Chapter 16 #2
Making his way to the second floor Grand Gallery, Michael braced for what he’d begun to dub the Scottie flutter—the movement in his chest when he heard her voice or clapped eyes on her.
Rather annoying, one might say, but easy to endure.
He’d almost rid himself of the sensation while she was home in Hearts Bend, but the moment she stepped off Royal One, it returned with jet boosters.
To be fair, the flutter indicated his heart was more than the cold rock he’d been carrying behind his ribs since Purnell’s final breath. For that he was a bit grateful.
Ah, there she was by the old bookcase tucked into an alcove. Breathe deep, mate. But Scottie’s smile only made those invisible wings being to flap all the more, and with the wispy light from the window crowning her hair, she looked somewhat like a vision.
“What are we up to, Lady Royal?” he said, pushing a casual tone into his voice. “Why are we meeting here? Not to jump from a window, I hope. Or sneak down a trellis. I must insist we take the stairs.”
“Very droll, Mr. Cross. We are taking the stairs.” With a sly look, she pulled a book from the shelf. “These stairs.” The bookcase became a door, revealing a lightless lower level and a spiral set of narrow iron stairs.
“The secret, secret passage?” He laughed, drawn instantly into the mystery and adventure of it. “When or how did you discover this?”
“Prince Gus showed it me during my first visit to Hadsby. But you must keep our secret. I’m only showing you because you saved my bacon twice and escorted me to see Fanatic Fickle.
Otherwise, it’s for royal children and a few choice friends only.
” She flipped the light switch, igniting a bare white bulb that did little to dispel the darkness.
“I see. Well blow me down, I’m a friend of Lady Royal Blue.” The stairs creaked with every descending step.
“You might need me, come the revolution,” Scottie said. “Rather, I might need you.”
“You jest, but given MP Fickle’s animosity toward your family—”
“—he’d gleefully lead a revolution?” Scottie glanced back at him. There was enough light to see the purpose in her eyes. “We’ll see,” he said. “Maybe you started a path to truth by visiting him. Blimey, it’s dark. Where are we going?”
They kept going by the light of their phones until a door appeared at the bottom of the stairs. It was locked with a keypad, but Scottie punched in the numbers.
When she turned the knob and pushed, nothing happened. She tried again to no avail. “Rats. Gus said it got jammed sometimes.”
“May I give it a go?” Michael reached round Scottie and with one muscled shove, the door relented. He glanced at Scottie, her face, her lips inches from his. “There. It didn’t take much.” He breathed in her skin, her hair, the fragrance that fanned the wings of the annoying flutter in his chest.
“I, um, loosened it for you,” she said, leaning close.
“No doubt at all.”
“We should—” She nodded toward the palace grounds where the late afternoon sunlight turned everything to gold.
Michael tried to speak but he had no words. Only what he felt. Which was passionate and dangerous.
“Go,” he whispered. “I’ll follow.”
Scottie took a step into him. “I’ll follow you,” she said, her eyes on his lips.
Don’t, ole chap. Don’t. Yet his heart drummed too loud for his ears to hear. He slipped his arm around her waist.
“Now what?” His voice was husky, a sound he’d not heard since… Had he ever heard it?
“Come to our senses?” Scottie rested her arm on his shoulder, her long frame leaning a bit more.
“That would be prudent.” Michael traced his finger across her forehead and down her temple. “But where’s the fun in prudent?”
“We might say you’re my protection officer. Or that I’m going home after the ball and you still love Purnell.”
“You argue for prudent then?” Despite a drip of disappointment, he raised her chin so he could see her eyes. So he could read what her soul was really saying. “I argue for the here and now, this moment, with the golden light on one side, the cover of dark on the other.”
“Then kiss me if you dare.”
Michael wrapped her in his arms as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her with a slight brush of his lips.
As the moment lingered, Scottie locked her arms around him and raised up the few inches she needed to kiss him back.
First with a breathy tenderness, then a fiery passion.
He gripped her jumper and fell against the metal doorframe, lifting her up so all her weight, all her burdens, were on him.
His fingers found the ends of her hair. In the distance, the sunny wind carried the crashing sound of the sea against the rocks and the call of a seagull.
Every inhale only deepened their glorious connection and for a moment, he believed there to be no end. Find him here, dead and gone, nothing but bones, locked in her embrace.
However, the thunder in his chest stole his breath, so he lifted his head and settled his hands against her face. “Hey.” Soft and low, his voice only for her.
“Hey,” she replied, her warm breath brushing his chin before she rested her head against his chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
“I can feel yours.”
Then the magic of the moment began to fade a little. He was tempted to stir it again with another kiss, but could they really stand in the castle’s secret doorway kissing all night? No matter how much he wanted to do so.
Scottie raised her head. “I guess we should…go. To the Belly of the Beast.”
“My dear Scottie,” he said. “I think we’re already there.”
He memorized her laugh to replay long after she’d gone back to Hearts Bend.
They started across the castle grounds toward the woods, the door to the secret passageway closing behind them. Michael glanced back to see if the door was actually there.
“It’s cold,” she said, shivering, hands dug deep in her jumper pockets. “Don’t you ever have summer in Lauchtenland?”
“One day in July,” he said, snatching her in his arms, wrapping her tight, caring not a whit if anyone saw them. “But you’ll be in Tennessee.”
“Let’s not go over it all again. You’re a Cross. I’m an O’Shay. End of story.”
“The beginning and the end with one glorious kiss in the middle.” One he’d experience in his dreams again and again.
Through the woods to the secret gate, they entered Centre Street toward Wells Line.
Michael’s hand bumped hers once. Scottie’s bumped his twice.
“Sorry,” they’d whisper to each other, but step-by-step, the taste of her kiss and the vibration of holding her in his arms burned into him.
Michael needed a tall pint to cool his blood.
If he ever felt like this before, he had no memory. And mates, he’d remember such passion.
“Yer royal!” Ernst greeted them, coming out from the bar, wrapped in his signature apron. “Sit. Table.” He pointed to the corner. “Stella! Fish. Chips. Pints.”
Michael reached round to hold Scottie’s chair, feeling more like a boyfriend than an equerry-slash-protection officer. He had to shake off this sensation.
“I love Ernst,” Scottie said, scooting up to their corner table. “He’s amazing.”
“He knows more about Lauchtenland and the House of Blue than anyone I know, except my dad. We should make him an honorary Cross.”
Scottie leaned toward him, elbows on the table, her blue eyes so bright. “Do you think he knows anything about the Fickles?”
Michael made a face. “Maybe. But let’s keep this to ourselves for now.” In time, he’d let her in on his plan.
“Pints. House.” Ernst patted his chest with one hand while setting down two tall glasses with the other. “Lady Royal, honor.” He took her hand in his and planted a fat kiss on her knuckles.
Scottie gave him her attention, not pulling away. It was well known that Prince John and Prince Gus were friends with the Belly of the Beast proprietor. The big man with the broken speech was winning over the queen’s daughter as well.
“There. Rough.” He pointed in the direction of the scuffle at the quay. “Folks. Lost minds. Safe here.”
“Ernst, do you know who may have held my legs that night? I reacted so fast, reaching for Mrs. Johansdotter, I didn’t consider I could go over too. But two strong hands held me in place.”
“Indeed. Hand. God. Emmanuel.” He pointed toward the window, toward the direction of the western cliffs where a large hand had been carved into stone by time, wind, and rain. Or as legend declared, by God Himself.
“Ernst,” Michael said. “Are you saying the Hand of God held onto Scottie?”
“Aye, mate. Aye.”