The Lion's Daughter

by Loretta Chase

  Percival gazed gravely at him. “The feminine constitution is delicate, sir, and you must recollect she’s recently suffered any number of shocks to her tender sensibilities.”

  “Tender? Sensibilities? Your rocks have more sensibilities. There’s not a delicate bone in her…Damnation.” Varian turned abruptly to the window.

  “I know she appears strong,” Percival said, “and altogether rational. But I assure you, she isn’t. When the men came, she nearly swooned, and I was obliged to take her out to the courtyard for a brisk walk in the fresh air. Then she became hysterical—”

  “Percival.”

  “Indeed, she must have, sir, because she was carrying on about curses, of all things. She said she was a curse to everyone, and that everyone she loved got killed, and I’d be killed, too, if she stayed with me. She said the best thing she could do was marry her worst enemy, because she could get rid of him without lifting a finger. Then she laughed and ran back into the house. So naturally I felt obliged to run after her. I was concerned she might injure herself. It was obvious she was not in her right mind.”

  She is not right in the head.

  Varian swung round to face the boy, who composedly met his suspicious scrutiny. “You expect me to believe that your cousin is a candidate for Bedlam?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I hope I didn’t imply she was insane. The symptoms would be much more obvious, I should think. Even you would notice. I meant only that the strain of recent weeks has been too much for her, and being a female, and therefore delicate, she’s unable to think logically.”

  Varian winced. He’d certainly contributed to unhinging her, hadn’t he? Yet how calm she had been, even after he’d dragged her from the cart and berated her in the most hurtful way he could think of. He’d expected her to scream back accusations, tear him to pieces with that razor tongue of hers. She’d not behaved normally, had she? Not normal for Esme, that is. Too quiet, too coldly quiet. Was it because she’d slipped into a twisted world of her own? Was that why she had been so chilly and distant all this last, interminable week? He eyed Percival warily.

  “Do you know,” Varian said, “I am convinced that between you and your cousin I shall not have a particle of wit remaining.”

  Percival bowed his head. “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir.”

  “I let you convince me to come to this madhouse of a country, and I have let her persuade me repeatedly to courses of action against my better judgment. Today I made her a promise, which you now indicate I can’t keep. I promised I’d help her remain with her own people. I promised,” he repeated angrily.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t count, does it, if she was lying? That is to say, she didn’t mean to lie, I’m sure. Very likely, she didn’t even realize she was lying. I mean, you might consider her an amnesiac, mightn’t you, in a manner of speaking? When she recovers, she’ll probably have forgotten the whole thing.”

  “It’s not that simple, my boy.” Varian exhaled a sigh. “There are twenty-two men in the other room, sent by Ali Pasha to escort us all to Tepelena.”

  Esme ruthlessly shoved her elbow into Petro’s fat gut and pushed past him into Lord Edenmont’s bedchamber.

  “Are you mad?” she demanded. “You cannot take that boy to Tepelena.”

  His lordship paused in the act of pulling off his boot. “Ah, I might have known,” he said. “I can only be grateful you held your tongue before the others.” He looked past her to the doorway, where Petro groaned, clutching his belly.

  “Go away, Petro,” he said, “and be thankful she didn’t aim for your privates.”

  The door slammed shut, cutting off a stream of Turkish curses.

  Varian yanked off the boot and tossed it next to its mate. Then he gave Esme a long, slow survey that made her face unpleasantly warm.

  “Most gracious of you to change for supper,” he murmured. “But I daresay you decided you had frightened them sufficiently with your first explosion upon the scene. Twenty-two strong men nearly fainted dead away at the sight of you.”

  Esme winced inwardly. She’d never thought what a hideous spectacle she must have looked, her hair filled with straw and dirt and her scrawny frame lost in the too-large goatherd’s garments. She’d traded the red frock she’d got in Poshnja for the clothes. Percival hadn’t made any remark, and so she’d forgotten her ghastly appearance—until she burst in upon Ali’s men and saw their mouths drop open.

  “I did not come to listen to your ignorant jokes,” she said. “I came to see if you had taken a fever, for surely you must be delirious to accept Ali’s invitation. You cannot take my cousin there.”

