‘What?’ he asked, surprised by her question.
‘You said something.’
‘No,’ he denied flatly, despite wondering if it were a lie. If he kept his words simple, she might leave sooner. He checked his watch. From the sound of the wind outside, they had maybe ten minutes before the storm struck. And no matter why she was here now, he was one hundred per cent sure that she wouldn’t be in nine minutes’ time. She couldn’t be.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ she demanded, as if flustered by his silence.
‘Youcamehere, Princess,’ he growled, unable to keep the animal in him at bay.
‘Don’t call me that.’
Her tone was defensive rather than angry and it wasn’t what he’d expected. It piqued an interest he really didn’t want to havepiqued. So he shrugged off her complaint and focused on what was pertinent.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Can we go inside?’ She looked around the small boot room separating the cabin’s front and internal doors, not with superiority that might have been expected from a royal, but rather as if she were uncomfortable.
He nearly laughed, aware that he must be miles removed from the polite courtiers that surrounded her on a daily basis. No, he was far from civilised. He was a soldier, forged in some of the world’s worst hellholes on his missions seconded to the UN. He wouldn’t diminish himself for her comfort. Instead of replying to her question, he shook his head. He had no interest in letting her any further into his cabin.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks as she cast her eye around the space, the old butler’s sink behind him and the bench that had become a shoe rack beneath the coats and layers hung up by the door. It looked more rough than rustic. Inside, the cabin was anything but, though he had no intention of her ever getting that far. Yet there was an irony to it, he supposed. After all, she’d been the one to teach him that looks could be deceiving.
‘I need you to accept the medal.’
A burst of white noise exploded in his ears, levelling out on a high-pitched ringing that left him a little disorientated. Then came a wave of outrage that washed away his patience. Fury tightened his chest. He’d told his commander he couldn’t accept it. He’d even told the King directly. And he’d sentherhere?
Kjell turned away and shut his mouth before he could curse, disguising his reaction by placing the rag in his hand on the shelf behind him. He breathed in and out through his nose, regaining composure, if not calm, before turning back to where she stood in front of the door.
‘I informed command that I would not accept the medal.’
‘I am not leaving here unless you do,’ she warned, her tone making him combative. But it was there in her eyes, a flash that caught his attention. A desperation that didn’t fit.
‘Why is this so important to you?’ he asked, following his gut.
‘It will reflect badly on my brother if you do not.’
‘No. It’s not that,’ he said, wanting to move, wanting to assess, to circle her like prey that had shown its weakness. Freya’s words had been too smooth, too quick.
‘It is all you need to know.’
The response cut him like a knife. Four months ago, it would have been enough. He would have stood to attention, saluted and done as ordered with aSir, yes, sir. He would never in a million years have questioned a commanding officer, let alone his country’s Princess or his King, no matter what had happened between them personally. Even now he wrestled with the need to obey, the legacy of his service and duty as one of the most respected and trusted soldiers of the Svardia Armén.
‘That is no longer good enough for me, Your Highness,’ he said through gritted teeth.
His tone, his words, they all said so much and so little. What had happened to him? Freya searched his face, his body, needing something,anything, to help her understand the change in him. This close up, she could see now, he was so very different. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, emphasising the bulk of his biceps and the tense corded muscle along his forearm. Proud, determined, immovable. It was the kind of look that quelled rebellions and marshalled armies. She saw it then. The warrior that he’d become, the power that he wore like armour and hated that she found it magnificent.
She’d once told Kjell her fears, her hopes...her secrets. But to this man? No. This man was completely different. Maybe if she hadn’t been so hurt, maybe if they’d spoken afterwards, maybe if they’d somehow made sense of the mess her father had caused when he’d sent Kjell to her undercover, she might have been able to tell him the true reason she was here. But she just couldn’t trust him with that. Not any more.
He stared down at her, bright blue eyes shining with an intensity that threatened to strip away the layers of protection she had put in place. She had to get out of this cabin. And it had nothing to do with the fast-approaching storm and everything to do with him and what he made her think of. What he made her want. She hated it, the desperation she felt, the fear that had brought her here, to him. The tears that pressed against the backs of her eyes were hot and she blinked rapidly to try to keep them at bay.
‘Kjell,’ she said. His name so familiar on her tongue. Her body’s instinctive softening around it like a muscle memory that hurt her heart. ‘Please,’ she said, hating the way that her voice nearly broke. ‘I need this.’
But when she looked up at him the fierce anger in his eyes shocked her.
‘You need this?You?’ he demanded, his voice increasing in volume. ‘You come here in a helicopter, demanding that I accept a medal like it’s a favour to you aftereightyears during which I’ve not been able to gohome?’
Freya stepped back instinctively to protect herself from the barrage of words flying at her. He’d not been able to go home?
‘Kjell, I—’