The Mediterranean Prince’s Captive Virgin. Robyn Donald

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      Not the sea, though; a lake. And a picture suddenly flicked up in her mind—a lake amongst hills, with a small island to one side. And on the island a castle set in gardens.

      A very good place to keep a prisoner, she thought grimly, wondering how far from the shores of the lake the island was. She’d seen the photograph of Osita in a tourist brochure, but since she’d had no intention of going there she’d taken little interest in it.

      The nurse brought her the basin and a hairbrush, and stood by while she freshened up before brushing her hair into some sort of order.

      ‘So pretty,’ the woman commented as Leola smoothed the tawny-gold locks back from her face.

      Absurdly self-conscious, Leola said, ‘Thank you.’ And asked before she could think things through, ‘Who owns this place?’

      The woman looked surprised. ‘The prince,’ she said, as though there was only one prince and everyone knew his name.

      While Leola digested this in dumbfounded silence, another knock on the door summoned her keeper across to collect a tray.

      The prince? The only prince she could think of was Prince Roman, the hereditary ruler of the Illyrian Sea Isles, and she’d seen photographs of him. With the stunning good looks of some Mediterranean god, he wasn’t her Viking.

      Fugitive colour burned across her cheeks as she realised what her wayward mind had come up with. Whoever the man who’d brought her here was, he most definitely wasn’t her anything.

      After all, he’d kissed her just so that someone could pump her full of drugs. But if this place belonged to Prince Roman Magnati surely she couldn’t be in any real danger. He’d grown up in Switzerland, become a tycoon, and only recently returned to Illyria to take over his duties and responsibilities.

      It didn’t seem likely he’d be any sort of threat. But in that case, why was she here?

      CHAPTER TWO

      LEOLA looked up as the nurse returned and settled the tray over her knees. Her worried thoughts took second place to hunger. Lemons, she thought, and chicken—and some sort of very tiny pasta? Certainly a hint of garlic.

      ‘Eggs and lemon soup with chicken,’ the nurse told her. ‘A Greek dish, and good for illness—very soothing and nourishing.’

      Amazingly, Leola finished it, and the chunk of crusty bread that arrived with it, obediently ate an orange and drank a cup of coffee with milk and sugar. Even more amazingly she drifted off into a restful sleep afterwards.

      It wasn’t until the second day that she wondered if she was being drugged with a mild sedative. Those naps were too frequent. She tried to convince herself that it could be the aftereffects of the original drug, and waited for the nurse to leave the room. Cautiously, head spinning rather pleasantly, she got out of bed—and found herself staggering like a drunkard.

      Something was definitely wrong.

      Apart from the obvious physical effects, she felt altogether too mellow. Normally she’d be spitting tacks at this imprisonment; now she could barely summon up any resentment.

      And it was not because the Viking kept striding into her thoughts and her dreams…

      Clutching the back of an armchair, she stared out the window and took in a series of deep breaths, forcing herself to concentrate. The scene outside was magnificent, gardens and lawns bordered by huge trees that almost hid what seemed to be a small building, perhaps a chapel, built in the same pale stone as the castle.

      But tempting though it was to drink it all in, she couldn’t waste time on the beauty spread before her.

      Although she couldn’t see any sign of a jetty, presumably there was one hidden by the trees. She leaned forward, frowning as she estimated the distance between the island and the mainland.

      Too far for her to cross without transport. Having been brought up beside the sea, she was a good swimmer, but she wouldn’t manage that distance.

      Even her disappointment was muted. Angrily, she called on her strength to resist the effects of whatever drug she’d ingested. Perhaps the other side of the island was closer to the shore. If it was less than a kilometre she’d be all right.

      So she’d find out. She’d insist on taking a walk. But she’d need to get the drug out of her system first; right now she was too limp to cope with anything more than a leisurely stroll, let alone a lengthy swim.

      It was no use asking the nurse for help, since she had to be administering the sedative.

      Just you wait, Prince Whoever-you-are, she thought fiercely. One day you’ll regret you ever dragged me into this business.

      The door opened behind her. She turned, almost overbalancing as her head whirled. Grimly she clung to the back of the armchair, taking another deep breath until her vision settled down.

      After a soft exclamation the nurse crossed the big room remarkably fast. ‘I think you try too hard, too soon,’ she chided, her dark eyes concerned. ‘Come, I’ll help you into the chair.’

      Shaken, Leola let her, and once settled into the armchair decided that from now on she’d eat as little as possible and drink only water she’d run herself from the tap.

      The nurse brought her several English magazines—fashion magazines Leola had already seen. She flicked through them, measuring the impact of various outfits, enjoying one acerbic column again, frowning at others, before pushing the magazines aside.

      Focus on figuring out a way to get yourself out of here, she commanded herself.

      Because she was going to have to. If she didn’t return home on her due date from this holiday no questions would be asked, no people alerted by her absence. She bit her lip. Well, not until her twin sister in New Zealand realised something was wrong.

      Which could already have happened, she thought anxiously. They shared a link; what one felt the other recognised. Oh, Lord, she hoped Giselle wasn’t frantically trying to contact her. Then her mouth curled ironically. On the other hand, that would mean release was close, because no prince would be a match for Giselle on the warpath.

      Tense with anger and frustration at her growing feeling of impotence, she picked up another magazine, flipping angrily through the pages until her eyelids grew heavy and her head slid sideways.

      She woke with a clearer brain and sight; a quick glance around the room revealed that she was alone again. This time she wasn’t nearly as shaky as she stood up from the chair and made her way into the bathroom to get a glass of water.

      Once it had been thirstily drained, she looked down at herself. She still wore the same exquisitely embroidered nightdress she’d woken in, and today, she decided, she was going to demand some clothes.

      And a walk in the garden.

      Plus, she was going to demand to know exactly why Prince Whoever had had her brought here, and what the hell was going on!

      She was back in the bedroom when the nurse tapped on the door and entered, beaming at the sight of her charge on her feet. ‘You feel better now?’ she asked. ‘Good. I run water for СКАЧАТЬ