Wits scattered to the four winds, Ash stood like a man turned to stone. That woman, that woman…
She picked up a quill and turned, seeming to look through him. ‘Lady Anna, would you spare me a moment? I need you to witness my signature.’
Her lady-in-waiting straightened and hurried over. The Princess signed with a flourish and handed Lady Anna the quill.
The hairs on the back of Ash’s neck prickled and he narrowed his gaze. Something about the way the Princess had looked straight past him and had summoned her lady struck a jarring note.
I was closer, why not summon me?
And as to the way the women were positioned, standing so as to shield the document from him…that was surely no accident?
Was she simply taking pains to conceal her identity from everyone here? Did she not trust him? Did she fear he might inadvertently reveal who she was?
No, she must know he would not betray her to the crowd, there was something else here, something he had yet to fathom…
Ash was puzzling over what that might be when Lady Anna’s voice reached him.
‘He is a Frank, you know.’ Lady Anna waved towards the pillar where the blond giant was slumped.
Norman! Every muscle in Ash’s body went tight as a bowstring. Norman! Normans had destroyed everything he had ever held dear—was he never to escape them? Bad enough that they were nibbling away at the edges of the Empire, but to have Princess Theodora actually buy one…!
She was looking at the wretch, eyes full of compassion.
She had bought a Norman! Why? For purely altruistic reasons? God, he hoped so.
Ash’s thoughts had become so entangled that he scarcely knew himself. And she was to blame. The kiss they had shared was large in his mind; her scent was lingering in his nostrils, but what did he really know about her? Until a few weeks ago he hadn’t even met her. When she had spoken to him through the gate of St Mary’s Convent, she had not struck him as being particularly sophisticated—rather the reverse. And though it should be nothing to him how the Princess chose to behave, he had liked her rather better when he had believed her unworldly.
She wanted a lover, their kiss should have told him as much. If he hadn’t been dwelling on his duty to her uncle, he would have realised. He might have responded differently.
The question was, why did she want a lover? For herself? Or to taunt her unwanted fiancé, to goad the Duke of Larissa into breaking their contract?
He let his breath out in a rush. She has bought this handsome, ill-used brute—yes, the man might be Norman, but he is unquestionably handsome—what the hell is she planning to do with him?
‘Anna—’ she was smiling at her lady, handing out more coins from the red purse ‘—I shall entrust my purchases to you. Find the young man a litter. Take Toki as your escort, I—’ a small hand was placed on Ashfirth’s sleeve ‘—shall be walking back with Ashfirth.’
And then those doe’s eyes were looking up at him and she was smiling again. This smile was sensuous, intimate even. A smile a woman might give to her lover. His breath caught. His thoughts became even more entangled.
‘Ashfirth, will you be so good as to walk with me back to the Palace?’
Say something, don’t stand there gaping.
Ash was beginning to feel a certain sympathy for the Duke of Larissa. He cleared his throat. ‘You did not ride?’
Her lips curved. ‘Me—ride? Ashfirth, you cannot have forgotten my dislike of horses.’ She favoured him with another look that could only be described as smouldering.
What was she up to? She was taking his breath away, that was what she was up to. The witch. She was putting foolish ideas in his head about him taking a princess as his lover, she was making him dwell on that illicit kiss…
Thank God they had come to the slave market incognito, because if word got back to the Duke of Larissa that the Princess had been seen in public, flirting shamelessly with the man assigned to protect her…
Keeping his face a blank, he covered her hand with his. As an attempt to control her it was a fruitless gesture—this woman was beyond his control. Hell, who was he fooling, it was a caress. ‘Sigurd?’
‘Sir?’
‘Return to the barracks, and take Caesar back to the stables. I shall accompany my lady back to her apartment.’
‘You are going on foot, sir?’
Irritable for no reason that he could point to, Ashfirth waved the captain away. ‘We go on foot.’
She was looking wistfully at her Norman.
‘Come on, my lady, the stench of Frank in this place is rather too strong for my liking.’
