The Cowboy and the Princess by Myrna Mackenzie Page A

his naked chest, of the fact that he towered over her and of those fierce, silver-blue eyes thatseemed to see things—her fears and insecurities—that she had always tried to hide.
    “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said in that deep voice that thrilled her against her better judgment.
    “I asked you for personal information you hadn’t offered. That’s an invasion of your privacy. And no one knows more than I how important privacy is. Yet I prodded you when you’ve been nothing but kind to me.”
    Owen muttered something that sounded like a curse, turned and grabbed a white shirt, shrugged into it and took her by the hand. “Come on.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To talk. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted by anyone.” His tone was brusque. He was frowning.
    “You’re still angry.” She couldn’t keep the sadness from her voice. “Princesses—well, we lead privileged lives and we take a lot for granted. That’s not a good thing. I suppose I’m not very good at apologies.”
    “Don’t say another word.” He kept moving, his large hand hard and strong where it cupped her own. When they were out of the house, he kept walking until they were in a copse of trees beside a stream. A very large rock with an indentation in the center sat next to the water as if it had been placed there.
    “Sit down,” he told her.
    She sat, as if he were the prince and she the commoner. She waited. He faced her.
    “I’m the one who owes you an apology,” he said.
    “No, I—”
    “Delfyne.” His voice was weary. “Let me finish. You were right about me being angry, but I wasn’t mad at you. I was upset about a lot of things, but none of it was your fault.”
    “The nosy question was definitely my fault,” she said.
    A low laugh escaped him.
    “What did I say?” she asked, wondering how she could make him laugh like that again.
    “It’s not the question, Princess, it’s the tone. The way you speak, all haughty and royal, as if your word is the last word.”
    “Well,” she said with a small, guilty smile. “It often is.”
    “I know that. I’m very aware of your rank…always.”
    “My rank—it means I get my way too often. You still haven’t accepted my apology. Rank is no excuse for bad manners or prying.”
    He held out his hand. “Andreus is your brother, and he’s put you in my hands because he trusts me. You deserve to know why he trusts me so much.”
    “You’re friends. You’re close.”
    “It’s more than that. I meant what I said when I told you that he had the right to ask anything he wanted of me. You—this arrangement—it’s more than unusual. It’s extreme in its own way. That is…I’m sure anyone in the kind of situation you and Andreus and your other family members are in often have to elude the public for safety’s sake, but it’s all new to me. Yet I fell into line, because Andreus went to the mat for me. You know that expression?”
    She shook her head.
    “It’s when one person supports another person with no reservations. There was a time in my life when I was in danger of losing it completely, and Andreus came to my rescue. He dropped everything—I’m sure that was no mean feat—and he flew here, listened to me and stuck by me until I could function again. It wouldn’t be out of line to say that he saved me from self-destruction. That’s why he can ask whatever he likes.”
    Owen’s words were matter-of-fact, but the look in his eyes was so intense—the memories were clearly causing him pain, but he wasn’t shying away—that Delfyne felt her throat closing up.
    “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
    “I should have told you already. Andreus probably wanted to, but he held back out of respect for my privacy. That wasn’t fair. It might have helped both of you if the truth came out. You should know what your brother has done for me. I’ll tell you…if that’s all right with you?”
    Delfyne fought the lump in her throat. She nodded.
    “All