Taken by the Prince

by Christina Dodd

  Now the others stirred, one by one leaving their tents to cook, to tend the horses, to stretch, rub their eyes, gather in small groups to discuss … something. Something that involved Raul and Victoria, if their smiling glances were anything to judge by.

  At last Danel staggered out of his tent, scratching and yawning loudly.

  A young woman with dark, flashing eyes followed.

  Like a cat, she rubbed up against him.

  He swatted her bottom.

  She smiled and sauntered off.

  Another woman, not so young, but very pretty, followed her, tying her hair back in a ribbon. She, too, lifted her face for his kiss, got a swat on the bottom, and staggered away, looking a little more exhausted than the first.

  Finally, Celesta ducked out of the tent, her arms full of clothing. She kissed him on the mouth, got the now-familiar pat on the bottom, and walked across the camp and into the woods.

  Victoria could scarcely believe the parade.

  Raul spoke in Victoria’s ear. “Danel has a reputation as a great and inexhaustible lover of women.”

  The discussion was earthy and embarrassing, but Victoria kept her voice steady when she said, “I see that. Is that all of them?”

  “Unless more of them sneaked in after I fell asleep.”

  “Are they his …” She paused awkwardly, not knowing exactly how to phrase her question. “That is, is he married to any or all of them?”

  Raul chuckled, his chest rocking her. “Not at all. In Moricadia, a man is allowed only one wife. But if he can convince women to visit his tent, the number is limitless.

  Or so I suppose— I’ve never been interested in more than one woman at a time.”

  “That’s good.” Snuggled together as they were, she knew he was interested in her right now.

  That was embarrassing, too. Embarrassing and thrilling and disappointing, for they couldn’t indulge themselves in more lovemaking, and while Victoria knew very well she shouldn’t want to … she did.

  “I’m interested only in you,” he said.

  “That’s very flattering.” She didn’t believe him for a minute— after all, when the revolution was over, she would leave Moricadia forever. But she appreciated the reassurance that while she was here, he wouldn’t be inviting other women into his tent.

  “Come on, you lovebirds!” If anything, Danel was louder in the morning. “Rise and shine. We’ve got a ceremony to perform!”

  As if his words were a signal, the pace of the camp changed, became lively, bustling, and cheerful. Everyone seemed to have a task and they performed it vociferously. The men teased the women; the women teased back. And Victoria understood little but the tone.

  Sitting up, she looked down at Raul.

  Like her, he was still dressed, but while she felt grubby and wrinkled, he looked wide-awake, anticipating the day with bright eyes and a warmly flushed complexion. Even his hair, tousled and tangled, shone with the light of the rising sun.

  “What ceremony?” she asked. Her hair had come loose during the night and hung helter-skelter down her back. She must truly be a sight.

  He toyed with one of the strands, examining it as if fascinated by the glisten of gold. “We’re transferring ownership of you from Danel back to me.”

  “What? What? ” She was incredulous.

  “We’re transferring ownership of you from Danel back to— ”

  “I heard you! I mean … what do you mean, transferring ownership?”

  “He captured you. You slept in his tent. You’re his.”

  “He wasn’t in there!” Her voice rose.

  “I know.” Raul lifted his shoulders. “But I didn’t make the rules. We have to have a ceremony.”

  “For pity’s sake. This is most inappropriate, and incredibly vexing.” Gathering her hair in one hand, she pulled it over her shoulder, ran her fingers through it until she’d established a modicum of order, then rapidly braided and tied it.

  He tugged at the end. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

  “I am his right now?” Victoria pointed to Danel, who was scratching his private parts with such concentration, he might have been finding gold.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then yes, I want to be yours.”

  “A man can never be conceited while you’re around.”

  Raul tugged on her braid again. “Do you know why women rub their eyes in the morning?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because they don’t have balls to scratch.”

  She looked at him to see if he was serious.

  He winked.

  She laughed involuntarily and pulled away from him. She considered a reprimand, then decided against it. “What time did you go to sleep?”

  “A very wifely question.”

  She stared at him, more stricken by his “wife” comment than when he’d made his joke.

  He shrugged. “There’s no clock out here. Late, I suppose, well after midnight.”

  Everything about this raised her hackles: that he would dare equate her with a wife, someone permanent in his life, and that he could look so good on so little sleep.

  He added, “Thanks to you and your timely intervention”— he stroked her arm— “Danel and I had much to discuss.”

  She warmed at his gratitude. “Did you get your differences settled, then?”

  “We’ll be coordinating our efforts to overthrow the de Guignards. The army is his to command. The throne is mine.”

  “Exactly as it should be.”

  She slid out from under the blankets and started to stand.

  He caught her hand. “Tell me something. Have you ever swung a sword before?”

  “No. You’re lucky I didn’t chop off your arm.” She was glad to see him pale. That would teach him to be so bright and energetic in the morning. She pulled away and straightened her clothes— the clothes she’d been wearing for too long and through too many ordeals.

  “Come on.” Celesta gestured to Victoria. “We’ll go wash.”