Setting his jaw, Ash marched her through the bustle and shove around the auction block. He felt her watching him, but she didn’t speak until they had left the slave market and were out in the street by the market stalls.
‘You dislike Franks because of what happened to your country?’
‘It cannot surprise you, my lady. They crossed the Narrow Sea, invaded our land and killed our king. An entire generation of Anglo-Saxon warriors was lost in the Great Battle.’
‘Your father Thane Aiken included.’
‘Yes.’ He towed her on up the street, past a man selling nuts and dried fruits. The man had a monkey on a chain, it was offering dates to passersby.
‘Remind me how old you were when this took place.’
‘Ten.’ Ashfirth checked and came to an abrupt halt. Their conversation must be confusing her, the Princess had been about to take a wrong turning. Ahead, over the top of the sea wall, he could see a glimmer of sun on the waters of the Golden Horn. ‘Not that way, my lady, this way.’
‘Oh!’ Her cheeks coloured, her eyes fell. It was a moment before she picked up the thread of their conversation. ‘So…you were ten when the Franks invaded England, I remember. Well, I would judge that slave to be younger than you by at least a couple of years. Which would make him about eight years old at the time of the conquest. Were you present at this Great Battle, Ashfirth?’
Ashfirth. Why did she have to pronounce his name in that breathy way? And had he imagined it or had those little fingers that were resting on his arm just given him a gentle squeeze?
They progressed up a slight incline. The wind teased a glossy brown strand of hair free of her veil. Startled by an impulse to smooth it back, Ash swallowed and dug his nails into his palm.
‘So, Ashfirth, did you take part in the Great Battle?’
‘No. I was at Ringmer with my mother and my brother.’
‘You will see then that it is very unlikely that my Frank was even in England at the time. It is far more likely that he was at home with his mother, too.’
‘You are probably right.’ Ash conceded the point with a smile he knew was crooked. ‘I have not heard that Norman children took part in the Great Battle. Boys, yes, children, no. And so I must agree that it is indeed most unlikely that your slave was anywhere near Hastings.’ He shrugged. ‘It is not easy abandoning one’s prejudices.’
She nodded. ‘But you have found your place here, I think. This has become your home.’ A wave of her hand took in the city, encompassing not just the wide colonnaded avenues, nor the narrow streets and cramped tenements, but the Palace, the Great Church, the Forum…
She came to a dead halt and frowned about her. ‘Where are we? I seem to have missed my way.’ Brow wrinkled, she pointed up a side street. ‘Does that lead to the Palace?’
‘I thought you knew where you were going, my lady.’
She was looking extremely uneasy, guilty even. How interesting. When she bit her lip, goosebumps rose on Ashfirth’s skin. Very interesting.
‘Yes, so did I. Particularly since it can’t be much more than an hour ago that we left my apartment.’ Her high colour was back and she was having great difficulty meeting his eyes. ‘My memory of the city is faulty, it seems.’
Ashfirth said nothing—it was suddenly most important to see what she would say if he did not prompt her. A couple of the domes in the Palace were peeping
over the rooftops of the neighbouring buildings like rising suns; and a few yards farther on, the top of the lighthouse tower would easily be visible. The Princess ought to know this, yet she was giving every appearance of being a stranger to the city, a complete stranger.
The scales fell from his eyes. The landmarks mean nothing to her, she is blind to them, because they are new to her!
‘Ashfirth, is the Palace this way?’
‘No, my lady, but you are not far out.’ He observed her as though from a great distance. Constantinople is unknown to her, but how can this be? ‘That street leads directly to the Hippodrome.’
‘The Hippodrome!’ Her eyes lit up, her fingers squeezed his arm. ‘Ashfirth, I should like to see the Hippodrome.’
‘You remember it?’
‘I…I have faint memories of watching a chariot race from the Emperor’s Box.’
