Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(107)
As night fell on Midsummer’s Day, the day that was to seal Damien and Penelope together forever, she felt the prophecy’s power ebb. Her mindless need for Damien, the constant pull to him, began to dissolve.
Penelope rose and went to him where he stood peering through a slit in the shutter. The crazed frenzy the prophecy had made her feel was different from what now nestled in her heart—caring for this man who’d risk everything to save his kingdom.
Fearing it would be for the last time, Penelope slid her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder.
Damien turned and gathered her against him. They swayed together in silence, arms locked around each other. Penelope knew the others watched them, felt the sympathy in their gazes as Midsummer’s Day faded and darkness filled the room.
* * *
The storm raged for three days. Then as suddenly as it had sprung up, the storm vanished. The wind died, the snow turned to rain, and then the clouds parted to reveal a half-melted world filled with black, slick mud.
During those three days they’d eaten and rested and kept each other warm without speaking much. There had been nothing to say.
Sasha was the most brokenhearted of them all. As they ventured outside into the sunshine, Penelope stretching out her arms and breathing the clear summer air, she heard Sasha say to Damien, “Do not go on to Nvengaria, I beg you, Your Highness.”
“And leave our country to Alexander’s mercy?” Damien asked, shaking his head. “My place is there. I will not give it up to him.”
“But he will execute you.” Sasha’s voice held fear and grief.
“Not without a fight, Sasha. I do not intend to meekly surrender.”
“Sasha has a point,” Egan broke in. He shook out his plaids and swirled them around his shoulders, a proud MacDonald once more. “You can return to England, Damien—or France or Rome or wherever the fancy takes you. You can live on some estate with your wife, growing old and fat and happy. Or the Highlands—I have a fine house near Ullapool, a bit drafty, but with quite a view. You’re welcome to stay there as long as you like, your servants and Sasha too. There’s some damn good fishing.”
Damien smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “It is generous of you, but no. What you can do for me is take Penelope back to England. She does not need to remain for this, and I have dragged her about long enough.”
Egan hesitated, looking as though he wanted to argue, then he nodded once, strangely subdued. “I would be honored.”
“Sasha as well,” Damien went on. “He deserves some rest and good fishing.”
Egan nodded again, but Sasha jerked his head up, his eyes going round with hurt.
Penelope stepped to Damien and cleared her throat. “One moment, Your Imperial Highness.”
For the first time in days, Damien fixed his gaze directly on her. “Something displeases you, Princess?”
“We are married,” Penelope said, her voice crisp. “Prophecy or no, I bound myself to you with vows, and you signed a license. We are also betrothed in the Nvengarian fashion, which you said was as binding as marriage. That means we are married twice over, does it not?”
“Yes,” Damien answered cautiously. “I will provide for you—both now and after I am deceased—you have no need of worry about that. In fact, my London solicitors have begun paying into an account for you ten thousand guineas per annum for you to use as you wish. The money is in a trust so that any future husband would not be able to touch it. It is for your sole use for your lifetime, and you may will it to anyone you please.”
Penelope stopped, her prepared speech dying. “Oh.”
Egan whistled. “You are a generous man, Damien. Can I marry you?”
“I do not want your money,” Penelope said in a shaky voice.
“You do,” Damien said. “It is the least I can do for you for wedding me. I regret that it has not been a marriage worthy of you.”
Penelope planted her hands on her hips. “Please cease speaking to me as though we have only just met. I am a princess of Nvengaria and your wife. I am coming to Nvengaria with you.”
Damien’s eyes turned flinty. “I can face Alexander and his execution squad with more ease if I do not have to fear for your life. I prefer to know that you are safely on your way to England and Little Marching with Egan to protect you.”
“And I do not wish to be shunted aside like an inconvenient wife,” Penelope returned. “Nvengaria is mine as well as yours. The prophecy says so. I want to face down Alexander standing right next to you.”
Sasha clasped his hands. “Well said, Your Highness. I will go with you, to laud your name.”
“No, you will not,” Damien snapped.
“I believe we have you outnumbered, sir,” Petri broke in, determination on his face. “I’ve never deserted you since we were twelve years old, and I’m not going to begin now.”
Titus stepped behind Petri, folding his arms to show his young muscles, equally as determined to remain.
Damien swept his angry gaze over them all. “The danger is not simply to me, you brave idiots. Anyone who supports me will be suspect. Even if Alexander spares your lives, you will live out your days in a dark cell. Egan might be escorted to the border with an armed guard, never allowed to return. Although I’d not be surprised if Alexander’s men shot him, claiming he tried to help me escape.”