King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  “’Tis a lovely morning for a ride, is it not?” he remarked with good cheer, absently fondling the bulging mounds of his companions’ half-exposed breasts with his yellow-stained fingers, making the whores giggle and squeal even louder.

  Miriam’s heart gave a sickening lurch, and her blood seemed to freeze her veins. Time stood still. Suddenly, there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, just this one endless moment. Conscious of Anselm’s steady presence at her side, she could not help but compare the two men. When held up against Anselm’s quietly noble manner, Fabien could not help but do badly. In an instant, the veil of infatuation fell away, exposing her pirate lover and shattering all her naïve girlish dreams. In one blinding moment of clarity, Miriam realized the extent of her foolish self-delusion, and she hated herself for it.

  For the very first time, she was seeing Fabien as he truly was: a beautiful shell of a man with nothing but his appearance to recommend him. In time, even his good looks would fade until an unattractive, blackened husk was all that remained.

  She felt sick, crushed by the damning weight of her own stupidity.

  Oh, by the Great Spirit, what had she been thinking? She sensed Anselm watching her and her cheeks blazed with fresh humiliation.

  How foolish she must seem to him.

  “Well, m’lady?” Fabien gave her a wink and a leery smile. “Will you do me the honor of introdush- introducing me to your companions?”

  ’Twas difficult to believe that only a few brief hours ago she had yearned for this man with every fiber of her heart and soul. Ached for him. Now only shame and regret remained.

  “I don’t think I will,” Miriam answered coldly, summoning up every grain of regal attitude she could muster. “You certainly do not merit such attention.”

  Miriam looked down on her fallen angel, regarding him with disgust, her mouth set in a tight line of disapproval. Until this moment she had never known him. Or herself. The simple act of comparing him with a man of honor had been enough to shatter all her foolish delusions forever. “Goodbye, Captain.”

  “Wait!” Before she could gather her reins to ride on, Fabien released his whores and stumbled towards her, clumsily catching hold of her horse’s bridle. “Don’t you have something for me, my love? Some small… token of your affection?”

  She looked him up and down with revulsion. He still expected her to give him the key to the treasure vault? Hell. He was even stupider than she was.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Anselm discreetly rest his hand upon the sheath that contained his sword. A movement of readiness for which she was truly grateful for it gave her courage. With a fake smile, Miriam bent over and beckoned Fabien to her side. Still certain of his power over her, the captain came to stand by her stirrup, caressing Miriam’s ankle through her boot with such boldness she wanted to vomit.

  “You aren’t angry with me are you, my love?” he crooned. “Until we are respectably joined, I refuse to tarnish your innocence by using you to service my… baser needs.”

  How noble. Did he expect her to thank him, now?

  “How very thoughtful of you, sir.” At such close range, he reeked of beer and sex, but Miriam forced herself to touch his cheek, the sharp bristles of his morning growth pricking the palm of her hand. What a strange moment this was. How could it be that someone she had once found so attractive was now utterly repugnant to her?

  She tensed as Fabien captured her wrist, pressing a hot kiss into the palm of her hand. “What a rare and precious jewel you are.”

  “I know.” Miriam wrenched her hand free and glared at him, her revulsion unmasked. “Here’s a parting gift for you, a small token of regard.” With that, she slapped his face, so hard that the sound echoed about the harbor. She smiled. “Farewell, Fabien.”

  “You’re leaving me?” Clutching his crimson cheek, Fabien was almost shocked to sobriety. “B-But what ab-about us? Our love… all of our plans?”

  He meant the key, of course.

  Miriam shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  His eyes flared. “You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

  “Ah, but she already has,” Anselm said in his usual friendly tone. “’Tis the prerogative of every woman, so I’m told. No, there’s nothing more to be done, I’m afraid.”

  Fabien’s head snapped towards Anselm. “And who might you be, my fine friend?” he snarled.

  “Me? Oh, I am King Rodmar’s friend. Which means, regrettably, that you and I must remain at odds, never destined to drink from friendship’s cup.”