  “Thank heavens!” She was grateful for the chance to escape Raul’s gaze. Victoria found her bonnet— the straw had been crushed and now sat catawampus on her head— and hurried after Celesta.

  It appeared every woman in the camp was part of their group. The younger ones ran ahead. The older ones trailed behind. But all of them were laughing, calling out, still in that boisterous mood that again made Victoria wish she comprehended more of the language.

  She would have liked to join in the conversation, but more than that— it seemed as if everything they said concerned her.

  She didn’t understand why. Yes, she was an anomaly among these dark-haired, dark-eyed people, but their interest seemed so much more than that. It wasn’t that they were disrespectful, more that they were kindly mocking her.

  Probably it was the way she had handled the sword yesterday. Possibly it was her connection to their future king. But whatever it was, she could only go along with them, smiling and nodding and wishing her linguistic skill hadn’t chosen this place and time to abandon her.

  Shrieks from the front of the line warned her that the younger girls had found something. She walked around a corner and discovered a whole vista opening before her. She halted, speechless with awe and pleasure.

  Never in her life had she seen a place so unspoiled and glorious. A small, pristine mountain lake, surrounded by pines and backed by a rocky cliff that rose bare and rugged against the blue sky. Waterfalls foamed as they flung themselves toward the bottom, and halfway around the water, a doe with two fawns watched wide-eyed as the young girls stripped off their clothes and dove in, naked as Eve.

  The way they screamed gave Victoria fair warning that the temperature would be icy, and she thanked heaven that the older women would be more measured and more modest in their ablutions.

  Or so she thought, until they started tugging at her clothing.

  “No, no.” She smiled and brushed them off. “I can undress myself.”

 
; They laughed and tugged some more, untying her bonnet strings, undoing her buttons.

  “No, really.” She used her patented firm-governess tone. “I’m not a young girl who needs help— do you mind?”

  It appeared they didn’t, because no matter how she protested, they kept on removing her clothing, unbraiding her hair, pushing her, ganging up on her, snatching away every bit of modesty until she stood as naked as the young girls, only a good deal more embarrassed.

  They left her no choice but to jump off a rock into the water.

  When she came up, she gave an involuntary shriek.

  It was as cold as she feared, so cold the water felt as if it were scouring the flesh from her bones. Celesta called her name and tossed her something— a bar of lavender-scented, French-milled soap, a luxury anywhere, but up here … a miracle.

  Victoria used it on her hair and face; then, ignoring her own modesty and the eyes that watched her so closely, she climbed onto the rocks to thoroughly wash every inch of her skin. Tossing the soap to Celesta, she plunged back into the lake— with grim humor, she noted that the water hadn’t gotten any warmer— and rinsed herself.

  With no small amount of trepidation, she got out. She didn’t want to don her dirty undergarments and wrinkled gown, but what choice had she?

  Yet the women who had insisted on undressing her now stood waiting to clothe her, too. Not in her own clothes, either, but in a pale yellow embroidered shift.

  “I … really need my clothes back.” Because this was clean and simple, but she saw no undergarments, and the straight lines would expose her every curve.

  Then Celesta lifted a dark blue wool cloak off a bush beside the clearing, and Victoria relaxed. “Oh! All right, that’ll cover me.” She allowed them to dress her in the shift and cover her with the cloak, and the whole of the womenfolk headed back toward Danel’s tents.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Danel sat on his tree stump, twitching as he waited.

  Celesta brought a basin of hot water and put it in his hands.

  Leaning his head against her belly, he smiled cajolingly up at her. “Have I told you you’re my favorite bedmate?”

  “I won’t slit your throat, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “That’s my girl.” He handed her a razor and strop.

  She started sharpening the razor. “I’m more inventive than that.”

  Danel turned white.

  Raul chortled.

  Danel turned on him. “Hey, you! Cousin! Someone has to go get my mother.”

  Raul took his last bite of porridge. “Who would that be?”

  “Why, you, my king!” Danel laughed, that loud, braying laugh he used as a diversion.

  Not that Raul was diverted, but he knew Danel had a point.

  If Raul was to be king, he was also the head of the family, and it was his task to deal with the crotchety ladies who scared the hell out of everyone.

  He stood. “I’ll bring her back.”

  “She’s as mean as a snake, but she’s the family’s matriarch, so try not to cry when she talks to you.”

  “I don’t cry when your mommy browbeats me. I’m not you.” Raul started up the path.

  Danel grinned in appreciation. “Hey, do you know where you’re going?”

  “I know.” Raul turned to see the look on Danel’s face when he fired his final volley. “I visit your mother on occasion.” He enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing Danel’s astonishment before striding into the woods and up to his aunt’s house.

  When Raul came panting up the mountain, Izba Xaviera was on her hands and knees working in her garden. She looked him over from head to toe, snorted, and said, “Soft.”

  Compared to her, he was. She was thin as a whip, weathered beyond her years by forty-seven Moricadian winters, and honed by the tribulations of living under de Gui gnard rule and the loss of so many of her family. She was tough, smart, contemptuous of every weakness, and, above all else, a survivor.

  He adored her. “I’ve come to bring you to Danel’s camp.”

