The Lost Prince Read online

  Everywhere he touched her she was golden warmth, her skin glowing in the late-afternoon sunlight. She looked like a gilt goddess. He wrapped his arms around her and carried her down to the mattress, worshipping her with his entire body, nearly sobbing with joy in the moment when their flesh and souls became one. Time ceased to exist, and he looked deeply into her eyes, loving her with body and mind.

  Mesmerized by the rapture on her features, he stared down at her, memorizing for all time this sight, this moment. When he went to his death, this would be the image he called to mind to carry through the end. His love, his Katy, smiling through the tears of ecstasy and tragedy and love streaming down her face.

  His own tears fell, mingling with hers, as they flew together one last time, scaling the untouched heights of pure passion. They soared like eagles, breathless wind racing past, inhaling the freedom of this place they’d made between them.

  They paused for an eternity, for an instant of perfection, and then they plunged together, diving earthward with reckless daring, feeling the weightless rush in their stomachs and throats, glorying in the power and beauty of their flight.

  But like the eagle, they, too, were bound by gravity and time, and eventually they had to return to earth. Nick became aware of rumpled satin, of Katy lying on his chest, crying quietly. The sun was rapidly sinking out of sight. He had no idea how long Katy’d been with him, but she dared not get caught with him like this or else everything would truly be lost.

  It was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he took her by the shoulders and lifted her up gently.

  “It’s time, my love.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and then nodded once. He tore his hands off her skin and forced his feet to carry him into the bathroom. He retrieved her clothes and somehow made his hands dress her in them. She stood woodenly, like a mannequin with no pulse, no soul.

  He stepped in front of her. She tried to smile up at him, but instead tears spilled out and rolled down her cheeks.

  He touched her face and said softly, “I will wait for you until the end of time, my love. Live with joy. Love with passion. And when your days on this earth have ended, come to me. I shall be waiting for you.”

  She threw her arms around him and sobbed against his chest, “I can’t do it, Nick. I can’t say goodbye.”

  He bowed his head and murmured into her hair, “Then merely say as the French do—au revoir. Until we meet again.”

  “I’ll love you forever,” she cried.

  “And I you.”

  He peeled her arms from around his waist and resolutely turned her to face the door.

  “Go now, my darling. And don’t look back.”

  Chapter 10

  Katy became vaguely aware of somebody pounding on her hotel room’s door. She squinted against the gravel under her eyelids as sunlight streamed in her window. She must have cried herself to sleep at some point last night.

  “Katy, it’s Larry! Wake up already!”

  He sounded urgent.

  She dragged herself out of bed and over to the door. She unlocked it and opened it a few inches. “What do you want?” she mumbled, in no mood to deal with anyone or anything right now.

  “Get dressed. We’ve got to go.”

  “I’m taking the day off.”

  “Don wants the whole team downstairs in the lobby right now. We’ve been summoned to the palace. All of us.”

  “Why?” The cobwebs were slowly clearing from her mind. The palace was the last place she wanted to be today. Oh, God. Today. No. No, no, no! She wasn’t going to the palace today of all days.

  “Nobody knows. Grab your robes and let’s go. The rest of the team’s waiting.”

  “No. I’m not going.”

  The guy actually threw her a sympathetic look for once. “You don’t have any choice. We’ve been ordered to go to the palace. All of us. Now. If you don’t go, you’ll be arrested.”

  She groaned. That was probably the one argument that could sway her. She mustn’t endanger the potential baby she protected.

  Katy hadn’t brushed her teeth in twenty-four hours, and her mouth felt furry. She was still wearing the yellow dress from yesterday. “Can I at least go to the bathroom before we leave?” she asked.

  Larry shifted impatiently. “Yeah, but hurry.”

  Sure enough, the whole team was waiting, milling around like a disturbed nest of hornets as she descended the last flight of stairs five minutes later. Before she’d even reached the lobby, Don Ford turned to lead the team to the palace.

