Oh, just wait until she heard the rest of what he had to say. Ah well. He might as well get it over with. Taking a deep breath, Anselm said, “I fear a false love has not only blurred your vision, but it has severely impaired your judgment, too.”
Miriam’s eyes widened with shock, and the last remnants of warmth leeched from her expression. The shrew was back, and she didn’t look at all happy. “I cannot imagine what you imply. Pray, speak plainer.”
“Very well.” So he would, and gladly, too. “I speak of your pirate friend. I feel I should caution you that he is not as he seems—”
Miriam gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Then again,” Anselm mused out loud, “perhaps he is precisely what he seems, for he is a pirate, after all. Cold-heated and bloodthirsty, just like the rabble he sails with.”
Miriam leaped to her feet, thunderstruck. “How-How can you know th-this?” she cried.
“ ’Tis not possible. No. I cannot believe it. I will not.” She shook her head in denial. As she did so, a shower of hairpins went flying, ruining the remains of her previous hair arrangement. Released form its bonds, her hair slithered about her shoulders like a writhing nest of sleek black snakes.
Miriam regarded him, her eyes flashing fire, and perhaps a spark of fear, too. “You must have followed me. But, no. How could that be when you only arrived today? I know! Someone must have spoken to you about me.”
“Not at all,” Anselm calmly assured her. “Be at ease, Princess. I am no danger to you. Your secret is quite safe with me, I assure you.” Taking her hand, he pulled her to sit beside him again.
“Then, h-how… ?”
She looked so deliciously perplexed that Anselm could not help but smile. “Perhaps we should discuss that another time. I have shocked you more than enough for one evening.” He held her hand more firmly as she attempted to leave her seat. “No, wait. Please. Just listen to me, Miriam… I mean, Princess Miriam.” Damn it. Her name already rested far too comfortably on his lips. “Just let me say this one thing and I vow I shall say no more.”
“What, then?”
“Do not give it to him, this thing your pirate craves so badly. If you do, I guarantee that your fair prince will transform before your eyes into something ugly and equally dangerous.” Anselm squeezed her hand as if by doing so he could use his will to overpower hers. “Harken to my words, Princess, and heed them well. This… man. He does not love you. He cannot love anyone for his heart is made of rock, and his soul is dead and cold. Have a care, Miriam or your love will not be the only thing he steals from you.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Wrenching her hand free, Miriam scrambled to her feet. “Guards!” she cried. At once, there was the scurry of sandal-ed feet slapping upon the marble floor. Suddenly they were surrounded by men, swords drawn, their faces grim.
“Are you unharmed, Princess Miriam?” the captain of the guards demanded gently leading her away from Anselm. “Has this Northman done anything to—?”
“No, not at all. Nothing like that, I assure you.” But Miriam’s smile of reassurance looked brittle.
Anselm stared, willing her to look at him. Would she do it? Would she reveal what had just passed between them? But then, how could she when speaking such truth would destroy them both? On the other hand, if she didn’t speak up it would confirm that he was right. About everything.
“Lord Edgeway’s brother was feeling a little unwell, and I feared he was about to swoon.” Finally, Miriam finally looked at him. With her head held high, one eyebrow crooked, defiance radiated from her eyes, daring him to say otherwise. The little witch, he thought admiringly. In some ways he was beginning to feel rather sorry for Miriam’s pirate. Thus, Anselm had little choice but to play the part of the spineless milksop, an act which came rather naturally to him these days.
Feigning weakness, Anselm staggered to his feet, one hand clutching onto the stone balustrade. “I am terribly sorry to be such a nuisance, especially to you, Princess. Truly, the hospitality of your hall has been beyond compare.”
The captain frowned at him. “Too much wine, perhaps, m’lord?”
“Indeed, not.” Miriam responded before Anselm had chance to concoct a reply. “He has scarcely taken a drop all night.”
Ah! So she’d been studying him too, had she? How interesting.
