Heir Untamed (5 page)

She landed both blows, for all the good it did her. The feel of short whiskers against her knuckles let her know it was a man that she'd struck. His head snapped to the side while his body sprawled, pinning her shoulders like a wrestler might.

“Get off me!” she shouted. She knew she was too far from the stables, from help, for her yelling to do any good.

A resonant voice thick with a Latvala accent sounded above her. “Hold still. Who are you and why are you riding unaccompanied through the woods?”

“I was told I could ride this trail, if you don't mind!” Chey stilled, breathing hard. The scent of both fresh and dried leaves beneath her vied with the masculine scent of leather, oil and a light, spicy musk she would have found pleasing any other time. Finally, she got a good look at her attacker as they both stopped struggling.

Glittery blue eyes the color of a clear sky glared down at her from a face shaped by a straight nose, defined cheek bones and a chiseled jaw. Hair so light brown it was nearly blonde, cut through with golden streaks from time in the sun, hung to the top of his shoulders. Half the front had been scraped back into a tiny ponytail that somehow made him seem all the more male. He wore a navy, thin ribbed sweater that outlined the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest.

Chey rarely thought of men as beautiful—but this one was.

He got up and pulled her with him, hardly out of breath for the chase and tumble to the ground.

“By who? Start talking before I arrest you and haul you to jail.” He didn't bother to brush clinging bits of debris from his navy dockers. Putting his hands on his narrow hips, he glared down at her from a height of at least six-three.

Shaking with anger, Chey acted before she thought. As if her hand had a mind of its own, she cracked her palm against his face. “I'm a
guest
of the Royal family, you ass. No one mentioned any escort when they said I was allowed to use the stables!”

His head barely twitched for the slap. Absorbing the impact, he narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer. “
Visitors
don't roam the lands without escort. I think I know the rules.”

Chey held her ground, chest rising and falling rapidly. How dare he. “Then I guess you need to check in with your superiors more often. Because I was given leeway to ride and explore as I please.”

“And just which member of the family are you a guest of?” he asked in a silky voice, like he didn't believe her. “Viia? Aurora? Can't be Natalia.”

“They flew me here from the United States to take pictures of the family and the grounds. I'm a
guest
here for the next four months,” she spat, wiping the side
of her wrist against her mouth.

The rude man barked a laugh. “Is that so? A photographer, eh? What's the old
man trying to do, capture the 'essence' of the Royal family and their holdings?”

Taken aback by his sarcasm, Chey narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this cynical about your employer?”

He pulled a cell phone from the front pocket of his trousers and took a few steps back. The man had the gall to smirk. “Sweetheart, if I find out you're the paparazzi, you're going to have a lot more to worry about than how cynical I am.”

“I'm telling you, I'm their guest--”

“So you've said. We'll find out soon enough, hm?” He pressed his thumb over the screen of his phone and put it to his ear. A rapid stream of his mother tongue hit the air, none of which Chey understood.

In between his conversation, he whistled toward the horses, both which stood nearby between two trees. The creatures wandered back, hooves clopping over leaves and other debris.

As full dark descended, Chey fretted about finding her way back to the stables. The last thing she wanted to do was ask this man for anything, directions included.

Lowering the phone, he slid it into his pocket. “Chey Sinclair, photographer for hire. Looks like your story pans out. Next time you go riding, do so before dark and stay out of the woods.”

“But I plan to come back here tomorrow morning and take pictures by the lake. After all, I'm here to catch the
essence
of Latvala, lakes and landscape included.” If it took her all night to find her way back to the castle, then it was well worth the satisfaction she felt at not allowing him to order her around. Turning away, she brushed at her clothing and approached the buckskin mare.

“You're going to get yourself hurt, that's what. Do you even know your way home, little lady?” He strode up to his steed and swung up into the saddle with effortless ease.