  Katy stumbled along in the bright sunshine. It was already hot. The sun beat down on her, and the black abaya absorbed the heat like asphalt. Before long she felt like an egg slowly frying. They headed up the hill to the palace, but instead of going to the small postern entrance they always used, Don was directed to the main drawbridge.

  The enormous courtyard inside was full of rebel soldiers, and the InterAid team was caught in the crush like a twig tumbling along in a much greater logjam. Katy grabbed the back of Larry’s shirt, and somebody grabbed the back of her abaya as they struggled to stay together.

  The mob’s surging movement settled slowly as the crowded square grudgingly accommodated the late arrivals. Then abruptly a great roar went up from around them. Katy looked for the source of their excitement but couldn’t see much over the heads of the crowd.

  Everybody was looking off to the right. She turned and looked in that direction. And nearly passed out. She sagged, and had the crowd not been so tight, she’d have gone down to the ground.

  A gallows stood on a raised platform.

  High noon. Death by hanging. Just like one of your cowboy movies.

  Oh. My. God.

  No. She couldn’t stand here and watch Nick die. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She tried to shove her way out, tried to escape the horror. But she couldn’t move an inch in any direction. She was trapped.

  A small group of soldiers stepped up onto the platform. They parted to reveal a man standing in their midst, shirtless, hands tied behind his back, his head covered with a brown burlap bag.

  Her wail was swallowed by the roar of the crowd as the shirtless man was pushed forward. Panic stole any further breath from her. She had to do something! She couldn’t stand here and let this happen! But there was nothing to do. Nothing at all. Over a thousand rebel soldiers stood between her and Nick.

  In numb horror she watched the noose drop around his neck. Katy felt the rough hemp around her own neck, its fibers scratchy and painful. The hangman tightened it, and her own breathing hitched, constricted by the noose. The knot was adjusted off to the side a bit.

  Incongruously, beneath the wild screaming of the crowd, Katy heard Larry’s voice beside her saying, “Thank God they put the knot off center.”

  She leaned close to her partner and shouted in his ear, “Why’s that?”

  Larry shouted back, his gaze riveted on the platform, “The fall will break his neck this way. He won’t suffer. If the knot were centered behind his head, it’s possible he wouldn’t break his neck and would have to die of suffocation. Can take up to ten minutes.”

  If it was possible, her horror grew even more.

  Her gaze swiveled back to the platform, where some Army general stepped forward, waving a rifle over his head. He made a short speech in Arabic. It amounted to a pep talk whose theme ran along the lines of, “Kill, kill. Blood makes the grass grow!”

  Never once did her gaze leave Nick. He stood as still as a statue, never indicating that he heard the accusations being flung against him, never flinching as the general jabbed him a couple times with his rifle for emphasis.

  The crowd grew restless and began to shift and sway around her as Sharaf’s man whipped them into a frightening frenzy. Under normal circumstances, Katy would be scared witless to be caught in the midst of a violent, volatile mob. But she was too numb, too horrified, too agonized to care. She only prayed that somehow, some way, Nick felt her presence
and knew she was with him until the very end.

  The crowd shifted, and a couple of tall soldiers in front of her moved apart. For a moment she got an un-obstructed view of the platform.

  She stared.

  Stared some more.

  Someone stepped in front of her. Katy shoved the guy aside to stare again.

  She ignored the soldier’s grumble of complaint as certainty broke over her.

  That was not Nick standing up there.

  She knew every inch of his body. She knew every rib, every bulge of muscle, every nuance of skin over flesh and bone. And that was not Nick Ramsey’s chest.

  Oh, the build was similar. And this guy had a nice physique. But Nick’s stomach was more muscular, his shoulders broader. Overall, this guy was thinner than Nick, with a hint of softness about him that Nick didn’t have.

  The crowd surged forward as the general’s harangue finally drew to a close.

