THE SHADOW OF THE HELICOPTER is a mere blip on the plains of barren land beneath us, growing as it glides over the hills, and shrinking when it dips between the valleys. And the noise, a consistent, loud whirring in my ears, has helped drown out my screaming mind. As the walls of Evernmore Estate appear on the horizon, far, far away in the distance, I hope for just a smidgen of ease to dampen the constant fretfulness plaguing me. We pass the Loch, the waters still and eerie, and the scattering of green is sparse. The beauty of this place is almost haunting, the landscape no different to hundreds of years ago.
Our descent is a little hair-raising, the wind whipping through the moors capturing the chopper and swinging it like a pendulum as the pilot brings us in to land. The sensation of the feet meeting the ground kick-starts my breathing again, a voice through my hearing-defenders declaring our landing.
The staff of Evernmore await me, the impromptu visit sure to have sent them into a tailspin. Damon disembarks first, dipping and taking my hand to help me down, and we jog beneath the blades until we’re clear of the spinning metal. I nod my hello to the line of people ready to greet me, one taking my coat, and breach the entrance of the castle, breathing in hundreds of years’ worth of history. The echo of my boots hitting the stone floor is only slightly muffled by the tapestries suspended from the brick walls.
I head straight for the stairs that take me to my suite, Damon following, giving orders to the footmen who have my bags. For the thousandth time, I check the time on my phone, and again mentally calculate Josh’s flight time and landing. If I’m correct, and I’m sure I am, he should have landed over an hour ago. Why hasn’t he called?
“I’ll leave you to settle in,” Damon says, backing out of the room as I remove my boots.
“Thank you, Damon. I’m sure the cook will fix you something if you are hungry.”
“I’m heading straight to the kitchen.” He smiles, and I return it. I know he loves it up here, especially the haggis that is served like tea.
Although I’m listening for it, I still startle when my phone rings, and I scramble to answer. “Josh.”
“What’s going on?” he asks immediately. “I’ve landed in London, and you’ve left the fuckin’ country.”
I smile to myself. He’s affronted, and I can’t blame him. “We need to talk.”
There’s silence for a few moments. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“God, no.”
“Then explain why you’ve hauled ass to Scotland.”
“Because if I didn’t, they would have had me engaged to Haydon Sampson and told the world before I could think to argue. I’ve bought myself some time.”
A growl. Such a deep, hostile growl. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ with me.”
“I’m not fucking with you.” I wander to the window and stare out across the Loch. “I thought, what with everything that has happened, my life—and me—would drop down the King’s priority list. I was wrong. I’ve shot to the top. They’re planning on using my engagement to Haydon Sampson as a decoy, as such. A distraction from the negativity surrounding the royals and Eddie’s accident.” I hear Josh choking down the phone on a cough, my barrage of information obviously hard to swallow.
“You’re really not fuckin’ with me, are you?”
I sigh, feeling the invisible pressure weighing down on me. “It’s now or never, Josh.”
“It’s now, that’s what it is.” He’s absolutely seething, and while part of me is grateful for his devotion and commitment, the other part is full of dread. I just wonder if he truly appreciates the shitstorm we’re about to create. “Where are you?” he demands. “Tell me exactly where you are.”
“The Evernmore Estate. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I have two days grace from the King before I have to return to London to announce my engagement.”
“I’ll be there by this evening.”
“How?”
“I’ll charter a plane. A fuckin’ rocket if I need to. Where’s the nearest airport?”
“Glasgow.”
“I’ll call you when I’m there. I’ll need directions.” Loud, muffled thuds pound in the background, the bustle of the airport getting louder. “I’ll call my people. Don’t speak to anyone before I’m there, okay?”
“Shouldn’t be hard. There’s no one here, except Damon, the staff, and me.”
“Or calls. Please don’t take any calls.”
“Why? Who would be calling me?”
“Your father. Davenport. Sir Don. Fuckin’ Haydon Sampson or his prick of a dad. I don’t want you speaking to any of them until I’m with you. Tell me you understand, Adeline.”
He’s worried that I’ll be brainwashed. Or, worse, followed to Scotland and dragged back to London. That’s not going to happen. At least, not for a few days. Yet I confirm what he wants to hear anyway, imagining he is feeling helpless. And I can understand why. There are so many facets to being royal, so many obligations and protocols to follow. It would be largely unknown to the general British public, let alone an American. He must think this is all far too archaic and nonsensical. Yet it’s not. “I understand. Please, just hurry up.” Part of me hates needing him so much, yet I don’t feel strangled by that need.
But rather . . . soothed.
