Betrothed to the Barbarian

by Carol Townend

  ‘I am fond of you, Cleo.’ Nikolaos tried to smile back, but his lips felt stiff.

  Cleo nodded and sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Well, I shall not cause you any trouble, you have treated me well.’ She held out her hand. ‘Farewell, Niko. I shall leave directly.’

  ‘Leave?’ He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. ‘Cleo, the house is yours.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Mine?’

  ‘It always has been, I told you long ago.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t believe you.’

  ‘The house is yours. And you will have enough money to ensure that you never have to return to your former way of life.’ He pressed the door key into her hand and she stared down at it for a moment before her fingers slowly curled round it.

  ‘I thank you, Niko.’

  With a bow, he turned to go. ‘George will see me out.’

  ‘Niko?’

  He looked back.

  ‘Thank you, Niko. For everything.’

  * * *

  ‘Take care of her, will you, George?’ Nikolaos murmured as he took up his cloak and crossed the hall.

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  Nikolaos swung his cloak about his shoulders. ‘Walk me to the gate, I should like you to lock it behind me. I am not entirely convinced that the mercenaries who entered Constantinople with the Emperor have gone and I want Cleo safe.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  George was far too polite to ask him what he had done with his key. He was also far too good a servant to be left in the dark. At the gate, Nikolaos held out his hand. ‘This is farewell, George. I won’t be seeing you again, at least not unless we chance to meet elsewhere.’

  George flung a worried glance back at the house. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Duke Nikolaos. She knows?’

  ‘She knows. George, I should like you to know that the house is hers and I have set some money aside for her use.’

  ‘I am sure you have been more than generous, my lord.’

  ‘Stay with her if you can, George, she will need you.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Good man. Furthermore, I would like you to remember that if ever you, or Cleo, find yourselves in need, I should be honoured to help. You know where to find me.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. God bless you.’

  ‘Farewell.’

  Nikolaos waited outside the gate in the wall long enough to ensure George had locked it behind him. Constantinople was no longer in ferment as it had been in the immediate aftermath of the coup—the mercenaries who had caused the trouble had been recalled—but he didn’t want to take risks. There might be stragglers.

  The key turned, the door rattled. ‘Good night, my lord,’ George’s voice came over the wall.

  ‘Good night, George.’

  It was done. Satisfied that he had done the right thing, and relieved that Cleo had not made a fuss, Nikolaos walked past flaring torches in the direction of the Hippodrome. It was a relief to know that George would be there to look after Cleo, but he would have Elias keep a quiet eye on her in the weeks and months to come.

  Above him, the stars had wheeled a little further across the sky. The woman who had been singing had fallen silent; he could hear nothing but his own footfall. He had almost reached the outside wall of the Hippodrome when a shadow moved at the head of the street. It was a swift, covert movement that rang alarm bells in his head. An owl hooted. A signal?

  The hairs stood on the back of his neck. It had been too peaceful, he should have known—the City was rarely this quiet. Flicking back his cloak to ensure his sword would have full play if he needed it, he gripped the hilt.

  Mercenary stragglers? Runaway slaves? Thieves? Nikolaos glanced behind him, working out the distance from where he was to the other end of the street, the way that led west into the tangle of alleys and tenements between Cleo’s street and the Forum. If the shadowy figure by the Hippodrome was one of a pack, which seemed possible, others might be stalking him. He could see no one behind him. There was nothing he could do but continue towards the better-populated streets by the Hippodrome, so he strode confidently on, carefully noting the height of the walls on either side and the precise position of a discarded clay amphora. If needs must, it would make a good missile...

  Two shadows took shape in front of him, like wraiths from the underworld. Moonlight flashed on naked steel.

  His sword rasped as he whipped it from its scabbard. ‘Hold, and state your business,’ he said. His heart banged against his ribs. In the poor light he could not judge whether the wraiths were wearing chain mail, but he thought not.

  The shadows froze. ‘Duke Nikolaos?’

  ‘Who in Hades are you?’ Nikolaos could see nothing but two silhouettes backlit by torchlight and two long, moon-silvered swords pointed directly at him. They knew him?

