Insufferable buffoon. “Fearful. Of you?” Miriam snorted in a most unmaidenly manner. “I think not.” What would the arrogant pig have to say if he ever learned that her future husband was a pirate?
“That is not what I meant—although I would never knowingly do you harm, m’lady. No, I was actually referring to the fear within you… the fear of thy own good self.” He grinned disarmingly at her. “Though I would not blame you for being thus afflicted by my presence. Believe you me, m’lady, over the years, many a sweet maiden has sighed and trembled upon my first entering a room. Rather like yourself, in fact. They simply could not help—”
“Oooh! You vile, insufferable man. If I tremble at all then it is with fury, nothing more.”
“As you will, dear lady. Loathe am I to disagree with one so fair.”
This was intolerable. She had to find a way to stop him from talking and spouting such drivel. As there seemed to be no hope of rescue in her future, she would simply have to deal with the matter herself.
“Very well,” she snarled. “If you want to dance then so we shall.”
Without giving herself time to properly think things through, Miriam grabbed Anselm by the sleeve of his crumpled shirt and dragged him away.
The music faltered, and people stood and stared.
Little wonder, for Princess Miriam never danced.
Gasps of astonishment could be heard as she hauled Sir Anselm to the very center of the dance floor, almost plowing through other couples in her haste to get there. Vadim narrowly avoided a collision by forcibly swinging his dance partner out of harm’s way just in time.
“Anselm, what are you doing?” he demanded.
“Sorry, brother. The princess is extremely keen to dance with me.”
“Hmm. So it would seem.”
Miriam glared at them both, fury pumping through her veins like hot lava. How could the two of them be related when they were not at all alike? Well, only in as much as night favored day.
Releasing Anselm’s shirt, Miriam glanced across at the musicians who were gaping at them in open-mouthed astonishment. All pretense of playing abandoned, their instruments poised silent and motionless in their hands.
Sweeping up the corner of her gown, she slipped her hand through the wrist hoop that served to keep the fabric clear of the floor and took Anselm’s hand. “Play!” she commanded. The sooner this foolishness was over with the happier she would be.
When Miriam placed her hand in his, Anselm could scarcely believe his good fortune.
He gently closed his hand about her fingers. So small and fragile, rather like the rest of her, in fact. The top of Miriam’s head barely reached the level of his nose. Had the princess been a little less abrasive she might have been a comfortable fit.
Having recovered from the shock of seeing their princess dragging a stranger off to dance, the musicians struck up a slow, romantic tune. Gathering Miriam’s rigid body slightly closer, Anselm allowed the music to guide his feet. Following where it led, they drifted slowly about the glittering dance floor.
“Why could they not play a livelier tune?” Miriam complained.
“No doubt your musicians wanted to make the most of this rare opportunity. Rumor has it that you rarely dance anymore, m’lady.”
“Not with strangers, I don’t. That much is true.”
“Oh?” Her offhand comment piqued Anselm’s interest. “So there is someone you care to dance with, hmm?”
Miriam raised her eyes, tilting her head to look at him. The expression in those amber eyes was more telling than anything she might care to say. That she was deeply troubled by something was apparent. And that this something was a man was equally clear to him.
Who was he, Miriam’s mystery man? Intrigued, Anselm almost forgot that they were being watched by the great and good of Haldenberg.
“Your family do not approve?”
“Of what?”
“Your secret love, of course.” Beneath the shapeless gown she wore, Anselm felt Miriam stiffen again. Ah-ha. So he was right.
“What do you imply, sir?” she demanded coldly. “I am the daughter of kings. Taking a lover would be foolish and inexcusable—”
“I believe I made no mention of a lover, Princess. After all, a secret love can be many things. A lover, though. Ah… that is something else entirely. But since you did raise the subject, I’m inclined to believe you’re in the mood to discuss your feelings. So, let us talk. Was I right? Does your family disapprove?”
Despite her obvious annoyance, Miriam suddenly laughed and shook her head. The action sent loose tendrils of her silken hair flying about her face. Anselm liked the sound of her amusement. Her laughter was slightly husky. Sultry. Rather like the woman herself.
“Since you appear to have all the answers—all the wrong ones, I hasten to add—why don’t you tell me, m’lord?”
“Very well,” Anselm said, smiling down into her expectant face. “I shall endeavor to do so.” As he drew her a little closer, the fragrance of sweet jasmine enveloped him in a warm, intoxicating cloud that momentarily dulled his wits. “Allow me to consider the evidence for a moment.”
“The evidence?” Miriam laughed again, her eyes shining most charmingly, all trace of her former frost vanished. “What evidence?” She was less resistant to his lead now, her lithe body felt more relaxed in his arms. “Go on, then, Northman. Take all the time you need to consider your evidence. Your ludicrous conclusions should be well worth the wait.”
As one piece of music ran into the next, Anselm and Miriam glided about the room without pause, their bodies smoothly adjusting to a new rhythm. To his surprise, Anselm realized he was enjoying himself. Beneath the layers of fire and ice, he had caught a sense of the real Miriam and, to his great surprise, he found he rather liked her.
