Princess Annie (30 page)

H
e loved her.

Rafael had been holding the knowledge at bay ever since the night he’d climbed out onto the parapet of the south tower to save Annie from toppling two hundred feet into the courtyard. Earlier in the evening, however, when he’d seen her standing outside the chapel door, face smudged, hair a-tumble, holding a baby in her arms, the realization had broken through his defenses and struck him with all the force of a spiked cudgel.

Seated on the wide stone sill of one of the windows in the gate tower, gazing out over a moon washed sea, Rafael knew absolute despair. Recognizing his true feelings had only made things worse; he was still doomed, along with his country, but before Annie he’d been numb, body and spirit, and he could have died without a moment’s regret. Now things had changed—dying would mean leaving Annie to God-knew-what fate or, worse, watching her perish before his eyes, the way Georgiana had. Bitter fluid rushed into the back of Rafael’s throat and for the first time in his life, he was mortally afraid.

Barrett’s voice startled Rafael, for he’d thought himself alone.

“It’s late, Your Highness,” he said. “You need your rest.”

Rafael folded his arms and smiled bitterly into the darkness, where the sea whispered and beckoned and made its elemental promises. “Now you are not only the head of my army, but my nursemaid as well. How versatile you are, old friend.”

Barrett ignored the jibe, as usual. He was, despite the occasional lapse, an even-tempered and reasonable man. In fact, his counsel had kept Rafael from making any number of impulsive mistakes over the years. “Your Annie Trevarren is quite a lady,” he said. “Did you know she spent the afternoon in the village, ordering everyone around and passing out generous portions of food and advice?”

“Yes,” Rafael replied. “I knew. It’s dangerous, what Annie’s been up to, but nothing short of tossing her into one of the dungeon cells could keep her from what she undoubtedly sees as her moral duty. God’s truth, Barrett, I wish the woman were a coward and a twit, afraid to dirty her hands or sully her skirts in the mud. At least that way she’d be safe.”

“None of us is safe, Rafael. And perhaps it’s better that she’s occupied.”

“Perhaps,” Rafael agreed wearily. He scanned the sea and the countryside once more before stepping down from the windowsill. “What do you hear from Morovia?”

“It’s quieter—the burning and looting seem to have stopped, for the time being anyway.”

“That’s some consolation, at least,” Rafael said. “Tomorrow we’ll select the jurors and begin the process of trying Covington and his raiders.”

“It’ll be a nasty business, what with everything else that’s happening just now,” Barrett remarked. “Who will serve as magistrate and hand down a sentence, if the men are convicted?”

Rafael paused in the tower doorway. “The villagers will choose a judge from among themselves.” He started down the inside stairway, with Barrett a few steps behind.

“This is a delicate situation,” the soldier pointed out. “While I deplore Covington and the others for what they did, I wonder if letting the peasants try these men is any more just than turning them over to the rebels. Obviously, they could wind up bearing the brunt of the people’s anger and paying not only for their own crimes, but those of other soldiers, in other years and even other centuries.”

“It is an imperfect solution,” Rafael answered. “If you have something better to suggest, I’d like to hear it.”

“The prisoners could be removed to France or Spain,” Barrett said, “and tried there.”

“No,” Rafael said flatly, as they entered the passageway at the base of the stairs. It was unlit, except for the light of the moon, and both men walked in intermittent shadow. “This crime occurred in our own country. It is the right and the duty of the Bavian people to dispense justice.”

“I agree,” Barrett conceded. “But there will be trouble, Rafael, if the penalty is too harsh. There is already grumbling in the ranks—some of the soldiers believe you’re throwing Covington and the others to the wolves in an effort to get the ordinary people on your side.”

“Even if that was my aim, it’s far too late to clear the St. James name. You know that.”

Barrett only nodded.

When Annie and Kathleen reached the great hall on their way to the chapel, they found the place jammed with villagers, soldiers and servants. Craftsmen and shepherds, farmers and fishermen stood in line to speak with Rafael and Mr. Barrett, who sat at a table, asking questions and making notes.