  ‘We don’t want a fight, my lord.’

  ‘You choose a pretty odd way of demonstrating it. Give me your names.’

  ‘Our names would mean nothing to you, they are irrelevant. Our...master has sent you a message.’

  ‘Your master? And he would be...?’

  ‘It concerns Princess Theodora.’ The man had a strong foreign accent that Nikolaos could not place. ‘Our master bids us tell you that you would be wise to reconsider your marriage. If I were you, my lord, I would heed his advice. Refuse her.’

  The reference to his marriage to Princess Theodora caught Nikolaos off-balance, and it was a moment before he could speak. If only he could see their faces. ‘I most certainly will not.’

  ‘My lord, my master is concerned for your welfare. It would not be...safe for you to marry the Princess.’ A silvered blade shifted as the man gestured about the empty street. ‘We know you do not always keep the company of your men.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘It would be too easy for an accident to befall a confident man like you, a man who likes to walk the City streets alone and—’

  Nikolaos took a step closer. ‘You are threatening me?’ If only he could place that accent. What was going on? ‘I will have your master’s name, if you please.’

  The men edged back. Nikolaos could smell fear on them, they were all bluster. And they were, thank God, working on their own—no one had come up behind him.

  ‘For your own sake, let the Princess marry someone else,’ the man said. ‘Refuse her, or suffer the consequences.’

  An ear-splitting whistle cut through the night air; it came from the maze of alleys at his back and set dogs barking behind one of the courtyard walls. The two wraiths melted into the dark. Nikolaos stood like a stone for a moment, listening to the dogs.

  Refuse her, or suffer the consequences. What was that about? Blowing out breath, Nikolaos sheathed his sword and his heartbeat settled into its normal rhythm.

  Tomorrow, he would seek out his betrothed. The questions were piling up thick and fast and he suspected that Princess Theodora could supply him with most of the answers.

  * * *

  In the event, Princess Theodora contacted him first. Nikolaos was roused from sleep just before dawn.

  ‘My pardon, my lord,’ Elias said. ‘I have received word that Princess Theodora would like to speak to you as soon as you are free.’

  Nikolaos flung back his blanket and rubbed his face. A grey light was filtering through the barracks window. ‘She rises early.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’ Elias picked Niko’s cloak from the floor with a sound of disapproval and shook it out. ‘Her messengers are waiting for your answer. Will you meet her this morning?’

  ‘Assuredly,’ Niko said, thinking of all those questions. ‘Tell her...hell, there’s a review at dawn and after that I’m inspecting the armoury. Tell her I shall come to her apartment at noon.’

  Elias shot him a look. ‘The apartment, my lord? Princess Theodora’s messenger suggested the Fountain Court in the Boukoleon.’

  ‘The Fountain Court? I would rather walk with her in the grounds.’

  ‘It is overcast, my
lord, it looks like rain.’

  ‘Very well, the Fountain Court it is. At noon.’

  * * *

  Remembering the courtiers who had trailed in their wake the last time she had spoken to Duke Nikolaos, Theodora had ordered that the Fountain Court be clear by noon. The Varangians were efficient, and when she arrived with only Sophia and Thetis as her attendants, it was empty.

  The Fountain Court adjoined the eastern wing of the Boukoleon Palace. Square in shape, it was open to the sky and resembled an abbey cloister, a cloister with three fountains at its heart. The columns in the colonnade had been cut from porphyry, the walkway was covered and faced with granite. One side of the Fountain Court opened on to the Palace grounds and Theodora had asked that two guards be posted by the garden entrance to prevent interruption. The Chamberlain Lord Basil would doubtless tear his beard out when he found out that she had broken with convention in arranging this private discourse. Theodora did not care, she needed to be alone with the Duke when she spoke to him.

  It was raining when Theodora stepped into the cloister and she held her blue skirts clear of the ground in case water had blown in. Even on a day as dull as this, the mosaic tiles around the central fountains were twinkling in the wet.