She is lying. There are lies here, entangled with the truth. Ash needed to tease out the lies. Ten years ago, it was far more likely that the Princess—if that was indeed who she was and Ash was beginning to suspect otherwise—would have watched chariot races with the Empress. The Empress and her ladies had their own viewing platform, well away from the Emperor’s box…
She is lying.
Not about everything—she did genuinely appear to want to see the Hippodrome, but she was lying about having sat in the Emperor’s box. A shiver ran down Ashfirth’s back, but it was no light thing. It was like the touch of steel, it had that same cold certainty.
She is not the Princess, this girl cannot be the Princess!
The thought had lodged in his brain, and it was the truth.
This girl is not Princess Theodora.
Who the hell is she, then? And where the devil is the real Princess?
He forced a smile and heard himself say, ‘Would you care to see the Hippodrome before we return to the Palace?’
‘Please!’
It was an artless reply, artlessly delivered. It was uttered from a smiling mouth, a mouth that Ash had kissed. A mouth he would like to kiss again, even though it seemed likely that it had been lying to him from the moment he had first seen it.
They walked on.
Knots of people were gathering by the well-heads and outside the taverns. Ash ignored them. He was too busy reviewing what he knew about her, searching for evidence that might lend weight to his suspicions.
His heart sank. Once you started to dwell on it, there was plenty to be suspicious about…
Item: she did not ride. An Imperial Princess who didn’t ride? She had claimed to dislike horses—that much he was inclined to believe, she had undoubtedly found the ride from St Mary’s to the port of Dyrrachion an ordeal. But the Princess had not been born who had not been taught to ride; if this girl were a Princess, she would have been educated to overcome her fear…
Item: there had been a number of times when Ash had sensed she was concealing something from him, most recently a few moments ago in the slave market. She had deliberately blocked his view of her signing that document; she had looked past him and called Lady Anna over to act as her witness…
Item: for an Imperial Princess she was appallingly ignorant of the geography and extent of the Empire. On board ship, she had not known the location of Apulia…
Item: there was that letter she had sent to the other ship…to her body-servant…to—Ash racked his brains to recall the name—to…Katerina.
Was she Katerina?
Katerina. A pair of beautiful brown eyes peering at him through a convent grille. Unworldly eyes. Doe Eyes.
Who was she?
Item: there was her lack of familiarity with the Palace, her dazed expression as she had looked at the stone lions and oxen in the Palace Harbour. She had never seen them before.
And as for those claims of a faulty memory… Ash had been ten when he had left England—the exact age that Princess Theodora had been when she had left Constantinople. Yet Ash could recall every plank and nail in his father’s hall; every cottage in the village, every tree and shrub in his father’s holding. He treasured his memories, they were polished with much use. In an instant, he could conjure the three old willow trees trailing their fingers in the river; he could hear the splash of an English trout, and behind him the drone of a bee blown in from the south downs…
If his memories were clear—why weren’t hers?
He glanced up. ‘Here is the Hippodrome, my lady.’ He nodded casually at the great wall that was the outside of the Hippodrome, and held himself aloof, the better to study her reaction.
‘The main gates are closed.’
Ash led her to a side gate where they would be able to see through the bars to the arena inside. ‘It is Holy Week, my lady, Lenten games are frowned upon by the Patriarch. The main gate are likely to remain closed until after Easter.’
‘Of course.’
‘If you look through here though, you can see inside.’
The Princess looked through the bars and went very still. Ash watched her eyes widen as her gaze ran over the tiered seats and the row of statues in the centre. She swallowed as she looked at the bronze horses set high above the main gate. For the space of a heartbeat it was plain that the sheer scale of the Hippodrome had knocked her off balance, and this was certainly the first time she had seen those bronze horses.
A moment later, she had herself in hand. She smiled and looked earnestly at him. ‘Oh, yes, Commander, the horses. I had forgotten the horses.’
Who is she?
Her smile wavered. ‘I have never liked horses.’
‘How odd that you should forget these.’
Her chin went up. ‘I do remember the chariot races—I did not care for them.’