  Who was that man under the hood? And where was Nick?

  Katy stared in morbid fascination as the noose was tightened one more time and then the hangman stepped to a long lever beside the gallows post.

  A mighty roar rose from the crowd, then settled into an ear-splitting chant, repeated until Katy thought she was going to scream. They were calling for the king’s death.

  The hangman paused, his hand on the lever.

  The general gestured and the hangman nodded.

  Katy closed her eyes and turned her head away. She could not, would not, stand and watch a man die.

  Nick! She screamed silently. Where are you?

  Filtered light wavered past Nick’s eyelids. He became aware that his stomach rumbled with hunger and a touch of nausea. More details registered. He lay on a soft surface, not his customary rock ledge. And wherever he was, it was too bright to be his ten-foot cell. It was an effort against the dragging exhaustion pulling at him, but he pried his eyelids open. He was in a small but elegant bedroom. He frowned. Not the royal bedchamber, either. Glossy wood and silence surrounded him. And something else.

  Safety.

  He didn’t know where he was, but one thing he was sure of: it wasn’t Il Leone.

  He let his eyes drift closed. He hadn’t wasted much time sleeping over the past month on the theory that he had eternity to catch up on his rest. But the exhaustion and stress of living on the edge of death for so long had finally caught up with him. He slipped into unconsciousness once more.

  Katy staggered back to the hotel, led by somebody, but she had no idea who. She sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, too in shock to do anything but stare at the walls. Nick is not dead.

  Thank heavens.

  But where was he? The only thing she knew for sure was he hadn’t died by hanging at noon. Katy was beside herself with relief that Nick hadn’t been the man hanged in the palace. But on another level she was confused. Maybe even a little betrayed. He hadn’t told her an escape plan was in place. Nor had he contacted her to tell her he was alive. And that worried her. Had Sharaf done something to him worse than hanging? Was Nick alone and in pain somewhere? Or was he safe—already outside of Baraq? At least he wasn’t dead.

  She hoped.

  A droplet of sweat trickled down between her shoulders.

  A fly buzzed around her face, trying to land in the corner of her eye. She roused herself to swat it away.

  What was she supposed to do with herself now? Her whole reason for being in this godforsaken country was gone. Maybe not dead but definitely gone.

  As if in answer to her unspoken question, a knock rattled her door. “Katy?”

  It was Hazel Whittaker. She hadn’t seen the woman in weeks. Hazel had been assigned to a military base well outside of Akuba and was rarely in the hotel.

  Katy dragged her feet across the room and unlocked the door. “Hi, Hazel,” she mumbled.

  The no-nonsense woman didn’t beat around the bush. “Well, as usual, the men don’t know what to do with tears. They’ve sent me in here to deal with you.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need dealing with. I was just upset by having to watch that poor man be hanged.”

  “King Nikolas? Yes, that was gruesome. Can’t say as I ever had any great desire to see a man die that way.”

  Katy flinched at the sound of Nick’s name. “Look. I’m not going to fling myself out the window or anything. You don’t have to hang around patting my hand if you don’t want to.”

  Hazel laughed. “You don’t need hand-holding, girl. You’re a tough one, you are.”

  Katy blinked. “Me?”

  “Goodness, yes. We all know about the extra work you’ve been doing with that prisoner-informer you developed.”

  Guilt speared through her. Her teammates were well-meaning people doing good work for all the prisoners in Baraq. And she’d broken every rule they were all supposed to follow. She’d made a mockery of InterAid’s humanitarian mission.

  A tiny voice whispered at the back of her brain. Did Nick make a mockery of me?

  The next time Nick woke up, it was dark and his body ached from lying too long in one position. He was still in the beautifully appointed bedroom. And he still didn’t recognize it. Where am I?

  He threw back the covers and saw he was wearing a pair of silk pajamas he’d never seen before. Where did these come from?

