The Princess's Bodyguard

Adele reached across the table, grabbed one of Matt’s hands and squeezed it pleadingly. “You can help me. Call my father and tell him that you couldn’t find me, that I wasn’t with Yves. I need more time. Pippin and his people need more time.”

“Look, honey, why don’t you just tell your father that you are not going to marry the duke? He can’t force you to marry him, can he? After all, it’s a free country and…” Realization dawned. “Sorry, princess. Orlantha isn’t a free country, is it? Your father could force you to marry old mule face, couldn’t he?”

Now she was getting through to him. Finally. She squeezed his hand again and gave him a pathetic little look of total helplessness. “Please, help me, Mr. O’Brien. Matt…”

He jerked his hand free, squinted as he glowered at her and then grinned, a rather cocky, smug grin that gave Adele a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re good, honey. You’re very good. You almost had me, there. I was this close—” he indicated how close with his thumb and forefinger “—to buying your act.”

Adele clenched her teeth. Trying to fight Matt O’Brien didn’t work. But neither did trying to charm him. And getting any help from the innkeeper or the maid apparently wasn’t possible. So, that left her with only one option—she had to escape. But how? He watched her every minute. The man had even made her leave the bathroom door halfway open when she’d undressed. The bathroom! The bathroom window. It was small and would be a tight squeeze, but she thought she might be able to slip through it and out onto the inn’s roof. After that she’d find a way to get down to the ground. If only she could steal the car keys first, she would have transportation and wouldn’t have to telephone Yves to meet her and then strike out on foot in the middle of the night. But if necessary, that’s exactly what she’d do. She’d slip out the window, get down to the ground, go back inside the inn and call Yves.

She would have to bide her time. Her bodyguard would have to sleep eventually. All she had to do was wait.

After Matt had seen through her little ruse, the princess had foregone any more pleasantries. They had eaten in relative silence, then she had gone to bed. Although he was nearly a foot taller and twice her size, he was forced to take the sofa, which was too short for his length and probably damn lumpy to boot. He gathered up his still-damp clothes from the floor and hung them over a couple of chairs he positioned in front of the fireplace. Her Highness went to sleep almost immediately after Matt turned off the lights. He stoked the fire before bedding down for the night.

Unable to find a comfortable position on the sofa, he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Finally he closed his eyes and relaxed. He’d been trained to go days without sleep if necessary, and his gut instincts told him that tonight would be one of those you’d-better-stay-awake nights. The princess had gone to sleep too quickly, had given up her persuasive tactics too easily. She was definitely up to something, probably no good. If he knew women—and he did know women—this stubborn, contrary lady would attempt an escape before daybreak.

Hours later—he wasn’t quite sure of the time, but figured it was well over into the morning—Princess Adele slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door. Matt didn’t move. He’d give her a few minutes. Maybe she had to use the facilities. Matt listened. Sometime in the past few hours, it had quit raining. The minutes ticked by, then he heard the creaky groans of a window opening. He shot straight up. She was going to try to escape through the bathroom window. She was probably just small enough to fit through the narrow opening. He figured she’d changed into her damp clothes that she’d laid out on the bathtub. Why, God, why had he gotten stuck with this assignment?

Matt grabbed his own still-damp clothes and dressed hurriedly. When he thought he’d given her just enough time to make it through the window, Matt opened the bathroom door. The room was empty; the window was open. He sighed, shrugged and then turned around and headed toward the door leading into the dimly lit hallway. Only the faint moans of an old building intruded on the predawn quiet. He took his time going down the stairs, through the small lobby and out the front door. The best thing to do was station himself in the corner and wait for her to descend from the roof. He hoped she didn’t break her fool neck in the process.

Suddenly in his peripheral vision Matt caught a glimpse of movement about twenty feet away. He leaned back against the stone wall and held his breath. Had Adele gotten down that quickly? He stared out into the darkness, lit only by hazy moonlight barely visible after the storm. That’s when Matt saw them. Two men, average size by the looks of their dark forms. They were speaking quietly. Too quietly for Matt to hear what they were saying. Then one of them pointed up, toward the roof. Both men moved forward. Matt eased slowly, carefully along the front porch until he reached the side of the inn, then he dashed off the porch and straight toward the nearest tree. He slid behind the huge tree, then looked up where he saw another dark form, small and curvy, as it climbed down a trellis attached to the side of the inn. Princess Adele. The two men waited, one on either side of the trellis.

Damn, they were waiting for Adele. But who the hell were they? And how had they known where Adele was? Unless they had followed her, followed them, to the inn. He hadn’t paid much attention to the traffic once he’d felt certain that Yves Jurgen hadn’t followed them. It had never crossed his mind that someone might be stalking the princess.

Matt watched while Adele descended—right into the arms of her waiting captors. Hell, he’d have to go get her, and that probably meant roughing up a couple of tough guys. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any gunplay involved. He hated like the devil to deal with the foreign police.

Adele let out a piercing scream. Matt checked his 9 mm gun, sucked in a deep breath, then marched forward, like the calvary to the rescue.

Chapter 4

A dele didn’t recognize her attackers, but it was dark and she was scared to death. Although it was possible that these men were muggers, her instincts warned her that they were somehow connected to the Royalists and thus connected to Dedrick. There was no way anyone could have known where she was unless she’d been followed—or unless Matt O’Brien really wasn’t working for her father.

She didn’t have much time to think about what was happening to her. A sweaty hand clamped over her mouth seconds after she screamed. If Matt was on the up-and-up, maybe he’d heard her cry for help. Adele tried to fight off the assault, but she didn’t have the strength to struggle against two men intent on subduing her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, another man appeared. Taller and bigger than the two holding her. With the swift, deadly ability of a trained soldier, the man attacked, ripping her from captivity and shoving her to freedom. Then when the two culprits surged toward him, he used his entire body as a weapon. His hands. His feet. His head. He landed blow after blow, outmaneuvering and outsmarting his opponents. Adele stood to the side of the action scene and watched in silent amazement. She’d never seen anything like it outside a big-budget adventure movie. Even without being able to see him clearly in the semidarkness, she knew her rescuer was Matt O’Brien. She recognized his hard, lean physique.

When her two attackers lay on the ground, one apparently unconscious and the other moaning in agony, Matt grabbed Adele’s arm and dragged her away from the inn and toward the rental car they had abandoned hours ago during the rainstorm.

“Where are we—” she tried to question him, but he pulled her with him to the car, then opened the door and shoved her inside. She didn’t protest. Not this time.