  “Settled your differences, did you?” She held out a hand and he helped her up. “It’s about time you lads stopped pouting and played nicely together.”

  He loved the way she put two powerful men firmly in their places. Next she’d be reminding him that she’d changed his diapers. “Victoria agreed with you, and took the matter into her own hands.”

  “Victoria?” Izba Xaviera’s brown eyes, deep-set in her weathered face, scrutinized him critically. “The Englishwoman who’s living at the castle?”

  “You know about Victoria?”

  “I had a vision.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. In the family, there was talk that Izba Xaviera was a witch.

  In his opinion, she knew everything because no one dared keep information from her for fear she would rip the hide off their backs with her scolding.

  “The English are feeble,” she said.

  “Not Victoria.” He repeated the story of how Victoria used his sword to break up the fight.

  “Good for her. You men are fools.” Izba Xaviera cackled. “Still, she’s English. Blond, fair skinned, afraid to work hard or get their hands dirty.”

  “She is blond. She is fair skinned. She’s beautiful and strong. And she works; she teaches the children. Didn’t your vision show you that?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I’m taking possession of her tonight.”

  “Fool!” Izba Xaviera glared, ire in the depths of her dark eyes. “If she had money or a title, it would be different.”

  He rubbed the dirt off Izba Xaviera’s knobby knuck

  les and smiled. “What can I do? She fits me, and she’ll bring honor and benefit to my court.”

  Izba Xaviera put her other hand to his face and looked into his eyes. “Do you love her?”

  He laughed. “I am my father’s son. I do not love. But I keep what is mine.”

  The old woman breathed heavily, thinking what to say. Finally, she responded. “I was a maid at the hotel where your mother met your father. I never liked him.”

  “No one likes my father. He doesn’t know or care.”

  As Raul remembered, the vision of Grimsborough rose in his mind. The cold face, the indifferent eyes, the sharp cruelty. “But living with him made me strong. I’m not afraid of pain. I’m not afraid of loneliness. I know how to plan, how to look beyond the trouble of this day to the victory of next week or next year or ten years from now.”

  “You say that, but I see your mother in you.” Izba Xaviera slapped his cheek hard enough to sting. “Arrogant, stubborn, reckless, unwavering.”

  “All good qualities for a king.”

  “Yes. But also like your mother, you have passion hidden even from your knowledge.”

  That pricked at his pride. “I know my passions.”

  “Maybe.” Still Izba Xaviera searched his face. “Unlike your father, your mother did love.”

  “It was her weakness.”

  “And her strength. She would have killed for you.

  And did.” Izba Xaviera pointed at a stump in the yard.

  “Sit there. I will bring you food and drink.”

  “Yes, Izba Xaviera.” Because she never allowed anyone to visit without feeding them, and considering what he was about to do, he’d gotten off easy.

  As he ate and waited for her to change, he knew how deeply unhappy Victoria would be if she understood the ramifications of what was about to happen. But when he had returned to his castle and discovered she had run away, he had been furious. She was his captive, yes, but he’d laid claim to her.

  How could she not comprehend what that meant?

  Or had she been playing him, knowing the restraints on her would loosen when she yielded?

  Then, when Hada told him of Victoria’s distress, he had grown absolutely livid.

  He understood, of course. He’d been raised in proper English society, and Victoria was a gently bred virgin who, thro
ugh his guile and seduction, had fallen from grace.

  That was her belief.

  And she was a decorous woman who valued her privacy, who chafed at having to share his bedroom and disliked being the center of attention at the evening meal. To have the whole castle know of her perceived disgrace— that must have wounded her dignity.

  But understanding did not heal his pride.

  He had spent weeks luring her into his bed. She by God should have stayed lured.

  By the time he tracked her to Danel’s camp, he had been murderous. He was going to kill his cousin without a second thought.

  Then Victoria had used his own sword to slice through his rage.

  He had never imagined a mere woman could make him forget who he was and what he intended to become.

  For those minutes when he believed Danel had raped her, nothing mattered— not his ambitions, not his family, not his plans, not Moricadia. Every element of his mind and body focused on her— avenging her honor, getting her back, keeping and comforting her.

  He did not like having a woman control him so completely.

  Something had to be done to tie her to him. So this afternoon they would perform the traditional Moricadian ceremony, and perhaps someday he would regret his impetuosity, but for now, it would bring him peace of mind. For now, he would be able to concentrate on what really mattered— the overthrow of the de Guignards and the independence of the Moricadian people.

  Izba Xaviera appeared, clothed in her good black gown, one he recognized from his youth. She took his plate and cup away, came back holding her white lace handkerchief, and put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go meet this Englishwoman of yours.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The women didn’t return to Danel’s camp right away.

  Instead they went to a meadow, unpacked baskets full of food, picked flowers, chatted and sang, and generally kept Victoria entertained. As the hours passed, she realized some women were slipping away to be replaced by others. Only when Amya appeared did she note that the component of her guard— for they were her guard— had changed. She recognized that these women were from Raul’s castle: warriors and servants. They had come to see the ceremony, and they seemed excessively happy. Jumpy. Sort of … jubilant.