Читать книгу Montana Royalty - B.J. Daniels - Страница 10

With dread, Devlin watched the horsemen approach. Jules Armitage, the head of royal security, rode in the lead, his back ramrod straight.

Devlin heard Armitage referred to as “Little Napoleon” behind his back. Small in stature but with an air of importance because of his long-standing position with the royal family, Jules was a man easily ridiculed.

But Devlin knew Jules Armitage was also a man to be feared. Jules had been in the service of the royal family for thirty years. His loyalties were never questioned, his harsh dealings with those under him legendary.

Devlin had seen Jules take a horse whip to one groom. Another groom had simply disappeared. The head of security had free rein here in Montana. Anything could fall under the protecting of the only daughter of the king, including murder.

Devlin could see even from a distance that the head of security was furious. It showed in the set of his shoulders, in the way he forced his horse’s head up. Jules would report this incident—if he hadn’t already.

This was the worst thing that could happen. Devlin couldn’t be sent home now, and yet he knew the princess could do whatever she wanted with him. He was at her whim. As were the rest of those under her rule here at Stanwood.

With a wave of his hand, the head of security ordered the other riders to hold back. Jules rode on alone, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt within a few feet of Devlin.

His horse danced to one side as Jules dismounted with a curse that could have been directed at the horse—or at the groom.

Back still stiff, his reproach barely contained, Jules turned to face him. “Lord Ashford requests your presence in the stables at once,” he said, voice taut with fury.

Devlin expected a tongue-lashing at the very least. This reaction was all wrong. “Lord Ashford?” he repeated, his aching head adding to his confusion.

Jules’s complexion darkened. “I suggest you ride directly to the Stanwood stables. His lordship is waiting.” The little man held out his reins with a stiff arm, and Devlin realized Jules was furious at being sent on such an errand let alone being forced to give up his horse in doing so.

While Jules could do little about Lord Ashford, he could definitely make Devlin’s life hell—and his look promised as much.

Without a word, Devlin took the reins and swung up into the saddle. His head swam and he had to steady himself for a moment before he spurred the horse and took off at a gallop toward the stables.

As Stanwood came into view, Devlin thought, as he had the first time he’d seen it yesterday, it was amazing what too much wealth and self-indulgence could do when let loose.

Stanwood, a miniature of the royal palace in their homeland, rose out of the pines, a massive palace of quarried stone. One second-floor wing housed the princess and her prince, while the other wing was for royal guests.

Behind the palace were the stables, corrals and arena. Tucked back into the mountainside in the trees were a dozen small cottages that had been built for the grooms and horse trainers. Servants quarters had been erected in the opposite direction for those who saw to the princess and her entourage’s daily needs as well as those of visiting nobility.

As he stepped into the stables, Devlin found Lord Nicholas Ashford, one such guest, leaning against a stall door. One glance around told him that the building was empty except for Lord Ashford. This, he knew, was no accident.

Lord Nicholas Ashford was tall, slim and immaculately groomed as any in his social stratosphere. Like the other nobles Devlin had come in contact with, Ashford had an air of privilege about him and an underlying impatience; he was easily bored. And he was a man who didn’t like being kept waiting.

Nicholas frowned when he saw him. “You look like hell.”

“I feel worse,” Devlin said. He glanced around. Even though the stables appeared empty, he always feared that someone was close by, listening. Royal gossip was a hot commodity.

“We’re alone. I cleared everyone out.” Nicholas smiled. He’d never made it a secret that he enjoyed the privileges that came with wealth and power. His smile waned, though, as he studied Devlin.

“I feared something had happened when I heard your horse returned last night without you. Apparently there was cause for concern,” he said, eyeing the knot on Devlin’s temple. “What the devil happened?”

“It seems I was unseated from my horse.”

Nicholas scoffed. “You? Not likely.”

Devlin had practically grown up on the back of a horse. The last time he recalled being thrown was when he was five. “I have no memory of it.”

“The head wound doesn’t appear that serious,” Nicholas noted.

“It’s not. I fear it was the brandy I had before I left Stanwood. I suspect it was drugged.” How else could he explain ending up in that cabin with the unfamiliar horse blanket and no memory of what had happened the entire night?

