A few hours later, she called her mother and explained that yes, even she believed she was pregnant now. And she wanted Ingrid to accept the fact that she wasn’t, under any circumstances, going to be marrying Finn. Finn had said it himself: he’d gone back to where he belonged. She wished him well.
And now she planned to get on with her life.
Finn flew to Gullandria in His Majesty’s Gulfstream.
The jet had been right there, waiting, at Executive Airport, during the entire two weeks Finn had spent in America. The king had ordered it to remain on standby in anticipation of the happy moment when Finn would bring his bride back home.
Instead, he boarded alone. Within an hour they were cleared for takeoff.
It was 3:20 a.m. when they touched down in a cool, misty Gullandrian semidarkness.
Finn was getting off the plane when Hauk Wyborn stepped up to him. ‘‘His Majesty would speak with you, Prince Danelaw. This way.’’
It was not a good sign when the king’s warrior appeared to escort a man to the king. But Finn didn’t object. His objections wouldn’t change a thing and a meeting with the king—destined, no doubt, to be unpleasant—was inevitable, in any case.
The black car was waiting. Finn ducked into it and Hauk slid in behind him.
Hauk spoke to the driver and they were off, rolling across the tarmac toward the road. Through the tinted windows, Finn spotted the knot of reporters not far from the gate that led to the terminal. How sad for them. Up so early on the scent of a story, and Hauk had herded him into the car before they got a chance to snap their pictures and shout the usual thoroughly intrusive questions.
Finn turned to the giant warrior beside him. ‘‘You look well, Hauk. I’d say marriage agrees with you.’’
Hauk allowed one dip of his big golden head. ‘‘Yes. I am indeed a fortunate man.’’
Finn let his mouth twist into a wry grin. ‘‘Let me take this, er, rare opportunity to congratulate you.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’
The warrior stared forward. Finn did the same. The car cut through the windless misty night.
At the palace, Hauk made himself scarce once he’d escorted Finn to the king’s private audience room.
Osrik was waiting for him, resplendent, even at four in the morning, in a fine gray pinstripe designer suit with a red tie. Medwyn stood nearby.
‘‘Prince Danelaw,’’ said the king. ‘‘Welcome.’’ His stern expression belied the word of greeting.
‘‘Your Majesty.’’ Finn saluted.
‘‘You surprise us,’’ said the king. ‘‘Back so abruptly. Without forewarning. And without my daughter.’’
‘‘Yes, Your Majesty,’’ said Finn, because he felt some sort of response was called for, though, in fact, he had nothing at all to say.
‘‘What news do you have for us?’’
‘‘Sire, none at all. It was time I came home, that’s all. Once full daylight comes, I’ll go on to Balmarran. I want to check on my sister, assure myself that she hasn’t yet managed to drive my poor grandfather mad.’’
The king, wearing an expression that was far from benign, studied Finn for several endless seconds. At last he said, ‘‘My daughter. Has she agreed to marry you, then?’’
‘‘No, my lord. She hasn’t. She’s said no repeatedly. I’ve become quite certain that no is what she means.’’
‘‘She won’t agree to marry you—ever?’’
‘‘That’s right, sire.’’
‘‘You’re sure of this?’’
‘‘I am.’’
The king frowned. ‘‘Are you telling me, then, that the Freyasdahl signs have been proven wrong in her case?’’
‘‘No, Your Majesty. Your daughter carries my child.’’
‘‘And she won’t marry you. She refuses. You’re certain of this?’’
‘‘I am.’’
The king heaved a deep sigh. ‘‘Then it’s as I told you from the first. You will have to take her.’’ The king paused, waiting for Finn to agree with him. Finn didn’t. The king looked at him darkly and went on. ‘‘It will be more difficult now that she’s back in America. You should have listened to me, Finn. She’d be at Balmarran now.’’
‘‘It doesn’t matter.’’
The king’s frowned deepened. ‘‘Doesn’t matter? What’s this? Of course it matters.’’
‘‘I don’t intend to take her.’’
The king stood very still. ‘‘What did you say?’’ His deep voice vibrated with barely leashed fury.
‘‘I said, sire, that she’s chosen not to marry me. She wants to stay in America and raise the child on her own. I think she’ll make a fine mother. Your wife, the queen, will make certain she has everything she needs. Liv—and my child—will thrive.’’
A rumble of rage rose from the king’s throat. ‘‘You would make of your own child a fitz.’’
Finn kept his face resolutely expressionless. ‘‘It’s America. The child will suffer little stigma there. And I refuse to claim a wife against her will.’’
There was a moment of echoing silence. The king looked at him as if he had lost his mind. And maybe he had.
Then the king commanded, ‘‘You will go for her. You will take her. You will keep her until she’s wed you and the child is born.’’
‘‘I am sorry, Your Majesty. But no. I will not.’’
Liv’s phone rang in the deepest part of the night.
She bolted upright in bed and cried out, ‘‘Finn!’’ before she came fully awake and remembered he was gone and she was getting over him.
She grabbed the receiver on the third ring and barked into it, ‘‘What?’’
A crackle of static, then Brit’s voice. ‘‘Don’t tell me I woke you.’’
‘‘It’s two in the morning here, did you know that?’’
‘‘Well, yes. I admit, I did. But I’ve been… developing my sources around here.’’
Liv wasn’t getting it. ‘‘Your sources?’’
‘‘All right, I’ll be crass. My spies. I have spies of my own now. Believe me, around here I need them—and Elli’s here.’’
‘‘With you?’’
‘‘Uh-huh. I’ll put her on in a minute.’’
‘‘Okay. Good—spies? You have spies?’’
‘‘You got it.’’
‘‘So, you have news for me, is that it? From these spies of yours?’’
‘‘Yes. And Elli confirms it.’’
‘‘Confirms what?’’
‘‘That father’s had Finn Danelaw thrown into Tarngalla.’’