We say our goodbyes, and I spend endless hours familiarizing myself with Evernmore, roaming the castle corridors alone. Josh texted me not long after our call to tell me he had chartered a plane from Heathrow to Glasgow, and from there he has a helicopter waiting to bring him here. I’ve never been more grateful that he has more money than God. My ears have been listening for the sound of chopper blades while I’ve roamed, and I’ve checked the horizon out of every window I’ve passed, searching for him. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve seen him. Two weeks of pure misery. Two weeks of constantly reliving every moment we have shared, frightened I might forget. Two weeks of falling asleep with his picture on my phone next to my head on the pillow. I’ve missed his fun-loving yet cocky presence. Two weeks of Helen’s moaning about the stress for the baby. Two weeks of Mother’s stoic silence. Two weeks to think about how I nearly lost a brother. What would I have done without Eddie? We’d Skype when he’s on tour, naturally, but I haven’t feared losing him because after each deployment, he comes home. And two weeks ago, he nearly didn’t.
I need to see Josh. Emotionally, my heart has missed its mate. Physically, I’m literally bursting with anticipation to see him. Kiss him. Feel him everywhere.
It’s when I’m taking the stone steps of one of the spiral staircases in the west wing tower that I hear it. A helicopter. There is no mistaking it. It’s faint, but it’s there. With my heart in my mouth, I race down the stairs in search of a south-facing window, skidding to a stop in front of the first one I find. Gasping for air, I look past the lead-framed glass, having to wipe away the condensation when my hot breath mists the glass. I see it. In the distance, a blob on the horizon. Josh.
Throwing myself down the rest of the stairs, I run full pelt through the castle, sailing past many staff who move from my path, no doubt alarmed by my strange behavior. My cheeks are aching with the smile on my face, my skin tingling, as if anticipating his touch. I burst out of the doors, circling round to the helicopter pad, my eyes squinting, seeing he is closer. Waving frantic hands in the air, I jump on the spot. It’s pointless. The pilot can’t possibly miss the sprawling estate surrounded by nothing, but still.
Unable to contain my excitement, everything feeling a million times better just knowing he is here with me, I send him a text message.
I can see you!
My arms are back in the air again, waving like a loon.
“Ma’am?”
I swing around, my face splitting with my smile, and not even Damon’s confusion can wipe it away. He made me promise no runners. I’m not running. He can’t possibly chastise me for this.
“Did I miss the memo?” He scratches his head, his muddle clear as he looks past me to the helicopter.
“It’s Josh,” I say, smiling small and awkward when he darts a shocked stare back to me.
Then his eyes disappear, hidden behind his lids as he gathers patience. “I should have known.”
My phone bleeps, and I glance down to read the message from Josh.
You’ve got good eyesight. I’ve not even left Glasgow. Technical problem with the chopper.
Ice glides across my skin, and I whirl around, the helicopter now close—close enough to see the royal emblem emblazoned on the side. “Oh my God.”
“That’s not Josh, Adeline,” Damon says gravely. “That’s the King.”
I’m a statue, watching in horror, numb and muddled, as the chopper comes to land on the pad. My father disembarks, and my dread multiplies when I see David follow closely behind, as well as Sir Don and Dr. Goodridge. “Father?” I question as he strides toward me. I don’t like his face. Not at all. It’s fixed and determined.
“I’m here to hunt,” he declares as he passes, my body turning to follow his path. “And we should discuss the arrangements.”
“What happened to my two days?”
He stops and turns, looking me up and down. “Your destiny is written. Two hours, or two days, the end result will be the same. We should plan announcements and press releases. There’s a lot to be done.” He marches on, disregarding my astonished state.
I feel unwell. “Father!” I run after him, throwing a scowl back at David, unable to let go of the notion that he has something to do with this. And now I come to think of it . . .“Where’s Davenport?” I ask.
“Unwell.” The King stops at the door for one of the footmen to take his coat.
Unwell? He’s never been unwell. Not ever, though I can’t deny he has been out of sorts for a few weeks. But more not like himself rather than physically ill. This is all very strange. And hopeless. So hopeless. I turn my glazed eyes onto Damon, maybe searching for some backup. I don’t know why. There’s no one who can help me.
“John should be here imminently,” the King tells one of the staff. “Prepare his room, as well as suites for Sir Don, Sampson, and the doctor.”
Great. My eldest brother, too? I don’t stand a chance. I just manage to avoid taking my face and burying it in my palms, but I can’t stop the swelling in my throat. David and Sir Don follow my father like the lapdogs they are through the corridors of the castle to his office. The door is slammed before I can join them, and I stare at the wood for an eternity, my head in bedlam. My eyes drift to a window when I hear the sounds of another chopper. It’s not Josh. He’s still in Glasgow. It’s John. More muscle to bully me.
“Your Highness?”
Dragging my heavy head to the other side of me, I find Dr. Goodridge. He’s always been old to me, but today he looks exceptionally old. How much longer can he tail the King wherever he goes?
