By an antique statue of a Greek god, an official in a long ceremonial gown was speaking earnestly to a eunuch. ‘Where is the Emperor? I heard he was dead.’
The eunuch shrugged. ‘Who can say, sir? No one has seen him for days. I heard he had lost his mind.’
In the archway leading to the Imperial stables, a lute-player was telling the tale to one of the grooms. ‘I was told the Emperor has been poisoned.’
‘No, no, the way I heard it, it was suicide,’ the groom’s response was instant. ‘In the taverns they are laying odds that Alexios Komnenos will be enthroned within the week.’
Small fingers clenched on Ashfirth’s arm. Her face was pale and though she had a charming smile ready when he glanced her way, several fine lines had appeared around the corners of her eyes.
‘There is much concern about my uncle, Ashfirth,’ she said quietly, as they entered the Boukoleon Palace and began to climb the wide marble stairway. ‘Tell me…do you fear there will be fighting in the city?’
‘One moment, my lady.’
A guard was stationed at the double doorway that led to her apartments, a young man Ash recognised as a recent recruit. ‘Kari, isn’t it?’
The boy smiled and saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Here…’ Ashfirth pressed a coin into the boy’s hand. ‘Follow me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Ignoring her puzzlement, Ashfirth took the arm of the girl who was not the Princess Theodora and ushered her into the apartment.
Lord, the party from the slave market had arrived before them, the outer chamber was teeming. The Norman slave was unconscious on a litter by one of the tall windows and Lady Anna was kneeling at his side. She had cut his ragged tunic and was peeling it carefully off him, handling him as though he were made of Venetian glass. Servants were rushing this way and that with linens and trays of food, and the two small children were standing together in a great copper basin, being bathed by women with sponges. The little girl had her fist firmly around a lump of bread, and was stuffing it single-mindedly into her mouth. Water splashed on to the floor.
Lady Anna looked across, her face clearing when she saw the girl on Ash’s arm. Her mouth opened. ‘Theod—’
‘Later.’ Gripping the girl who was no more princess than he, Ashfirth strode with her to the bedchamber.
‘Commander Ashfirth!’ Her large brown eyes were startled. ‘What on earth are you do—?’
‘Be silent.’ He pulled her into the bedchamber. ‘Kari?’
‘Sir?’
‘The Princess and I do not wish to be disturbed.’
The boy’s eyes widened. ‘I see.’
‘I hope that you do. No one—’ he leaned towards the boy, and jerked his head at Lady Anna ‘—and I mean no one is to enter this bedchamber.’
‘No exceptions, sir?’
‘None except Captain Sigurd. Do you understand?’
Kari stared at him for a heartbeat, and then at the girl. ‘Yes, sir.’ His skin darkened. ‘I understand perfectly.’
Closing the door in the boy’s face, Ashfirth slammed the bolts home.
‘What is the meaning of this, Commander?’ Her chin was up, her voice was strong.
Ashfirth gave her a cold look. ‘It is time for this pretence to come to an end. I know the truth, and I will have you admit it.’
A plucked eyebrow lifted and her long-lashed eyes, a thousand times more alluring without their court paint, looked haughtily up at him. She has been hiding behind those cosmetics.
‘You know the truth? Commander, what are you talking about?’
‘That’s good. Very convincing.’ Ashfirth folded his arms across his chest. ‘How long did it take you to perfect that look?’ Having seen through her, it was obvious she was playing a role—why hadn’t he realised sooner? ‘It wasn’t easy seeing past that stuff you have been plastering on your face,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘You have been using it as a mask, haven’t you? You are a performer and the gowns and jewels fitted you for your role. And they worked, they dazzled. You dazzled and I did not see you clearly. Did Princess Theodora find you in a circus?’
‘You are insolent, Commander.’
Whoever she was, she was a natural performer. It was no coincidence that his moment of realisation had come when she had left off her cosmetics and her jewels. ‘Did Princess Theodora give you the jewellery? Is it payment for a perfect performance?’