  Fabien turned on Miriam, his dark eyes flashing with violence. “You honestly prefer this preening popinjay’s company to mine?”

  Well, did she? “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. At least this preening popinjay wears his warts on the outside… unlike some.”

  “Percy?” The preening popinjay turned to address his squire. “Would you be so kind as to escort Hannah back up the cliff path?”

  “B-But, m’lord—”

  “Go on, now. There’s a good fellow. Off you go.”

  Clearly not pleased at being dismissed, Percy reached for the reins of the maidservant’s pony, reluctantly performing his master’s bidding.

  “You too, Princess. Toddle off with Percy, if you please.”

  Miriam gaped at Anselm in astonishment. “I most certainly will not!” How dare he attempt to dismiss her like a common servant?

  “’Twas an order, m’lady, not a request. Now go!” Anselm’s eyes flashed with silver fire, daring her to disobey him. Gone was the relaxed and amusing companion of that morning. In the matter of a mere moment, his whole demeanor had altered. Although Anselm had yet to move a muscle, Miriam glimpsed the soldier behind the man. The killer. She had seen that same unsettling stare all too often in the eyes of many battle-hardened knights.

  Without hope. Devoid of fear. A look of desolation.

  Even Fabien must have sensed something was seriously amiss for he began slowly backing away from Miriam’s horse, fumbling to free his sword from its sheath as he did so. His second in command stepped up beside the captain, drawing his own weapon with a smooth rasp.

  Wisely, the whores turned and fled, hurrying back in the direction they’d so recently come, squealing with fright, their fleshy breasts and hips a-jiggling in their haste to reach a place of safety.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Miriam demanded. At this rate, Anselm would get them all killed. Fabien’s crew were probably only a holler away if the whores didn’t alert them sooner.

  Anselm didn’t even look at her. “Why are you still here?” Sitting perfectly still and straight in his saddle, his attention was fixed on Fabien and his man.

  “We leave together,” Miriam said firmly, “or not at all.”

  “Then at least keep out of my way whilst I teach your friends some manners.” In one smooth motion, Anselm withdrew his sword from the sheath hanging from his saddle and, clicking to his horse, they set off at a walk, slowly advancing on Fabien and his second.

  The pirate captain laughed and nudged his friend. “This one has balls, Hodges. I like him.”

  “Aye. It’ll almost be a pity to kill him, Cap’n.”

  Oh, heavens! Miriam looked on helplessly. What was the point of being a bloody princess when no one ever listened to a word she said? Anselm was a fool. She ought to leave him to it, but Lord Edgeway would be livid if any harm came to his brother… or so she told herself. But what could she do to help? She had no weapons at her disposal.

  As he backed off a safe distance, Fabien swept his opponent a most elegant bow. “Will you not step from your horse and fight me like a gentleman, m’lord?”

  “A gentleman?” Anselm chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. If anything, it was a menacing sound. “I fear you must have mistaken me for someone else, for I have never claimed to be one of those. So many dull rules abou
t how one ought to behave. Most disagreeable. No. I’d much rather keep my balls where they are.” Seemingly in no great hurry, Anselm kept advancing, slowly closing in on Fabien and Hodges.

  Miriam could’ve screamed in frustration. What was she to do? Even the elderly fisher folk were beating a hasty retreat back inside their hovels and barring their doors behind them, their mended nets lying abandoned on the street.

  “You fool! My men will be here at any moment,” Fabien blustered, still walking backward, one unsteady step at a time. Not a trace of his usual brashness and swagger remained. For the first time, Miriam noticed a hint of fear.

  “Is that so? In that case, I’d better make haste and take your heads while I still have the chance, eh?” With that, Anselm raised his sword and pushed his horse into a canter.

  “Run!” Hodges cried, grabbing his captain by the arm. Fabien needed no further encouragement. Which was just as well, for he would never best a man such as Anselm, not while he was so steaming drunk. Running full pelt, the two pirates raced back to the sanctuary of the Anna-Lucia and up the gangplank, stumbling and falling as they fled.

