The true princess, p.1
The True Princess, page 1
The True Princess
Lacy Williams
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
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Chapter One
“I am a princess, and you will do my bidding.”
Tirith, princess of Glorvaird, generally expected capitulation. If she gave an order, it was followed.
But she was out of her element. She was standing in the barn on her father’s ranch and the horse standing in the open stall only stared at her, unblinking. The animal was so dark brown that it was almost completely black, all except a white blaze down its nose.
The horse was also taller than Tirith.
With hooves that could break her foot if one stepped on her. Teeth that could bite a finger off if she got too close.
If she ever managed to get the thing saddled and climbed on, she could easily fall and break her neck.
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
“This is for Maggie,” she told the horse. And herself. Her twin sister was the head of the family’s American-based charitable foundation and had organized a series of events over the next few weeks. A chili cook-off, a silent auction, a ball.
Oh, and a rodeo.
Who’d even heard of a charity rodeo?
Apparently, people from Texas.
In Tirith’s experience, many Americans obsessed over royalty. Maggie’s husband, Luc, had urged her to take advantage of her connections, and Maggie had run with the idea. Luc had been born in Glorvaird and he and Maggie split their time between the palace and the ranch. He was absolutely besotted with Maggie. And he was Tirith’s former best friend.
Maggie had convinced their younger sister Beatrix and their mother to take a few weeks out of the summer schedule to fly out and make appearances. Both would compete in the chili cook-off, along with Tirith.
Their cousin, heir to the throne, Valentin, would attend the charity ball, along with his fiancée.
And Maggie was planning to ride barrels—was that even the right term?—in the rodeo. She’d asked Tirith to be a part of the opening ceremonies. She meant for Tirith to ride out into the arena, holding a flag. Probably wearing a glittering cowgirl shirt with her hair teased into a big-as-Texas style.
After what Maggie had done for her, how could Tirith say no?
She couldn’t.
Which was why she’d waited until her sister and father vacated the barn. She hadn’t been on horseback since she’d been bucked off as a pre-teen and had badly broken her arm. She had to figure out how to do this without making a fool of herself.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.
But as she tugged on the rope she’d clipped to the horse’s halter, the animal shook its massive head and whinnied.
Tirith startled and dropped the rope.
“I’m not sure he believes you.”
The male voice from behind sent her whirling. She raised a hand to press against her pounding heart.
She didn’t recognize the cowboy standing in the wide barn aisle. He had his arms crossed with one hand pressed to the underside of his opposite forearm. What a strange way to stand. He looked like any of the other ranch hands she’d seen around over the past few days since her arrival. He wore a T-shirt and grungy jeans above his scuffed cowboy boots. He had at least two days of scruff on his chin, making him look disreputable. And his cowboy hat was pulled low, blocking his eyes from her view.
“May I help you?” She said the words with the same amount of ice she reserved for nosy reporters. She didn’t want or need an audience right now.
His lips twitched as if he were amused. “I should probably ask you that. You trying to saddle up?”
It couldn’t have been more obvious, thanks to the saddle she’d toted from the tack room and slung over the stall wall.
“I do not require assistance,” she said stiffly.
He made a skeptical humming noise that crawled right under her skin. But he said, “I could use some. Assistance. Maybe a bandage.”
He raised his arms, and she saw blood dripping between his fingers.
For a millisecond, the bright red of his blood sent her spiraling back to a scene she would rather not remember. She had to blink away the memories.
And then, she jumped into action. “Go into the washroom.” She pointed to a door next to the tack room.
He bristled, but she went on.
“I’ll bring the first aid kit.”
His expression cleared. She didn’t know what that moment had been about. Did he dislike taking orders from a woman? Or maybe she’d wounded his pride with the basic instruction.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Before she could step away, he drawled, “Better close the stall door, highness. You don’t want your mighty steed wandering off.”
His use of “highness” was more mocking than anything else. Not a term of respect, that was certain.
But he was right, so she quickly latched the stall door, jumping back when the horse arched its neck over.
She hurried down the hall to the small room tucked at the back of the barn. She knew her father and Maggie shared a large, open office in the farmhouse. This barn office was full of odds and ends, paperwork with columns of numbers she didn’t understand. But when her father had given her a quick tour two days before, she’d noticed the red-and-white first aid kit tucked on a high shelf.
She was forced to stand on the wobbly desk chair to reach it.
When she approached the washroom, she could see the cowboy’s shoulders from behind. He was standing at the sink, running water.