‘Commander, I think you must be…unwell.’
Katerina’s finger-ring caught the light as she moved away, turning her back on him. He knows! What shall I do? I cannot admit anything, not yet, it is too soon. I promised to try to buy the Princess a few weeks’ grace once we reached the capital, but it has only been days…
She put iron in her voice. ‘Commander, if you would be so good as to unlock the bedchamber door and release me, I will say nothing of this, I—’
‘You are no more the Princess than I am.’
Katerina stared blindly through a window. Saints, he sounds so certain! Admit nothing, he may believe you. And if he does not…well, you have used your body once before and it did not kill you, you may have to use it again. You must distract him. This man is not Vukan, at least you enjoy Ashfirth’s kisses…
Head high, she turned to meet his eyes, praying her expression was well under control. If she was going to convince him he was mistaken, it was imperative she appeared calm and composed.
‘Not the Princess? Commander, you really have taken leave of your senses—of course I am the Princess!’
Ashfirth propped a shoulder against the door. This won’t take long, he thought, she can’t keep this up for ever. Deliberately, he allowed the silence to stretch out between them. If she were unnerved, she might confess to the truth. While he waited for her to break, he ran his gaze around the room. Like the rest of her apartments, the bedchamber was spacious and airy. The shutters opening onto the sea had been flung wide to admit the spring sun; three flares of light were creeping across the creamy marble.
And the bed! It was vast, piled with cushions and bed coverings the colour of ripe mulberries, an island of lavishly embroidered silk. There was some sort of canopy above the bed, draped with yet more of the mulberry-coloured silk. Nimble fingers had artfully looped the bed hangings into swags and tied them back with gold braid; chunky gold tassels hung at the corners.
Ash had never seen such opulence, it was oddly arousing.
It was also, he told himself firmly, pure theatre. It was a lie.
An image burst in on him. Of her—what is her name?—lying naked among the mulberry-coloured silks, of slender limbs peeping out from under the rich covers. It seemed to him that those doe’s eyes were beckoning him, a silent invitation.
‘A princess who is not a princess,’ he murmured, finally pushing himself away from the door and starting towards her. ‘Doe Eyes.’
‘Commander?’
‘I prefer it when you call me Ashfirth,’ he continued softly, half-smiling as she edged away. When her calves hit the bed she halted, eyes wide. She was biting her lip, worrying it with small white teeth. Not quite so lofty now…
‘Your mouth has always told lies, but your eyes—’ reaching out, he stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, before drawing her firmly into his arms ‘—your eyes tell another story altogether.’
She stood unresisting in his arms, not pliant exactly, but neither was she drawing back.
The kiss was hard. It was harder than Ash had intended because there was some anger in him, and when he pulled that small body against him, he found he was not entirely under control. He was squashing her lips into her teeth. His groin ached. He lifted his head, and was momentarily transfixed by a slash of colour across her cheekbones.
‘You are not the Princess, admit it.’
‘I am the Princess.’
She was a liar. A determined liar whose hands were pressed up against his chest, a liar who brought them to rest on his shoulders. He wondered whether she
had decided to hold him to her or to push him away. He forced himself to become gentle, nibbling at her lower lip while he allowed the smell of her, of the pretty girl who had caught his attention at St Mary’s, to swirl through his brain.
It was difficult to keep in mind that she was a liar while he was kissing her. She made the hot blood rush to his braies, she made him throb and pulse. He adjusted his hold, sliding an arm round her waist and raising his head long enough to unclasp her cloak. I will have the truth out of her. Lord, who would have thought she would be so resistant?
Katerina stood firm. Ashfirth’s kiss had weakened her limbs, exactly as it had done before, but she stood firm. His blue eyes had darkened, but they remained keen, watching for the slightest hint of uncertainty on her part. This man desired her, but he was holding to his intention of wringing a confession out of her. That must not happen!
Distract him a little more. Use your body. Look at his eyes, he desires you…let him think he may have you.