“Drugged, you say?” Nicholas didn’t seem surprised. “There’s something you might want to see.”

Nicholas, he realized, had been waiting for him at the stall containing the horse Devlin had ridden out into the woods last night. The horse that had returned without him.

“Take a look at his right hind quarter,” Nicholas said as Devlin opened the stall door. The mount shied away from him, eyes wild, nostrils flaring.

Devlin felt his senses go on alert. The horse hadn’t behaved in this manner when he’d ridden him away from Stanwood last night. Even when the storm had come in, the horse hadn’t reacted to the thunder and lightning because it had been trained to be ridden by hunters, who would be shooting while riding.

Speaking in a low soothing voice, Devlin cautiously entered the stall. The horse relaxed some as Devlin continued to gentle it with his words and slow, measured movements. Gingerly, he ran his hand the length of the animal and felt something. The gelding shied away from him again.

“Easy, boy.” He found the spot Nicholas had mentioned. Something had penetrated the hide, leaving a small hole. It wasn’t deep, hadn’t come from a bullet.

He glanced at Nicholas, who nodded. “Shot with, if I had to guess, a pellet gun. You do recall that old pellet gun we used to get in trouble with?”

Devlin did indeed. Their friendship had been a secret. The son of a stables owner and the son of a noble. Nicholas, who’d been skinny and pale, had been sent to the stables to learn to ride. They’d been close in age, Devlin strong and fearless, Nicholas puny and timid.

The friendship had been good for both of them. Nicholas had learned to ride a horse, as well as take part in rough-and-tumble adventures with Devlin. And in turn, Devlin had learned the speech and manners of a noble.

“I think we can assume that someone knows why you’re here,” Nicholas said, concern in his tone.

“It would appear so.” Devlin took out the note that had been slipped under his door at his cottage. “You didn’t send this, then?”

Nicholas took the piece of paper, squinting in the poor light at the water-blurred writing.

“I don’t recognize the handwriting, but whoever sent it either appeared to be in a hurry or purposely scrawled the note so as to remain anonymous,” he said, handing it back.

“I thought it might have been from you. Or Anna,” he added quietly. His mother’s housemaid and friend had been an excellent horsewoman.

“Dev, I was as fond of your mother as my own, but even if you find out who murdered her, it won’t bring her back and will only succeed in getting you killed, as well. I was opposed to this from the beginning, but now that someone knows why you’re here…” Nicholas stopped as he must have realized he was wasting his breath.

They’d had this conversation before and always with the same outcome. Devlin had to know not only who had murdered his mother but also why. It made no sense. His only lead was the woman who’d found his mother’s body—his mother’s housemaid and friend. Anna Pickering had been in the house. She would know if the rumor he’d heard was true—that a royal soldier had been seen leaving the house that night shortly before his mother’s body was discovered.

It made no sense to kill a woman who owned a stable, who wasn’t politically motivated and who had always catered to royalty.

“If you’re right about Anna seeing the murderer that night, she won’t want to see you,” Nicholas said.

Devlin didn’t blame the woman. She had disappeared right after the murder. Nicholas had helped Devlin trace her to the princess’s new palace in Montana—and had helped Devlin get hired as a groom there.

“Do you remember who handled your drink last night?” Nicholas asked. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice.”

Devlin had replayed the scene in his mind. He’d been given a brandy in the main parlor of Stanwood, surrounded by the noble class.

Nicholas had instigated the whole thing as a way to get Devlin into Stanwood so he could check out the layout of the place. He’d introduced him as a master horseman, touted his skills at training horses and riders alike, himself included, and made sure everyone understood his kinship with the groom and respected it.

Of course, that wouldn’t save Devlin if the princess found out what he was really up to.

“The longer you stay here, the more dangerous it will become,” Nicholas said now. “Perhaps I should try to speak with this woman, Anna Pickering. You say she is a handmaid for the princess?”

“You have done enough.” Nicholas had already stuck his neck out far enough just helping him get the groom job—and getting him access to Stanwood last night.

“If anyone can persuade her to meet you, it’s me,” Nicholas said with a grin.

“And should she tell Princess Evangeline what you have done?”