  Reining in his horse, Anselm chuckled as he watched the two men run away.

  He was still laughing when he re-sheathed his sword and turned to where Miriam stood waiting for him.

  “You are quite insane, Northman,” she told him sternly, her cheeks flushed with temper. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Once or twice. Come along, Princess. Let us catch up with our companions while we still may.” Without waiting for Miriam’s consent, Anselm grabbed the reins of her mount and forcibly turned her until they were pointing in the direction of home.

  “I must say,” he added, grinning in a most impudent manner as they set off. “I don’t think much of your taste in men, Princess. Perhaps in the future, it might be best to leave the task of finding a suitable mate to your brother. Whatever his faults, the king is a much better judge of character than you. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  For once, words failed her. Anselm might be right, but he didn’t have to look quite so smug about it, did he? She wanted to thump him, such was her frustration. But she dared not. Anselm’s mask might be firmly back in place, but she’d seen the man who lurked beneath his amiable persona.

  So she would say nothing. For now. She could only hope Anselm would have the decency to do the same thing, for if Hortensia and Rodmar should ever discover what she had been up to they would never forgive her.

  And who would blame them?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Where did you go so early?” Hugh asked later as he and Anselm broke their fast together, sitting in the shadow of the palace walls. “Fergus says he saw you riding out with the princess Miriam.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Anselm smiled. “Given the amount of wine Fergus imbibed yester-eve, that truly is a remarkable feat. I’m amazed he was even conscious at such an ungodly hour.”

  Hugh grinned, his teeth white beneath his grizzled beard. “The night watch reports that our drunken young friend spent quite a lot of time outside last night, purging his stomach so I believe. He still looked as sick as a dog when I saw him earlier.”

  “Then let us hope he has learned his lesson, eh? As any wise man will tell you, there is naught to be found at the bottom of a bottle other than a sour mouth, a stinking megrim, and an empty coin pocket.”

  Hugh laughed. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, clunking his leather tankard of well-watered ale against Anselm’s. “So what were you up to with the princess, then? Anything I should warn you

  against, perhaps? After all, wine is not the only peril in this world.” He waggled his bushy gray eyebrows meaningfully.

  But Anselm required no such warning. No. he’d learned that particular lesson many years ago.

  “It was all quite innocent, I assure you. Last night I expressed an interest in seeing the harbor, and the princess kindly offered to take me on an early morning tour. There was nothing improper about it for Percy was with me, and the princess had her maid. ’Twas all entirely decent, I’m happy to say.”

  “Hmm.” Hugh didn’t look convinced, but he could hardly argue the point, not when they’d been so properly chaperoned. “Then I’ll just say this much: a prudent man would leave the king’s womenfolk well alone. However innocent your burgeoning friendship with the princess may be, there are always those who would take great pleasure in twisting the truth out of shape if it suited their devious purposes.”

  Anselm sighed. “You’re right, my friend. Thank you. I shall heed your counsel and take your warning to heart.” After all, Rodmar didn’t need much excuse to have him executed. The king disliked him more than enough already and was only looking for a way to rid himself of Anselm for good. Now that Miriam’s ill-advised association with her pirate beau was seemingly at an end, he would have no reason to seek out her company again in the future.

  Which was a pity. For, despite her terrible taste in men, Anselm much admired the princess’s high-spirited ways. Her manner much reminded him of his sister-in-law, Martha—albeit a rather less foul-mouthed version. Ah well. It was better that he did not grow too attached. After all, King Rodmar probably already had a man in mind for Miriam; a rich, powerful man worthy of the hand of a princess. Even so, Anselm sincerely hoped that he would take the time to choose wisely. It would be a great pity to have Miriam’s passionate flames smothered, put out by a union to an inferior fellow.

  But, for better or for worse, these were the ways of the world they all inhabited. Such important decisions as these kept the cogs of the ruling machine turning. The situation was unlikely to alter any time soon. Certainly not within Anselm’s lifetime.