She allowed herself to go lax in his arms; in truth, with this man, that was easy. She gave a breathy sigh; that, too, was easy. The coy smile was harder, but she managed it.
Ash was beginning to feel confused. He couldn’t read her, he couldn’t read her at all. What was real here? ‘An Imperial Princess…’ As her cloak slipped on to the bed his voice cracked, it was unrecognisable. ‘An Imperial Princess should not permit a Varangian Guard such liberties.’
‘This one would.’ She gave an unsteady laugh and moistened her lips with her tongue. Lips that his kisses rendered far more alluring than any cosmetics.
Briefly, Ash closed his eyes and when he opened them again she was watching him. Despite the sunlight pouring into the bedchamber, her eyes were dark as midnight, drawing him in. Those eyes cannot lie.
‘My lady, I thought at first you were set on angering Duke Nikolaos, that you wanted him to set you aside, but in that I was mistaken.’
‘You are mistaken in everything!’
‘I do not believe I am. It is your eyes, you see.’
‘My eyes?’
‘Yes.’ Ash lowered his head for another kiss, he couldn’t resist. This one was soft as a whisper. It was a puzzle the way his anger against her was draining away. ‘Your eyes tease me, but they are beautiful, they tell the truth.’
‘Commander—’
‘Ashfirth, remember?’
‘Ashfirth, you are mistaken, I am the Princess.’
‘You admit nothing?’
‘There is nothing to admit!’
He lowered his lips to her ear, and whispered. ‘I will seduce the truth out of you.’
She gave one of those startled laughs and her bright eyes turned to his. The little green flecks were dancing, definitely dancing. ‘I hope that is a promise, sir.’
Ash found himself grinning down at her. He might be all kinds of a fool, but she was utterly delightful when she put her mind to it. ‘It is.’
She wound her arms about his waist. You may want to seduce the truth out of me, but I shall seduce you into forgetfulness. You shall not learn my secret, not yet.
Ash was planting a row of kisses along her neck, working his way slowly, inexorably to her mouth. As he deepened the kiss, her heart thudded.
She moaned and twisted her body closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. His manhood nudged her belly. She flickered her tongue over his lips, hesitating long enough to hear his groan and then she was pushing her tongue into his mouth, sliding it provocatively against his. Her hands were firm on the back of his ribs, holding him to her. She did not have to pretend to be aroused. Her nipples were twin points that moved against his chest, reaching for him, eager for him to explore them fully. Touch me, touch my breasts. Neither the fabric of her gown nor the stuff of her tunic could hide the fact that she wanted him as much as he seemed to want her.
She is aroused. Ash lifted his head to see if this truth, the truth of her body, was mirrored in her eyes.
‘Ash?’
Her hands were growing bold, they were far too bold for a princess who had not yet wed. One outlined the shape of his buttock while the other tugged at his belt buckle.
He couldn’t breathe. ‘Your eyes—’ Ash was pleased with what he saw ‘—they do not lie.’ Further explanation was impossible, need was clawing in his guts, his loins were on fire for her, the girl had addled his brain.
Clumsily, he wrestled with pins and ties. Her veil drifted down, becoming a puddle of silk on the sun-warmed marble.
She made not a protest.
Princess Theodora would have protested.
Instead, those quick fingers were working at his belt; a dull clink marked the moment it joined her veil on the floor.
‘Who are you? Is your name Katerina?’
‘I am the Princess Theodora.’
He was watching her lips as she spoke. ‘Liar.’
His hand closed over a breast. She moaned and her eyes glazed over. Her eyes did not lie; they desired him. Her breast tightened under his hand. Ash did not think that her breast lied either; that, too, desired him.
He planted another row of kisses down one soft cheek. Her eyelids lowered. Her hair had been dressed in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, as simple as the clothes she had worn to the slave market. Ash found the hair fastening and her hair fell free. It was soft as a whisper, a shining fall of hair running over the back of his hands. The perfume it released into the air was spicy and exotic. That scent—musk and roses. Her. His ‘princess’.