“I shall deny it, of course.” Nicholas laughed. “Just as I shall deny any knowledge of your deception when you get caught.”

“Of course,” Devlin said, but knew better. He feared Nicholas would put himself in danger to save his friend.

That was why he had to protect Nicholas—and Anna—at all costs.

“Watch your back around Jules Armitage,” Devlin warned his friend.

“Don’t worry about the Little Napoleon. I can handle him.”

Devlin didn’t doubt it, but he’d seen how upset Jules had been. The head of security didn’t like being treated like an errand boy. He wouldn’t forget this slight. Nor who had caused it.

After saddling a horse for Nicholas, as if that had been why Lord Ashford had ordered him to the stables, Devlin headed for his cottage to shower and change.

Last night was still a black hole. Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was imperative that he remember. There was little doubt that he’d been lured into the woods, drugged and meant to lose his horse, but for what purpose?

Had his attacker hoped the fall from the horse would kill him? Or had his attacker planned to finish him off but hadn’t for some reason?

He was almost to his cottage when he had a sudden vision. Hot skin, silken and flushed with heat, full rounded breasts, nipples erect and thighs as creamy as…He stumbled in surprise.

Being drugged and thrown from his horse had done more than left him with a raging headache. It had apparently played hell with his dreams last night.

RESTLESS AFTER CHORES, Rory stormed into the house and went straight to her bedroom and the antique full-length mirror that had belonged to her grandmother.

Her face was flushed from the cold morning, tendrils of her chestnut hair curled around her face from where they’d escaped from her ponytail. Her Western jacket and flannel Western shirt had been her father’s. She hadn’t been able to part with either of them. The jacket was worn and too big for her, but like the shirt, it was soft and comfortable and one of her favorites.

Her jeans were boot-cut, slim-fit but the large shirt and jacket she wore over them pretty much hid her figure.

She cocked her head, shoved back her Western straw hat and studied her face in the mirror. No makeup. She’d bought some lip gloss recently, but she didn’t know where she’d put it. As for mascara, well, she hadn’t worn any since…her high school prom? Had it really been over ten years ago?

Rory groaned. Griff was right. She looked like a cowhand. She’d always preferred working outside with her father rather than being in the kitchen cooking with her mother.

Even now, if she wasn’t on a horse, then she’d just as soon be out mending fences. Because of that, she was a mediocre cook, could bake if forced to, and her sewing abilities extended to reinforcing a button.

She much preferred jeans and boots to dresses and had never owned a pair of high heels. She’d borrowed a pair of her mother’s for the high school prom—and had kicked them off the moment she’d gotten to the dance.

Damn Griffin Crowley. Tears smarted her eyes. She brushed angrily at them. It made it all the worse that Griff of all people was right, she thought as she stalked into the kitchen and dug out her mother’s recipe book.

Damn if she wouldn’t cook something.

It would keep her mind off last night and the groom who’d awakened something in her that she realized had been asleep. Or in a coma.

HEAD OF SECURITY Jules Armitage watched the small jet taxi to a stop on the airstrip behind Stanwood. Lord Charles Langston emerged from the craft.

A steady flow of guests had been arriving for several days, no doubt to attend the masquerade ball the princess had planned for this coming Saturday.

But still, it seemed odd that the royal family barrister would be invited to the ball. More than likely, Princess Evangeline had sent for him on a legal matter.

Jules knew the princess felt slighted because being born female exempted her from the throne in their home country. Nor could her husband, merely a lord before he married the princess, take the throne upon her father’s death.

But Prince Broderick would be elevated to a high position within the country should the king die. That was part of the reason for the unrest in their home country. Few people wanted to see Prince Broderick Windham having anything to do with the running of their country.

It was one reason Jules suspected that the princess and her husband had been sent to Montana. While the princess had overseen the construction of Stanwood since the first shovel of dirt had been turned over, she clearly hadn’t been happy about her apparent exile.

Her husband, Prince Broderick, had been in charge of buying up as many ranches as possible for their new home.

Jules questioned this entire move. While he could understand the king’s reasoning, since both Princess Evangeline and Prince Broderick were definite liabilities in their homeland, Jules had to wonder, why the U.S.—let alone Montana?