As she waited for him to speak, Miriam’s eyes never strayed from his, and an amused smile played upon her lips. Their guessing game was proving to be a useful diversion. Was the princess beginning to enjoy herself, too? He hoped so.
’Twas apparent that Miriam had a secret someone. The question was, who was it? As Anselm had only been in town for a mere day he could hardly be expected to make an accurate guess.
Or could he?
More couples joined them on the dance floor. Vadim and Reynard swirled by, each holding a stout matron in his arms. Martha would certainly approve of Vadim’s current dance partner. Just as Anselm approved of his, for Miriam was a beautiful dancer, so graceful and light on her feet.
They drifted on into their third dance, and Anselm couldn’t recall when he’d last enjoyed an evening more, especially now that his fair partner had retracted all her prickles.
“Well?” Miriam prompted him at length. “Are you going to make me wait all evening for an answer, m’lord?”
Anselm merely smiled and raised her hand to his lips. A mistake. Miriam immediately stiffened and tried to pull her hand free.
“What do you think you’re doing?”She glared up at him with all of her former feistiness back in place.
“Kissing your hand. Obviously.”
“Well, don’t. It really is the most disgusting of customs.”
“As you wish.” Anselm lowered her hand—for now—and kept on dancing. “What’s disgusting about it?”
Miriam was keen to enlighten him. “Well, for one, I have no idea about the state of your oral health, to say nothing of the… unsavory places your mouth might have been.”
Now it was Anselm’s turn to laugh. He could not help himself. “What are you implying, Princess? Dare I ask that you speak any plainer? Have a care for my sensibilities, though.” He arched his eyebrows meaningfully.
A delightful flush suffused Miriam’s sallow cheeks. “Oh, I think you know quite well what I mean, m’lord. I may be a maiden but I am not entirely ignorant of the world.”
“I do not doubt it. However, a gentleman would never discuss such things, especially in the presence of such a finely-reared lady as yourself.”
Miriam pulled her hand from his to deliver a surprisingly hard slap to his chest. “Stop it!” she hissed, her eyes sparkling with merriment, which Anselm viewed as a most encouraging sign. To his delight, of her own volition, Miriam took his hand again, smoothly propelling them on into the next dance, a slightly more upbeat tune, this time.
“Right, you’ve had your dance, sir knight. Four of them, in fact. I demand that you speak of my secret love.”
“Very well. To begin with, your family most certainly wouldn’t approve .”
“Upon what basis do you make so bold a statement?”
“Unless I’m much mistaken, your secret lover is not here tonight or you would not be dancing with me.”
Miriam nodded. “A good point. Pray continue.”
“May I ask a question, Princess?”
“Is it relevant?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Then ask your question, sir knight.”
“Is your secret love a woman?”
Miriam’s jaw dropped, offering Anselm a glimpse of the inside of her mouth. He was pleased to see she was in possession of a full set of perfectly white and even teeth, although the sweetness of her breath had already hinted at this.
Wait. What was wrong with him? Why, in the name of the Great Spirit, was he suddenly fixated on the condition of Miriam’s teeth when there were far greater delights to be explored? There had been a time when the state of a woman’s mouth had been much less important to him than those of her other, more womanly, charms.
Wide-eyed with wonder, Miriam stared at him, her small hand resting lightly upon his chest. “I confess,” she began in a low voice, “I have heard talk of women—and men, too—who find pleasure in the beds of their own sex, but I have never met anyone who… who… ” She swallowed hard. Anselm found himself riveted by the movement of her pale throat. The delicate skin of her neck a startling contrast to the stark black fabric of her shapeless gown.
Erde. She was a pretty little thing. Well, when she wasn’t snarling and growling at him like an old hag, that is. Those amber eyes of hers were quite incredible. Almond-shaped and cat-like, they did something to his insides that Anselm did not care to dwell upon.
This time it was he who tried to put a little distance between them. But as he loosened his hold on her hand and waist, Miriam would not allow his retreat and refused to let go.
“S-so.” Unusually flustered, Anselm cleared his throat and tried again. “Fine. I give up. Who is he, then, this mystery man who holds your heart?”
In an instant, Miriam’s guard crumbled. Suddenly she was wide open and vulnerable, her mind and thoughts fully exposed for Anselm to read. Her secrets his for the taking.
“What is it?” she hissed as he stared at her. “What do you see?”
What did he see? What did she see, was a better question. Some unseen mechanism had shifted and now a different game was afoot. Suddenly Anselm was the hunted one, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Had Miriam somehow guessed that he possessed The Sight? He needed to escape. Now. Before…
Too late. One blistering flash of clarity and he was gone…
Chapter Nineteen
In his mind he followed her, heading toward a ship at berth in a busy harbor. Sailors and merchants crowded the dockside.
A girl. No, a woman walked amongst the townsfolk and sailors. She wore a flowing white gown that billowing behind her like a sail then whipped and tangled about her tanned bare feet. Alone, she walked. Without an escort, yet no one approached her.
No one but him… the dark-haired man. Tall and handsome on the exterior, but the blackness of his soul rendered him hideous to all with the power to properly see him.
A corsair. A plunderer. A cold heart dripping with the blood of countless innocents.