  “No, my dear. I’m taking you there, as I promised. Percival is simply a necessary adjunct. I can’t leave him here.”

  “You said you would not let me go alone. I shall not be alone. I shall have twenty-two men to escort me.”

  “More like thirty,” he said. “Ali’s men, plus myself and Percival, plus Agimi and Mati and the rest of our escort. If, that is, they decide to accompany us. I left it up to them.”

  His calmness was not encouraging. Esme tried another tack. “Varian, please—”

  “Don’t even think of wheedling,” he interrupted in that same maddeningly calm voice. “I’ve had quite enough of the Brentmor brand of managing for one day, thank you. Go to bed. We’ll be making an early start tomorrow.”

  She wanted to strike him. She wanted to dash his thick English skull against the stone wall. She told herself to wheedle anyhow, but rage and panic ruled her tongue. “You great, reckless fool! You cannot take Percival to Tepelena!”

  He lifted one dark eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but his gray eyes remained blank as stone.

  So had he been when she burst into the roomful of men earlier. He’d sat, listening to Fejzi repeat Ali’s invitation and relay the Vizier’s condolences upon the loss of her father, and never once had Lord Edenmont’s cool expression changed. He was every inch the English lord, incurious, unmoved, his face a polite mask. When the others had finally done with their endless speeches, he hadn’t troubled to respond to their flattery, or even express his gratitude for the honor proffered him. Instead he appeared bored, and answered coldly that he would inform them of his decision after supper.

  His insolence, predictably, earned their respect. He behaved like a sultan who condescended to endure the ennui of being pestered for favors, and they treated him accordingly. He could have bade them to the devil, and they’d have had to accept it. He was a lord and a British subject besides. All the same, he’d bowed to Ali’s wishes in the end. Esme still couldn’t believe he could be such an idiot.

  He didn’t deign to answer now, only continued to regard her in that supercilious way. He made her feel very small, every inch a barbarian. She lifted her chin.

  “You cannot take Percival to Tepelena,” she repeated. “I shall not permit it.”

  “Don’t be tiresome, child. Go to bed.”

  “I am not a child!” she cried, stamping her foot.

  “You’re behaving like one.”

  Esme marched across the room to him. “Must I do all your thinking for you? Do you understand where you are going? Ali’s court is dangerous, intrigue everywhere—corruption, debauchery. To such a place you wish to take my young cousin?”

  “If it’s all right for you, I don’t see why it isn’t for him. He is a male, after all, not possessed of delicate feminine sensibilities.” Varian unwrapped his neckcloth and threw it aside in his usual careless, lordly way.

  Esme automatically retrieved it and began folding it while her mind worked feverishly for the words and tone to pierce this stone wall of indifference.

  His sharp oath startled her. He got up and tore the neckcloth from her hands. “Drat you, Esme, don’t do that! Stop picking up after me! You’re not my bloody servant!”

  She stared up at him.

  He stared back, and the air about them throbbed with tension, as though a storm threatened in the surrounding hills. The storm was all in his ey
es, though, dark as a lowering sky.

  His hands caught in her hair and pulled her head back, and his mouth crashed down upon hers, hard enough to make her stagger.

  He had seemed so coolly composed a moment ago, but she understood now it was only seeming. His mouth was hot and punishing, and his hands dragged angrily through her hair. She felt a surge of relief, then a surge of shame for it.

  Esme tried to shut him out, but his onslaught was too sudden. His fierce kiss was a lightning bolt that crackled through her and left her will in ashes.

  All the suppressed longing of the last week rushed through her and heated into need. She grabbed the lapels of his coat and held on tight, as though she feared he’d escape.

  The kiss lasted but a moment, and when his mouth released her, she nearly cried out in frustration. He slid his hands to her shoulders, then down, to clasp her arms, but more gently. She didn’t want gentleness. She wanted to be crushed and conquered. She wanted to be driven beyond conscience and reason.

  “Little liar,” he said. “You want me.”

  It was no use. Esme closed her eyes tightly, then slowly bent her head until it touched his chest.