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
I blink and return my eyes to the door of my father’s office.
“You need to rein that girl in, sir,” David says, his voice clear through the wood.
“She’s spirited.” There are a few chinks, undeniably glass on glass, the crystal decanter on my father’s desk meeting the edge of a tumbler. “If I struggle to keep her in check, how do you suppose your son will?”
My hand is on the doorknob and I’ve pushed myself into the room before I can think better of it. “I am not marrying Haydon,” I declare, as stable as I can. “And you cannot make me.”
“I knew it,” Sampson snarls at me.
“Oh, shut up,” I retort. “This has nothing to do with you. Stop clinging to my family. I will not marry your son.”
The King points his glass at me, sure and steady. “Make no mistake, my girl, you will do as I say.”
“No,” I shout, losing my shit. Enough is enough. No more. I will not be held hostage by expectations any longer. I ignore the stunned expressions I’m facing, powering on, to hell with them all. “I refuse to marry Haydon, and it is unfair for you to ask him to marry me, especially when . . . when . . .” I feel like I’m starting to hyperventilate, no air to be found to help me put it out there. “When . . .”
“When, what?” David snaps.
I breathe in and exhale what I’ve so desperately wanted to tell the world for so long. “When I am in love with someone else.”
My confession echoes around the room, bounces off the old stone walls. And then silence. Deafening silence. For ages, there is only silence and three sets of round eyes pointed at me. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“The banker?” Father laughs.
That’s it now. I’ve taken the leap. “No, not Gerry Rush.”
“Then who?”
I breathe in more strength to say his name, trying to ignore the feeling that I’m feeding Josh to the wolves. But we can’t go on like this. “Josh.”
My father looks plain confused, David annoyed, and Sir Don just closes his eyes, probably thinking his work is cut out for him.
“Who the hell is J . . . ?” The King’s question wanes, realization dawning. I was right all along. The King and his people aren’t responsible for Josh’s trashed hotel room. They really had no idea. “The American?” he asks. “Jameson’s son?”
I nod sharply. “Correct.”
Father bursts into laughter. It’s the most insulting reaction to my news. “How preposterous.”
“How so?” I ask calmly.
“He’s American.”
“And?”
“An American in the Royal Family? I won’t hear of it. Stop living with your head in the clouds, Adeline. You will marry Haydon Sampson and that will be the last we speak of it.”
“Wrong,” I say shortly, calmly, and the King recoils at my dismissal. “I love him.”
He bears his teeth, a true lion of a king. “I forbid it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll be an outcast.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll lose everything!” he roars.
“Not everything,” I say coolly, giving each of the men in the room a moment of my attention. “I’ll have him.” Josh is the only thing that matters to me in the crazy world I’ve been born into. The only person I bow to is him. I turn and walk away before I’m dismissed. “Good day, Your Majesty.”
“Adeline!”
My pace picks up at the sound of my father yelling, my feet taking me through the castle to the garages at the far end of the East Wing. I grab the first set of keys I can find in the cabinet on the wall and press my thumb into the button on the fob, making the lights of a Land Rover at the back of the garage blink. I don’t drive nearly enough to be confident, so I pull away slowly before I find the will to put my foot down, the castle getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror as I go. When the gates to the estate come into view, I quickly conclude my current speed will have the Land Rover bouncing back off the iron rails. So I brace myself, closing one eye and pressing my foot into the accelerator, my arms ramrod straight, braced for impact. Call me mad, call me desperate, call it extreme. But it’s the only way out of my new prison. I drive at them with nothing but sheer determination, suppressing a yell and closing my eyes when I’m upon them. The metal keeping me contained bursts open, the Land Rover juddering violently, pain shooting up my arms. “Oh my goodness!” I swerve, mounting a grass verge as I fight with the steering wheel to line up the car again, bumping and bouncing all over the place. I’m tossed around, so much so my forehead crashes against the door window. I yelp, but keep my hands where they are, hitting pothole after pothole on the dirt track, none of them helping me pull the car straight. The persistent ringing of my phone doesn’t distract me from gaining back control of the Land Rover, and I only find it in my pocket when I am on even ground, driving steadily again. I expect to see Damon calling, mad and frantic, but it’s Josh. Just the sight of his name on my screen sends my emotions off the deep end, all adrenalin draining. “Josh,” I blurt down the line, keeping a keen eye on the road, one hand on the wheel. “My father. It was my father in the chopper I could see. He followed me to Scotland. He came to discuss arrangements. Press releases, announcements. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Fuckin’ hell, Adeline,” he breathes. “Where are you?”
“I left. I’m driving south.”
“On your own?”
“I didn’t have time to think, Josh.” I need to calm down. Right now, keeping my head is of paramount importance.