Suddenly the young woman turned, and Anselm recognized her.
Miriam. Smiling and beautiful in the sunshine.
The man with the black soul opened his arms and she ran to him, burying her face into his filthy shirt.
Anselm felt sick.
“Did you bring it?” The man demanded, harshly, gripping her shoulders and holding her away from him.“Did you?”
“Yes… ”
Before Anselm could find out precisely what it was, Miriam’s voice roused him back to the present.
“Sir knight? Anselm… are you unwell?”
The waking dream dispersed but slowly. The tangle of its tenuous threads clung to him like the sticky buds back home stuck to his clothing.
“Miriam!” he gasped. Still between worlds, he panicked, clinging to her, frantically trying to blink away his vision of her future.
“Princess Miriam, if you please. Or my lady, if you prefer.”
The acidic quality of her voice effectively dispelled the last remnants of the vision. Motionless, they stood together on the dance floor, holding hands while the other couples twirled about them, a blur of movement and color. Everyone was smiling and having a good time. All of them oblivious to Anselm’s turmoil. Everyone except her.
Miriam frowned, her amber eyes clouded with concern. “You’re sweating.”
“It’s rather w-warm in here, is it not?” Still he clung to her, an invalid once more. Without her fragile strength to support him, Anselm might have crumpled to the floor.
“And you’re so pale!” Miriam pressed her hand to his forehead. “No fever. That’s something, I suppose.”
At her touch, Anselm hissed through his teeth, pained as though she had just branded him. “I have to get out of here,” he whispered.
“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go.”
He had absolutely no intention of doing so.
Slowly, Miriam danced him over to the other side of the room, to the wide casements that opened onto a vast outdoor patio. It was empty except for the large fountain that played by itself, dancing silver droplets in the bright moonlight.
Like a child, Miriam led Anselm by the hand, carefully guiding him to sit upon a low marble bench.
“Better?” she asked.
Leaning his back against the wall, Anselm closed his eyes. “Much better, thank you.” He forced himself to concentrate on his breathing, to take long deep breaths and then to slowly exhale. Little by little, breath by breath, he gradually returned to himself.
Back to the here and now.
The delicious scents of night in a warmer clime filled his lungs, bathing them with fragrant vanilla, and frangipane. And jasmine.
On opening his eyes, Anselm found Miriam still sitting beside him, frowning in concern.
“You’re still dreadfully pale,” she said. “I think I should summon the royal physician—”
“No.”
“Your brother, then?”
“No!” Anselm reached for her hand, only this time she did not pull away. “Just sit quietly with me for a while, hmm?”
“Of course.”
Together, they listened to the sounds of the night, the constant chirping of the cicadas and the gentle sighing of the breeze as it rustled through the palm fronds overhead. Anselm clasped Miriam’s small hand firmly between his as if maintaining physical contact with her was the only thing preventing him from floating away.
Miriam hummed to herself, a slow romantic tune, full of sorrow and yearning.
How old was she, anyway? She couldn’t be more than eighteen summers, perhaps twenty. Whatever her age, the princess was quite old enough to become a victim of infatuation. She fancied herself more than halfway in love with that pirate friend of hers—or the man she’d built him up to be, at least.
But as Anselm knew only too well, life could be a brutal tutor. Just as there wasn’t al
ways a happy ending to be found at the end of every story tale or fable, so it was with reality.
Good did not always conquer evil. Lies were often more powerful than the truth, and those of good heart could perish at the end of a sword just as easily as any ruffian.
He studied Miriam’s profile, admiring her small, slightly snub nose, and the inviting fullness of her lower lip. He particularly liked the way her long black lashes brushed her cheeks whenever she glanced at something on the ground. Although Miriam wasn’t Anselm’s usual type, he had to admit that she was a rather pretty creature. It would be a great shame to see her throw herself away on someone so undeserving as a pirate.
One thing was clear; if Miriam continued on her current course she would end up with nothing. Well, nothing of value at any rate. All alone, she would have neither her pirate lover nor her family to comfort her, just her own sorrowful memories, a lifetime of regret, and a handful of bitter ashes in the place where her dreams used to be.
But what could Anselm do about it? In the entire history of humankind, had anyone ever taken heed on being told not to love someone—even if that someone happened to be murderous scum with less appeal than an uncovered midden on a hot summer day?
“Why do you stare at me so, sir knight? Do I have a smudge of soot on my face?”
For the sake of his conscience—which was becoming rather troublesome of late—Anselm had to at least try to warn her of the danger that lay in the road ahead.
“No, nothing like that, Princess,” he said, sounding more like himself. “I was merely wondering what it would take to remove the blindfold from your eyes.”
“What blindfold? Are you drunk or merely delusional, m’lord? Believe me, I can see perfectly well.”
“Nonetheless, I maintain that your vision must be at fault if you cannot see the peril ahead of you—a peril that even I, a complete stranger, can see all too clearly.”
“Your meaning being?” In that instant, he felt Miriam withdrawing from him. Her face which had previously been so marvelously expressive was now shuttered and, despite the heat of the night, her voice bore a distinct hint of frost.
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