King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

Satisfied with her choice at last, Juliana donned the dress, searched in the dresser for a scarf she could use, then hurried out. Her feet skimmed down the steps of the Grand Staircase, her hand just lightly touching the gilded handrail. She knew where the chapel was on the main floor, in the older part of the palace. She’d been there before when she was younger, but never like this. Never with a desire to alleviate suffering with prayer.

The chapel door was open, and Juliana checked on the threshold, startled. Someone else was already inside. Two someones, actually—both visible in the glow cast by the lit banks of votive candles. One man was kneeling on a prie-dieu in front of the altar railing, his head bowed; the other man was standing a little to one side watching the first man, but not so intently he didn’t see Juliana in the doorway when she paused there.

She slipped the scarf over her head, then slid into the last pew, not wanting to intrude. In the few seconds before she bowed her head in prayer she realized who it was who was here before her. I should have known, she told herself. Where else would he be? Then she resolutely emptied her mind of everything except those she was praying for and began the comforting litany of formal prayers from her childhood.

She didn’t know how long she prayed, just that—at the very end—Andre intruded on her thoughts again. Andre, who would be suffering tonight along with his subjects. So she added him to her prayer list. “Help him in his hour of need, Lord,” she whispered. “Help him find the words to comfort his people. And help him be strong enough to bear this alone. Amen.”

Alone, she thought. So alone in his role as Zakhar’s king. He would comfort others, but who would comfort him? She’d wanted to be that woman all those years ago. Had believed she could be. And if only he’d loved her, she would have been. He wouldn’t be alone now.

For the first time she saw not only what she’d lost eleven years ago, but what he’d lost, too. And in that instant a tiny thaw began. She didn’t recognize it at first. Didn’t realize that her thoughts of Andre at this moment...her prayers for him...and her presence here in the chapel were all reminding her that forgiveness was the path to true healing. She would never heal as long as she refused to forgive Andre. She would always be locked in the bitter past until she let go of her anger and pain, and to do that she needed to forgive him. Her heart would never be free until she did.

Juliana looked up just then and saw Andre rising from his kneeling position in front of the altar. Saw him turn tiredly toward his bodyguard and say something. Saw his bodyguard point in her direction, Andre’s gaze following where he pointed. Their eyes met across the distance. Locked. Held. And in her head she heard the words that had haunted her for eleven years. Come to me, Juliana. Come to me.

But this time they weren’t soft, seductive words. This time they weren’t a sensual lure. This time they were the cry of a man in pain, a man who needed someone to take the crushing weight of kingship from his shoulders for a moment. Just for a moment. A man who could be strong in all the ways he needed to be...if only he could let go and be weak for just a moment. If only he had a woman who believed in him. A woman to lend him her strength for that one moment when he couldn’t be strong on his own. Come to me, Juliana. Come to me.

Loving words. But not lying words. Not anymore.

Chapter 12

Suddenly Juliana realized Andre and his bodyguard were walking briskly toward her up the chapel’s main aisle, and she panicked. She slid from the pew and hurried out the door, her only idea to escape. Because she didn’t know what she would say to him. Didn’t know how she would react if he searched her eyes, not sure she could hide her feelings. She just knew she wasn’t ready to face him, not with everything she’d just come to understand so fresh in her mind.

She raced down the corridor, not caring that her scarf flew off and fluttered to the marble-tiled floor, not caring if anyone saw her running. Not caring if Andre saw her running, either. Then she heard footsteps behind her, not soft like hers; the determined tread of a man who wasn’t about to let her escape.

“Juliana!” he called. “Wait!” He caught her at the foot of the Grand Staircase, snagging her wrist and swinging her around effortlessly to face him. His other hand held the scarf she’d dropped, which he must have stopped to pick up. He didn’t say anything, just dropped her wrist so he could loop the scarf around her neck and tie it loosely. Then he stepped back, away from her, and she realized there were eyes everywhere. Not only Andre’s bodyguard, who’d followed his king as he raced to catch her, but the guards on duty at the front door, household employees crossing the vast expanse and who knew all else.