“In that case, perhaps you ought to adjourn to your rooms, m’lord.”
Bowing his head—and staggering a little for effect—Anselm accepted the soldier’s good advice. Bidding Miriam a quietly respectful ‘good night’, he allowed the guards to escort him away.
After a night of the most fitful of sleeps, Miriam was relieved to finally see the shy pink dawn peering in through her open casement. The sun had not yet emerged from her cloud-lined bed, but the morning was already warm. It promised to be another exceedingly hot day.
Throwing back the gossamer-thin bed sheet—Miriam swung her legs out of bed and retrieved her thin, sleeveless shift from the back of the chair. She habitually slept naked but, conversely, she could not fall asleep unless she had some sort of covering over her body.
Still yawning, she carelessly pulled the garment over her tousled head, stretched, and then wandered over to the casement and out onto her private balcony as was her daily custom.
Far below her tower window, Haldenberg was waking up, although it was barely even cock crow. During the hottest months of the year, the townsfolk took full advantage of the cooler hours of the day. By noon, everything would be packed away, and the townspeople would scurry back inside the cool sanctuary of their homes again, waiting for the shadows to lengthen into night.
Leaning her forearms on the uppermost stone rail of her balcony, Miriam took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the freshness of a new day as she watched the merchants and shop keepers go about their work, either busily packing goods, or setting out displays in their various windows and stalls.
During the summer months, life in Haldenberg could be likened to living on the inside of an enormous oven. Even so, Miriam loved living there. This was, after all, the land of her birth, the country that had given her father sanctuary even as the wolves of the North turned against him.
Why would Rodmar choose to uproot them from a life of such comfort and plenty only to transplant them in the soil of a cold, cheerless land to the north, a land that was, by all accounts, much less hospitable? Yes, for all that her brother was noble and bold, simply overflowing with goodness and fine principles, he could still be an utter donkey at times.
It was different for Hortensia. As Rodmar’s wife, the mother of his two children—now on the brink of adulthood themselves—it was only right that she would want to follow her beloved husband wherever he led.
But Miriam saw things quite differently.
Rodmar was, after all, only a half-brother. Although they shared the same sire, they’d each come from different dams. Very different.
Father’s first wife—Rodmar and Catherine’s blood mother—had died not long after arriving in Haldenberg. The long months of aimless traveling and deprivation had been too much for a woman of her delicate constitution, and so she succumbed to the sweating sickness within weeks of her arrival. Not even her son and baby daughter had possessed the power required to keep her tethered to life.
Bereft and heartbroken, Miriam’s father may well have given up and followed his queen to the grave had it not been for Halima, the woman who would later give life to Miriam. The youngest daughter of the last Emir, she had taken it upon herself to care for the exiled king and his young family. Slowly, Halima had managed to coax the king away from the very edge of life. It was inevitable, perhaps, that their initial friendship should eventually blossom into something deeper and more tender. And so, in time, they were married.
Although their union might not have been a grand passion for either of Miriam’s parents, b
ecause their marriage had been built upon a foundation of mutual kindness and friendship, they’d been content. Miriam’s birth had sealed their happiness, helping forge a permanent link between their two worlds.
As a child, although Miriam had loved her big sister Catherine, she’d adored Rodmar to distraction. Dearest Rodmar. He’d always been the kindest of brothers. Utterly devoted to him and his cause—just as so many others would be in the years to come—Miriam had followed at his heels until even Rodmar’s endless reserves of patience had finally run out. Weary of Miriam’s dogged pursuit, he had finally been forced to complain to his stepmother Halima.
Although the siblings were undoubtedly fond of one another, the years separating their births were considerable. Even as a small child, Miriam was always been aware of a slight awkwardness between the three of them, but as approached adulthood, this rift became ever more noticeable. Suddenly Rodmar was always away from home, often in the company of his soldier friends, sometimes for months at a time.
