Читать книгу The Royals Collection - Ким Лоренс, Rebecca Winters - Страница 62
ОглавлениеTYR SKAVANGA IS HOME!
THE HEADLINE BLARED at him. His sister Britt had placed the newspaper on her desk, where she knew he couldn’t fail to see it. Britt was trying to tell him in her usual no-nonsense way how much he’d been missed, and how words could never express his three sisters’ happiness now he’d returned. The photograph beneath the headline showed Britt, Eva and Leila, hugging each other, their faces wreathed in smiles of joy.
Because of him.
Turning, he went to stare out of Britt’s office window, where snow drifted from a black sky like frozen sighs. Everything outside the building was pristine white and unspoiled, while inside, reflected in the window, was a killer’s face, his face, and he couldn’t hide from that.
He had no wish to, Tyr thought grimly. He was back in Skavanga, the small mining town that bore his family’s name, to reboot himself amongst people he loved. He’d stayed away for too long after leaving the army, to protect his sisters and friends from a man who was vastly changed. Britt, his eldest sister, had never given up on him, never ceased trying to contact him whether he replied to her messages or not. Not being the usual response from him. Britt was one of the few people who could reach him through her husband, Sheikh Sharif. Sharif was one of Tyr’s closest friends and had remained loyal throughout, refusing to reveal Tyr’s whereabouts, or what he was doing while he was away, even to his wife, Britt.
In the end it was a child who had pricked his conscience and brought him back. He had carried the little girl from the war zone to reunite her with her family in a refugee camp, and when the tears of joy subsided she had turned to him to ask, with all the concern a child of seven who’d seen too much could muster:
‘Don’t you have a family, Mr Tyr?’
The little girl’s question had shamed him, shattered him. It had broken through his armour, forcing him to think about those he’d left behind. Yes, he had a family and he loved them very much, he had explained to her. No one in the girl’s family had commented when his eyes filled with tears. They’d seen everything. They were reunited. They were alive. That was all they asked for. When he’d left the camp to return to the desert to begin rebuilding, he’d worked until his strength gave out, and all the time he was there the little girl’s comment about his family nagged at him, made him realise how lucky he was to have people who loved him. He knew then he had to go home, though he had dreaded confronting his sisters, who would see through the shell in an instant to this new and much changed man.
He had been of inestimable value to Special Forces, a senior officer had told him as he pinned a medal on Tyr’s chest, but that wasn’t something Tyr wanted carved on his tombstone. He wanted to be remembered for what he’d built, and not for what he’d destroyed. He’d encountered three types of soldier in battle: those who enjoyed their job, those who went about their duty with unfailing courage and loyalty to comrades and country, and those who would never recover from what they’d seen, physically, mentally, or both. He had no excuse. He was strong. He had the love of a good family, and somehow he had managed, not just to stay alive, but to remain relatively unharmed, at least outwardly. And now it was up to him to complete the healing process so he could be of some use to those less fortunate than himself.
‘Tyr!’
‘Britt.’ He swung round just in time for his beautiful sister to throw herself into his arms. Britt’s face was ecstatic, but she was full of questions. Flight good? Journey good?
‘You look great, Tyr.’
His mouth quirked. ‘Liar.’
His eldest sister took a step back to take a proper look at him. ‘Okay, so your clothes look great.’
‘Better,’ he said dryly as they shared a laugh. ‘I stopped off in Milan, knowing if I was coming to a party hosted by my glamorous sisters, I had better look the part.’
Britt’s face grew concerned. ‘You know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Tyr.’
‘But I want to be here. I wanted to come home and see you.’
‘So, you’re ready to face the music?’ Britt enquired, glancing across the road to the town’s smartest hotel, where she had arranged a welcome home party for him.
‘I am if you are.’
‘I only wish we had longer to talk, but you’ve never been one to ease yourself into a situation by degrees, have you, Tyr?’
