Dana Marton - Stranded with the Prince

“Rabbits and foxes.”

At least that was reassuring.

They walked until noon but found nothing. “We should switch tactics and walk the perimeter of the island,” Lazlo recommended. “Even if the guards keep out of our way, we should be able to find one of their tents. We’d be set for supplies at least.”

Exactly. Why didn’t she think of that earlier? Had to be the champagne.

Downhill was a lot easier than up. She did slip a couple of times, but he always caught her easily. She didn’t like when they were touching. He was the type of man a woman couldn’t help but be aware of physically.

Several hours passed as they walked, keeping as much as possible to the shade of the trees. Her stomach growled.

“Should have brought some food and champagne,” Lazlo said. “Sorry.”

“We didn’t know it would take this long.”

It had to be midafternoon by the time he spotted the tent under a clump of trees and pointed it out to her.

She was so tired she could barely walk, but she broke into a run.

“Hello, we need help.” She pushed through the open flap, relieved that the nightmare was over.

Then reeled back, was caught against Lazlo’s wide chest. He swore softly, put his arms around her, tried to pull her back. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the sight in front of her.

Inside the tent was the dead body of one of the guards. Lying in a pool of blood, stripped naked. A sight that eerily echoed the rock paintings.

Lazlo searched for a weapon, but Ben’s gun was gone. So was his radio.

“For love’s sake.” The mumbled words came through as Milda cupped her hands in front of her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, which were round with shock.

He looked outside. The woods seemed empty, the birds trilling in the air, no sign that anyone might be lurking in the bushes. He waited anyway, watching for any movement, listening for any sound that didn’t belong. When he was certain that they were alone, he pulled the tent flap closed behind them.

“We’ll be fine. I think we’re alone for now. As soon as I take care of Ben, we should grab whatever we can use, then get out of here.”

The young guard had only been working at the palace for a little over a year. He was a fine polo player and an antique car enthusiast. They’d had some conversations. Yesterday wasn’t the first time the man had been assigned to Lazlo’s personal detail.

He wrapped the man in his sleeping bag, then carried him outside, to a spot they’d passed on their way to the tent. A storm had uprooted an ancient olive tree, leaving a giant hole in the ground. He laid Ben in the hole, then went back for the short camping shovel he’d seen in the tent’s corner.

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