If the king hoped that Montana would change his son-in-law and perhaps keep him at home long enough to produce an heir, His Royal Highness would have been sorely disappointed had he known the truth.

Jules swore as a second person stepped from the plane onto the tarmac. Lady Monique Gray, a recent widow. Black widow, that was.

What was she doing here? As if Jules had to ask. The princess’s husband. Broderick had been anything but discreet about his scandalous affair with the woman. If the king hadn’t controlled the media, it would have been all over the news. Princess Evangeline had to have heard about it, even though her father had worked so hard to keep it from her.

What the king didn’t know was that his precious princess was a lot less fragile than he thought. She could squash a black widow like Lady Monique Gray—and would if given half a mind to. Lady Gray might not realize it yet, but she’d made a mistake coming here. Here in Montana, Princess Evangeline ruled like her father. If there wasn’t blood shed within a fortnight, Jules would be surprised.

“Royals,” he muttered under his breath, then quickly turned to make sure no one had overheard. In Stanwood, the walls had ears and unless he wanted to lose his, he’d best watch himself. The king had personally put him in charge of the princess’s safety. Not that she needed it. Instead, he would probably find himself trying to protect the others from her.

He found the whole lot of them tiresome. Especially the lords and ladies who hung around the princess like flies to spoiled meat. Lord Nicholas Ashford came to mind. Jules hated beginning the day by being sent like a messenger boy to find a missing groom.

Especially this particular groom.

Princess Evangeline had asked him to keep an eye on Devlin Barrow and make sure he had everything he needed, including a cottage of his own near the stables and the run of the place. Jules suspected she planned to take him as a lover. What other reason could she have for singling out the groom?

Jules had done as ordered, but there’d been a breach in security just before dark last evening and he’d lost track of the groom. Someone had been seen on the property, sneaking around. That had taken his attention and the next thing he’d known Devlin Barrow had disappeared, last seen riding off into the rain and darkness.

It wasn’t until that morning that Jules had been informed that a horse had returned without a rider—and that not all of the hired help had been accounted for. Devlin Barrow hadn’t returned.

Jules had barely gotten that news when Lord Nicholas Ashford had demanded that the head of security not only find Devlin, but bring him at once to the stables.

Given no choice, since he was subordinate to every guest of the princess’s, Jules had done as ordered.

But it had stuck in his craw. Why had the groom ridden off so late last night and in a storm? And where had he spent the night after losing his horse?

If Lord Ashford hadn’t ordered his favorite groom be found for his morning ride, Jules would have given the groom more than the tongue-lashing he deserved. Within reason, he thought, as he reminded himself that Devlin Barrow was to receive special treatment. Wasn’t it always the troublemakers who curried the nobles’ favor?

But why this particular groom?

Jules knew he should just let it go. Who cared what had happened to the groom last night? The princess hadn’t found out. Better it be forgotten.

But Jules couldn’t let it go. As head of security, he was going to find out not only what Devlin Barrow had been up to last night, but also why the son of a stables owner was suddenly being afforded such special treatment.

Picking up the phone, Jules called down to the stables. “Ready me a horse. No, I’ll be going alone.”

PRINCESS EVANGELINE Stanwood Wycliffe Windham studied herself in the full-length mirror. Behind her back, she knew people tsk-tsked about how sad it was that she’d taken after her mother’s side of the family instead of her father’s. The king was quite good-looking, while her mother, rest her soul, had been average.

Evangeline herself was below average. While she was average height, slim enough, blessed with her father’s dark hair and dark blue eyes, her facial features would have been more attractive on a horse than a woman.

She knew she was being too critical. She had what once would have been called handsome features. Strong, striking bone structure. And she carried it off with a regal air that had definitely made some men turn their heads.

But then again, she was the princess. She knew that was why Broderick had pursued her. He’d wanted the title, the wealth, the prominence. He’d been so handsome, so charming and so attentive that she’d overlooked his less favorable qualities and married him because she thought they’d produce beautiful heirs to the throne.

Evangeline snorted and spun away from the mirror to stare out the window. “Bastard,” she spat out at the thought of her philandering husband. She could overlook his infidelities and had. But his latest offense was unforgivable.