‘Full immersion,’ he confirmed, determined to keep the tone upbeat. ‘It’s the only way I know.’
Britt gave a disbelieving hum. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so.’ He gestured towards the hotel, where they could see cars arriving. ‘And thank you for going to all this trouble for me.’
She laughed. ‘It’s nice to have the chance. And if I can’t welcome the town’s hero home...’
‘Just welcome your brother home. That’s all I want.’
‘I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Tyr—and almost had to,’ Britt reminded him wryly.
‘Those emails kept coming,’ he agreed.
‘And you kept ignoring them.’
‘But I saved you a trip in the end,’ he pointed out.
‘Tyr, you never change.’ Britt was laughing but her eyes were sad behind the fixed smile because they both knew that was a lie. He’d changed a whole lot.
‘This quiet time in my office has been good for you, though, hasn’t it, Tyr?’
‘This quiet time has been perfect. Thank you, Britt.’
Aside from shopping for some essentials, which meant ditching the desert boots and safari shirts in favour of city clothes, Tyr hadn’t suffered any human contact since leaving the sandbox. After the silence of the desert even street noise was deafening. But when could Britt not face anything that came her way? he reflected as he gazed into the eyes of a most admirable woman. Even if she hadn’t been his sister, he would have placed Britt on a pedestal a mile high.
‘Well, you’ve had your moment,’ she told him briskly. ‘I want a few words alone with you, and then we’ll go.’
He frowned. ‘This sounds serious.’
‘There’s a lot to tell you, Tyr. You’ve been away for such a long time. Leila’s had twins—’
‘This I know—you already told me.’
‘I told you when they were born,’ Britt agreed. ‘They’re practically school age now, yet you still haven’t seen them.’
He acknowledged this with a regretful dip of his head.
‘And Leila’s pregnant again—’
‘What?’ This was news to him. ‘Raffa doesn’t waste any time.’
‘Stop with the dinosaur spiel. Those two adore each other. They want a football team, according to Leila. And if you will go off radar the world isn’t going to stand still until you decide to come back.’
Where he’d been there was no communication with the outside world—not until he set that communication up and moved on, leaving others to go about the business of contacting loved ones. For a long time he’d been too beat up inside to even think about inflicting himself on his sisters.
‘You’re not going to tell me where you were, are you, Tyr?’
‘Need-to-know basis only.’ He made light of it and shrugged. His work was important to him. It was the only way he knew to make reparation. He didn’t want to talk about that work to anyone, not even to Britt. He didn’t want praise for putting right the wrong he’d done. He just wanted to get on with the job.
Britt shook her head at him. ‘Well, I give up. But just wait until you see Leila. She looks—’
‘Huge?’ he suggested, ducking as Britt aimed a swipe at him.
And just like that they were back to the happy days, the carefree days. ‘So, what else is going on I should know about?’
‘Jazz is here.’
Electricity coursed through him. ‘Jazz. I haven’t seen Jazz for years.’ Just the mention of Sharif’s younger sister’s name took him back to wild school holidays, when he could ride himself into the ground and swim until his arms ached, and think of nothing more but the next harmless adventure with his two friends from Kareshi. But beneath Britt’s matter-of-fact tone, he sensed something more. ‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘What’s happening with Jazz?’ He was fairly confident Sharif would have told him if anything serious had happened to his Jazz—Princess Jasmina of Kareshi, as Jazz was better known to the world. ‘Jazz is okay, isn’t she?’
‘Of course she is.’
‘But?’ He played it down, but his heart had stopped at the thought of harm coming to Jazz. They’d known each other since Sharif had first invited Tyr to spend his school holidays in Kareshi, where Jazz teased him unmercifully for his lack of desert lore. He’d shrugged the irritating kid sister off, but surprised himself by always being pleased to see her. A type of camaraderie had grown between them, and the thought of Jazz sick, or injured— His stomach churned. He’d seen too much of that.
‘But nothing, Tyr,’ Britt insisted. ‘I’d tell you if there was anything wrong.’