  He stood and stumbled as the floor shifted beneath his feet. Must’ve been asleep for longer than he’d realized. He made his way to the crack of light that marked the doorway and reached for the knob to test it. It turned under his hand. Not locked in, then. Was this some sort of elaborate mind game his captors were playing? Cautiously he stepped out into the low, narrow hall. And immediately recognized his surroundings. This was a yacht of some kind.

  With a hand on the wall to steady himself while he found his sea legs, he made his way down the passageway. It opened out into a stunning salon in shades of white. Lamplight bathed white marble floors, and the walls of windows were black against the night. A low murmur of sound stopped as he stepped into the room.

  “Your Highness!”

  Kareem. Seated at the far end of the room, with two men whose backs were turned.

  Nick stepped forward. “Where am I?”

  The other two men faced him. He jolted as he recognized one of them. General George Nagheb. Sharaf’s right-hand man. What the hell? Had Kareem sold him out? Of all people, Kareem?

  The third man—a Caucasian he didn’t know—answered his question. “You’re on the ship Lucky Strike.”

  An appropriate name. For surely luck was involved with his being here. The last thing he remembered was finishing his last meal and lying down in his father’s bed that last night before his execution.

  “And I got here how?”

  “A chef at the palace slipped a drug into your supper and—” Kareem paused delicately “—rendered you unconscious. Guards loyal to your family were paid to look the other direction. Your double was sneaked into the palace via the secret passages to your chambers. You were carried out and he was left in your place.”

  Alarm sliced through Nick. “And what happened to him?”

  “He died—God rest his soul in peace—at noon yesterday.”

  Nick stared. He’d been drugged and sneaked out of the palace? He’d avoided his fate? Again? Yet again he’d failed to act as a king and die at the helm of his nation?

  And then the rest of it sank in: another man had died in his place. A bellow of rage built in his gut. He held it back with difficulty.

  “You let another man die so that I might live? What were you thinking?” His voice rose in fury.

  “I—we—were thinking that your nation needs you. That the sacrifice of one man’s life was worth Baraq having its rightful king. The man who took your place was a criminal sentenced to death anyway. His family has been taken care of very quietly in return for him agreeing to move up the date of his execution by several months. He seemed pleased to get a chance to make some restitution to society for his crimes before h
e died.”

  Nick scowled. That still didn’t make it right.

  “What’s done is done, Your Highness. Accept his gift and move on.”

  Move on. It wasn’t quite that simple. Now the whole world believed him to be dead and—oh, God—Katy. Katy believed he was dead. He lurched in panic. “I have to make a phone call. There’s someone I must speak to. I must tell her I am alive.”

  “Miss McMann?” Kareem asked.

  “Mrs. Ramsey,” he said through gritted teeth. He searched around the room for a telephone of some kind.

  “You will not be able to reach her now. She is on an airplane.”

  “Bound for where?” Nick asked sharply.

  “InterAid was summarily dismissed from Baraq within a few hours of your apparent execution. They were sent to London yesterday, and last I heard, the team is headed back to the United States as we speak.”

  Nick swore under his breath. He couldn’t imagine the suffering Katy must be doing right now, thinking he was dead. “I must get to America right away. Washington, D.C. I have to see her.”

  Kareem’s brow furrowed momentarily, then smoothed out again. Nick couldn’t tell if that was consternation or frustration his advisor was doing his best to hide.

  Nagheb spoke up. “Forgive me for intruding, but it would not be wise for you to see anyone just now, Your Highness. You must stay out of sight until certain arrangements can be made.”

  Nick flashed a look of irritation at the general, agitated at the thought of being prevented from seeing Katy right away. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you support Sharaf in the coup?”

  Kareem intervened. “Appearances can be deceiving, Your Highness. Sharaf prepared his coup for months. George and I knew long before your father finally passed away that Sharaf would move the moment your father died. We also knew we did not have the resources or support to stop Sharaf—”