Authors: The Princess Goes West

Nan Ryan (40 page)

“Yes, of course,” she said, her heart aching. “Keep it and … think of me … sometime.” She tried to smile, failed.

“Everyday of my life,” he said, and in the fleeting expression she saw in his beautiful blue eyes was the revelation of a soul in torment.

It was gone in an instant, and she thought that, although they had come from two different worlds, they were, in some ways, very much alike. She had been trained from childhood to conceal suffering and to suppress all signs of emotion. He had trained himself from childhood to conceal suffering and to suppress all signs of emotion.

His eyes were dry and so were hers.

The second boarding call came.

“Oh, God,” he said, “this is hard.”

She stepped closer, laid a hand on the gleaming silver star on his chest, and said, “I love you. I will always love you, my darling.”

Virgil took a deep breath, touched her pale cheek with gentle fingers, and said, “And I love you, Your Royal Highness.”

She swallowed anxiously, then swallowed again. “You could come with me. I could give you a title.”

“Princess Marlena,” he smiled sadly and said, “I already have a title. Captain, Texas Rangers.”

Her heart breaking, she nodded, knowing he would never leave the Rangers.

Wishing he could kiss her, knowing he could not, Virgil squeezed her small hand one last time, then stepped back as her royal entourage surrounded her and hastily ushered the princess on board.

With True at his side, Virgil Black stood on the depot platform and watched the train with its royal railcars carry away the love of his life. While the princess waved a gloved hand for as long as she could see him, the Ranger’s hands remained at his sides, his fingers curled into fists so tight his short nails were cutting into his palms.

“You shouldn’t have let her go,” True said. “You’ll never find another like her.”

“No, I don’t suppose I will,” drawled Virgil. “I don’t run into too many royal princesses in my line of work.”

He turned quickly and walked away so that the older man wouldn’t see the mist of tears in his eyes.

When the depot had been left behind and the train snaked slowly eastward, the princess, fighting back the tears she refused to shed, turned her head, looked out the window.

Montillion, concerned, inquired respectfully, “Your Highness, are you all right?”

“Yes, I … it’s just … this American desert,” she said, looking longingly out the window of the royal coach, “it has toughened my muscles, but softened my pride.”

“We better close the window,” Montillion said, “looks like a west Texas dust storm is forming to the south.”

She turned, smiled, and repeated what Virgil had said to her that day they got caught in the sand-storm, “Why a little sandstorm is good for a girl’s complexion.”

Montillion frowned, puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I was teasing,” she said, turning back to the window.

When the slow-moving train began to pick up speed at the outskirts of the city, the princess was still staring out the window, looking back.

“Forget something?” asked Montillion.

“I wish I could,” said the princess. She turned to look at her factor with big, sad eyes. “I can’t. Oh, Montillion, I love him so. I wish I were not a princess. I wish—”

“Do you really mean it?” Montillion interrupted. “You would be content to stay on in America with your Ranger?”

“I would gladly give up the throne for the man I love,” she said, and unable to fight back the tears any longer, buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

Montillion looked with love and pity on this remarkable young princess he had known since birth. He drew a deep breath and said, “Perhaps there is a way.”

The princess looked up at him with round, tear-filled eyes. As quickly and succinctly as possible, Montillion told her exactly the same incredible story he had told Robbie Ann earlier. At the conclusion of the tale, he said, “And she’s right here on the train with us. Stay right where you are.”

He hurried away, returning seconds later with Robbie Ann in tow. The two young women stared at each other, speechless. Then they fell into each other’s arms crying and embracing and talking at the same time.

“You look just like me!” said Princess Marlena pulling back to gaze at her half sister.

“You’re prettier,” said Robbie Ann.

“No, I’m not. Did you get my awful ears?”

“Did I ever!” Robbie Ann tossed back the right side of her hair. “Look for yourself.”

“You did!” squealed the princess, and the sisters went into fits of laughter.

“There’s not much time,” Montillion reminded them.

“He’s right,” said Princess Marlena, stepping out of Robbie Ann’s embrace but continuing to cling tightly to her hand. Eagerly, she asked, “If I chose to stay on in America, would you take my place on the throne?”

Robbie Ann looked from the princess to Montillion. “Would that be possible, Monty? I mean … we all know that I am … well, you know.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Montillion assured her. “Our country is a forward-thinking, modern kingdom. An illigit—a Morganic offspring can ascend to the throne, just as he or she could in say, Scotland.”

Robbie Ann’s wide-eyed gaze returned to her newly found half sister. “Montillion’s telling you the truth,” the princess assured her. “So you see, you wouldn’t be taking my place on the throne. It is actually
your
place, since you were born before me.”

Nodding, thinking, Robbie Ann said worriedly, “But I’m wanted for robbery.”

“Not in Hartz-Coburg,” said Montillion. “Our only trick is to get you out of the country as quickly as possible.” His brow furrowed then and he asked, “But what about your accomplice? That fellow the paper calls British Bob? He means something to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my latest affliction,” said Robbie Ann with self-effacing charm and a smile.

“Could you bear to leave him?” asked Princess Marlena.

“You mean would I give Bob up for the throne?” said Robbie Ann, laughing merrily. “Quicker than you can say ‘Your Royal Highness’!” Then, looking at Montillion, she said, “But I would hate to see Bob go to prison.”

“That’s no real worry.” Montillion dismissed any lingering concern. “I’ll send a telegraph to Hamilton Fish, the American secretary of state. He can be convinced to show your gentleman friend leniency.”

Shaking her head, Robbie Ann again turned to Princess Marlena. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Very sure. And you?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life,” said Robbie Ann.

The sisters hugged again, and the princess said, “I’m so sorry about all those years we—”

“Let’s just be glad we found each other,” Robbie Ann said into Princess Marlena’s ear. “And promise you will stay in touch with us.”

“I promise,” said the princess, then turned eagerly to Montillion. “Now, Montillion, quickly, please, reach up and pull the cord. Have them unhook this coach from the rest of the train.”

Montillion shook his head. “Sorry, my dear, but this is the royal coach. All I can do is have the train stop so that you can get off.”

And with that he pulled the cord, and the moving train began to slow. When it came to a full screeching stop on the tracks, the princess hugged Her Royal Highness Robbie Ann one last time. She dashed over to the cushioned seat where she’d left her bottle of white sand. She snatched up the bottle and bolted to the door.

Her sister said, “Is that all you’re taking with you?”

“It’s the only thing I want,” said the starry-eyed Marlena.

Then, laughing, she hugged Montillion and murmured, “Monty, dear loyal Monty.”

She stepped down off the train, threw her slender shoulders back, and walked all the way to True’s house. The sun was setting when she reached the little adobe.

True and Virgil were out on the porch when they spotted her coming up the narrow dirt road in the gathering twilight.

“What the …?” muttered Virgil and came to his feet. “Jesus, it’s … it’s.…”

He stepped off the porch and started running, his heart pounding in his chest. The tired, happy princess ran to meet him. Tightly clutching her bottle of white sand, she leaped into his outstretched arms, and Virgil swung her around, exclaiming, “You’ve come back! Baby, you’ve come back to me!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, “I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t!”

“Thank God,” he whispered into her ginger hair. “I don’t want to live without you.
Can’t
live without you, Princess.”

She kissed him soundly and said, “I don’t like that title anymore. I don’t want to be called princess.”

“What do you want to be called?” he asked, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her toward the adobe house where the smiling True was clapping his hands with glee.

Her slender arms looped around the strong column of his neck, the princess looked into the Ranger’s shining blue eyes and said, “Mrs. Black. Mrs. Virgil Black.”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media

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