Not even Hortensia, his lovely wife, could persuade him to stay at home for long, not even after their children were born.
When the old king had finally departed life following a long and terrible wasting sickness, the loss of Miriam’s dear father had been almost a blessing. But when Mother had upped and followed him into the ever-after only a few short weeks later, her loss had come as a severe blow.
Suddenly, Miriam and Catherine were orphans, wholly dependent upon the continued kindness of their brother and his wife. But there was never any real cause for concern to that regard. For, no sooner had the king and his wife been interred, Rodmar and Hortensia slipped seamlessly into the role of guardians, treating both girls with the great kindness and affection they showered so liberally upon their own burgeoning brood.
Plucking a scarlet blossom from the bushy climbing plant that wound its way around the stone handrail of her balcony, Miriam raised it to her nose and inhaled its sweetness, attempting to commit the flower’s scent to memory.
Although she wasn’t Rodmar and Catherine’s full sister, no one had ever treated her like a dependent, or a burden. As if she didn’t belong. No matter where life’s ever-changing sea took them in the future, Miriam was certain of a secure and loving home.
So why, then, did she suddenly feel so restricted? Stifled. Out of place.
If they ever learned how she felt, her brother and his wife would have been appalled. The problem was, Miriam simply couldn’t help herself. No matter what she did or however hard she tried to resist this nameless pull, her soul remained restless.
It wasn’t their fault, Rodmar and Hortensia. No. This was all down to her.
With a sigh, Miriam plucked a scarlet petal and let it go, watching as it spiraled slowly downward, drifting lazily on a current of rising air. Down and down until, at last, the petal fell out of sight.
Of course Miriam loved her family—even Catherine, difficult as she could so often be—but with the passing of each year, Miriam had begun to feel more and more… beholden to them, somehow. Perhaps beholden was too strong a word. Whatever it was, she often felt she owed her family some unspoken debt. A debt that would be soon called in.
Ever since Rodmar had reclaimed the throne of the Norlands, Miriam had felt the unrelenting pressure of familial obligation slowly crushing in on her. Although no one had yet made any mention of marriage, deep in her heart she knew that once they reached the Norlands all that would change. Rodmar expected his sisters to make advantageous matches, of that Miriam had no doubt. In order to secure his position as king, it was essential that Rodmar forged strong ties with the most powerful families in the land, thus gaining himself powerful allies.
What better way to achieve this goal than through the union of marriage?
Perhaps that was the reason why Miriam had chased Fabien so hard.
She might fancy herself in love but Miriam wasn’t altogether stupid. Fabien was a handsome man and an ambitious one, too. The acquisition of gold had always been high on his personal agenda. So, once certain of Miriam’s devotion to him, he had begun to make certain demands. Not her maidenhead—although she would have had no problem ridding herself of that. No. Fabien had his eye on treasure of quite a different kind.
Quite early on in their relationship, he’d asked her to steal the key to the royal treasure vault. It was a simple enough task, for Miriam knew quite well where she might acquire a spare key. No one would probably care if she came straight out and asked for it.
The question was, after all these weeks, why was she still stalling?
Chewing her lower lip, Miriam plucked another petal from the flower in her hand and hurled it over the balcony. Such indecision. No wonder Fabien was becoming so impatient with her for she quite irritated herself. Perhaps if she saw him again—now, this very morning—it would help make up her dithering mind? Fabien been away for a whole week, but he would be back today—he’d promised.
Was his ship already moored the harbor? Her heart skipped several beats as she imagined him holding her, kissing her…
“Good morning, Princess!” called a cheerful voice from far below.
Miriam winced and closed her eyes. Oh, by the Gods! Not him again. Looking out over her balcony, to her dismay, she saw the irritating Northman waving up at her as bold as you please, without the slightest trace of decorum, or any regard whatsoever for the earliness of the hour. Didn’t the horrid man care who else he might be disturbing?