  “You ought to know better.” His voice had softened. “But I don’t want you to. I won’t let you.”

  “Everyone wants you,” she told his coat sadly. “You cannot help it. When Ali sees you, he will weep, and half his courtiers will weep with him, and all the women. I shall be sick.”

  He laughed, then tipped her head back to gaze intently into her eyes. She wanted to look away but couldn’t, and felt a blush steal up her cheeks.

  “I think you’re trying to turn me up sweet,” he said. “You do it surprisingly well for such an obstinate little wildcat. In other circumstances, I suspect you might do whatever you like with me. But not this time, Esme. If you want to give yourself to me tonight, I won’t say no. I’m cad enough to take whatever you give. But it will change nothing. Tomorrow we can go south, or we can go west. Either way, though, we go together.”

  Esme jerked away. “Y’Allah, but you are impossible. Do you think I am trying to bribe you with my body?”

  “I think you’d do anything to bend me to your will.”

  “I? It is you who fight unfairly. When you cannot argue sensibly, you must try to subdue me with embraces.” She eyed him up and down, resentfully. “You know you can make me witless.”

  He smiled. “Then at least we struggle on equal terms. You reduce me to a babbling idiot. Am I not entitled to do the same to you? You’re the one who fights unfairly. You want to go to Tepelena, desperately, to unite with your golden prince. Yet you don’t want me and Percival there to witness your joy. What is it you’re hiding from us, Esme? What is it you don’t want us to see?”

  She caught her breath. She knew he wasn’t altogether brainless. She’d never dreamed, however, his wits could be so quick. Or had Percival told him that pack of nonsense about a conspiracy?

  But Percival couldn’t have. Varian would never have consented to go to Tepelena with a child who babbled of revolutionary plots. Perhaps Esme should tell him herself...but then he’d not let her go, either.

  She was trapped. “I’ve nothing to hide,” she answered tightly. “It was my cousin I feared for. But you are right. He’s not a babe. He will not die of shock to see a den of iniquity. More likely, he will take notes, and when you return him to his kin, they will blame you for corrupting him. But what do you care? I tell you of the court’s depravity, and it only whets your appetite, I suppose. Your mind is filled with the harem, and you know Ali will give you women. I should have realized. You’ve been too long without a whore. Well, it is nothing to me. I shall find my own pleasure there as well—with my golden prince.”

  She turned and stalked out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Though the punishing rain continued, the entourage reached Tepelena in four days. They might have reached it even sooner, but Fejzi insisted on easy stages. Each day they halted well before sundown, to be quartered with the wealthiest citizens of the area. No more camping out in the muck. No more shaving with icy water. No more stale bread.

  Each night they feasted and afterward slept on thick bedding in warm chambers. When Varian woke in the morning, he’d find his linen freshly laundered, his coat and trousers well brushed, his muddy, stained boots polished, and fresh towels and hot water awaiting his morning ablutions.

  His slightest whim was fulfilled in an instant. He was treated with unremitting deference. Petro, who was certain they accompanied Esme to their doom, subsided into gloomy but generally silent servility.

  Even Percival behaved himself. He did not fall off his horse, or into a river, or out of a window. He was a paragon of docility, showing no interest in anything or anybody but his cousin, whom he stuck to like a leech. And she was so quiet and obedient it made Varian’s flesh creep.

  By day Esme rode with Percival, closely guarded by soldiers. At night she was shut away with the Moslem women. Being a mere boy, and an apparently undernourished one at that, Percival was allowed to be shut up with them, so they might dote upon him and stuff him with sweetmeats.

  Lord Edenmont, meanwhile, had to sit for hours and burn his gullet with raki and smoke rich tobacco until his head swam. Ali’s representatives treated him like visiting royalty, and he soon found royalty a wearisome business.

  He could not sleep properly and blamed it on the rich food, drink, and tobacco. Because he slept badly, he woke in a foul temper. By the time they reached Tepelena, he wanted to kill somebody—anybody—and preferably with his bare hands. He viewed the small, unprepossessing town with disfavor and Ali’s recently rebuilt palace with loathing.