  Not all the walkways were deserted. The Duke was ahead of her, leaning against a purple pillar. He must have had regimental business that morning, for his tunic was dazzlingly white, with the gold and silver braiding that proclaimed him General of the Immortals.

  ‘Princess Theodora.’ Pushing away from the pillar, he took her hand, and bowed over it. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again so soon.’

  ‘Duke Nikolaos—my lord—I hope that it is, I can see I have dragged you from your duties.’

  ‘It is my pleasure, Princess.’ His mouth edged into a smile. ‘Believe me, meeting with my betrothed is infinitely preferable to inspecting the armoury with my sergeants.’

  When he retained her hand, Theodora’s stomach gave a nervous jump. His smile had a similar effect on her. The Duke’s eyelashes, now that she was close enough to study them, were extraordinarily long and dark. Peter’s had been fair. Looking up at the man—a stranger—whom she had agreed to marry, Theodora realised that dark lashes on a man, thick dark lashes, were not in the least feminine. On Duke Nikolaos they were utterly masculine—like his height, and the strength in those broad shoulders, and—

  ‘Princess? There was something particular you wished to discuss?’

  The dark gaze moved past her, reminding Theodora that they were not yet alone. ‘My ladies-in-waiting,’ she said. ‘Lady Sophia and Lady Thetis.’

  ‘My pleasure, ladies.’ The Duke released her hand and made his bow.

  Theodora should not have noticed that he had released her to greet her ladies, but she did. She should not have cared. The sight of his capable fingers holding hers had made her feel safer than she had felt in an age. This is why I am marrying him. How he did it, she did not know, but there was something in his character that gave her hope that her life might one day be more than lies and pretence. It was a heady feeling.

  ‘Princess.’ Sophia gave a little curtsy. ‘Do you wish us to stay?’

  ‘Thank you, that is all for now.’ She waved her ladies away. ‘You may wait for me at the end of the corridor.’

  The corridor back into the Palace proper was lined with statues. Theodora waited until Sophia and Thetis had reached the last of them before meeting those dark eyes. His eyes were not dancing this morning, they were watching her with a particular intensity that was most unsettling. The small scar beneath his left eye seemed more pronounced. ‘My lord, I wanted to speak to you about the date of our marriage. We discussed our betrothal feast but not the actual date of our marriage.’

  ‘The date? I understood it was set for two months hence.’

  ‘Two months!’ Panic flared inside her. She could not wait that long. She had scarcely slept for worrying about Boda, and what Prince Djuradj knew about Martina. The uncertainty was nothing less than torture, and the thought of two more months of such uncertainty was insupportable.

  ‘Insupportable,’ she murmured, before she could stop herself.

  His eyebrows came together. ‘Insupportable? How so?’

  Flushing, Theodora clasped her hands. She had not realised how awkward this would be. Last night when talking to Sophia, the idea of asking Duke Nikolaos to bring the date of their wedding forward had seemed so easy. But now...

  Tipping her head to one side, she studied him. What will he think?

  ‘It...I...’ clearing her throat, she strengthened her voice. ‘I should like our marriage brought forward, my lord.’

  ‘Brought forward? Surely two months is not so far distant?’

  ‘It is too long. I would like to be married as soon as possible.’

  ‘Why?’ For a moment his eyes were fierce. ‘Why do you wish to bring our marriage forward?’ Then his face lightened and he reclaimed her hand, his thumb moved gently across her knuckles. ‘A few days ago you were hiding away in your quarters like a hermit and refused even to meet me. And now you want to bring our marriage forward?’

  ‘I...I was unwell when I arrived in the Great Palace,’ she said, clinging to the tale that had been put to him.

  ‘Were you?’

  She drew herself up. ‘Are you calling me a liar, my lord?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ he said, quietly. ‘I am not sure what you are. Or, more importantly, what you are doing.’

  ‘My lord?’ Theodora’s heart gave a great lurch, beneath that searching look she wanted to squirm. She held fast. He shook his head—he was trying to read her. And he was not playing fair when his own face was unreadable.

  ‘So, my lady, you wish to marry soon?’