“You need to calm down.” He mimics my thoughts, but he doesn’t sound very calm himself. “How long before you reach any kind of civilization?”
“I don’t know. There’s a small village thirty miles from here.”
“What’s it called?”
“Sellington Heights.” I hear Josh relaying the name of the village to someone, and then the sound of helicopter blades start, building up, louder and louder, until he’s forced to shout down the line. “The pilot says I can be there in thirty minutes. Find a field north of the village. Drive to the middle so we can see you, got it?”
I nod, wondering how on earth it came to this. Me, on the run, and Josh in a damn helicopter trying to find me. It’s crazy, yet it’s happening.
“Adeline, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you.” My phone bleeps and I quickly glance at my screen to see an incoming call from Damon. “Damon is trying to call me.”
“Will he be tracking you?”
I look up at my rearview mirror, to the never-ending length of road stretching out behind me. “Undoubtedly.”
“Just keep driving. Not too fast. Just make it to that field in one piece, okay?”
My smile is poorly timed, but I can’t help it. “Are you regretting this yet?”
“Never. I’ve already told you. I’m prepared to lose everything I have, except you. Now get your royal ass to that field.” He hangs up, and I drop my phone into my lap, returning both hands to the wheel. I ignore the calls from Damon, keeping my attention on the road. My main objective, the most important objective, is making it to Josh safely.
THERE ARE DOZENS OF FIELDS. My mind is so messed up, I can’t even make the simple decision of which one to put myself in. I pull up to some large wooden gates and jump out of the Land Rover, jogging up the lane a bit and pulling the heavy bolt across. They slowly swing open with little help from me. I turn and run back toward the car, but my pace slows when I hear a familiar, distant sound. Spinning around, I search the sky, the noise growing by the second. He’s here. I need to get myself to the middle of the field. Urgency springs into my muscles as I turn . . . and freeze.
Damon reaches inside my Land Rover and shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition. “Adeline, what on earth?”
My steps back up, my attention split between the sky and Damon. “Don’t try to stop me, Damon. Please, you know I can’t do what they’re demanding.”
Damon looks past me, his head tilted back, lines spanning his forehead. I follow his line of sight, seeing a chopper appear over the trees in the distance.
“I have to go,” I tell him, reversing my steps.
Damon shakes his head, despair wracking him. He seems to take a timeout, thinking. And he eventually sighs. “Who the hell’s going to keep me busy if I don’t have you?”
Relief allows me to smile at him. “Thank you, Damon. For everything.”
“Just go,” he orders, straight and short, his eyes back in the sky.
But I don’t. Instead, I run to him, throwing my arms around his big shoulders and cuddling him with all the love and appreciation I feel for him. And he returns it. There are no words. None are needed. Gently breaking away from me, he steps back and nods.
I take his silent order and go, running as fast as my legs will carry me to the center of the field, my arms flailing in the air crazily. The helicopter gradually lowers, hovering, the blades of the grass flapping crazily around me. My phone vibrates in my hand.
“Move back, we’re coming down,” Josh shouts when I answer.
I back away, my arm held over my head to stop the brutal whip of my hair across my face from the wind, my clothes clinging to my front. The moment the chopper’s feet come to rest on the ground, the door is open and Josh is out, running toward me. The sight of him renders me paralyzed, so many emotions holding me where I am. It’s all too much, my relief savage in its intensity. A sob rips through me. The only energy left in me lets me lift my arms when he crashes into me. The moment our bodies reunite, my heart explodes, as do my eyes. I grapple at his back, clinging to him with all my strength. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” I cry into his neck, unable to pull myself together.
“I do, baby. Trust me.” I’m hushed, kissed, stroked, squeezed, my hair whipping around my head, our clothes flapping, the sound of the helicopter deafening. But I hear him as clear as if we were standing in silence. Reluctantly breaking away from him, I let him feel my face, kiss me over every inch of it. “These past few weeks have been hell. You’re not leaving my sight ever again.” His palms graze down my cheeks, over my shoulders and down my arms, until he has hold of my hands, his fingers linking with mine, reinforcing his words. “Ever.” He looks past me, and I turn to follow his sight, finding Damon has approached behind us.
My head of security raises his phone. “You should go.”
He’s warning me. “Thank you.”
Damon shrugs. “I was thinking of taking early retirement, anyway.”
I’m being tugged toward the helicopter, but I keep my eyes on my beloved bodyguard until the final second, my many years with Damon playing through my mind. His presence, his comfort. I’m going to miss him so much. And then he smiles, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Maybe because he’s thinking it, too.
Damon slowly raises his hand as I’m forced to turn and climb aboard. Josh places some ear defenders over my head and secures me in the belt before seeing to himself and taking my hand. He looks at me and smiles, small but expressive, as we slowly rise from the ground and soar toward my heaven.