenty of time to be thorough.” He clasped his hands behind him, pacing languid as a tiger beside her. His accent rolled smooth from his tongue, raspy and cultured.

“Almost four months. It's the longest I've ever been on assignment anywhere. I'm looking forward to finding the shots no one else has yet.” She risked a glance aside. He was watching her instead of the hallway, pinning her with dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence and interest.

“Four months. A lot can happen in four months,” he said in a musing tone. “What does your family think of you being gone that long?”

Chey felt a pang at the thought of her parents. “My parents perished in a car accident almost nine months ago. I have no siblings.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. No husband, either?”

“No husband. Not even a boyfriend.”

“I find that difficult to believe. Surely there is
someone
you hold even a small amount of affection for?”

“Not any longer. I broke that off when I caught him on a date with not one, but
two
other women.” Chey snorted, forgetting herself. Covering the snort with a delicate cough, she brought a hand up to check the weight of the camera hanging around her neck. A distraction for herself if nothing else.

Mattias laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh that shook his chest and shoulders. “Well. Then I suppose he deserves what he gets.”

“What he got was a heck of a one night stand. Good riddance.” Her candor showed through speaking of her past. Chey thought she should temper her sometimes bold tongue—and then decided not to. After all, what did it matter? She was here to work, not to impress a Prince. Especially one who was so obviously involved with someone.

Another laugh greeted her candid reply. “A kitten with claws. I would have never guessed.”

“And yet your tone suggests that was
exactly
what you expected,” she countered. Why was she calling him out? He was a Prince for crying out loud, and here she was, baiting him. Testing his penchant for truth.

Mattias stopped walking so quickly that Chey found herself five steps ahead before she realized he wasn't at her side any longer. Just that fast, she regretted her wayward tongue. She'd offended him by talking back, or challenging him. On his own turf, no less. Stifling a cringe, she turned back to see him regarding her in that intense way he had, eyes narrowed to slits.

Don't get yourself kicked off the assignment before it even gets started, idiot,
she chided herself. She'd already spent a good portion of the initial payment on rent. Chey didn't have the luxury of being fired and having to pay the money back. Before an apology could tumble from her lips, he smiled. A subtle curve of his mouth that accentuated the cleft in his chin.

“I hadn't realized just
how
astute you are, Miss Sinclair. Well done. That, indeed, is precisely what I was thinking. Can you guess what else is on my mind?” he asked, resuming a slow walk. He didn't take his eyes from her, even when he drew abreast.

Chey broke eye contact, exhaling in relief. She hadn't offended him. Continuing their walk, she stared ahead at the upcoming juncture in the hallway. His loaded question gave her pause. It was the kind of question men who had been trading electric looks with a woman asks when he expects her to play coy and mention something about sex or bed.

“You're hoping I'll take a few extra pictures just for you.” Because if not sex, what else would he have sought the photographer out for? Chey used deductive reasoning to come to her conclusion. It wasn't all that difficult to understand he wanted something from her. Princes probably didn't hobnob with the hired help. When he didn't immediately reply, Chey glanced aside.

He wore a devilish grin. “It's like you know my very mind. I'm impressed. I would like to request you snap some shots of Viia. By herself, if you can manage it, and when she's not aware you're doing so. Natural, candid pictures is what I'm after.”

So that's what this was all about. Chey checked a wry expression before it could take hold of her features. “Of course. It's why I'm here. Sooner than later I'll become familiar with the routine, which will give me a greater chance to catch her in unaware moments. Consider it done.”

“Excellent.” He stopped long enough at the juncture in the hallway to lay a warm hand on the back of her shoulder. “I'll check with you in a few days to see if I need to help set something up should you not be able to find her alone.”

Chey paused when he did, half turning to face him. The weight of his hand was light, yet she felt the heat from his palm through her shirt with ease.

“That sounds fine. Have a good rest of the day.” Chey decided she must be
imagining the sparks between them. Except when she met his eyes, she found him watching her like he might devour her on the spot. They spent fifteen seconds searching each other's gazes before he pivoted and stalked away along the other corridor, heading god knew where.

Chey watched him go, the feel of his hand lingering long after he was gone.

It was high time to put some distance between herself and the castle. She headed for the stairs, trotting down to the lower level with the intent on finding the stables.

Perhaps a ride would clear her head.

. . .

