The Man Behind the Mask. Christine Rimmer

and set jaws, I seriously doubted it.

      I gave in and did it their way. “Okay. I was sleeping. I didn’t see them come in. It was the noise of the fight that woke me up. I thought at first I was having some kind of nightmare.…”

      I told the rest as I remembered it. It was pretty disjointed. Really, what did I know? I woke up to find three men fighting at the foot of the bed. One of them beat up the other two, tied them up and ripped off their masks. I added, “I was so freaked at first, I forgot there were guards I could call. But then the guy in the leather mask finished with the other two. I figured I had to be next on his to-do list and I knew I wasn’t up for that. About then, I remembered the guards. I threw back my head and screamed. A lot. When I looked again, he was gone. Maybe five seconds later, you and the guards rushed in.”

      Brit asked, “Did the intruders say anything—to you or to each other?”

      “Well, the guy in the leather mask asked me if I was injured. When I shook my head, he told me to give him the gun. That was after he’d won the fight, but before he tied up the other two.”

      “Concentrate on the other two,” Eric said patiently. “Did they say anything?”

      By then I was wondering if they even believed me about the guy in the leather mask—but they had to know there was someone else. It was pretty obvious I hadn’t handled the two thugs in ski masks all by my lonesome.

      I frowned at Brit and then at Eric. “So okay. You don’t care what the guy in the leather mask said?”

      Eric let out a long breath. “Certainly we do.”

      “We care very much,” Brit chimed in. “But the truth is…” She shot a pleading glance at Eric. He frowned, but said nothing. So she went on. “The man in the mask is…known to us. He’s an ally, you might say.”

      “So…he was trying to protect me?” They nodded in unison. “But how did he know to—”

      Brit cut me off. “Dulce. Can we get back to what happened please? What did the man in the leather mask say?”

      “I told you. He asked if I was hurt and said to give him the gun. Which I didn’t.” I was way proud of that. Hey. My performance had not been stellar, you know? I was clutching at straws.

      And I might be useless in a fight, but that didn’t mean I was stupid. Slowly I was putting two and two together. The two in the ski masks had to be the bad guys and the other one had come to my rescue. So it was a good thing I hadn’t been able to make myself shoot him…right?

      Good a guess as any, I thought.

      “And the others?” Brit prompted. “Did they speak?”

      I tried to remember. “Someone said something when I first woke up, before I sat up and saw what was going on. The voice was…different. Rougher than the voice of the one in leather.”

      “Not the one in leather, then?” asked Eric.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “What did the other man say? What were his words?”

      I thought about it a minute, trying to get it right. “‘I’ll…cut off your balls, fitz-something,’ I think.”

      A wry smile curved Brit’s mouth. “Fitzhead?”

      I beamed. “That’s it. That’s what he said.” Then I frowned. “What does it mean?”

      “Let me put it this way, you don’t call a Gullandrian a fitzhead unless you’re in a fight or planning on starting one.”

      “Big-time insult, huh?”

      She nodded. “And that’s all? All any of them said?” “Yeah, I think so…” I was feeling sheepish, wishing there was more to tell.

      Brit grabbed me close again and hugged me some more. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with this,” she whispered against my hair.

      I hugged her back. “I’m okay, really.” And then I pulled back so I could look at her. “But why?” I demanded. “Why would someone want to kidnap you? For ransom, you think?”

      Eric spoke then. “We’ll question the intruders as soon as they regain consciousness.” It was a brush-off, no matter how gently he said it. “We’ll get some answers, never fear.” Uh-huh. Answers no one would be sharing with me. He added, “And now, I think it’s best if you wait in another room of the suite. There’ll be a few more questions for you when Hauk arrives.”

      Brit grabbed my hand. “Come on, Dulce. Let’s see if we can find your robe and slippers in this mess.…”

      Brit led me down the hall to a small sitting room and waited with me for Hauk to come. It took a while. We sat on a velvet settee and listened to the sounds of booted feet going in and out of the suite. I tried two or three times to talk to her about what had happened back there in her room. But she was evasive. She’d say, “Let’s just wait till Hauk comes,” or, “Dulce, we don’t really know much of anything yet.” When I asked her about the man in the leather mask, she only shook her head and said she couldn’t say more about him.

      Finally, about half an hour after we entered the sitting room, Hauk Wyborn came to talk to me.

      He filled the doorway. Literally. Elli’s husband was about six-eight. I swear to you, he looked like a Marvel comics superhero come to life. Massively muscular, with shoulder-length blond hair. And when I say muscular, I mean as in Hulk Hogan, as in Schwarzenegger during his bodybuilding days.

      Brit left us. I told Hauk what I knew. Gravely he thanked me. “There may be more questions later,” he warned. “And may I take this opportunity to tender His Majesty’s deepest regrets for what has happened here tonight?”

      “Well, sure,” I said, feeling there was probably some proper response to that. But not being Gullandrian, I didn’t know what it was. “And, uh, thank you for…everything.”

      He bowed his big blond head. “I am more than gratified to be of service.” He looked at me again, piercingly, without the slightest trace of a smile. “And may the wise eye of Odin be upon you.”

      Was that a good thing, to have the wise eye of Odin “upon you”? I supposed it must be. He didn’t say it as if it was a threat or anything. And what should I say now? He just didn’t come across as a small-talk kind of guy.

      A tap on the door saved me from having to figure out my next conversational gambit. It was Brit, fully dressed in gray slacks, black shoes and a funnel-neck sweater. “Finished?”

      Hauk saluted, fist to chest. “Yes, Your Highness. The interview is concluded.”

      He left us. Once I knew he was out of earshot, I remarked, “He’s your sister’s husband, and he calls you Your Highness?”

      She shrugged. “It’s a matter of form, that’s all.”

      “But is he always so…”

      She knew the word I wanted. “Reserved? Well, sometimes, when Elli’s around, he’ll lighten up a little.”

      “Fun guy to have at a party, huh?”

      “Hauk’s a soldier, through and through. He’d never have become the king’s warrior if he weren’t. The training is killing. And I mean literally. Men have died trying to prove themselves worthy of the job. And Hauk’s not only good at his job, he’s…spectacular. A great warrior. The people adore him—and you should see him fight.”

      “Uh. No, thanks.”

      “Come on. I don’t mean a real fight.”

      “Oh. There’s another kind?”

      She nodded. “In the warm months, my father puts on a series of fairs down in the parkland below the palace. At the fairs, Gullandrian men come from all over the country to fight staged battles in the old, wild Viking manner.