Although relations between Rafael and Annie were strained, her curiosity would not permit her to pass the scene without finding out what was happening. She went to the back of the line, tugged at a man’s sleeve and asked him why he was there.

“There’s going to be a trial,” the man sputtered. “Right here in the great hall. We’re here to apply to be members of the jury.”

Annie nodded and felt a nervous shiver in the pit of her stomach. She would have to testify, of course, and while she would not have shirked her responsibility, she was frightened. Jeremy Covington hated her, and she knew only too well what a cruel and violent man he could be.

There was much to do in the chapel, for although many of the patients had recovered from the malaise, others had fallen ill during the night. Annie and Kathleen brought broth from the kitchen and, with help from the village women and some of the other servants, began spooning the thin soup into waiting mouths.

Annie was bathing a feverish toddler late that morning when Phaedra came into the chapel. At first, Annie thought the princess had come to help, for even with a dozen women working, there was a lot to do. The terrified expression on her friend’s face soon disabused her of the notion; the princess might want to lend a hand, but she was plainly squeamish.

“Phew! It smells in here,” she said, not unkindly.

Annie controlled her irritation, reminding herself, once again, that Phaedra had never been called upon to serve in any sort of emergency. “Of course it smells,” she replied quietly. “These people are desperately ill.”

Phaedra’s gaze swept the room, disconsolate and genuinely confused. “Why can’t they be in the barracks, or even the stables?” she whispered. “I’m supposed to be
married
here in just two weeks. What if we can’t get the smell out?” She paused to glance at the little boy Annie was bathing. “Have you ever seen such a pitiful child? Just look at him—his ribs are showing.”

Annie closed her eyes for a moment.
Patience,
she thought. “Phaedra, think about what you’re saying. You sound like Marie Antoinette.”

The princess pulled a snow-white handkerchief from the sleeve of her pale rose gown and pressed it to her mouth, looking downright ill. “I’m so sorry,” she said, in a sorrowful wail. “You know I don’t mean to be unkind, but—”

Annie’s heart softened slightly. “Do leave, Phaedra, before you add to the mess. If you truly want to help, go to the kitchen and ask for more broth.”

The princess nodded in a brief and frantic way and fled.

Throughout the morning, wedding guests could be heard arriving in their carriages and carts, but Annie was not thinking about the coming ceremony. She and Kathleen had their hands full.

When, on occasion, Phaedra crossed her mind, she reminded herself that people have different strengths and talents. Not having the fortitude or temperament to be a nurse was not a failing of character. Her own grandmother, Lydia McQuire Quade, had taken care of Union soldiers during the War Between the States. Perhaps Annie had picked up the knack from her.

At one o’clock, Kathleen convinced Annie to take a meal.

In the kitchen, Annie scrubbed her hands carefully before touching her food, for her grandmother Lydia had often stressed the importance of cleanliness when dealing with the sick. The topic of conversation among the servants was not the revolution or even the royal wedding, but the trial of the men who had ransacked the marketplace in Morovia and murdered a young student.

Annie was uneasy with the topic, but it was interesting and, besides, it was always more prudent to listen than to bury one’s head in the sand.

“Does anyone know which of the soldiers shot the lad from the university?” Kathleen inquired, between bites of stew.

At that point, everyone at the long trestle table turned to look questioningly at Annie. Obviously, it was no secret that she’d witnessed the dreadful event. But while she had seen the student fall, bleeding, into the fountain pool—indeed, it was an image she would never forget—she had not seen who had fired the fatal shot.

She bit her lower lip and shook her head. She was almost glad she hadn’t seen the killer; the look of unbridled hatred in Jeremy Covington’s eyes had been terrifying, and the memory of it would be burden enough as she went through her life. Cook, a sturdy woman with square corners like a box, took another helping of bread from the platter in the center of the table. “He’s had more than his share of grief, our Prince Rafael,” she said, using the bread to sop up the last of her stew. Her mouth was full when she went on. “His Highness deserves to be happy, like he was before the Princess Georgiana died.”

Annie found it comforting to know that Cook, at least, knew Rafael was a good man. There must be others, too, who saw him as he was and did not blame him for the things his forbearers had done.