A hundred and fifty photographs later, distracted by the beauty and serenity of the stables and horses, Chey finally decided to mount up and ride. She left her camera safely with the stable master, assured it would come to no harm. Swinging up over the back of a buckskin mare, she took hold of the reins and guided the equine toward a section of forest that the stable master suggested. He spoke of riding trails, a sparkling creek, stunning vistas and a small lake nestled in the greenery.

Leaving the stables at a trot, Chey allowed herself to enjoy an old hobby that had fallen by the wayside back in Seattle. She had ridden often before her parents passed, taking to winding trails through stunning scenery that never failed to calm her mind.

Here, too, was the promise of spectacular terrain. She found the trail easy enough, sinking from the first kiss of dusk into the dappled shadow of enormous trees. The branches and leaves tangled overhead, whispering and creaking in a gentle breeze. Slowing the mare to a brisk walk, Chey let her pick her way along the trail. One hand rested comfortably on her thigh.

She found the meandering creek and eventually, the lake. Already she mourned the loss of her camera and promised herself she would return the following day. Maybe in the morning to catch the sunrise and in the evening to take pictures as burnt orange rays slanted across the sparkling surface of the water. Astride, facing the lake, Chey breathed in the scent of bark, earth and damp foliage.

It really was a gorgeous spot. She loved how the trees crowded close to the lake on the far end, and how boulders the size of small cars took over half way around, lending rugged beauty to the scene. Out in the middle of the lake, several fish flopped and splashed.

“What do you think, girl, should we come back tomorrow?” Chey talked to the mare, rubbing a hand along the sleek neck under the mane. The horse nickered and bobbed her head, tail swishing against her flanks.

Just as Chey decided they better head back, before the sun slipped so low she lost enough light to see by, the mare twitched to attention, ears pricked forward. It was a marked change from the lazy stance of a moment before.

“What is it? A squirrel? Maybe a raccoon?”

A snap and crack of twigs jerked Chey's attention to the left, where a cluster of
trees made the shadows a little darker than everywhere else. She let the mare stay put, waiting to see if a deer hopped into sight. That's what Chey thought it was—a deer. The snap of twigs had been too solid to be something as small as a squirrel or a raccoon.

Nothing appeared.

The deer probably caught her scent and was standing there frozen, afraid to move.

Chey reined the buckskin around, kneeing her into a walk for the trail. They had diverted off of it to get a better look at the lake. Ducking a few branches, Chey stroked her hand once more along the buckskin's neck, giving her a confident pat. The animal really was a joy to ride.

Reaching the trail, the mare instinctively wandered onto it and headed in the direction of the stables, as if she knew her rider was ready to return home.

Another snap of wood swerved Chey's attention over a shoulder. She was in time to see a shadowy figure slip between trees, on horseback no less, obviously following her.

If it were one of the guards, he would have just made himself known. The guards, she'd discovered even after this short of a time, had no problem announcing themselves.

So who could it be?

Unease trickled down Chey's spine.

Urging the mare into a canter, she thought to put some distance between the shady figure and herself. A stable hand would have called out. What if someone had managed to slip onto the property to do the Royals harm?

The sound of hoof beats on the path behind her whipped Chey's attention back. To her shock, the horse charged onto the same trail, its shadowy rider bent low and half obscured by a branch and leaves.

“Yah!” She dug her heels into the startled mare's side. The buckskin surged forward, ears pricked back. Chey guided the equine along the path, fear gripping her shoulders to the point they ached.

The sun inched lower, stealing even more light from the day. Now the trees aided the advance of shadow, dipping whole sections of the trail into a gray gloom.

To her horror, the hoof beats behind her grew louder. Closer. Someone was in open pursuit. Yet they didn't call out for her to stop, or halt, like a guard should have.

Veering swiftly off the main trail, Chey took the mare overland, between the tree trunks, desperate to lose their follower. It was treacherous business, with roots, rocks and other debris poised to trip the buckskin. Bring her down, and Chey along with her.

Twilight faded, gloom pervading the forest. Between one minute and the next, Chey found it harder to see. The mare, more sure footed than Chey gave her credit for, dashed around trees and over a fallen trunk. It was low, only a foot or so off the ground, but Chey was not an experienced rider in jumping and had to hang on with both hands.

In the next second, Chey found herself falling. Falling to the right, toward the ground, with a body impacting her from the left. A heavy, strong body that knocked the breath from her lungs when they landed. Grunting, she twisted beneath the weight of the attacker and jammed her heel against his shin. One fist swung out with the intent of cracking him—or her—on the jaw.