  He hadn’t read Hobhouse’s account of his travels with Byron in Albania, though it had been published well over a year ago. Varian had, however, heard Byron’s own account. The view he now beheld accorded in most particulars.

  The palace enclosed two sides, and a tall wall encompassed the other two of the court they had just entered. It was filled with heavily armed soldiers and richly accoutred horses. At the corner furthest from the palace, animals were being slaughtered and dressed—yet another indigestible feast in the making.

  The rest of the group would lodge elsewhere, while Varian, Percival, Esme, and Petro were to be quartered in the palace itself. They followed Fejzi up a flight of wooden steps and down a long gallery, thence into one of its two wings, which housed several apartments.

  The chamber Varian entered was a shock, given the general run of Albanian habitations. It was a large room, lined with the usual perimeter of sofas, but these were covered with silk. The floors were thickly strewn with rich carpets and the walls hung with lavishly printed fabric.

  “Your sleeping quarters are above, my lord,” Fejzi explained. He indicated a low entryway that led to a set of narrow wooden stairs. “Please make yourself comfortable. Refreshment will be here momentarily.

  Meanwhile, I must take the girl to the harem. It is not seemly—”

  “Miss Brentmor does not go to the harem,” Varian said frigidly.

  “Certainly not,” Percival piped up. He took Esme’s hand.

  She didn’t shake him off, as Varian expected, only stood quietly, her face expressionless.

  Fejzi’s posture stiffened. “Your indulgence, my lord, but it is the rule. We do not permit the females to wander shamelessly about, as the infidels—” He paused, then went on contritely, “I beg your forgiveness, oh great one, but all must bow to the law.”

  “A woman submits to the law of her male kin. He’s standing next to her, and he says she’s to remain. Do you mean to insult Master Brentmor the instant he reaches the palace to which Ali has invited him?” A full five inches taller than the chubby secretary, Varian gazed coldly down his nose at Fejzi as though the height were as many miles.

  Fejzi hesitated, plainly torn. He appeared, in fact, scared to death, but whether of Varian or of Ali’s wrath one could not tell. Finally, he bowed his head. “As
you wish,” he said. He salaamed himself out of the apartment.

  When the secretary’s hurried footsteps had faded away, Varian looked at Esme, who had still not uttered a sound. “Nothing to say? Aren’t you going to berate us for insulting your countryman and affronting Moslem dignity?”

  She shrugged. “It makes no matter. I shall enter the harem soon enough. Better as the bride of a prince than an orphaned nobody.”

  “You’re welcome,” Varian said icily.

  Green fire flashed back at him. “I beg your pardon, oh great light of the heavens. A thousand, thousand thanks for preserving me from the unspeakable perils of the harem: three hundred bored women and their deadly eunuch companions.”

  “Three hundred?” Percival echoed. “Good heavens!” He looked at Varian. “What is a eunuch?”

  “Lord Edenmont’s destiny,” Esme snapped, “if he chooses to make a habit of flouting Ali’s commands.”

  “Yes, but what is—”

  “A man,” she said, “who has—”

  “Petro!” Varian shouted, though the dragoman stood no farther than the door.

  “Aye, master?”

  “Take Percival upstairs and see that he gets a proper wash and changes his clothes. He’s crawling with fleas.”

  Before Petro could move, Esme grabbed Percival’s shoulder. “A man, but not a man, because—” In a flash Varian clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her away.

  “Take the boy upstairs!” he bellowed.

  Percival didn’t wait to be taken. He shot Varian one panicked look and dashed to the entryway and on up the stairs. Petro hastily waddled after him.

  When they had disappeared, Varian took his hand away, marveling that she hadn’t bitten him.

  “I’ll thank you to refrain from enlightening the boy regarding the filthy practices of this misbegotten country,” he said.

  “It is Mohammedan practice, and there is no reason my cousin should not know. You chose to bring him here. Did you think you could keep him deaf, dumb, and blind to what is about him? Now look what you’ve done. You howl like a monster and frighten the child out of his wits. And to what purpose? Petro even now satisfies his curiosity, in ghoulish detail, I expect. Better I had explained.”