The bastard hadn’t given her an heir and now he wasn’t even sharing her bed. Maybe he thought he’d outlive her and have a chance to rule. Once her father was dead.

Her father. Just the thought of him made her a little ill. She knew he found her a scheming wench. He had no idea, she thought, then warned herself to tread carefully. She had taken too many liberties as it was. She’d disappointed her father too many times.

Her failure to produce a male heir, any heir at all, had angered him. He blamed her even though Lord Broderick Windham had given her little choice. Broderick, it seemed, was her punishment for her sins.

And sins, she had many. Her latest, though, was the most dangerous. She knew if she crossed her father that she risked not only being exiled from her homeland indefinitely, but also losing her freedom, possibly even her life.

Not that she didn’t have everything under control. She reminded herself how clever she’d been when Lord Nicholas Ashford had come to her with his request that she hire Devlin Barrow as a groom at her new home in Montana.

It was clear to her that while Devlin had gone into hiding and no one had been able to find him after his mother’s murder, Lord Nicholas was in contact with him.

Evangeline had provided the bait—Anna Pickering—by bringing the woman to Montana on the pretense of protecting her. Everything had worked just as she’d planned it.

So far.

But Evangeline could feel time slipping through her fingers like the finest sand. It was a two-edged sword, keeping both Anna Pickering and Devlin Barrow safe while at the same time planning their destruction.

Evangeline let out an un-princesslike curse as she focused on the scene below her window.

“What is Monique doing here?” her companion Laurencia cried as she joined the princess at the window.

Evangeline spun away from the window as the Black Widow entered Stanwood.

“You don’t think Broderick invited her, do you?” Laurencia asked wide-eyed.

“Of course not,” Evangeline snapped sarcastically. It was so like her friend to say the obvious. Who else could have invited her? Lady Monique was relentless once she set her sights on a man. And now apparently she’d set her sights on the prince. And vice versa.

This was the last straw. Evangeline had put up with her husband’s philandering for the last time. The fool was going to produce a bastard who would try to overthrow the crown one day. Evangeline had to get pregnant, and soon, to put an end to the talk of her being barren.

But that would mean getting her husband into their marital bed. That, she knew, would take more than fortitude on her part, due to his complete lack of interest—and her own.

It would take a miracle.

Or something Princess Evangeline was better equipped for: deception.

“You should have Lady Monique sent from the grounds at once,” Laurencia was saying. “She is only here to rub your face in her affair with your husband.”

Thank you, Laurencia, Evangeline thought. That was the problem with having a stupid companion—while she could be useful, she was annoyingly clueless.

“We will welcome Monique,” Evangeline said as she suddenly saw Lady Monique’s arrival as a possible godsend.

“But I thought—”

“Best let me do the thinking,” she told her. Laurencia had always been the perfect companion—meek and slow-witted and completely loyal. In short, Evangeline could wrap her around her little finger.

“I want you to be nice to Monique,” the princess said. “She has arrived just in time for the masquerade ball. In fact, I want you to make sure she wears the costume you were planning to wear. I shall have the seamstress make you something more suitable.”

Laurencia looked disappointed but nodded.

Evangeline smiled. Her original plan had been to use her companion to lure in Lord Prince Broderick by offering Laurencia on a silver platter. But this new plan would work much better since she had been dangling Laurencia in front of her husband for weeks and he hadn’t gone for the bait.

With Monique, the Black Widow, there would be no need to dangle her. Instead, Evangeline would have to make sure Broderick was kept so busy he wouldn’t have the time to catch Monique—until the night of the masquerade ball.

With everyone masked, it would be the time to spring her trap and produce an heir to the throne. Broderick, without realizing it, would do his part. Once she was pregnant with a legitimate heir…well, then she wouldn’t need Broderick anymore, would she?

Montana was such a wild, isolated country. Anything could happen to a man as adventurous as Prince Broderick Windham. Most certainly a very painful death.

Evangeline glanced at her watch. “Off with you now to make sure Lady Monique is comfortable in the large suite on the east wing.” Laurencia, who as always did as she was told, scampered off to do the princess’s bidding.

