CHAPTER 4
Lysa’s nerves were on edge.
She’d agreed to all that had happened but had not realized, at the time, just how out of place the whole experience would be.
She was a creature of the familiar. Change was not something she actively sought.
But John had assured her that everything was okay.
This would be short-lived and vitally important.
And though she had reservations she sincerely believed that her husband would never mislead her.
They met nearly thirty years ago at a social gathering held at Stirling Castle in southern Scotland.
She’d been there on behalf of her philanthropic foundation that dealt with dyslexia, an affliction she herself suffered from.
They dated for nearly three years before he proposed, and they were married inside the royal chapel, in Stockholm, at the palace.
Her brother the king had not been thrilled but, to his credit, he’d not been an obstacle either.
She’d worn a fabulous gown made at M?rthaskolen, the famed Stockholm couture school where, in her youth, she’d been a student. Everything had been perfect.
What a wonderful day.
And her life changed.
Long ago, prior to her brother marrying, she’d acted as First Lady of the realm and hosted events at the palace. So being in the spotlight was not foreign to her. But when Queen Ingrid came along, she was relegated to a different role.
Which was okay.
The king needed a wife, the nation a queen, and Ingrid took her position seriously.
That was the way of the monarchy.
As was another long-standing rule.
Once she married a commoner she lost her title as Her Royal Highness.
Now she was Princess Lysa, Mrs. Westlake.
An odd designation that Wilhelm himself had created.
But she never minded. She was old school.
And liked being called Mrs. Westlake. She was also, like her mother, a strict believer in the Bible.
Ephesians 5.
Wives, obey your husbands as you obey the Lord. The husband is the head of the wife, just as Christ is the head of the church people. The church is his body and he saved it. Wives should obey their husbands in everything, just as the church people obey Christ.
Which was why she was here. Doing what God instructed.
Pleasing her husband.
A soft knock came at the door.
She’d been sitting alone in the third-floor bedchamber for several hours. Waiting. An hour ago the staff had provided her cookies and tea. Perhaps they had returned to retrieve the cart?
The door opened and a woman entered. The same one who had been there yesterday. In her early forties. Shimmering ebony hair and skin. Trim and fit. Definitely British. Introduced with a double surname as Monica Butler-White.
“How are you doing?” Monica asked with a smile.
“A bit bored, but comfortable. Have you heard from John?”
“He is here, in the country. At the royal palace.”
“Meeting with my brother?”
She nodded.
Really? That was most unusual.
Her brother and husband did not get along. For years she tried to bridge the gap, but neither of them seemed interested.
“It was the king himself who summoned Mr. Westlake,” Monica said.
“Can you tell me what is happening?”
“Truthfully, I do not know. I work for your husband, but he has not made me privy to his plans. All I know is that it deals with his business, in some manner, and is vitally important. I was charged with getting you out of Stockholm. I am sure he will explain it all when he comes here. In the meantime I wanted to make sure all was good and that you are comfortable. You are going to need to stay here until tomorrow afternoon. I trust Mr. Westlake explained that as well.”
“He did, and I am glad to help out. I must say, all that intrigue with me leaving from Stockholm was exciting.”
“I can imagine. A far cry from the usual social gatherings.”
“What is it you do for John’s company?”
“I am more a consultant that assists him from time to time on special projects.”
“From England?”
Monica nodded. “Based in Oxford.”
“John has a great many stores scattered throughout Great Britain and Russia. A large presence, you know. So many employees.”
“You sound proud.”
“I am. He is quite successful. Sadly, and you may not know this, but my brother never approved of my marriage. He never thought we would last. But we have. Twenty-six years next month.”
“That is a wonderful accomplishment.”
“We are planning a trip to Bora Bora. One of those huts over the water. Just the two of us for a week. It should be wonderful.”
“He must love you dearly.”
Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church people. He gave his life for the church. So husbands should love their wives, as they love their own bodies. The man who loves his wife loves himself.
“He truly does, and I him. I do want to know, though, is my precious Christina okay?”
Her dog. A purebred Pomeranian. Black and tan fur. Her baby, as she and John had never had children of their own.
“I took her back to your residence myself, and she is safe.”
“I miss her. Could she be brought here?”
“I am afraid not. But you will be back with her tomorrow afternoon. Now I must handle some other matters. If you require anything, just let the man outside the door know. He is there to assist.”
Monica left.
Lysa sat alone by the window and admired the forest outside.
A steady rain peppered the long narrow glass.
She was north of Stockholm, on Bjorko Island in Lake M?laren.
Nearby, on other islands, the first town in all of Scandinavia was founded in the eighth century, by the king of Svea, which was now central Sweden.
The islands back then played home to craftsmen and merchants who lived in modest houses overlooking jetties where boats rocked at anchor.
From there the king’s warriors, Vikings, had headed out to sea on their maundering expeditions, which had brought fame and fortune.
Christianity also first came to Sweden somewhere nearby in the eighth century.
Bjorko itself was full of cliffs, trees, and juniper-covered slopes.
She’d once visited an archaeological dig here that had been fascinating. All in all a lovely place.
Where she would wait until tomorrow.
As a loving wife did.