McKinnon's Royal Mission. Amelia Autin
to her delicate ears.”
“Speaking of the princess,” Liam said, “how did you want to work the schedule?”
“I’ve got her teaching schedule here, along with a few other things,” Trace said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket, and handing copies to each man. “Classes don’t begin until the end of August, but she’ll be starting work at the university on Monday. The limousine will take her to the campus every weekday, Monday through Friday, leaving at seven sharp, and will pick her up on campus at five, returning her here.”
He grimaced. “Weekends are going to be a nightmare unless I can nail her down to a set schedule. The same goes for weekday evenings if she wants to go out. Word from Zakhar through diplomatic channels is that she doesn’t intend to act in any way that will draw attention to herself. Apparently the princess is sincere in wanting to do nothing more than teach. But time will tell.”
He looked at the Jones brothers. “I thought it would be best for us to take it in rotation—two days on and four off, then on again. That means three long working days out of every seven for the three of us. But it gives us full coverage of the princess when she’s out of the house, and we all get plenty of time off. How does that sound?”
Liam glanced at Alec, who nodded. “Works for us,” Liam said.
“I’ll take the first rotation, starting tomorrow,” Trace said. “Decide between the two of you who’ll take the second rotation—just let me know what you decide, and I’ll post a schedule. If something comes up and you need to switch off, I’m okay with it as long as I know in advance. There might be occasions when I’ll have to switch off with one of you myself—I could be called to testify in a couple of trials that are still pending on an old case, but I’ll know well in advance and we’ll work something out.”
He looked at Liam and Alec and saw no objections, so he continued. “You both have rooms here on the estate, as do I. I’ve already been over the entire house, as well as the estate’s outbuildings and the grounds, and I’ll show you around in a minute. You can stay here every night, or make your own arrangements for the days you’re off duty—it’s up to you. Again, this has all been prearranged with the king, so I don’t expect any opposition from the princess. And in order to carry out State’s request we’re going to need to be around her as much as possible, even in the house.”
“Understood,” Alec said promptly. “What kind of security does the estate have?”
“Active and passive. Some of the systems were already here, some were just installed two weeks ago. I’ve got a list of the specs, and when I brief the princess and her staff later on, I’ll give both of you copies. This really shouldn’t be anything new for them—I’m told the palace in Drago has a similar setup. But there might be some little quirks, and I don’t want anyone to set off an alarm accidentally. Just in case someone does, you’ll both have all the keys and codes necessary. Anything else you need to know?”
“That’ll do it for now, I think,” Liam said with a quick look at his brother.
“Oh,” Trace said. “One more thing. I plan to spend much of my time here, even when I’m not on duty. I live in Denver, but I’m subletting my condo for the duration, so I’ll be around a lot. I’ve also got a cabin outside Keystone, so if I’m not here or visiting your sister and my goddaughter, that’s most likely where I’ll be. I’ll give you the address later.” He fixed them both with a sharp look. “You’ve already got my cell phone number. If anything happens, the second thing you do is contact me.”
“And the first?” Alec asked.
“Protect the princess.”
* * *
Night had fallen and Trace was exhausted as he made the rounds of the estate. The day had been even more hectic than he’d expected, mostly due to the fact that the princess wasn’t what he’d expected. In addition to the dispute over the bedrooms, she’d taken immediate exception to Trace’s insistence that she be guarded every time she stepped out of the house.
He’d caught her walking out that very afternoon, cool as you please, dressed for riding and heading for the stables—her horses had been shipped by sea and rail and had arrived the week before—and Trace had taken her to task. That had started a battle royal, which he’d won only by invoking the name of the princess’s brother. “You may ride,” he’d told her in no uncertain terms, “but not alone. Period. End of discussion.”
That hadn’t been the end of the discussion, not by a long shot. But when Trace had finally told her the orders weren’t his, they were the king’s, she had stopped arguing instantly. I’ll have to remember that for the future, he told himself now with a wry smile. He wasn’t sure whether it was the king or the brother she was deferring to, but either way he’d discovered the magic word. “In the future, Princess, let me know when you want to ride,” he’d told her, “and I’ll make sure one of us is prepared to ride with you.”
Unfortunately, when he’d raised the issue with Alec and Liam, he had a rude awakening. “Sorry, McKinnon,” Alec had said with regret. “We don’t ride.”
That just left him to accompany the princess, and he foresaw a curtailment of his free time if she insisted on riding on the days he wasn’t officially working. He didn’t think she would be amenable to riding only three days a week, and not even the same three days each week at that.
Then there had been the issue of meals. He, Alec and Liam all had rooms in the estate’s guest house, which came complete with an adequate kitchen and a well-stocked pantry. Trace had planned to fend for himself at mealtimes, and had assumed Alec and Liam would do the same. But the princess had other ideas.
“That is silly,” she’d told him. “There is a perfectly good meal already prepared, and will be every night. My chefs are Le Cordon Bleu trained—artistes—and they would be insulted to think you prefer to eat your own cooking instead of theirs.”
When Trace had tried to explain that the hired help didn’t expect to share her table, her green eyes had flashed. “I do not eat in solitary splendor,” she’d told him firmly. “There are many in my household who eat with me.” He’d given in with as good grace as he could muster, not wanting another battle, but then he’d realized she’d actually done them a favor. Their presence at her table would be the perfect opportunity to listen to the conversations between the princess and the rest of her household, whether spoken in English or Zakharan.
Then, when they were all at the dinner table, he’d noticed she wasn’t eating. Not much, anyway. She’d passed on several dishes that were offered to her, settling for a plain piece of bread without butter and a dish of custard. She hadn’t made a big deal out of it, and no one else in her household had seemed to think it worthy of comment, but he’d noticed. And wondered. It wasn’t until he was wandering through the kitchen after dinner and overheard her cooks—chefs—he’d reminded himself, talking to each other in voluble French about that very same custard that he learned why.
Motion sickness.
Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? He’d been concerned when she first appeared in the plane’s doorway, had suspected something was wrong, but then had let himself be distracted by her peremptory demand that her Zakharian bodyguard let her go. Maybe that even explained her curt response to the man’s offer of help. Maybe she hadn’t meant to be so cold, but was just feeling out of sorts the way anyone might when they were sick.
The princess was full of contradictions. Maybe that’s why he felt so tired—he never knew what to expect. Guarding her had become an impossible mission already, and it was only the first day—things could easily get worse. Trace murmured to himself, “‘Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it,’” using a phrase Mission Impossible had made famous, making the impossible seem possible. Then he laughed ruefully. If they could accomplish impossible missions, so could he—he’d done it before, hadn’t he? All he needed was a little cooperation from the princess.
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