He was so broad he almost filled up the small space.
A prickling of nerves made her steps falter. She straightened her spine and stepped close.
She wasn’t used to being in close proximity with strangers. Her life in Glorvaird was very different than the reality of this Texas ranch. Back home, she was shepherded through her day by her personal assistant. Her diary was full of appointments and meetings, appearances and events. She had her duty to the crown.
But she also had a duty to her family. And her father would want her to help one of his hired hands.
Her father had been a Navy SEAL before he’d married her mother. He was careful. Protective. She knew he would’ve done comprehensive background checks on anyone he allowed on the ranch.
So she did her best to put aside the nerves tumbling in her stomach.
She edged into the doorway and caught sight of the cowboy’s injury in the mirror hanging above the sink. A three-inch gash on the underside of his forearm was still bleeding freely as he attempted to wash it out.
She felt her stomach lurch as the sight of that blood pinged the sensitive memory. This time, she couldn’t push it away fast enough, and her face flushed hot and then cold.
The image of a little girl’s crumpled body lying in the street flashed over her vision. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“Something the matter, highness?”
The cowboy’s casual address startled her back into the present.
She met his eyes in the mirror. He’d pushed his hat back on his head, and she was caught by just how blue his eyes were. She couldn’t quite read his expression. Mocking?
“You should call me Tirith,” she said. “Not highness.”
Edward felt a beat of relief as the color returned to the princess’s face. The last thing he needed was for her to faint and someone to come investigate.
As an investigative journalist, Edward had been on dangerous assignments before. But there was something deadly about the princess’s father, who was former special ops.
Edward had been hired on as a temporary ranch hand for a couple of weeks to help with the charity rodeo and whatever else the boss needed. He’d been on the ranch for all of three days, and he wasn't going to compromise his cover now.
“Shouldn't you see a doctor?” she asked. “That gash looks like it might need stitches.”
His gash had been carefully orchestrated to put him in this very position—close enough to speak to the princess.
"If you’ve got a butterfly bandage in there, I'll be fine.” He nodded to the first aid kit.
She reached for the latch and bobbled the case, almost dropping it.
“Here, switch places with me," he said.
She hesitated minutely as he stepped out of the way, then brushed past him to set the first aid kit on the narrow counter.
He stepped back in front of the sink, effectively trapping her in the tiny bathroom.
Words bubbled up inside him.
What about Peyton? My bro
But he couldn’t ask those questions. Not yet.
She glanced up briefly as she unlatched the case. Their gazes clashed for a beat, and something stirred uncomfortably in his gut. Probably indigestion from being so close to a lying cow.
He studied her as she rifled through the first aid kit. He’d been trying to get close to her since he’d arrived, but this was the first chance he’d had to talk to her.
He hated her for what she’d done to Peyton, what she’d cost Carrick back in Glorvaird, but that didn't stop him from noticing the fine bone structure of her face and the sweep of lashes against her cheek. Her glossy, dark ponytail had fallen over her shoulder, and he had the strange urge to tug it like he would’ve back in grade school.
A faint blush was rising in her cheeks, and he realized he was staring.
Surely she had to be used to that. She was in the public eye all the time.
Was he making her uncomfortable? A part of him rejoiced at that, but he had to stay focused. He needed her to learn to trust him, and he didn’t have much time.
Making her uncomfortable was for later.
“How did you cut yourself?” she asked.
“Brushed up against a protruding nail. Accidentally.” He tacked on the lie with no remorse. She was the liar. One or two white lies were well worth it if they would get her to divulge the truth.
In reality, he’d leaned into the nail on purpose. He’d been working with two other guys on building the temporary holding pens, fifty yards past the barn. He’d seen the princess slip inside the barn and needed an excuse to get close to her. He’d pretended the cut was an accident, and the ranch foreman had waved him off to find a bandage. He couldn’t drag this conversation out for long, but it was a start.
She held up a large square paper-wrapped bandage. It would do.
“What exactly were you doing with that horse?” he asked. She wasn’t dressed for riding, not in the expensive dove-colored slacks and silk blouse. Her leather boots were quality, but not made for the barn. The boardroom, maybe.
She ripped the package open. “That’s none of your concern.” Her words brooked no argument. And made him immediately want to argue.
“Whatever you say, highness.”
“What’s your name?” This time, her words were a demand.
He swallowed back a refusal. Forced his facial muscles to relax. “Edward.”
He’d grown up in Glorvaird but he’d been on enough overseas assignments since secondary school that he’d lost most of his accent. The rest he obscured with a bit of Texas twang.