  He smiled to himself. Poor Rodmar. If he expected his little sister would passively agree to his plans for her, then he was in for some violent headaches and many ructions on the road ahead.

  Edgeway castle.

  Barely waiting for Martha’s shout of ‘come in’, Beatrice all but sprinted into Lord Edgeway’s solar, a scrap of parchment clasped in her hand, her face lit with a dazzling smile.

  “They’re on their way home!” she panted, waving her letter.

  “What, already?” Martha leaped to her feet, tripping over her skirts in her haste. What was she thinking, already? It had been months since Vadim had ridden away from Edgeway on his errand for the king. It felt like years. Decades.

  “Yes, now. At this very moment.” Beatrice’s cornflower-blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “See for yourself.” She thrust the crumpled piece of parchment at her, clearly forgetting that Martha couldn’t read it.

  The learning of new languages certainly wasn’t shaping up to be one of Martha’s strong points.

  “Forgive me, my dear,” Beatrice said apologetically. “I forgot. Why don’t I read it to you instead?” With that, Beatrice sat down beside her on the window seat and studied the letter.

  Martha held her breath, eager to hear all that Sir Hugh had to say.

  My darling girl—

  “Oops.” Beatrice blushed prettily. “I don’t think you need to hear the missive in its entirety, do you? My husband can be quite… descriptive at times, almost poetic when the mood takes him.”

  “No thanks, Bea. Just the barest deets… details will do.” What with all the erotic dreams she’d been having about Vadim lately, the last thing Martha needed was to hear any graphic descriptions of her friend’s love life.

  “Just a moment.” Muttering and smiling to herself, Beatrice followed the lines of her husband’s tightly-packed writing with her slim forefinger. “Ah. Here we are… ”

  … We set out for home on the morning of the last full moon. If the fine weather holds, and the rough terrain does not prove overly taxing for the ladies of our party, then we might reasonably expect to be back with you in the Norlands before the first fall of snow.

  Of course, my
dear, our journey relies much upon the generous mood of the Great Spirit. That, and the goodwill of the tides. As you are doubtless aware, a spell of inclement weather may well detain us for several weeks. Do not vex yourself, love. If the worst should happen, we would pass the winter enjoying the hospitality and diversions of our departure port. Frustrating, I agree, but rather that than having to endure a stormy passage at sea.

  My comfort is knowing that you and our dear son are safe. Please continue to pray for our safe return. After all, with your sweet supplications softening the ears of the gods, they are sure to look favorably upon our journey. How could they not, my darling girl? Truly, you are the…

  “It’s okay, hon. I get the picture. That’s all I need to know.” Martha patted Beatrice’s arm and smiled. “I think I can guess the rest.”

  “Forgive me, but I so enjoy speaking Hugh’s words out loud. It’s almost as if he is here with me again, sitting by my side where he belongs. Oh, how foolish you must think me.” Beatrice’s blush was back, burning even brighter than before. Looking at her now, it was hard to imagine that this lovely woman had once been the long-time consort of the former king.

  Marriage to the amiable Sir Hugh had transformed Beatrice in the best possible way. Under his gentle hand, she seemed to have somehow regained her innocence—a born-again virgin, in fact.

  “Which port will they be sailing from?”

  “I’m afraid he doesn’t say.”

  No surprises there, then. Ever since this mission had been announced, their husbands had been careful not to say too much. Loose lips having the tendency to sink ships, and all that.

  To be fair, not knowing the name of their departure port wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to Martha. Languages weren’t the only subject she’d failed in Erde; her handle on its geography was distinctly dodgy, too. Before setting out for Stanrocc, Vadim had spent hours with his advisers poring over old maps and scrolls, trying to predict where they eventually might be sent.

  But to Martha—coming from a world where OS maps and GPS were the only way to safely navigate—these primitive maps were meaningless. Their quill and ink scribblings didn’t quite cut the mustard. They reminded her rather a lot of the Mappa Mundi, the medieval map she’d once seen on a trip to Hereford with Tony, her cheating no-good ex. Louse!