Chapter 6 #2
Scottie emerged on the north side of the castle. Lights burned from nearly every ancient window.
“It’s stunning, isn’t it? I try to imagine the centuries of life lived here.”
“There used to be a high stone wall round the grounds until the eighteenth century,” Michael said. “After Perrigwynn was built, the family neglected this place for a hundred years. When German bombs from the second war nearly destroyed the castle, they changed their ways.”
“I’m glad. I love it here.”
“As do I.” His tone made her turn. His eyes were fixed on her. “Ah—shall we go?”
“Michael,” Scottie said as they walked. “What did Ernst mean when he patted his chest and said ‘better’?”
The man lengthened his stride, moving ahead.
“Was that a personal question?” She hurried to catch up. “About you?”
“Yes. And one not suited for this late hour.”
“I disagree. Late hours are perfect for personal questions. The dark makes us honest.”
He stopped and faced her. “I am your equerry and protection officer. Personal matters aren’t part of the equation.”
Yet his tone carried something deeper, and she waited. If she’d overstepped, he’d brush it off. If not—
“Why do you want to know, Lady Royal? You’ll be away by June’s end, back to your life in Tennessee.”
“It’s how we do things at O’Shay Shirts. We’re a family. Since you’ll be my shadow for the next month and a half, I’d like to know what’s in your chest.”
“Purnell Lindholm,” he said quietly. “She’s in my chest.”
“She broke your heart?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Any chance of reconciliation?”
“No.” He started walking again. “She died.”
“Goodness, Michael. I’m sorry. I’m nosy. My dad tells me all the time. I think everyone’s my friend the moment we meet. Not close friends, but—”
“Lady Royal.” His sharp reply hit the dark.
“If I didn’t want to speak of her, I’d have said so.
She died eighteen months ago. Everyone knows.
Even the queen. I feared my grief over her caused me to miss the foul play round Prince John at the North Sea Island Nations’ Summit. Yet work…work kept me sane.”
“How’d she die?” Scottie asked softly.
“She contracted an infection that turned into sepsis. She hid it from me, from her family, tried to manage on her own. By the time we caught on, it was too late.”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” She was moved by his composure and resisted the urge to ask more questions. His words seemed to slice open his heart so that he could speak as he did. “At least you’ve known a great love. More than I’ve known.”
He glanced at her. “You’ve never been in love?”
“Not really. I danced with the idea, but it turns out my one candidate was still in love with his ex-wife. Which is partly why I’m here. I called Kate the night he told me. She invited me over for the spring season.”
“You were willing to leave O’Shay Shirts over a man?”
“No. Cap Henderson merely shoved me over the edge.” She sighed softly.
“When I first learned about Kate, I resisted. I had a life. Didn’t need a mum at thirty-five.
A year later she sent John after me. Then she got sick.
I came to see her and…for the first time in my life, I had a mother.
I thought I could carry on as usual and visit Kate at Christmas, maybe in the summer.
But this past year, I’ve been restless. I’ve missed her.
Missed John and Gemma, Gus and Daffy. My nieces and nephew. ”
“You’re lucky to have a mum you want to spend time with. Not everyone’s so blessed.”
“That’s a cloaked confession. You don’t have a mum you want to spend time with?”
“As I said”—His voice cooled slightly—“not everyone’s so blessed.” He hunched his shoulders, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from further probing. “We should go in. It’s late, and I need to report the quay incident.”
“Blame it all on me, Michael. Please.”
He said nothing, but the faint gleam of his smile suggested he planned to do exactly that.
At the main door, he entered the code and held it open, stopping her at the threshold. “Tell me of your secret escape.”
“No can do.”
“Lady Royal, the HMSD must know of any possible breach in our—”
“There’s no breach. Just a hidden door. You can’t get in from the outside.”
“But you can leave from the inside?”
“Goodnight, Michael Cross.” She stepped into the Grand Foyer. “I suppose social media will be buzzing with videos about tonight.”
“Yes, so be prepared. Lady Royal, where is the passageway?”
“I don’t check social media. Waste of time, thief of life.
Tell me if I need to know anything.” She’d once followed royal accounts after embracing her heritage, but a year of snide commentary—down to criticizing the way she held her fork—had cured her.
“Michael, can we find the man who held my legs? And I’d love to meet the woman and her little girl. Invite them to dinner, maybe?”
“I’ll make inquiries.”
At that, they said goodnight. With his curiosity about the passageway on his august face, he turned down the corridor and disappeared around the stairs.
Scottie climbed to the Grand Gallery, the hush of the castle pressing close. Her body was worn from the chaos on the quay, her mind replaying the cries, the pressure of the woman’s grip still on her arm. But beneath the exhaustion, something else lingered.
The presence of Michael Cross.
The weight of grief when he spoke of Purnell was palpable. The hesitation—no, regret—when he mentioned his mother, like a story he didn’t want to tell.
Outside the Princess Charlotte suite, she met Cranston on patrol.
“Her Majesty is sleeping peacefully, miss,” the butler said. “She’s terribly grateful you’re here. She asked after you once the nurses settled her.”
“I’m glad to be here too, Cranston. My mother, however, may feel differently in the morning.”
“Whatever do you mean, miss?”
“You’ll know soon enough. Good night, Cranston.”
The truth was, Scottie didn’t know how Kate would respond to her late-night adventure or the chaos she’d stirred.
In her suite, she switched off the lights and headed to her room, beyond exhausted. She might just fall face-first into the pillows, clothes and all.
But Choko, dear Choko, had laid out her pajamas, set a tea trolley beside the bed with a warming kettle and snacks, and had even drawn a steaming bath filled with soaking salts and left a towel on the warmer.
After peeling off her clothes, Scottie brushed her teeth, twisted her hair into a knot then sank into the steaming water, burning the cold from her bones.
Again, the night replayed in her mind—music, shouts, the cold quay, the woman’s cries, the strong hands on her legs. The cozy, warm pub. Ernst. Stella. Michael.
“Where I go, you go.”
Scottie opened her eyes. Her promise at the pub. She hadn’t meant it to sound so personal, but under the cover of night, that’s exactly how it felt.
* * *
“What in blazes happened on the Dalholm quay last night? Did you see Lady Royal save that woman? If you ask me, she’s earned a Crown’s Distinguished Honor. It can go to anyone, right?”
— @RoyalWatcherOne
* * *
“I saw the video. Lady Royal pushed a woman and a child over the quay. Then tried to save her. What a blooming fraud. Send her home. No more royal Americans. We’re through!”
— Lauchten LOUD! on
* * *
“‘Initial investigation on the Old Hamlet incident reveals no foul play,’” said Dalholm Chief of Police, Ian Clock.
“‘We’ve looked at all the evidence and have determined the crowd on the quay simply got too close. If anyone has more information or a different testimony, please contact the DPD hot line.’”
— The Daily Dalholm Update
* * *
“‘I’ve watched the videos of Lady Royal leaping to save Mrs. Johansdotter and I’m telling you it’s staged.
Or an AI video. Look at how she seems to jerk back as she grabs on to her hand.
As if someone is holding onto her. Certainly a doctored video would not be impossible for Michael Cross, a decorated Special Forces major and a member of the Cross family. He’s trained, strong, crafty.’”
— Lt. Colonel Roland Hawkin, former chief of Her Majesty’s High Command on Tuppence Corbin & Friends