end with much mirth.
“I’m leaving, Henry.”
“Your mother never spoke of it.”
Hollyn fussed with the folds of her skirt again. She couldn’t wait to take it off and change into something less formal. “She doesn’t know.”
Those bushy brows drew together a second time. “But, Your Highness …”
She closed her eyes briefly, feeling swallowed up by a life that so many other young women in her kingdom considered a dream. For her, lately at least, it had become a nightmare.
“It’s Hollyn. Please, Henry, just call me Hollyn.”
When he stopped the car at a light, he turned with a tentative smile. “Hollyn.”
Despite her best efforts to remain firm, her eyes filled with tears.
“I need a holiday, Henry. Just a few days, a week at the most, to be by myself. My life has been decided since before my birth, and now, with all of the pressure to accept Phillip’s proposal … please.” Her voice faltered.
Perhaps it was that more than her words that caused Henry to nod. After all, she was known for her stoicism.
“The airport,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He sounded only marginally concerned when he asked, “And what am I to tell Her Majesty?”
Hollyn took a moment, drawing in a breath and working up the nerve to go against her mother’s wishes. No one crossed Olivia without expecting retribution.
“You are to tell her that, at my command, you dropped me off at the airport. I have a letter for you to give to her that will explain my decision and my whereabouts. It also instructs her not to censure you in any way for carrying out my orders.”
He smiled as he shook his head. “I’d do it anyway, you know.”
She did.
Their gazes caught in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Henry. I know this is an imposition.”
He shrugged and pushed his trademark black cap back on his forehead. “I’ve never considered you an imposition, Hollyn.”
Her eyes pooled with tears upon hearing her given name, uttered this time without any prompting. But there was no time to give in to sentiment, even if Henry would have allowed it. They had arrived at the small country’s only airport. Henry brought the limo around to a private entrance reserved for VIPs and royalty. They were shielded from prying eyes, although an industrious paparazzo or two had managed to breach security in the past. She held her breath, silently chanting, “Not today. Please, not today,” as Henry unloaded the luggage she’d stowed, unbeknownst to him, in the limousine’s trunk. He added to the trolley the three sleek designer bags whose contents she could barely remember packing, she’d done it so quickly. But then, where she was going, she wouldn’t need much. No ball gowns, no ostentatious jewels or tiaras. As she recalled, shoes had been optional.
“I hope you find what it is you seek,” he said softly once they were inside. Then he wrapped her in the kind of hug a father might, though her own wasn’t one for displays of affection, whether in public or private.
“At the moment, Henry, all I seek is peace.”
“Then that, my dear, is what I wish for you.” He kissed her cheek and stepped away. “Write?”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “I won’t be gone that long. As I said, a week at most.”
He remained serious. “Be in touch when you can.”
“Of course.”
An hour later, as she settled into one of the plush seats of the private jet she’d chartered, she thought of her request.
Peace.
She might as well have been asking for the moon. But with most of the paparazzi tied up at the annual garden party, and no one but Henry privy to her travel plans at this point, perhaps she would be able to make a clean getaway. She’d worry about a “clean arrival” once she got to where she was going.
Nate was seated on the deck of his home. He was finishing up a burger that he’d picked up from a local pub before heading home, and enjoying a cold beer when he spied the Cessna riding low on the horizon over Lake Huron.
Hell of an evening to land a seaplane, given the wind.
Even on the relatively protected waters of Heart Island’s Pettibone Bay, whitecaps sent waves crashing on the beach with unrelenting precision. Forecasters were calling for a doozy of a storm, likely to hit sometime before midnight. The islanders, especially those along the coastline, were battened down, ready. Storms such as these weren’t uncommon in summer, which was why people with any sense were already in for the night, their planes and boats secured to wait out the worst of the weather.
What in the hell was Hank Whitey thinking?
Sure, the pilot had a penchant for taking risks. Last week, he’d bluffed his way through their weekly poker game with a pathetic hand of cards. But Hank generally wasn’t one to take risks with his plane; the aircraft was his livelihood.
Nate went inside, set his unfinished beer on the counter and headed out. Not only was he curious about Hank’s explanation, but the man was also going to need a hand.
By the time Nate jogged down to the sand, Hank had already bypassed the dock at the Haven Marina, which was part of the resort Nate owned. On a really calm day, Hank might have moored there. Today, not a chance. The waves tossed the small plane around as if it weighed no more than a fishing bobber.
Nate would give Hank this. The guy was a capable pilot, even if his judgment was a bit questionable. Just beyond the plane, a jagged outcropping of rocks lined a slim finger of land that jutted to where a lighthouse stood. With the wind pushing toward those rocks, it took experience and skill to guide the Cessna toward the sandy beach instead.
Nate waited until the single engine was cut and the plane’s propeller finally stopped chopping the air before he kicked off his shoes and waded out into the thigh-deep water. The waves made keeping his balance difficult and the cuffs of his shorts were wet in no time. Hank’s door opened and the man let out a whoop of joy, which was entirely appropriate given the circumstances.
“You’re damned lucky to be in one piece!” Nate shouted to be heard over the wind.
“Hey, Nate. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“Glad to see you, too, Hank. Alive. What in the hell were you thinking?”
The passenger door opened then. A woman, beautiful and amazingly composed under the circumstances, smiled at Nate. “I’m to blame, I’m afraid. I was so eager to get here that I offered Mr. Whitey triple his normal fee.”
Her crisp accent had Nate’s brows tugging together. He knew that voice. He blinked. He knew … that face. Despite all of the years that had passed, he knew it in an instant. Heart-shaped, with a delicate nose, a pair of perfect lips and eyes as blue as Huron’s