She blushed at the belated realization that, at Cook’s reference to the prince, everyone had turned to look at her again. An awkward silence descended.

Blessedly, Kathleen put an end to it. “Well, I guess Miss Trevarren and I should be getting back to our sick ones, or they’ll be wondering where we took ourselves off to.” She turned to the two old tyrants—one had reigned over the palace kitchen in Morovia and one had been making meals at St. James Keep since Rafael’s father was a little boy—with a bright and guileless smile. “We need still more soup, and as much weak tea as you can make.” Before either woman had time to refuse, she finished with, “The Lord will bless you for your kindness.”

Annie carried her empty stew bowl to the sink without speaking, watching with amusement as the two women scrambled to put themselves in the way of the Lord’s blessing. The soup and tea Kathleen had requested were certainly forthcoming.

Annie and Kathleen went back to the village, this time taking an outdoor route through a series of gardens instead of passing through the great hall. They worked in the chapel and the cottages for the rest of the day and, by the time twilight fell, Annie was twice as tired as she had been the night before.

She didn’t have the luxury of bathing and tumbling into bed, however, for more of Phaedra’s wedding guests, distant cousins who had traveled for days, through axle-deep mud and the obvious dangers of the road, had indeed arrived that afternoon. Good manners prompted Annie to attend the formal dinner, so she washed, put on an emerald green gown, had Kathleen dress her hair, and went down to the dining hall.

Rafael occupied his usual place at the head of the table, and although he looked harried, he was an attentive and engaging host. Annie might have been invisible, for all the notice he paid her, but she was too tired to be insulted. In fact, she nodded off twice before the main course had been served, and was saved from disgrace only by the subtle application of Phaedra’s royal elbow to her rib cage.

At that point, Annie excused herself, for the first time garnering Rafael’s attention, and left the dining hall. She was back in her chamber, sitting at the vanity table while Kathleen brushed her hair, when a knock sounded at the door.

Annie’s heart did a little flip under her throat. She knew, even before Kathleen went to answer the summons, that her visitor was the prince.

If Kathleen had any views on the propriety of the matter, she kept them to herself. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, with a deep curtsey. Instead of immediately dashing out, however, she threw Annie a questioning glance.

Rafael, always perceptive, read the look accurately. “Please stay,” he said to the maid.

Annie did not turn around, but watched Rafael’s approach in the vanity table mirror. She could feel the pulse at the base of her throat throbbing like a drumbeat.

Finally, Rafael stood beside her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I appreciate the way you’ve been helping out in the village,” he said gently, “but I fear you’ve taken on too much. Annie, you were so exhausted at dinner tonight that you could barely sit upright.”

Annie’s primary instinct was to lay her hand over Rafael’s, but she resisted. Too much physical contact with this man was dangerous, and he was already touching her, searing her skin, heating the muscles beneath, igniting that mysterious, familiar ache deep inside her.

“I don’t know how you could have made that determination, since you didn’t look at me once during the entire evening.”

Rafael laughed, and his fingers tightened, just briefly, on her shoulder. “You are quite wrong, my Yankee Princess. I hardly took my eyes off you.”

Annie turned to gaze up at him, searching his face. She saw so many things in those pewter eyes—humor, worry, compassion, frustration and, yes, if not love, a significant degree of affection.

“I understand now,” she said awkwardly, “why you insist on staying in Bavia, no matter what. And it’s the same for me, Rafael—I can’t abandon those people, not as long as there is something I can do to help.”

Rafael released Annie’s shoulder to brush her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. She could see that he was moved by some deep emotion, and several moments passed before he spoke again. “I’m glad you understand—I’m not sure anyone else does. But our two situations are not the same—I owe the people my loyalty, but you are only a guest here. It is not your responsibility to tend the sick.”

“No, it isn’t my responsibility,” Annie agreed, and it took an effort to speak firmly because she was melting under Rafael’s touch. “I know I can’t save the world and, yes, my conscience would bother me if I didn’t do something, but I’m helping because that’s what I
choose
to do.”