‘What is your name?’ He nibbled her ear, inhaling her. He pressed himself against her and groaned. ‘Is it Katerina? Tell me the truth.’
‘I am Theodora.’
‘Liar.’ Her belt fell, snaking over his in a patch of sunlight.
‘The-o-do-ra.’
Slender fingers burrowed into his hair, insisting his lips remain on hers when he would have pulled away to ask once more: ‘What is your name?’
And then it no longer mattered whether she was the princess or not. It no longer mattered that Ash did not know her name, because her hands were sliding down his neck and shoulders; they were stroking his sides, leaving a trail of heat where she had touched him. His pulse pounded in his temples. He throbbed. She made his head swim; if he wasn’t careful, she would unman him…
She was lifting his tunic, unfastening him, freeing him from the restriction of hose and braies…
While he— Lord, she had better not be the Princess, because he had snatched at her gown and dragged it over her head, heedless of where it fell. He sighed. She stood before him in a plain linen undergown, a small dark girl whose slim arms reached for him. That finger-ring flashed, her lips curved in blatant invitation and she pulled him down with her on to the mulberry silks.
And then her undergown was gone and they were naked together on the great mulberry-coloured bed.
Holy Virgin, let her not be the Princess.
Ashfirth gazed at her, stroking her flank from breast to hip, drawing her close. She was moaning in much the same way as he had been doing a few moments ago, twisting her head from side to side, loosening that glossy dark hair so it trailed over the silken pillows.
She was kissing his chest. Running delicate fingertips over him, touching his scars lightly, one after the other, kissing them.
Leaning up on an elbow, he drank in the sight of her. So small to be so determined. So beautiful. ‘Beautiful Doe Eyes.’
One kiss led inevitably to another, he couldn’t stop himself. There were reasons he ought not to be doing this…she ought not…but the reasons were lost at the back of his mind. Lost behind one kiss, then another, then another. Their bodies writhed, two bodies with but one thought between them, skin must touch skin. The mulberry bedclothes tangled beneath them. He found a rosy nipple and toyed with it, his mouth followed.
That slight body strained against him. ‘Ashfirth.’
Princess or not, Ash loved the sound of his name on her lips. Since he had come to Constantinople, only a ha
ndful of people used it. Brand was one, and now this girl…
‘Damn it, what is your name?’
‘Theodora,’ she breathed. ‘The-o-do-ra.’
She was bold, this mysterious girl who lied to him. Her fingers were on him, they had closed round him, they were moving up and down with a confidence that the real Princess would not possess. Instinctively, he pushed into her hand.
No matter. No matter that she is not the Princess. ‘Thank God, in fact.’
‘Hmm?’
He shifted over her; she was guiding him into her, showing him how ready she was. She wants me. Her body does not lie.
At the last moment, he paused to find her eyes. She smiled and gripped him by the hips. Ash gave a hard, strong thrust and then he was inside, buried to the hilt.
She is not a virgin, she is not the Princess.
Saints, but it was a relief to be in her. Ash moved again, and she came to meet him, placing a kiss on his shoulder when he was at his deepest. At his third thrust, a kiss landed on his cheek; at the fourth, on his neck. At the fifth…he was not going to last, not this time.
Lord, it had been too long and this girl lying on the Princess’s bed, her doe eyes dark with a lust that matched his—he was not going to last. Oblivion was but a heartbeat away.
Withdrawing slightly, he reached between them. When his fingers found her, her breasts rose and fell. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks pink. She arched into his hand.
He bent his head, licked her breast, caught the tip, and licked again.
A moan. He sucked.
‘Ashfirth.’
When her hips bucked and her breath sighed out between her teeth, he took her by the buttocks and plunged deep.
‘Again,’ he murmured.
She arched towards him, mouth seeking his.
As their lips joined, she shuddered beneath him, tightening around him. He drove home. Once more. Twice.
Bound to the Barbarian Page 15