Page 71 of Peasants and Kings
He laughed and pressed the button over his head. A moment later, the flight attendant in her smart, navy-blue uniform appeared.
“Sir?” she asked.
“We’re ready for lunch,” he said. “Thank you.”
She nodded and then disappeared up front to her private domain.
“How long is the flight?” I asked.
“About twelve and a half hours. Shetland is farther north than the mainland of Scotland.” He picked up his phone, tapped a few buttons, and then showed me a map across the screen.
“Lerwick is here,” he pointed to the town along the eastern coast.
“You live in Lerwick?” I asked. He paused and I looked away from the screen to his face. “Hadrian?”
Hadrian cleared his throat. “No. I don’t live in Lerwick. I live on an island which is a few hours away by yacht. About ten minutes by helicopter.”
“Are we taking a boat or a helicopter?”
“Depends,” he said with a wry smile. “Have you ever been on ayacht?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been on a helicopter, either.”
“We’ll take my yacht. The view from deck when we come into the harbor is…well, you’ll see.”
“What’s it like?” I asked. “Your home.”
“It overlooks the ocean. It’s built partly into the side of a mountain.”
“Sounds like a fortress,” I said lightly.
He peered at me and then nodded. “That’s exactly what it is.”
I swallowed a bout of nerves that fluttered in my belly. I looked out the window so I could stare into the clouds, so Hadrian couldn’t see the confusion I was feeling.
Who was Hadrian Rhys…and why did he need a fortress?
The hours of travel bled together. I dozed a few more times, only to wake up and find Hadrian studying me. When he wasn’t engaging me in conversation, he was on his phone.
The man never seemed to tire. He got up long enough to stretch his legs and make a private phone call before returning to his seat.
“Can I ask you a question?” I queried.
“Sure.”
“The first night we were together…”
“Aye?”
“You spoke in a foreign language when you were…”
He smiled softly. “When I was what?”
“Coming,” I finished, wondering at my bout of sudden shyness.
Shyness should have no place between a courtesan and her lover.
“It was Norwegian,” he answered.
