Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Scottie
Her legs were rubber as Michael steered her away from the quay. Her heartbeat still kicked against chest, and she couldn’t seem to draw in enough air.
“In here, miss.” Michael ducked into the Belly of the Beast, steering Scottie into a shadowed corner by the blazing stone fireplace.
She plopped into a chair, glancing around the nearly empty pub and nervously pushing her hair back from her face.
“Did that just happen?” She leaned toward Michael. “I can’t stop shaking.”
Michael motioned to the proprietor behind the bar—a burly man in a sailor cap and a dull white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, his long braided beard tucked into his undershirt.
“Ernst, can we have some water?”
The man raised a finger and nodded. “Stella!” He poked his head through the kitchen pass-through. “Cross man, Lady Royal, here. Fish, chips. W and P.”
Scottie rested her head in her hands. “I keep seeing her dangling there, clutching her daughter. What if I’d lost my grip?”
She looked up as a pretty server with short curls and bright eyes set down two bottles of water and two frosty pints.
“Thank you.” Scottie twisted off the cap and took a long drink, but the water only churned her nerves. “I might be sick.”
“Take a deep breath.” Michael covered her hand with his. “If you need, the loo’s in the corner.”
“Give me a sec.” She leaned back, staring at the golden flames licking the hearth. Outside the paned window, people drifted past, heading up Wells Line toward Centre Street. “I don’t even know her name. Why’d you rush me out of there?”
“Because that lot was drunk and fired up. Didn’t you hear them chanting ‘No more Americans’?”
“Do you think they’d really hurt me?”
“Sadly, yes. The RECO party is very anti-monarchy. Small yet vicious.”
“Surely those who support the monarchy would—”
“Stand by with their phones, filming as you’re thrown over the quay, then lament it later?
Maybe. I am not taking any chances. What a selfish lot, letting that woman dangle there with her little girl while they gawked.
We’ll see how many post the footage for their socials, hoping to go viral.
” He withdrew his hand. “You’re not in America, Scottie.
You’re not in small-town Hearts Bend with your white picket fences and Uncle Joe on the porch picking his guitar and grinning. ”
“You’ve been watching Andy Griffith reruns,” she shot back. “We live in the twenty-first century in Hearts Bend, Michael. I know the world’s dangerous.”
“Even more so because you’re now part of a unique and elite family. You can’t run off on your own. What were you doing out here?”
“I needed some air.”
“Air? Stand by Whistlecrag Bluff and breathe in half the North Sea but at least tell me first. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you must notify me or Operations. Your protection is my responsibility.” Michael looked as stricken as she felt.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t think.”
“In this world, that sort of thing can get you killed.”
“Is this about Prince John? Kate told me of the incident in Brighton Kingdom. The attempt on his life. You were cleared, and tonight was my fault. I’ll own it.”
“No, it’s not about Prince John,” he said. Yet to Scottie’s ears, there was doubt in his reply. “But I’d like to avoid a repeat incident, Scottie. Even if you take the blame, I’m right there with you. I don’t get the privilege of blaming you. So please—help me by letting me help you.”
“Okay, okay.” Part chastened, part grateful, she felt something deeper in his plea, almost as if he needed more from her than a daily report of her whereabouts.
But what could Michael Cross possibly want from her?
When their eyes met across the worn table, her trembling began to ease. The thumping in her ears faded.
“Where I go, you go,” she said.
“Thank you.” He exhaled and smiled faintly. “Except, not to the loo.”
She laughed and toasted him with her water. “Not the loo.”
“Yer royalness. Welcome.” Ernst, whom Scottie had met before with Gus and Daffy, took a sweeping bow, then stepped aside for a dark-haired woman in a stained apron carrying two platters of fish and chips. “My Stella.” He patted her shoulder. “Good wife. Jolly husband.”
Scottie smiled as Stella bobbed a curtsy, a feminine version of Ernst, minus the beard, of course. Her figure was soft and curvy, her cheeks pink from the kitchen heat.
“Yer Blues,” the woman said warmly. “Family.”
When they’d gone, Michael handed Scottie a napkin roll and took up his own. “Salt of the earth, as they say. If you’re ever caught in a mob again in the Old Hamlet, run here. Ernst will hide you.”
Scottie stared at her plate—fish and chips, gravy, and mushy peas. It was late, and she was more tired than hungry, despite the divine aroma.
“Do you think they’re okay? The woman and her daughter?”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Michael raised his pint. “Why’d you need air, Scottie?”