  Theodora swallowed, wondering how she might go about convincing him without rousing his curiosity further. ‘Indeed. As I have already mentioned, I was...nervous before we met. I see now how wrong I was.’

  He laughed. His teeth were very white, very even. ‘No, no, Princess, that won’t do. I want the truth.’

  Blessed Mother, help me.

  Chapter Six

  ‘I want the truth,’ Nikolaos repeated, resting his shoulder against a marble pillar. ‘My lady, after our betrothal ceremony, you confessed that you loved Prince Peter. I would be the first to acknowledge that the workings of a woman’s mind are a mystery to me, but it beggars belief that you could have transferred your affections so quickly.’

  ‘Prince Peter died a year ago,’ Theodora said.

  It was a comment that might mean anything. Her voice was shaking. Grief? Nerves? She was an enigma. Nikolaos narrowed his eyes, every time he saw this woman, more questions bubbled up inside him. Faint smudges under her eyes hinted at fatigue, fatigue which might be explained by an indisposition, or even the excitement of her homecoming. Or could it? His betrothed seemed highly strung, even for a princess. Conscious that he had little experience in handling princesses, Nikolaos decided to tread carefully. ‘Princess, I am not saying I will refuse your request, but I would like to know why you are suddenly so eager to marry.’

  Her gaze dropped. She was gowned in blue today, a blue so bright it was almost lapis. With the toe of a slipper fashioned from kidskin dyed to match, she began tracing circles on the granite floor. It occurred to him that she looked smaller than she had when they had walked together in the Palace grounds.

  ‘No diadem,’ he murmured. It was the lack of the diadem that made her appear smaller and more fragile. In truth, Princess Theodora was more fragile than most women, but she still had a way of filling a man’s vision.

  She raised her eyes, they looked confused and troubled. Nikolaos had the wild fancy that her thoughts had taken her to some dark and dangerous places.

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’

  ‘You look smaller without the diadem.’

  A tentative smile appeared, it was very similar to the smile he had teased out of her during their promenade through the grounds.
>
  ‘I hate that diadem,’ she said. ‘It is most uncomfortable.’

  ‘I imagine it might be. I have never worn one myself.’

  Her smile deepened and he felt himself warming to her. He wanted to warm to her, he did not want to be harbouring suspicions about her. Until I know more about her, I must remain wary with this woman.

  ‘Diadems and crowns are somewhat...restricting,’ she said.

  ‘Restricting?’

  ‘You have to stand with a straight back when you are wearing one, you must walk with decorum. My lord, you will see. You will have to wear a crown on our wedding day, it is tradition.’

  Nikolaos grimaced. It was customary for men and women—and not only noblemen and women—to wear crowns during the marriage ceremony. This was particularly true when the wedding was a public ceremony, as theirs would be. Nikolaos also knew that it was traditional for the bride and groom to continue wearing their wedding crowns for eight days after the ceremony. The wearing of the wedding crowns was seen as an outward and visible symbol that the couple was adhering to the prescribed eight days of chastity.

  ‘I had forgotten about the wedding crowns,’ he admitted. ‘Though they can’t be worse than a helmet.’

  ‘You might be surprised.’ By now Princess Theodora’s lips were curving so temptingly that Nikolaos felt his groin tighten. He found himself wondering what his chances were of persuading her to remove her wedding crown before the eight days were over.

  Slim. At the moment. Now there was an interesting challenge...

  ‘Princess...’ He laid a hand on her shoulder. The shadows under her eyes made him think twice, but he had to know why his reluctant bride had suddenly become so eager. ‘Why the rush to marry?’

  He had been warned off marrying her in that darkened street behind the Hippodrome. Was this new and inexplicable haste in some way connected to that warning? What was going on?

  Nikolaos was beginning to see that His Imperial Majesty had been wise to uphold the marriage arrangement his predecessor had made for the Princess. Was it possible that at some point during her years away from the Imperial Court, this woman had become a threat to the Empire? With her bloodlines, that would seem impossible. She was a member of the powerful Doukas family; the Emperor was married to her cousin. None the less, doubts remained. Is she to be trusted?