Eddie looked at his boot. "Some people think so," he said.
"Then We wish you joy," the king said, "when you return home."
"Uh, thanks," Eddie said.
Anne Cathrine gave him a strange look, then left in a flurry of rustling silk. Eddie's heart gave a lurch. She seemed upset.
"It is unfortunate about the rifle," Christian said, appearing not to notice. "I was looking forward to having it duplicated."
Balanced on his single foot, Eddie sighed. "Bandits have been a problem since we came here from the future." He moved several steps closer. "Have your craftsmen been able to reproduce the lenses from the binoculars yet?"
Christian scowled. "No. I have summoned a lens grinder from Amsterdam. Once he arrives, then We will see."
Mike Stearns had taken a calculated risk in sending the binoculars, Eddie thought. Just because the technology to make such things didn't exist here yet, that didn't mean people of this era weren't smart. With a good example of what could be accomplished, they would figure the process out.
As for himself, he wasn't fooled by that letter. No high-power rifle had been sent to Denmark. There were no bandits. Stearns was stalling. He had something in mind, some plan, even if it was just to put off Christian indefinitely while Gustavus Adolphus built up his forces and moved men and resources into place.
All Eddie could do to help was play along. He would never see Grantville again, never go home, but, so far, it seemed he was the only person in Denmark who knew it.
Anne Cathrine did not come for her language lesson the next day or the next. Finally Eddie sought her out in the apartments she shared with her sisters.
A young maid opened the door, then stared at Eddie, her mouth frozen in an "O."
"Please say that Lieutenant Edward Cantrell is here to see Anne Cathrine," he said in Danish, the words awkward on his tongue.
The door closed in his face and he was left teetering on his one foot and feeling stupid. Voices sounded from within, muffled and unintelligible. Finally, the door opened again. Anne Cathrine stood before him, stiff and proper, as though they hadn't spent hours and hours together.
She inclined her head. As always, her red-gold hair was beautifully braided, but her cheeks were pale, almost as though she'd been sick. Her gown was dark green and very formal with tons of laces and gold and velvet trim. "What's up, dude?" she said carefully in English.
Eddie had to stifle a laugh. "I was worried," he said in Danish. "You did not come for your lessons."
Mistress Sehested's voice spoke sharply behind her in the royal apartments. Anne Cathrine glanced over her shoulder, then edged out into the hallway and closed the heavy oak door. "I am very busy at the moment," she said. "I have fittings for my wedding dress and . . ." Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip.
"He's really going to make you do it, then," he said, "marry that old goat?"
"Dinesen is quite . . . zealous on the subject of our union ." A tear trailed down her wan cheek. "He asked Papà to move up the wedding date, so I am afraid I have no more time for American lessons."
"You can't marry him!" Eddie said in English. "It just isn't right!"
"But you are to be married too," the girl said and brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "To this Marilyn Monroe."
"Oh, that." Eddie glanced around, but they were alone in the shadowy hallway. He could hear the wind howling outside. "Prime Minister Stearns doesn't know it yet, but Marilyn and I are calling that off."
Her blue eyes widened. "You are breaking your betrothal?"
"She's, um, in love with someone else," Eddie said, "this guy named John Kennedy. I'm not going to stand in their way. We just haven't announced it yet. In Grantville, we consider it immoral to marry someone you don't love."
"But," she said softly, "what about duty?"
"The pursuit of happiness is a duty," he said. "Marriages made without love and respect don't last. Just look at your mother and father."
"But Papà did love her," Anne Cathrine said. "He was so unhappy when she turned away from him."
Eddie remembered his own mother, who had stayed with an alcoholic husband when good sense would have dictated otherwise. "I will never marry anyone I don't love, and who doesn't love me back," he said. "And neither should you."
"But I have to do as I am bid."
"Not if you lived in Grantville," he said. He thought of Sharon Nichols, Julie Mackay, and Melissa Mailey. They could all explain this so much better than he ever could. "I wish I could take you there."