The princess stepped to the window again, pleased with herself. A lone rider galloped across the meadow.

Jules? Riding off alone? Odd, she thought, but quickly returned her thoughts to a more important task. Tying up one last loose end.

At the sound of a knock on her suite door, Princess Evangeline glanced at her watch. The man was prompt, she thought as she opened the door to her second cousin by marriage, Lord Charles Langston, the family barrister from a noble but poor family.

“Your Royal Highness,” Lord Charles said with a bow. He looked scared out of his wits. She considered that a very good sign as she ushered him into the room, closed the door and demanded to see what he’d brought her.

Holding her breath, she watched him reach into his briefcase and draw out a large manila envelope. What Charles carried was of such high security that if caught with the papers, he would have been put to death.

Her fingers shook as she took the envelope and drew out the papers, noting not only the royal seal, but the thick, pale green paper used only for important government documents in her country.

“These are the originals?” she asked.

Charles nodded.

“So it is true,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. There would be no turning back now. She put the documents back into the manila envelope, willing her fingers not to tremble at even the thought of what she’d done.

Finally, she looked to the family barrister. She feigned surprise, then anger. “Where is this bastard?”

“In your employ, your Royal Highness. He’s one of your grooms.”

JULES RODE TO THE SPOT where he’d encountered Devlin Barrow that morning. The day was cold and clear, the sun slicing through the tall, dense pines. Plenty of light to track Devlin’s footprints in the still-wet ground.

Determined to find out where the groom had spent the night, he followed the trail, glad for last night’s rain, which made tracking easier.

A hawk squawked as it circled over the treetops. Closer, a squirrel chattered at him as he worked his way through the pines.

Jules lost the tracks at one point in the thick, dried pine needles but picked them up again as he led his horse up the mountainside, surprised the groom had ridden this far from the ranch. He could make out the old county road—all that stood between the princess’s property and the one ranch that was still privately owned.

The owner had refused to sell. He’d heard Evangeline discussing the problem with her husband, Prince Broderick. The Buchanan Ranch was now all that stood between the prince’s holdings and the river.

The owner would have to sell. It was only a matter of time since the princess wanted it—and Broderick was responsible for acquiring the property for her.

Jules turned his attention back to the mountainside and the boot tracks he’d been following. As he walked through a stand of aspens, the leaves golden, he saw the small log structure ahead.

The groom’s boot tracks led right up to the front door. Was it possible this was where Devlin Barrow had spent the night?

Ground-tying his horse, Jules walked toward the shack, noting the shed roof off to one side. A horse had been kept under the overhang recently. He could still smell it.

Not the groom’s horse since it had returned to the stables without him. Had Devlin been thrown? That would explain his odd behavior that morning as well as the wound on his temple.

Except that Devlin Barrow was extolled as being an extraordinary horseman.

To Jules’s surprise, the door to the structure wasn’t locked. Cautiously he peered inside, not sure what he expected to find.

That was just it. He hadn’t expected to find anything. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness—and see the horse blanket lying on the shack’s worn wood floor.

Frowning, he stepped in for a closer look. The horse blanket wasn’t one of Stanwood’s, which were monogrammed with the royal crest.

He caught a scent in the stale air of the small room and smiled knowingly. A man who knew about the baser desires, Jules was familiar with the aroma of sex.

He stared down at the blanket, wondering who had shared that blanket with the groom last night and how he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

Obviously, the woman wasn’t from the Stanwood house-hold or she would have been riding one of the royal horses with the monogrammed blanket and tack.

So who was she?

He started to turn to leave when he saw something that stopped him. Crouching down, he lifted the edge of the horse blanket. It had appeared to be nothing more than cheap material like most blankets used under a Western saddle in this part of the world.

But this blanket had leather trim. It was what had been stamped into the leather that caught his eye. Whitehorse Days.

Jules frowned as he read the date and the words: All-around Best Cowgirl.

He dropped the blanket back to where he’d found it and rose. All-around Best Cowgirl. She shouldn’t be that hard to find given that he now had the event date.

If Devlin Barrow—or even the princess—thought either of them could keep secrets from him, they were both mistaken.