“Prisoners maybe,” said Ariana. “But not for long.”
“That’s what you say, Miss Ariana!”
Ilir’s ears were sharp.
“Ariana!” he echoed. “That name I know, it’s often heard in Albania.”
Ariana frowned at Bonnie before replying,
“So now you know my real name, Mr. Ilir. But that is all you will know.”
Ilir leaned against the cave wall and smiled.
“Lady, I know exactly how you are thinking. ‘This coachman will go to my family and he will tell them what has happened and they will come to save me.’ But you are wrong. Your coachman knows he will be blamed and says he ran away and left you in our hands. Why should he risk their anger? He will take your possessions and flee.”
“You cannot know this,” said Ariana sharply.
Ilir laid two fingers over his heart.
“I do know. Your coachman was seen in the town last night spending freely.”
Ariana bowed her head to hide her alarm.
“What’s he sayin’, miss?” demanded Bonnie.
Ariana decided not to hide what she had been told.
“He says our coachman ran off with our luggage and he did not go to the Prince.”
Bonnie snorted.
“’Course he didn’t. He’s got your pearls, ain’t he?”
Ariana was silent. She had forgotten all about the necklace – the pearls that symbolised for her the love and interest of Prince Stefan.
Ilir went away and they ate breakfast in silence.
It was clear to Ariana that she had entered upon a war of nerves with Ilir and his men.
A jug of water was brought for the hostages along with rough cotton towels and a bar of olive oil soap.
Ablutions completed, Ariana decided to explore the camp, Bonnie trudging reluctantly at her heels.
After her initial despair upon arrival at the camp, Ariana had somewhat revised her opinion of the men who had captured herself and Bonnie. Though rough of manner the brigands had proved to be far from unkind.
They had been much disconcerted by her weeping and Ilir had carried her into the cave. He had fed her and Bonnie as tenderly as if they were children and the other brigands had donated their bedding and furs to make their two hostages comfortable.
Thus Ariana felt no compunction in walking about the camp. Those present and not out hunting or foraging regarded the two young women shyly as they passed.
Then in the late afternoon, Ilir brought some books. They were slightly mildewed, but they were in English.
Ilir explained, with shameless pride, that he and his men had once ransacked the house of an English diplomat while the owner was away!
*
The following days slipped by in a similar manner.
Ilir would arrive in the morning with food and he appeared unconcerned by her continuing refusal to reveal her true destination in Albania.
He would smile, picking at his gold teeth and say that he had all the time in the world.
After breakfast Ariana would go for a walk. Soon she knew all the brigands by sight if not by name and they were always perfectly friendly to her.
In the evenings they would dine under the stars in company with Ilir and his close companions. There would be music and songs and stews of goat, deer or rabbit.
Ariana was amazed to discover just how easily she adapted to this curious and unusual way of life.
Bonnie however grew more and more discontented. She complained about the cold nights, the monotonous if nourishing food and the state of their dresses.
They had no change of wardrobe, after all, and had to stay put in the cave whenever their clothes were washed, waiting for each item to dry. Worst of all, their soft boots were quickly worn through on the stony paths and Ariana was soon going about barefoot.
For Ariana only one thing was missing to make her happier than she had been since the death of her parents and that was Prince Stefan.
Some nights she sat alone when all the others were sleeping and stared up at the stars. She could not be said to miss a man she had not met, but still she liked to imagine him scouring the countryside for his missing bride.
One morning Ilir asked whether his captives would like to bathe in a mountain pool.
Bonnie declined with a shudder, but Ariana leapt at the chance. Ilir and Gorci accompanied her and they led her in silence to the far end of the plateau.
Here Ariana paused in sudden misgiving. What if these two men meant some mischief?
Ilir gestured impatiently.
“Come along. It’s safe.”
Ariana decided that she must trust him and went on. They descended through pine trees and came out lower on the other side of the mountain.
When Ariana saw the still round pool surrounded by pines and fed by a waterfall, she cried out in delight.
The men turned their backs while Ariana disrobed, throwing her dress over a low branch.
In her shift she waded into the pool. It was chilly but refreshing and she struck out for the centre.
Then Ilir called out to her,
“We are going to shoot pigeons. We will be back. But if you try to escape, think again, I take your clothes.”
Ariana, treading water, watched while Ilir took her dress down from the branch and threw it around his neck as they set off. A little later she heard a distant shot.
Quickly she waded out of the pool and stood there shivering at its edge. Her feet were bare, her damp shift clung to her body and her wet hair fell to her waist.
But if Ilir thought that this would deter her from attempting an escape, he was wrong!
She glanced round her. Obviously the best route to take would be to the South of the pool and down, away from the pine forest and the pass that led back to the camp.
Surely there would be a shepherd’s croft or even a little hamlet somewhere on the slope below? She would summon help and return to rescue Bonnie.
Her flight was, however, harder than she envisaged. The descending goats’ track was strewn with sharp small stones and soon her feet were torn and bleeding.
After almost an hour, exhausted and shaking with cold, Ariana stumbled and fell.
Her spirits dashed, she rested her forehead on the earth and broke into sobs.
