Royal Weddings: The Reluctant Princess / Princess Dottie / The Royal MacAllister. Lucy Gordon
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in the housekeeper’s familiar scent of Ivory soap and lavender, thinking that those smells, for all her life, would remind her of home.
“Everything’s fine, honestly,” Elli whispered to the woman who was like a dear aunt or a grandmother to her.
Hildy said nothing, just gave her an extra squeeze before letting her go. “I’m in the kitchen, if you need me.”
“I think what I need is a drink,” Elli muttered as soon as Hildy had left them. “And don’t give me that look.”
Gold brows drew together over that bladelike nose. “Look?”
“Yes. There. That one.” She turned for the wet bar on the inner wall. “It’s almost like all your other looks, since pretty much your expression doesn’t change. But there are…minute shifts. The one I just saw was the disapproving one.” She found a half-full bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge and held it up. “You?”
“No.”
“Now, why did I sense that was what you would say?”
“You are distressed.”
She turned to look for a wineglass. “Yep. Distressed is the word. This is not my idea of a real fun time, you know? My mother is not going to be happy about our news. And I wish she had told me that my father had called, that he’d asked for my sisters and me. And I…” She let her voice trail off and shook her head. “You’re right. Wine is tempting, but overall, a bad idea.” She put the bottle away and then lingered, bent at the waist, one hand draped over the door to the half fridge, staring down into the contents. “Hmm. Diet 7UP, Mug root beer. Evian. But the question is, where are my—”
“Your Clearly Canadians are in the back, second shelf.” It was her mother’s voice, smooth as silk, cool as a perfectly chilled martini. She was standing in the open doorway to the hall.
“Hi, Mom.” Elli flashed her mother what she hoped was an easy smile. “Hauk? What can I get you?”
“Nothing. Thank you.”
Elli pulled out the tall pink bottle, shut the refrigerator and stood, her smile intact. Her mother, tall, blond as her daughters and stunningly beautiful in a crisp white shirt, a heavy turquoise necklace and black slacks, did not smile back.
“Mom, we were just—”
Ingrid wasn’t listening. “Who is this man?”
What to do? How to handle this? There was just no right approach to take.
Elli gestured with her bottle of fruit-flavored sparkling water. “This is Hauk FitzWyborn.”
Hauk whipped his big fist to his chest and lowered his head. “Your Majesty.”
There was an awful moment of total silence.
Then her mother said, too softly, “Hildy was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She told me. But I refused to believe it.” Ingrid was looking at Elli again, blue eyes gleaming dangerously. “Let me guess. A warrior, right? One of Osrik’s goons, his… Viking berserkers?”
“Mom.” Elli set the unopened bottle on the bar and went to her mother. “Come on.” She took Ingrid’s elbow. “Let’s not—”
“Don’t.” Ingrid jerked free. “I want to know what’s happening here. I want to know why you’ve brought one of your father’s thugs into my house.”
Chapter Six
So much for the faint hope of giving this explosive subject the delicate introduction it deserved.
Elli made it short and simple. “Hauk is here to escort me to Gullandria. I’m leaving sometime in the next two days. Father has—” What to call it? “—invited me. And I’ve said I will come.”
Ingrid’s mouth had dropped open. “I don’t… You’re not… Surely, you can’t—”
Elli reached for her mother’s arm again. “Oh, Mom. Here. Sit down.” She made a shooing motion at Hauk, who still loomed nearby, hand to chest, head down, blocking the nearest chair.
Hauk got the message. He moved to the other end of the big room and pretended to stare out a window, giving them as much privacy as he could without actually leaving them alone together and going against the orders of his king.
Elli eased her mother down onto the cushions. “Mom. Please.” She knelt, took Ingrid’s trembling hand. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s…something you had to expect might happen someday, that one of us would want to go there, to meet our father face-to-face.”
Ingrid was shaking her head. “No. I never in a thousand years expected that. I’d always believed I made it clear to the three of you. To go back there is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.”
Elli squeezed her mother’s hand. “He is my father.”
Ingrid leaned close. “He gave you up.” She spoke low, with a terrible intensity. “Gave you up as I gave up our sons. And look what happened to them, to my little boys.” It hurt to see it, the way heartache could twist such a beautiful face. She gripped Elli’s hand more tightly. “Isn’t it enough that both of them are dead? He has no right, none, to summon you now.”
“But I want to go.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. It’s important to me, to know my own father, to find out for myself what he’s like.”
“I can’t believe he’s done this. I told him no. I told him absolutely not, under any circumstances.” Ingrid didn’t seem to realize what she’d just let slip.
Elli prompted, though she already knew the truth, “You’re saying you spoke to him recently?”
Ingrid blinked. And then confessed, “Yes. He called last Friday.”
“You didn’t say a word to me. You didn’t tell me—”
“Of course I didn’t tell you.” Ingrid wrapped her other hand around their joined ones. “There was no need to tell you. He called and he asked me to send you—all three of you. When I refused, he started giving orders. When giving orders didn’t work, he offered me a bribe.”
Elli stiffened. Her father hadn’t mentioned any bribes. “You’re not serious. He wouldn’t—”
“Oh, yes, he would.” Ingrid was nodding, her mouth a thin line. “He mentioned a figure. A large one.” She added, more to herself than to Elli, “As if I need his money, as if money means a thing to me when measured against my babies.”
Elli supposed, now that she thought about it, that she could see her father trying just about anything to get her mother to let him see his remaining children. “He’s got to be desperate. And so very lonely now. He’s lost two sons.”
Ingrid made a feral sound deep in her throat. “He’s lost two sons! It’s my loss, too. Our loss, all of ours. Yours and mine and Brit’s and Liv’s. My sons, your brothers. Gone. Dead. And no one will ever convince me they died purely by accident. A fire in the stables and a five-year-old loses his life horribly, his poor little body burned almost beyond recognition. Wasn’t that enough? Evidently not. Because now there’s been a storm at sea—Valbrand washed overboard, survivors reporting they saw him swept away.
“No. There’s more than misfortune at work here. In Gullandria, the rules of succession make life much too hazardous for the sons of the king. The jarl are forever forming their alliances, plotting and planning. Deep in my heart, I’ll always suspect that your brothers didn’t die purely by accident.”
Shock had Elli staring. “You’ve never said anything like that before.”
“Of course I haven’t. I’ve always prayed I’d never have to.”
Elli