He searched Britt’s eyes, knowing that wasn’t the whole story.
‘She’s coming tonight, Tyr.’
‘Great.’ It would be good to see Jazz, though Sharif’s sister could see through everyone, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
‘She’s changed, Tyr,’ Britt said quietly.
He looked up.
‘Like the rest of us, Tyr, Jazz has grown up.’
What was his sister trying to tell him? He shrugged, picturing Jazz with braces and pigtails. How much could one person change? He glanced at his reflection in the window, where he got his answer to that.
‘What’s wrong, Tyr?’
He slanted a smile. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing’s wrong.’
‘We’ve all changed,’ Britt said, reading him easily, ‘but at least you’re smiling now. Thinking of Jazz?’
He hummed and shrugged Britt’s question off, but he was thinking about Jazz, who, all those years back, had used to refer to him as the guy from the frozen north with the funny name. Sharif, Jazz and he had been an oddball team. Jazz started out the most unwanted member of that team, but she was also the most determined, and could ride him and Sharif into the ground. And she knew the shifting patterns of the desert like the back of her hand. There had been no getting away from Jazz Kareshi, so in the end they’d given up.
‘Don’t look so worried, Britt. I can handle Jazz,’ he said with confidence.
‘Just don’t tease her, Tyr.’
‘Don’t tease Jazz?’ He frowned. Jazz had always been the butt of their humour, and Jazz had always given back as good as she got.
‘Jazz has only agreed to come tonight because this is such a big family occasion. And I’m here to chaperone her,’ Britt added with a meaningful look. ‘Me and Sharif, that is.’
He frowned. ‘This is all sounding terribly formal and not a bit like Jazz.’
‘Like I said, Tyr, Jazz is all grown up, and unmarried sisters of the ruling sheikh in Kareshi don’t share our freedoms.’
‘Is Sharif penning her in?’
‘Don’t be silly. You know Sharif is a big advocate for progress. This is Jazz’s decision, and we have to respect her for her beliefs. It shows a quiet strength and lots of courage, in my opinion. Jazz has stood by Sharif’s side throughout as he’s coaxed Kareshi into the twenty-first century, and now she doesn’t want to do anything to rock the boat, let alone give the traditionalists in Kareshi an excuse to criticise Sharif for implementing progress too quickly.’
‘So Jazz sacrifices herself?’ he demanded, outraged. ‘Jazz shuts herself away?’
‘Not exactly, but Jazz has become quite conservative, so for her sake, Tyr, just tone it down when you see her, okay?’
‘What do you think I’m going to do? We’ve been friends for most of our lives, Britt. I’m hardly going to leap on her.’
‘Just cool the friendship, and stay clear of Jazz, except for the most perfunctory greeting. Okay?’
He raked his hair. ‘I can’t believe you’re serious. Is anyone allowed to approach the royal presence?’
‘Don’t mock her, Tyr. Of course they are.’ Britt fired a warning glance across his bows for making light of something that was obviously a great concern to her. ‘Jazz lives a near normal life in Kareshi. Sharif broke all the traditionalists’ rules by giving Jazz a job at his racing stables, where she’s excelled in management, but, more importantly, this has opened the floodgates for all the women of Kareshi to work, if they choose to do so.’
‘But?’ he prompted, homing in on Britt’s brief hesitation.
‘But it’s made Jazz more determined than ever to uphold tradition in other areas of her life, so that no one can find fault with Sharif’s decision to allow her to work.’
‘What does “upholding tradition” mean exactly?’
‘It means that Jazz believes Kareshi can only take one small step at a time, and if by staying in the shadows it means every woman in Kareshi has the right to work, she’s prepared to do that. We should admire her for that sacrifice.’
‘Her sacrifice?’
‘Kareshi has to be coaxed, not bullied, Tyr. Jazz understands this as I do. Freedom for women to work is the first big step. Freedom for unmarried women to mix openly with men without being shunned by society is the next. Kareshi will take that step, but Jazz is devoted to her people, and I think we can safely trust Jazz to know what’s best in this instance.’