When she felt a hand reach under her to scoop her onto her feet, she assumed that it was Ilir and in a sudden rage she spun round and flailed out with her fists.
“Whoah, there, Lady!” a voice cried in Albanian.
She pulled back from the chest that she had been pummelling so violently.
The green waistcoat was unfamiliar and, although a bit faded, its cloth suggested that its wearer was no brigand but something of a gentleman.
Raising her eyes, she looked into the face of a total stranger and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh. Oh,” was all she could splutter.
The face that was now regarding her with an air of amusement was like no face she had ever seen before. The searching ebony eyes, the high forehead, the aquiline nose and the square jaw-line, bespoke of Nobility.
Since arriving in Albania, Amina had met with only brigands with their roughened features and swarthy skin.
This man was of a paler hue altogether – a pale gold hue, she decided. His jet-black hair seemed tousled, although he had tried to tame it by tying it behind his head.
Under his waistcoat he was wearing a cambric shirt with billowing sleeves and his woollen cloak was tossed over a shoulder.
As he in turn studied her, she saw his expression change. She could not decipher his look for she could not see herself as he saw her.
Her skin with its soft hue of rose, her large wide-spaced eyes with their cobalt tint and long spidery lashes, her delicate lips parted enough to reveal her pearly teeth.
She almost shrank under his intense gaze.
“I-I am so very sorry that I – that I struck you,” she stuttered unthinkingly in English. “It’s just that I mistook you for – someone el
se.”
Surprise now flickered across his face as she spoke.
“You are English?” he asked in her own tongue.
Hearing this Ariana felt flooded with relief. If this stranger spoke English, he must indeed be a gentleman and someone she might safely appeal to.
“Yes, I am English, sir, and I am in trouble.”
The stranger looked concerned.
“Trouble?”
“Yes. You see, I am trying to escape the brigands.”
He reared back with a furious exclamation,
“What! Were they treating you with disrespect?”
Ariana realised in an instant why he might think the worst. She was, after all, only half-dressed, her damp shift clinging to her and her hair loose and dishevelled.
Flushing, she wrapped her arms about her body.
“No, no,” she protested. “It’s just I was swimming – and they took my dress so I could not escape – but then they left me to swim in a pool and – I ran away – ”
She stopped, having detected the look of apparent relief that crossed the stranger’s features.
“You would not have reached help before dark,” he said gently.
Taking his cloak from his shoulder, he held it out before him so Ariana could step into its folds.
Turning so he might wrap it around her, she found herself within the compass of his arms.
She felt quite faint at the sudden rush of hot blood through her veins.
“My name is Lorenc,” she heard him say in her ear.
“Lorenc!” she repeated, as if his name was a sweet placed on her tongue.
Lorenc released her. She stepped away and turned again to face him.
He regarded her, head on one side.
“You have not heard the name?” he asked.
“No,” replied Ariana, puzzled. “Should I have?”
Lorenc did not answer, but held out his hand.
“Come, I will take you to safety.”
Obedient as a child, Ariana went to him. He led her a little way into the pine trees to where a white horse stood.
Lifting her onto its saddle, he mounted behind her and they set off.
After a few yards Ariana realised that they were returning the way she had come and began to protest.
“This is the wrong way! It’s the way to the camp.”
“Indeed it is,” responded Lorenc cheerfully. “I have been away from my men for some weeks now. They have obviously been busy in my absence.”
“Your – your men!” gasped Ariana.
He leaned in close so that his breath stirred her hair.
“Forgive me for not introducing myself fully. Here I am known as Lorenc, ‘the King of the Brigands’.
Ariana gave out a cry of anger and struggled to slip from the horse, but Lorenc’s grip was tight.
At last she could only slump sullenly against him, her head to his chest.
She should hate this man who, she felt, had fooled her into trusting him, but, as they then rode up the rocky twisting path, she could not ignore the way her captor’s heart beat in an uncanny echo of her own.
*
Ilir and his men had only just discovered Ariana’s escape and were about to organise a search party for her when Lorenc rode into camp with his captive.
They stood at a respectful distance as Lorenc leapt from his horse and lifted Ariana down.
“You found her, Chief?” asked Ilir.
“Lucky I did,” replied Lorenc sharply. “She would have died of exposure otherwise. Where does she sleep?”
Ilir jerked his head in the direction of the cave.
“There, with the other one.”
Bonnie started when she saw Lorenc come in with his burden. Ariana’s head now drooped and she was only dimly aware of what was being said.
“What’s happened to her?” Bonnie exclaimed.
Lorenc laid Ariana down and signalled to Bonnie.
“She needs attention.”
Bonnie drew back in horror at the sight of Ariana’s torn bloodied feet.
“Eeek! I can’t do anythin’. I’m not a nurse.”
Lorence regarded Bonnie sceptically.
“Can you at least remove that wet shift?” he asked.
Bonnie scurried over to Ariana. He turned his back as the maid pulled her wet shift over her head.
Having nothing else with which to now clothe her Mistress, she covered her naked body with a blanket.
