‘Freya?’ an urgent voice demanded when the call connected.
‘Henna!’ she cried, so relieved to hear her friend’s voice.
‘Are you okay? I was told about them having to leave you...where... Okay?’
‘Henna? Are you there?’
‘Can’t...you,’ came the panicked response.
She sent a look to where Kjell was leaning back against the sideboard, holding his coffee mug to his chest and observing her distress with a passivity that bordered on cruel.
‘Kjell?’
He scowled. ‘It’s a satellite phone, Freya. It needs to be visible to the satellite. And while I’m sure your model has indoor capabilities, there is deep cloud cover and snow has piled up on the roof.’ He stalked to where she stood by the table and took the phone from her. ‘Henna, if you can hear me, she’s fine. Check in with Gunnar Sydow for her return ETA.’ He disconnected the call and threw the phone onto the sofa, before disappearing into the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him.
Freya was at her wits’ end. Nothing about today had gone as planned, from the meeting with her brother to this moment. She was stuck here with a man she’d never wanted to see again. Not only that but he clearly blamed her for something that had happened as the result of one sentence; one heartbroken, devastated cry of a young woman who’d had the most wonderful love ripped away before her very eyes.
‘I didn’t ask for this, you know,’ she shouted at him through the closed door, when what she really wanted to say was that she hadn’t wanted him exiled. She’d just known that she’d never see him again. She’d known, even then, eight years ago, on that helicopter ride as he’d begged her to look at him, to let him explain...she couldn’t allow him to. Because what she’d felt for him all those years ago had been too much. Too strong. She would never have been able to let him go, even though she’d known that she wouldn’t have been allowed to keep him.
The door was yanked open and Kjell emerged, his arms full of bedding, his face a blank mask. He stalked to where the sofas were and threw the bedding down.
The,‘It’s all yours, Your Highness,’was a growl between his lips as he passed her, heading back to the kitchen, and it made her want to cry. She sucked in a shaking breath, keeping it as inaudible as possible and slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind her. She sank down with her back against the door, pressing a fist to her mouth.
All she’d wanted was to stand down on her own terms, without the press finding out, so that she could lick her wounds in private. The moment the doctors had told her that she’d never be able to carry a child to term, that the lining of her uterus was too thin for implantation, she’d known how the press would react. They’d question her role—what use was a royal who couldn’t produce heirs? And then they’d question Aleksander. Marit. And that was unbearable.
She was under no illusions, never had been. Her father had always ensured that the family did what was best for the country. It came first. Always. But he’d been especially hard on her. Perhaps because he saw himself in her. Before his brother’s tragic death, her father had been second in line to the throne. Perhaps the shock, the weight of that responsibility, having to take that on while he should have been allowed to grieve had changed something fundamental in him. But it was as if he’d never seen her forherself.Only her ability to support Aleksander. Support the throne.
And she knew that when her father heard the news of her infertility his first thought would be that she wouldn’t be able to do her duty. He would hurt for her, she knew that, but only after they’d protected the throne.
And it wouldn’t matter what good she’d achieved as ambassador to her charities, as CEO to a women’s science initiative, it wouldn’t matter how skilled she was at smoothing ruffled diplomatic feathers. She would be known by absence for ever, by what she didn’t have. A working womb. The chance for motherhood. Children.
She’d never,neverthought there would be aproblem. That there was something defective, broken inside her. And she hated that her infertility made her feel less. Less hopeful, less free, less of a woman. But it was more than that, she realised as she pressed her back against the bedroom door. She felt it deep within her, constant, unconditional, infinite: all the love she had to give, but no one to give it to. Absent parents, a distant brother and a self-involved sister. And, her heart shuddered, a man she couldn’t share it with and the children she’d not be able to have.
Her hand shook. She saw them so clearly, the little boy and little girl, each with blond hair and arctic blue eyes.Kjell’s.She was shocked to realise that she’d never given up that dream.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she pushed it away, only another came and then another as she stifled the sound of her cries. But she clenched her teeth, determination filling her. No matter what happened, she couldn’t let Kjell know why she needed him to accept the medal. Because he had been and would be the only person who had ever seen her whole rather than broken.
Kjell paced the kitchen area, not liking how quiet Freya was. She’d always had a poise about her, regal, something contained and restrained. But she had closed the door behind her over three hours ago and not opened it since.
Dark had descended and she hadn’t turned on the light in the room. He’d have been able to see it through the crack beneath the door. An hour and a half ago he’d knocked to tell her that there was dinner on the table if she wanted it, but there’d been no response.
The caged animal growled that it was her own fault. But his conscience jabbed him in the gut, his stomach twisting with guilt. He’d behaved like the beast she’d accused him of being. His tone, words, actions towards her harsh and unforgiving. He could admit to that. He’d make it up to her, he promised her deep in his soul. But not before he got to the bottom of why she needed him to accept the medal. Because there was one thing he knew for sure. It had nothing to do with him or her brother and absolutely everything to do with her.
CHAPTER FOUR
FREYAWOKEFEELINGabsolutely awful. Her eyes were puffy and swollen and her throat sore, as if she’d swallowed sand.
Water. She needed water.
But that meant she’d have to leave the bedroom. And Kjell was outside. She closed her eyes. Kjell. There was just so much...toomuch. But she couldn’t hide in here for the next however many days, no matter how much she wanted to. Last night, the hurt and pain had risen because she’d been shocked and exhausted. But she’d had her moment of weakness and now she needed to face reality.
Being stuck in Kjell’s cabin gave her the opportunity to get exactly what she wanted. Him to accept the medal. And that wouldn’t happen if she stayed hiding in his bedroom. Sitting up, she was struck by the stunning view from the windows. Unlike the sitting room, which was covered in pale blond wood, rich deep ochre-coloured leather and all the warm brown tones in between, Kjell’s room matched the snowscape.
In the sitting room she’d felt cocooned and safe, protected from the outside world. Here, in his room, she waspartof it. White linen, impossibly soft grey fur throws and wood flooring so dark it looked like charcoal. The wooden wall panels in here had been painted white but sanded back so that they blended with the wood’s natural colouring. Even his clothes seemed to eschew colour as if he sought to camouflage himself in the winter wonderland.
As if thinking of him had worked some spell, her eyes snagged on movement out by the lake. Alert in an instant, she watched his figure move at speed across the edge of the frozen disc of water and into the woods. The misty breath streaming from his mouth spoke of a minus temperature that made Freya shiver. He was wearing a hat, gloves and layers enough to bulk out the torso she’d seen yesterday.
Heat, delicious, wicked and instantaneous, blanketed her at the sheer memory of him. Her woman’s mind wondered how different it would be to make love to that man, but her younger self lashed out, still hurt and betrayed from years before, self-protection an almost violent need. Steeling herself, she threw back the covers and focused on showering before he could return. The temptation to raid the kitchen and grab everything she might need for the day was fierce, but she was done hiding. At least she would be clean, dressed and have her defences in place by the time they went for round two.