“I don’t know. I felt overwhelmed. Kate was so weak she could barely eat.
I was spoon-feeding her.” Scottie dipped a fry in gravy.
“Please keep that between us. Also, I told her I forgive the past. We’d agreed to move on from it when she just…
collapsed. I called for help, and two nurses rushed in and dismissed me immediately.
Michael, the queen has two nurses on staff.
Doesn’t that mean her Guillain-Barré is serious? ”
“No, it means she’s the queen of Lauchtenland.”
“I finally have a mother, and she’s gravely ill.” Scottie looked away. “Sorry, I’m being dramatic.”
“You’re being a daughter.”
“When I went for air, I heard the music, so I followed it.” Scottie broke off a flaky corner of fish. “The music was good. It felt like home. Then someone recognized me. I tried to deny it.”
“Scottie, how did you even sneak out of the palace? None of the cameras caught you.”
She grinned. “It’s a secret. A Blue family secret but Prince Gus roped me in.”
“I see. I presume you also know the gate code?”
“Obviously.”
He smiled despite himself. “Can you remember how you happened to lunge for the woman?”
Scottie thought for a moment, replaying the scene in fragments.
“I saw a break in the crowd and was about to run when I felt a large, warm hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw the woman falling over the edge. I jumped, barely catching her arm, which yanked me to the ground. I grabbed hold with my other hand, trying to pull her up. I kept thinking someone would help but no one did. I was so grateful for the man holding my legs.”
“What man? There was no one holding your legs.”
“Yes. A man, with very strong, warm hands. Just like the one that touched my shoulder.” She closed her eyes. “I wasn’t afraid.”
“I didn’t see anyone holding you, Scottie. It looked to me as if you were about to go over yourself.”
“Maybe he left when you got there. But why didn’t he help? When I felt him let go—that’s when I was afraid. My arms started to shake.”
“I see,” Michael murmured, glancing about the pub with a curious expression.
“What are you looking for, Michael? What are you not saying?”
“Nothing. Just interesting. Eat. You’ll feel better. Stella puts peace in her food.”
Scottie looked down at her overflowing plate. She’d eaten here before, and while the food was good, she didn’t remember it ever tasting like peace. Yet the next bite of flaky fish, dipped in gravy, tasted like Shug’s kitchen. Like home.
Across the pub, a table of locals caught her eye and gave a thumbs-up.
“Saved life. Two!” someone called, and a ripple of applause went around the room. Ernst watched from behind the bar with a guarded expression.
Michael leaned closer. “Don’t respond with more than a smile.”
“They think I saved her life.”
“Because you did. But you also put yourself at risk.”
“Excuse me?” She pushed aside her plate. “How do you make that out?”
“You’re a blooming stir stick, Lady Royal.
More than any royal in decades because you’re a mystery.
People are curious about you, the secret daughter of our queen.
They gravitate to the scandalous, to what makes them gasp.
Your story is the plot of every silly LTV1 film.
So mind yourself. You’re not free to wander about like a normal lass. ”
“Two lectures. One meal.” She sighed, suddenly drained. “Can we go so I can tuck my silly life into bed?”
“Scottie, wait. I didn’t say your life was silly. I said they were. The gawkers, the curious, the haters, even the lovers.”
“Then choose your words better.”
At the bar, she tried to pay, but Ernst refused. “On house,” he said, patting the scarred countertop. “Back. Come. Michael.” He thumped his chest. “Better. Give time.”
Outside, the May night carried a sharp chill and a slice of silver moonlight.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come to Lauchtenland.
Maybe she should’ve declined the title Lady Royal.
Michael called her a stir stick and rightly so.
How could she support her mother, the queen, if her very presence caused trouble?
Beside her, Michael’s even stride carried them up Wells Line toward Centre Street, away from the quay and the echoes of the night.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just…overwhelming. More than I realized.”
“My apologies as well, Lady Royal.” His voice gentled. “We’ll figure this out together.”
“I should check on Kate,” she said. “But she’s probably asleep.”
“We can inquire of the nurse. She’ll be awake.”
At the security gate tucked behind the trees, Michael punched in the code and stood aside for her to pass.
The path through the woods toward the palace, lined with lavender, heather, was narrow and uneven. Scottie ducked beneath a low branch, stubbing her toe on a root. Yet here, she felt she could breathe.
“What are these woods called?” she asked.
“Don’t know that they have a name.”
“Everything royal has a name.”
He chuckled low. “I’ll find out. Maybe something simple like Dalholm Woods or Hadsby Forest.”