Was this how it was to be from now on, her having to suffer his presence at every turn? Oh, why wouldn’t the horrid man just leave her in peace?
More out of the habit of politeness than any desire to be friendly, Miriam raised her hand and forced her mouth into a feeble smile. In truth, it was more a dismissal than a greeting, but still the dense fellow failed to accept the hint.
“You’re up early,” he bellowed, grinning up at her with his hands planted firmly on his hips—Anders? Aslan? What was his wretched name? Whatever it was, he looked revoltingly bright-eyed and healthy. “I didn’t expect to see you up before noon.”
Oh, so he imagined she was a slug-a-bed, did he? Charming. What else had he imagined? Actually, she didn’t want to know. There was something about the man Miriam found altogether disturbing, not least his uncanny ability of being able to read her mind and stare off into the future. It was most disconcerting.
“Are you coming down?”
Miriam held her finger to her lips. “Ssh!”
“What was that?” he yelled up, cupping one ear like a gray-beard. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”
“Ssh!” Miriam hissed, louder this time, until she sounded like an irate snake. “Have a care or you’ll waken the entire household.”
Anselm smiled. “Then you had better come down and talk to me, Princess,” he said in a gentler tone. “Otherwise I shall be forced to continue shouting up at you.”
Wretched man. But Miriam found herself smiling. Unsettling as he was, there was something rather appealing about the golden-haired fellow.
“Oh, very well,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “Wait there.”
Chapter Twenty
The moment Miriam had vanished back inside her bedchamber, Anselm hurried down to the stables. There, he found his faithful squire Percy sitting outside with the other squires, enjoying the relative coolness of the morning as they cleaned and polished bridles, saddles, and various pieces of glittering armor. Anselm’s arrival, however, soon silenced their idle chatter and jests.
“Ah, there you are, Percy. Keeping busy as usual. Good lad.”
Percy looked up, shielding his eyes with one hand. “Is there something you need, m’lord?”
“There is. Several somethings, as a matter of fact.” He smiled, including the other squires as he spoke. “This errand, however, will require not only the hasty assistance of your good self, but that of your friends, t
oo. Would a handful of silver serve as a sufficient incentive, do you think? What say you?”
There was a sudden scrambling of eager feet as the squires leaped up to do his bidding, which was precisely the answer Anselm had been hoping for.
By the time Princess Miriam emerged from the palace a few minutes later, Anselm was comfortably perched on the edge of the huge courtyard fountain, able to watch her approach at leisure. As he’d suspected, Miriam was ready in half the time it might have taken another woman.
She walked with feline grace, her movements fluid yet, at the same time, full of purpose. Clearly the princess was extremely comfortable in her own skin. Although Anselm hadn’t know her for long, he was pleased to note a lack of the dainty posturing favored by so many ladies of the court back home. There was no silliness or girlish giggling. Really, it was most refreshing.
But why was she wearing black again? Was she in mourning, perhaps?
As she walked, tiny threads of silver within her flowing gown caught the light of the morning sun, glinting with a brilliance to rival the raven-blue highlights in her hair. Although the somber color suited her well, Anselm much preferred the loose white shift she’d been wearing earlier as she’d stood on her balcony, watching the sunrise.
He smiled, recalling how a kindly breeze had caught hold of the thin fabric, billowing the garment like a sail only moments before molding it to Miriam’s slender body, offering Anselm a tantalizing glimpse of the curves the modest garment should have concealed. He was happy to see that, beneath her widow’s weeds, Miriam’s figure was that of a full-grown woman. Fortunately for the sake of his own sorry neck, Anselm was in no position to act on his discovery. No, that particular itch must remain unscratched. Still, there was no harm in appreciating beauty, was there?
As Miriam came closer, Anselm leaped down from his perch and swept a low, respectful bow; so low that his hair almost trailed the pristine cobbles. “Good morning again, Princess. Thank you for agreeing to come down and keep me company.”
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