‘To know what’s best for her, or for Kareshi?’
‘Don’t get so heated, Tyr. For both, of course. And please don’t scowl at me like that.’
‘You’re right, and I apologise.’ Britt had done too much for him for him to sound off at her like that. ‘I’m still trying to get my head around the feisty girl I knew becoming some sort of reclusive woman.’
‘So you didn’t shut yourself away from those who loved you?’
Trust Britt to point that out. He forced a smile over his concern for Jazz. ‘Point taken.’
‘Be happy for her, Tyr. Jazz is a wonderful young woman with the strongest sense of duty where Kareshi is concerned, something I know you can relate to. It makes sense that she doesn’t want to cause ripples on the pond.’
‘It makes sense to you maybe,’ he agreed, ‘but Jazz is my friend, and I’m going to see a lot of friends tonight and I’m going to treat them all the same.’
‘Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’ Taking his face between her hands, Britt stood on tiptoes to kiss him on both cheeks. ‘Now, there are some people outside that door who have waited a long time to give you a big, sloppy welcome without the rest of the world looking on.’
His spirits soared with expectation. ‘Eva and Leila are here?’
‘With their husbands—I didn’t think you’d mind, seeing as Roman and Raffa are your closest friends?’
‘I don’t mind at all.’ He was looking forward to it, and his cynical self reassured him that if he kept it light they wouldn’t see anything in his eyes except the happiness a reunion like this would bring.
His middle sister, Eva, was the first into the room, changing the dynamics completely. Eva lived up to her bright red hair with the sharpest tongue this side of a scalpel, and the long space of time since they’d seen each other hadn’t dulled Eva’s approach. Standing back, she weighed him up. ‘You look every bit as formidable as I remember, warrior-boy.’
‘I could crush you with one finger, squirt.’
Fists raised, they squared up for a mock fight, and then, bursting into tears, Eva launched herself at him. Pummelling him with her tiny fists, she raged in a shaking voice, ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again. Do you hear me, Tyr?’ Pulling back, she stared at him with furious eyes. ‘Don’t you ever disappear out of my life again without at least having the courtesy to leave me the keys to your muscle car.’
Laughing, he embraced her. ‘Promise,’ he murmured softly as he kissed the top of her head.
Eyes softened with tears, Eva pulled back to stare at him. ‘You’ve no idea how we’ve missed you, Tyr.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’ How much, they’d never know. ‘I can’t imagine how I survived all that time without the three of you nagging me.’
As Eva roared with pretended fury, Britt walked to the door and swung it wide. ‘Leila!’ He was ready to catch his youngest sister and swing her round. Thankfully he stopped in time. ‘Wow. You are pregnant.’
‘Bowling-ball pregnant,’ Leila confirmed, laughing and crying all at the same time as they embraced.
‘But you look as beautiful as Britt warned me you would.’
Leila huffed a laugh as she stood back. ‘If you like waddling hippos, I’m your gal.’ She stared at him intently for a moment. ‘I can’t believe you’ve come back to us.’ His sister’s eyes filled with love and concern. ‘But life’s taken a bite out of you.’
‘Enough.’ He straightened his jacket. ‘We’re going to a party, aren’t we?’
‘We mustn’t keep our guests waiting,’ Britt agreed, exchanging a look with him as she held the door.
Linking arms with his two younger sisters, he urged them out of the room.
* * *
For the first time Jazz could remember, Sharif hadn’t shown impatience with her when she wasn’t ready to leave for the party at the same time as him and Britt. ‘No hurry,’ he’d soothed with a smile. ‘Just call me when you’re ready and I’ll come back for you.’
At the time she’d been flapping over what to wear. This might seem like a storm in a teacup to the average bystander, but, when you chose not to socialise in mixed company, it was hard to know what high society in a bustling mining town like Skavanga would expect of a very conservative princess of Kareshi.