He didn’t give his last name. Simpler was easier.
He’d given her father a fake name, a false identity he'd used before on undercover jobs. The name had a driver’s license and social and filed taxes. It must’ve held up to Gideon Hale’s background check, because he hadn’t been fired.
He had been pleasantly surprised to be accepted so easily by the other cowboys. The bunkhouse was home to four full-time hands, and four other guys had been hired on temporarily. The guys could be ornery and play pranks, but they watched out for each other.
The Triple H Ranch would be a decent place to land, if he were a cowboy and not a reporter.
She ripped the paper off the bandage, and he lifted his arm, pretending that he couldn’t easily reach. “D’you mind?”
She was frowning but didn’t refuse.
Her fingers circled his wrist. He wasn’t one for romance drivel, but at her touch, a physical shock traveled through his nerve endings, startling him into stillness.
He met her gaze, saw the surprise mirrored in her eyes.
She’d felt it too.
She lowered her eyes quickly, her focus on his arm as she pressed the butterfly bandage over his skin. Again, that telltale flush rose in her cheeks.
The attraction was completely unexpected.
He was a little disgusted with himself. She was an awful person. The kind of person who did something horrible and then covered it up.
But maybe he could use a mutual attraction to get close to her.
He checked the bandage. No leaks. It was tight to his skin. “I appreciate your help. But I’m pretty sure your father is going to fire me if I let that horse run you over. Do you want to tell me what you were doing?"
She kept her eyes on the first aid kit as she tucked everything back inside. "I'd like to go for a ride."
There was something else. Something she wasn't saying.
“Your dad is a horseman. And I bet you’ve got a big stable at your castle back home.”
Her head stayed down. “Good guess.”
“But… you don’t like horses?”
Her lips firmed into a line. “I like them fine.“
No, she didn’t. The way she’d shied around the gelding was proof.
“You’re scared of them.”
Her head came up, and he witnessed the return of the ice princess. She glared at him. “I don’t remember asking for you to psychoanalyze me.”
She picked up the first aid kit, holding it against her middle, and brushed past him.
He followed at a slow walk. “Your sister’s horses are pretty gentle.”
Margaret Hale ran an equine therapy program, and her horses were so tame they were practically asleep.
The princess muttered something under her breath as she stalked off to what he thought was the barn office.
He waited in the aisle next to the stall where all this had started.
Moments later, she appeared again.
She didn’t look happy to see him standing there.
“Don’t you have to get back to work?”
He did. He didn’t want Miles to come looking for him. No reason to raise suspicions.
“What if you worked up to it?” he asked. “Put the saddle on the horse today. Maybe tomorrow you ride.”
She frowned.
“Why is it so important?”
Her chin jutted up. “I told my sister I’d ride in the opening ceremony for her rodeo.”
“The rodeo isn’t for another couple weeks. You’ve got time. Build up to it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and her chin twisted to the side so he had only a view of her profile. “I’ll consider it.”
It was an obvious dismissal.
And he still needed to get on her good side.
“I’m happy to help. Anytime. I owe you one.” He lifted his arm so the bandage was visible.
She was considering it when he glanced over his shoulder at the outside door. She was still staring at the horse with the stall door closed.
He was a little surprised she hadn’t weaseled her way out of the commitment. Why hadn’t she told Margaret no?
But he wasn’t as surprised as he’d been to feel the instant connection when she’d touched him.
There was attraction there—on his part and hers. Now, all he needed was a way to capitalize on it.
Chapter Two
Edward held his palm against the scratch beneath the left side of his jaw. He threw open the door to the bunkhouse.
The princess jumped and whirled from the counter where she had been standing. She looked vaguely guilty, and his glance quickly encompassed the items laid out on the kitchen counter. Ground beef, a whole cabinet full of spices, a couple of cans of beans. Nothing nefarious. So why had she jumped like a startled deer?
"Don't mind me." He headed for the bathroom.
The bunkhouse was one long building. Less like a house and more like an apartment for college guys.
The kitchen ran along all of one wall, with a long counter interrupted by the stove and fridge at one end. A big window looked over the nearest field. A long dining table broke up the open room, and on the other side of it a living area was filled with a scuffed leather couch, a couple of chairs, a coffee table marked with rings, and a TV that was usually tuned to sports or news.
At one time, someone had attempted to decorate in a western style. A horseshoe was hung over the doorway. A beautiful painting of a horse galloping through a meadow hung on one wall.