“Now fetch me some hot water,” Lorenc ordered, “and a jar of marigold paste from Ilir. And hand me that cloth there before you go. I will tend to this myself.”
Bonnie threw him the cloth and hurried off.
She returned quickly with a pail of steaming water and a jar of marigold paste. Setting the pail down, she then handed the jar to Lorenc and crossed to her pallet.
Here she crouched down, arms about her knees, as Lorence knelt at Ariana’s side.
Ariana’s eyes fluttered, but they did not open as he gently took up her left foot.
Bonnie was watching intently as Lorenc cleaned the blood first from Arianna’s feet. Then he gently applied the marigold paste to the many wounds that she had sustained.
“Now she must rest,” he said. He looked over at Bonnie. “You will look after her.”
Bonnie nodded with unaccustomed eagerness, her eyes glued to his face.
Then Lorenc was gone. Ariana, in her half-sleep, was aware of it and felt curiously bereft.
No man had ever touched her so intimately, albeit for such innocent reasons. Feeling his hands so deftly and so tenderly on her, all reserve had seemed to abandon her.
She imagined those hands cupping her face, tracing the skin on her neck as the blood coursing through her veins seemed hot and pleasantly troubled.
Was this – what she would feel with Prince Stefan, when at last he took her in his arms?
If so, she should not be feeling it at all with Lorenc, the King of the Brigands!
Ariana moaned and Bonnie came over to scrutinise her. She put a hand onto her Mistress’s brow and then frowning hurried from the cave.
Ariana tossed and turned in the silence, wondering at herself that she had responded thus to the touch of a brigand when she had promised her heart to a Prince.
Bonnie returned with Lorenc and Ilir. The two men eyed Ariana with concern.
“She was too long in that wet shift,” said Lorenc.
Ariana heard his voice as in a dream. She felt more blankets being heaped upon her and she heard Ilir throw logs onto the fire.
A cool hand – a man’s hand – pressed itself to her brow. Then she was lost, a wanderer in a world without time and without reason.
She was aware of nothing.
*
It was some days before her eyes opened and the world was itself again and weakly she raised her head.
Seeing her, Bonnie came to her side.
“Have I been s-sick?” asked Ariana in a voice that barely rose above a whisper.
“For over a week,” replied Bonnie.
“You looked after me all this time?”
Bonnie twisted her skirt between her fingers.
“Yes. But he came here often, Lorenc. He brought soup, but you could not eat. And he brought you medicine. You took that all right. He sat by your bedside sometimes and wiped your brow.”
Ariana, remembering her thoughts of Lorenc as the fever came upon her, flushed.
“Did I – did I say anything I should not have? Did I mention – Prince Stefan?”
Bonnie shook her head.
“No, miss. You just sort of – moaned.”
Bonnie had such a look on her that Ariana became puzzled. The girl seemed shifty, her eyes settling on the floor or the cave wall, anywhere but on Ariana.
“Don’t worry, Bonnie. Once I am well again, I will f-find another way of getting us away from this place.”
“Oh, miss, don’t try. You don’t want to get sick again. It’s not so bad here. I’m getting’
used to it.”
“Perhaps I am being too proud, not wishing to be a – bargaining chip,” Ariana mused. Perhaps I should reveal that we were on our way to Prince St – ”
Bonnie hissed in alarm.
“Sssshh. That Gorci fellow is outside. You don’t want him to hear that name.”
Ariana was curious. Now it was Bonnie who was wishing to keep Prince Stefan’s name a secret, even though it meant that she and Ariana would remain even longer at the camp. What had happened to change her mind?
Lorenc came in and was delighted to find Ariana improved. Putting an arm about her shoulder, he helped her sit up to take a sip of some thick potion he had brought.
Ariana trembled as he held her.
“You are still pretty fragile,” Lorenc told her.
Helpless in his regard she saw his eyes darken and she felt that she might swim in his enlarged black pupils.
Then, as if checking himself, he drew quickly back.
“Sleep now,” he said hoarsely and was gone.
Turning slowly she saw that Bonnie was staring at her. She wondered at the maid’s sullen expression, but said nothing.
*
The following day Lorenc suggested that she dress and leave the cave for a while.
Taking her arm in his, he walked her slowly a little way along the valley, Bonnie trailing behind. Ariana was glad of Lorenc’s strength, but anxious at this nearness.
Her mind, tempered with a keen sense of her duty, clung desperately to the imagined figure of her fiancé, but how could a shadow compare with reality?
She had to remind herself that this gypsy-like life she was leading was only a temporary one and that she was destined for a more privileged and luxurious existence.
She must not forget that she is to be the wife of a Prince.
Then the memory of her thoughts when she lay sick resolved her to banish them from her mind, they had, after all, been the fever talking!
But it was hard to remain aloof against Lorenc’s attentions, which grew tenderer with each day that passed.
He brought her a posy of mountain flowers bound with gold ribbon and a blue bird’s egg wrapped in muslin.
Ariana received them as coolly as she could. She knew that she should decline them, but was secretly afraid that he would then ignore her.
And how she longed for his company!
She told herself that this was because he was the only human being of any culture in the vicinity who could speak English.
Double the Love Page 3