‘Your smile,’ Britt had told Jazz in her usual down-to-earth way, insisting Jazz must show her face on this occasion. ‘You don’t have to take the traditions of Kareshi to the nth degree when you’re staying with us in the frozen north.’
‘But if I were photographed—’
‘The people of Kareshi could only be proud of their princess. Seeing you with your brother, surrounded by a family who loves you both so much, how could they not be proud of you, Jazz?’
Britt was always hard to argue with, and on that occasion impossible, though Jazz had had to wrestle with her inner demons before she could agree to showing her face in public. Her parents had abused their privilege and neglected their people, leaving Sharif and Jazz in the care of a succession of nannies while their mother had flaunted her beauty on a world stage. Sharif and Jazz had grown up sensitive to the rumblings of discontent in their country, so that when the time came for Sharif to inherit the throne he had moved as quickly as he could to turn the super-tanker round and establish a fair rule so he could make their country safe. Sharif was good and strong and kind and wise, but their troubled childhood in a land of absentee rulers and rampant corruption had left Jazz determined not to cause any more upset, so, however free her spirit, in appearance she was always careful not to offend.
‘You should get out of Kareshi more,’ Britt had insisted when they had discussed what Jazz would wear for the party. ‘It would be good for your people, and good for you.’
Jazz agreed, but Kareshi was steeped in millennia of tradition. Sharif had already given her a job at his racing stables, which had opened the floodgates for every woman in Kareshi to work, should they choose to do so, and Jazz wasn’t about to risk their freedom by pushing the traditionalists too far. And it was much easier hiding behind a veil than facing up to a night like this. Staring into the mirror, she wished her heart would stop pounding. Her brother had already left with Britt, so Britt could enjoy a private reunion with her sisters and their long-lost brother, Tyr, at the Skavanga Mining company offices.
Tyr.
Jazz’s throat dried. She had always been excited to see the big Viking.
But things were different now, Jazz told herself firmly. She was an adult with responsibilities, not a child who had plagued the life out of her brother’s closest friend. She had to guard her feelings.
But Tyr was someone she could always depend on.
Or he had been, until he’d disappeared.
How she’d worried about him—wondered about him—prayed for him to be safe.
And now he was back.
What would he think of her? She was so changed, so solemn and so silent. She wouldn’t be playing any tricks on him today.
And she wouldn’t be going to the party if she didn’t calm down.
Taking a few steadying breaths, she closed her eyes and tried her hardest not to think about Tyr Skavanga. After a few moments, she gave up.
* * *
Tyr paused at the entrance to the hotel ballroom and smiled. ‘This is beautiful, Britt.’
‘No welcome banners,’ Eva complained, staring around.
‘No. It’s all very Britt,’ Leila commented approvingly, echoing his own thoughts. ‘It’s a really classy setting.’
‘For a warrior’s return,’ Eva said proudly, putting her hand on his arm.
‘For a homecoming,’ he argued gently.
There was no doubt Britt had gone to a lot of trouble. The flowers in the tall vases flanking the easel to one side of the grand double doors were classic and white. The photograph of him Britt had chosen to prop up on the easel showed him laughing and relaxed before he’d entered the theatre of war, where his life had changed completely.
‘You look about twenty years older in real life,’ Eva informed him helpfully to a chorus of disapproval from their sisters.
‘Watch it, shrimp,’ he warned playfully, feeling his spirits lift to the point where he thought he might actually enjoy the evening. ‘Roman’s out of earshot, so you could be heading for a soaking in the chocolate fountain.’
Eva gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Death by chocolate suits me.’
‘Come on, you two, stop squabbling,’ Britt insisted, pulling the big-sister card on both of them.
He walked ahead of his sisters into the lavishly decorated ballroom with its Gothic curlicues and massive, glittering chandeliers, and the first thing he saw when he entered the room was Jazz.