Ashfirth nodded and smiled and murmured something non-committal. That last sounds convincing, but it does not alter the fact that you are a liar. Who are you?
‘We had best return to the Palace,’ he said. ‘I am sure you will want to ensure that your recent purchases are being cared for.’
She gave him a look that was, as far as Ash could tell, completely guileless. ‘Indeed I do, and what is so wrong with that?’
Shaking his head, because once again she had set off in the wrong direction, Ash turned her gently to face the Palace wall. It was only a few feet away.
You, my lady, are no more the Princess than I am.
What the hell am I going to do with you?
Chapter Ten
She is not the Princess, should I denounce her? If so, to whom should I denounce her? The Emperor is closeted in his apartments, refusing to see anyone.
In the weeks that Ash had been away, the Emperor’s deterioration had been fast. Emperor Nikephoros had become little more than a puppet dancing to the Empress’s tune.
Since I don’t answer to the Empress, I must decide what to do with this girl.
The hand resting on his sleeve was small, the fingers slender. She was wearing one thin gold ring today, no gold bangles clinked on her wrist.
What will happen to her if I denounce her?
The answer made him hollow inside. She would be put on trial and it would not be pretty. Execution was the likely outcome. But what sort of execution would it be? Beheading? Or something more…painful? The courts in Constantinople were not known for their leniency towards those proved guilty of breaking their laws. Ash did not know what the penalty for impersonating a member of the Imperial family might be, but it was bound to be severe.
And as for himself, denouncing her at this stage might well put an end to his own career.
Commander Ashfirth, taken in by a slip of a girl.
He would become a laughing stock. A commander could not afford to lose the respect of his men.
He studied the curve of her cheek and the line of her nose. She had a pretty nose, but it was her lips, those lying lips, that held his gaze. A flash of anger almost took him, but he resisted its pull.
Think this through, Ash, think this through. It would not have been possible for her
to practise this deception without the Princess’s support, she has to be acting under instruction from the Princess.
So, given the weak mental state of the Emperor, who was not coping well with the crisis in his army, and who certainly could not cope with additional complexities concerning the identity of a princess he had never met, Ashfirth felt he could justify continuing to observe her for a while.
He could hardly turn back time and return her to Dyrrachion. In any case, the real Princess had boarded the second ship. Ash could do worse than wait for that ship to arrive, it should only be a few days behind them. Lord, if his suspicions were correct, the real Princess was at this moment sailing towards chaos and insurrection!
‘Ashfirth, can you smell burning?’
Ash jerked himself out of his thoughts. She was right, an acrid smell hung in the air. A grey cloud of smoke was drifting towards them from the merchants’ quarter.
‘One of the bakeries must be using damp wood,’ he said curtly. This girl confused him and she angered him, but this was no time to inform the Emperor of his suspicions. General Alexios was camped outside the city walls, Constantinople was in a ferment, and the Emperor was ill. Should the Emperor recover and emerge from his apartments, well, that would be another matter.
The wind strengthened. The smell of wood smoke intensified; it was coming from the north of the city, somewhere near the quays that lay alongside the Golden Horn.
‘A bakery is using damp wood?’ She—whoever she was—was peering down an alley that was choked with smoke. ‘Don’t you think the smoke is rather too thick for that?’
A chill settled in Ashfirth’s insides as he came to another realisation. If she was not the Princess, did that mean she was not attracted to him? That kiss…the way her eyes danced when she flirted with him…these things had seemed true, and he had enjoyed them—but were they true? Or had she manufactured a liking for him because it suited her? Perhaps she had simply been attempting to distract him, perhaps she was still trying to distract him. He ought not to mind, but damn it, he did.
They passed through the Palace gates and began weaving their way through the courtiers gathered in groups to discuss the crisis. Ash put his attraction for her out of his mind and kept his ears open. Years ago he had trained himself to listen to what the people around him were saying, a habit that had served him well on a number of occasions. Just because this girl had him tied in knots did not mean that he must set good habits aside.
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