“If I don't know the way home, surely the mare does.” Chey, sore from the tumble, refused to acknowledge it. Setting her foot in the stirrup, she mounted up and settled into the saddle. One look around confirmed her worst fear; she had no idea which way to go. Everything looked the same with the tall trees blocking sight of the castle and the darkness obliterating any trail she might have left in her headlong rush to evade him.

“I won't have more serious injuries on my conscious because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Follow me back to the main trail.” He reined his horse around and let it pick its way through the underbrush.

“And why should I ask
anything
from a man who sees fit to tackle innocent women to the ground?” Reluctantly, Chey gave her mare lead to follow.

“If you don't, you'll get lost out here. There are worse creatures to run across out here than myself,” he said with a laugh.

“Ugh.”

“What was that?”

“I had a bug in my throat.”

“Of course you did.”

“What was your name again?” she asked, feeling truculent and impatient to be away from his presence.

“Sander. That's S a n d--”

“I think I know how to spell it.”

“Sander Fisk, in case you need my last name when you turn me in to the proper authorities.”

Chey was grateful for the shadows that hid the stain on her cheeks. That had been precisely why she'd wanted to know his name. “That's funny. I thought
you
were the proper authorities.”

“I'm the head of security. That doesn't mean I'm exempt from reprimand. Watch the low branch.” He ducked under a heavy bough.

Chey did the same. “And how long have you worked for the Royal family?”

“All my life. I was raised here. My mother was a chef up until her death a few years back.”

No wonder he didn't seem worried over his job. Even if she mentioned his actions to Allar or Urmas, it was unlikely Sander would get so much as a dressing down. It was his job to protect the Royal family no matter what. She'd been a trespasser for all he knew.

Still. The entire ordeal irritated her.

“So quiet all of a sudden,” he said.

“I'm thinking.”

“It takes that much effort?” His voice was rife with laughter.

Chey glared at the back of his head. Or what she could see of it in the gloom. He was impossible. Refusing to be baited, she said nothing as they re-entered the main trail and turned toward the castle. She presumed, anyway. It was hidden behind the forest they rode through. Picking pieces of leaves and twigs from her clothing, she flicked them onto the ground. Then she gave the hem of the sweater a neat tug.

At the head of the path, where the meadow broke open away from the trees, Sander brought his horse to a halt. Chey drew alongside, breathing a sigh of relief to see the enormous castle in the near distance. Lights illuminated the surrounding wall and spilled out windows from many rooms and towers. It was beautiful even at night.

“I'm sure you can find your way from here,” he said, apparently not going any further.

“Of course I can. The stables are just over there.” She kneed her mare into a walk, anxious to put distance between them.

“You're welcome,” he said to her departing back, for gratitude she hadn't given him in leading her back to open ground. “Maybe next time you'll actually remember to bring your camera.”

Chapter Three

“Infuriating bastard.” Chey stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, unable to sleep despite the jet lag dragging at her bones. The unexpected meeting in the woods was still on her mind. She'd made her way back to the stables, and then the castle, with little trouble. After finding the kitchen and a late dinner, she'd retreated to her room to begin sorting through the photos she'd taken on her first day in Latvala.

Now the hour was somewhere beyond midnight and the encounter kept flashing behind her eyelids, replete with soundbites from their conversation. It even eclipsed her meeting with Mattias.

Sitting up, she pushed the covers back and swung her legs to the ground. For bed, she'd worn a velveteen track suit the color of butter. It was soft against her skin and modest should she decide to wander the halls when everyone was was asleep.

Which was what she wanted to do.

Grabbing her camera off the desk, she checked the batteries and, still barefoot, exited her bedroom. The castle at night proved to be just as intimidating as it was during the day. There was something ancient and mysterious about the feel in the air, as if the castle had absorbed all the joys and horrors of its occupants over the centuries.

She wished she could capture that on film. Somehow portray the structure's longevity and the sensation of secrecy.

