Chapter Sixty-Eight

Thank god he could walk again. That was all Harry could think about as he angrily paced the halls of the palace. Well, perhaps not angrily. He wasn't angry. Just frustrated. Annoyed. Exasperated.

He'd have to return to the throne room, he knew. Malcolm was taking care of most things, thank goodness, as Harry's secretary. But Harry himself had to be there, too. He wanted to be, to help with the plans and to know what they were coming up with for him. It was just that it all became a bit too much for him. The whole sodding circus of it.

It was supposed to be a nice gesture, he knew. Ruth had explained it all to him months ago when she'd first broached the subject.

She had been queen for more than two years now. Over a year since her coronation. She had been managing things well. Juliet was sent on royal tours, keeping her away from the family and out taking care of things that Ruth didn't want to bother with herself. And Harry helped out where he could. He made public appearances and speeches and things. He was home to be with their daughters who were growing faster than he could ever imagine. He worked with Ros and the Royal Guard. He as a sounding board for Catherine in her work with the foreign affairs advisor. And he liked all of that. He was perfectly content with his position.

But, as Ruth had pointed out, the appearance of their marriage and their family already caused people to talk. Harry was so much older than she was, he had been her boss, he had two grown children and fathered their two young daughters. He had officially retired from his position with the army as Major Pearce. He was now just Sir Harry, knighted by King Richard V for his heroism during the war, and royal consort. His age and former position gave him a gravitas that was at odds with his current inferior title and standing. And so, to bring further credibility and respect to the royal family, Harry was being given a title.

Well, a title by itself would have been fine. He wouldn't have cared. He'd be called Harry, Duke or Earl or Lord Whatever. But no, that would have been too easy. No, Harry was going to be a prince.

If it weren't for the annoyance of the requirement of a formal coronation—this time being crowned by the Queen and thankfully not the full nonsense Ruth had done with the Legislature present—Harry wouldn't have even minded being Prince Harry. But the coronation was being planned and that was a hassle he did not want or need.

He couldn't even be too annoyed by the coronation, though, not to Ruth at any rate. He didn't want to appear ungrateful, even if he was a bit. He didn't want to whine and complain to her about any of this because she had far more important things to be getting on with. Besides, the precise title she was bestowing upon him was a far greater honor than he would have ever thought to want. He was going to become Prince of Leister. The last Prince of Leister had been Ruth's own father. Ruth had been born Princess Louisa of Leister, inheriting the title of her father. And now it would be Harry to be the next Prince of Leister, and their daughters would be Princess Emilia of Leister and Princess Charlotte of Leister. Emmy was also Crown Princess Emilia, which was still a horrific prospect for both Harry and Ruth, thinking of their six-year-old daughter as the heir to the throne.

If Harry had to be a proper crowned royal, he could think of no one better to follow than King James V. He just wished it wasn't such a hassle.

And so he was walking the halls of the palace after escaping his coronation committee. He was getting quite grumpy about the whole thing, so rather than let out his frustrations on the people just doing their jobs, he instead stormed out and took to roaming the halls. He'd been at it for longer than he should have been. His bad knee was starting to twinge. He didn't need the cane anymore, thank goodness, but he knew he'd never be back to his former fitness and ability before he'd been shot.

Harry was thinking of turning back and returning to the coronation committee when a sound caught his attention. It was a sound he'd know anywhere, actually, which was why he noticed it. It was the sound of his daughter giggling.

That sound was followed very quickly by the sound of a door closing. Harry actually saw the slight movement and followed it. There was a storage cupboard at the far end of the hallway. Curious as to why his daughter might be giggling in a closet, Harry opened the cupboard door without any announcement.

And there was a sight he had never imagine or anticipated or wanted in any possible way. His daughter, his sweet young girl, was wrapped in the arms of a man.

"Catherine!" he barked.

She pulled away from the man whose mouth she'd shoved her tongue into and turned to her father. "Dad!" she shrieked. "What are you…?"

"You are not the one who gets to ask questions, young lady!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her out into the hallway.

The young man whose hands had been all over Harry's daughter followed them out of the shadowy cupboard and into the light of the corridor. He had the good sense to keep his head down and look embarrassed at being caught in such a position.

"You," Harry snapped at the lad, "Who are you?"

He lifted his head. His dark complexion and wide features looked familiar to Harry. "Danny Hunter, Sir Harry," the man said.

And then it clicked. Harry knew why he recognized this Danny Hunter. He knew the name all to well. "Oh bloody hell," he swore. Danny Hunter was a member of the Royal Guard. Danny Hunter was Catherine's personal bodyguard.

"Dad, don't you do anything to him," Catherine warned.

Harry turned back to her and pointed menacingly. "You aren't in a position to be saying anything. Christ, shouldn't you be working? Not snogging your bodyguard all around the palace!?"

Catherine hung her head, properly chastised.

Ruth's voice appeared in Harry's head, reminding him that he was entering those dangerous heart attack years and he'd keel over with a coronary if he didn't keep his temper under control. He took a slow, deep breath. "Mr. Hunter, you are relieved of duty until further notice. You are dismissed. The Head of the Royal Guard will be in contact to follow up on this incident." His voice was low and dangerous, he knew, but he used that to his advantage.

Danny Hunter nodded curtly and spared a soft look at Catherine before he turned and left.

Harry turned back to Catherine. "What the hell were you thinking?" he growled.

When Catherine looked up at him, there were tears shining in her eyes, but she did not cry. She was strong, his eldest child. She was emotional and compassionate and empathetic, but she was strong. She would not crumble under this scrutiny. "I really like him, Dad. And it's not like I can live any kind of normal life and meet someone. Danny's with me all the time. And we've gotten to talking and…I really like him."

As much as he wanted to shout at her some more and send her to her room and ground her, Harry knew he couldn't. Catherine was twenty-six years old. Jesus, when Ruth was twenty-six, she'd already been married to Harry for a year. Harry had been married to Jane when he was twenty-six. Jane had given birth to Graham when she was twenty-six. But given the life that the Pearce family now lived, Catherine was not afforded the same opportunities. And Harry could not treat her like she was a rebellious teenager anymore. She was an adult with a proper job, and he knew he had to treat her as such. He sighed upon reaching this inevitable conclusion. "Go about your day, please. We'll talk about this later."

"Please don't fire him, Dad," she begged.

"I cannot control with Ros does with him. But I will speak with her on the subject. And if you want me to try and make sure Danny isn't thrown out on his behind, you'll do well to remember that you don't have a bodyguard until we give you a new one, since Danny proves a conflict of interest. And because you don't have a bodyguard, you aren't leaving these walls until someone else has been assigned to your personal protection."

Catherine nodded gravely. She understood the situation as he'd hoped she would. She was an adult, after all. And because she was an adult, she did not cry and whine about it like she would have done when she was younger.

He dismissed her as he'd done with Danny, and he watched her walk away down the corridor. It was such a strange thing to realize. She was properly grown up now. Where had the time gone? How had he gotten so old that his daughter was old enough to have children of her own? He was proud of her, of course, for growing into such an accomplished and bright woman. But the consequence of that was this exact circumstance. She was a woman. And Harry hated it.