Drawn toward the stained glass window at the end of the hall, she found several interesting angles to capture the spill of colored light by. From there she headed downstairs, snapping a pale marble bust of who might have been an ancestor. Milky eyes stared sightlessly into the hall, the lush mouth and hard jaw even more defined in half shadow. A big library drew her next, the shelves illuminated from moonbeams falling in through the panes of a tall window. Books with leather spines crammed every shelf, perfect for shots from the side. Because she couldn't help herself, she straightened one or two books from their crooked lean.

She became aware that she wasn't alone when the faint tink of ice in a glass hit her ears. Glancing toward one of the high-backed chairs facing the fireplace, Chey groaned. Someone was sitting there. All she could see was an arm, a hand, and a tumbler.

“Can't sleep?” Mattias asked.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here. Excuse--”

“You needn't rush off. Come, sit.” He used his glass to gesture at the opposite, empty chair.

It was the last thing Chey wanted to do. While he intrigued her, she also knew he was involved, and she didn't want anyone else walking in and getting the wrong idea. On the other hand, she might not get this kind of opportunity again. It wasn't every day that she got to sit and chat with Royalty.

Chey crossed the room and eased down into the chair, sitting on the edge rather than making herself comfortable in the plush confines.

Mattias, bare chested and bare foot, wore only a sleek pair of black lounge pants that sat low on his hips. A swirl of dark hair started on his chest, made a line down his stomach, and disappeared beneath the band at his waist. He was in excellent physical condition. Muscular, honed.

She took all that in with a quick glance, heat rising in her cheeks. “Do you always sit and contemplate cold fireplaces?”

Mattias regarded her in that way he had, as if he was trying to figure out all her most personal thoughts and feelings. “Sometimes. Especially when I have much on my mind. I didn't expect to see you taking pictures this late.”

His tone said,
I didn't expect to see you at all this late.

“As you guessed, I couldn't sleep. It's difficult to when you're staying in a castle for the first time. I'm restless or something.” The urge to explore distracted her as much as her unique circumstances did.

“I imagine so. Tell me what you think of our home, then.” He invited her to elaborate as if they'd known each other a lot longer than one day.

Chey exhaled and glanced around the extensive library. The mantle over the fireplace held what looked to be priceless statuettes and brass candlesticks.

“It's hard to put into words this soon,” she admitted. “Of course I think it's lovely. But there is something else, too. Almost as if the castle is brooding.”

She glanced back to Mattias in time to see his brow arch.

“That is an interesting way of putting it,” he said.

“That's how it appears to me. And secretive. If these walls could talk, I can only imagine what they would say.”

“Don't you think most ancestral homes are like that?” He swirled the remains of his drink around his glass and lifted it for a sip. Watching her over the rim.

Chey shifted on the seat. “I don't know. I've never been to other ancestral homes. This is just how yours strikes me.”

“Like most castles, this one has roots in dark parts of history. Men—and women—have been killed here. One of my ancestors, Prince Gustav, was hanged in what is now the East garden. This castle has been laid siege to, has seen Royalty born within its walls, and has weathered its share of scandal.” Mattias finished his drink and set the glass aside on a small table.

Fascinated, Chey studied his eyes. “Is that the garden that is off limits to me?”

“Yes. It is one my mother and sister favor and they do not like to be disturbed. Would you like to see it?” His mouth curved into a somewhat devilish smile.

“Are you certain I won't get in trouble?” Chey wanted to see the garden more than ever now, but Allar's strict warnings echoed through her mind. Under no circumstances was she to enter the garden.

Mattias pushed up from the chair with leonine ease. “When a Prince invites you
anywhere
here, take that as a golden access pass. If anyone troubles you over it, send them to me.”

Chey was tempted to tell him about the incident with Sander earlier in the woods, even if it wasn't related, and promptly dismissed it. She wasn't prone to 'tattling' and in reality, no harm had really been done. It didn't mean she wasn't still irked at Sander Fisk, but she wasn't going to out him.

“I'll remember you said that.” Chey stood when Mattias did, hyper-aware of his naked chest, the lean angles of his hips. Any woman would be, she told herself, and tried to put it from her mind.