King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  So much for brotherly love. “And you have the gall to accuse me of improper behavior.” Charming. “I swear to you brother, I will tell you everything, but first I must speak with Princess Miriam.”

  “Ah. So it does have something to do with her? I suspected as much.”

  “Yes, yes. But not in the way you imagine, so kindly keep your unpleasant thoughts to yourself, Lord Edgeway whilst I try and set things to rights.”

  “As you will.”

  They set off back to camp, walking in silence, to rejoin the rest of their company.

  “We will make camp here tonight,” Vadim announced as they approached the waiting men. Then, in a low voice so that the ladies would not overhear, he added. “We may have a spot of trouble before this night is over, men. Attend to the ladies and to the prince. Make sure their tents are at the center of our camp. No harm is to befall them, do you hear?”

  As the men hurried away to do his bidding, Vadim said, “Lord Reynard? Captain Tucker. I would speak with you both in my tent, if you please.” Dismissing Anselm with a glance, Vadim stalked away flanked by the two men, men he seemed to trust a good deal more than his own dear brother.

  Once the servants had collected wood enough for a decent fire, Hortensia’s head man attempted to light the little cloud of dry kindling with his striker, ignoring the attempts of anyone foolish enough to offer their advice.

  In the meantime, from beneath the protection of her lowered lashes, Miriam sat in her chair and watched Sir Anselm approach.

  After his altercation with Lord Vadim, she’d known he would come. Althought the brothers had been too far away to be overheard, it was apparent to all that they’d been arguing. Unlike everyone else, however, Miriam had a reasonably good idea what their disagreement was about.

  Fabien. He must be following them.

  She felt rather breathless all of a sudden, her heart hammering violently within her chest. Whether that was due to the threat of Fabien and his men, or because of the way Anselm kept slipping sidelong glances at her as he politely addressed Queen Hortensia, she couldn’t say.

  “Oh dear. Poor Sir Anselm looks somewhat perplexed.” Catherine said, leaning over the back of Miriam’s chair, so close that her breath brushed against her cheek. “What have you been up to this time, I wonder?”

  “Nothing!” Miriam’s denial was a little too quick.

  “Nothing?” Catherine chuckled. “Liar!” She stroked Miriam’s hair. To an onlooker, the action probably looked tender, a moment of affection between the sisters. Miriam, however, knew better.

  Catherine came around the chair to stand before Miriam, her eyes as blue as the summer sky, her golden hair hanging in a neat plait that extended in a rope past her trim waist. Indeed, Catherine was as beautiful as their brother was handsome. But for all that, she possessed none of Rodmar’s warmth or kindness. Indeed, she could be downright cruel and spiteful at times.

  As a child, Miriam had often lived in fear of her older sister, dreading the days when Rodmar was not there to control her. He was probably the only person in the world Catherine ever listened to—and even then only half the time.

  “My word.” Catherine turned and looked Anselm up and down in a bold manner Miriam dared not mimic. “Close up, this Sir Anselm of yours is rather a tempting morsel. I’m surprised I haven’t noticed him before.”

  “He is not my Sir Anselm,” Miriam muttered through her gritted teeth.

  “Oh? Then you won’t be upset if I claim him as part of my private escort?”

  “No, not at all.” Let them have one other, and good luck to them. Secretly, Miriam was still smarting about the way Anselm had all but ignored her during the last few weeks. Ever since that terrible day down at the harbor, he had not once sought her company or so much as glanced in her general direction. Miriam knew this for a fact because she’d devoted a rather unhealthy amount of time of late to observing Sir Anselm.

  Most of his time had been spent down in the tiltyard, training with the other men. Usually in the early morning before the heat of the day became too fierce, he generally fought bare-chested, his well-defined muscles glistening with sweat—not that Miriam had paid him any undue attention. Oh, no. Not at all. She merely wanted to ascertain whether the knights Rodmar had sent to escort them to their new home were up to the task of protecting Queen Hortensia and her family, nothing more. (But how had he earned all those scars?)

  Back in the here and now, Anselm strode purposefully toward them. For once, he looked serious. Not a trace of his usual merry smile curved his mouth.

  Catherine smiled. “Then let us put your declaration to the test… ” But before she could say anything more, Anselm was before them.

  “Ladies… ” He inclined his head respectfully in place of a proper bow.

  “Sir Anselm.” With a wicked glint in her eye, Catherine extended a smooth white hand toward him, bestowing upon him her most honeyed smile—the one that usually turned men into stammering buffoons. “How good of you to stop by and see us. Indeed, life on the road would be extremely dull were it not for the courtesy of our noble escorts.”

  Despite herself, Miriam was curious to see how Anselm would react to her sister’s blatant flirtation. Would he, too, fall beneath her spell?

  Apparently not.

  For, barely a moment after taking Catherine’s hand, Anselm released it again, without one of the disagreeable hand kisses the men of the North seemed to favor so highly. “I guarantee that life on the road is about to provide more entertainment than even the ladies of the court are accustomed to, m’lady,” he answered somewhat curtly. Then, giving Catherine a tight-lipped smile, he dismissed her.

  “Lady Miriam?” he said in a softer manner, turning to address her. “I beg leave to speak with you for a few moments.” His eyes weren’t so silvery as usual, she noticed. More of a dark, brooding gray. “I realize the impertinence of my request, but your sister the queen has graciously given her consent for us to speak privately together so long as we remain in plain sight.”

  “Oh. Y-Yes. Of c-course.” Miriam was still reeling from the way in which Anselm had just cut her sister. Had she any great affection for Catherine she might have felt rather sorry for her. As it was, Miriam felt like cheering. There was something rather gratifying about how the lovely Catherine was left gaping, her usual poise vanished. She rather resembled a trout drowning on dry land.

  “Lady Miriam?” Anselm spoke again, extending his hand to help her up from her chair. “Please? I would not have asked, but it is a matter of some urgency.”

  Without another word, Miriam took the hand Anselm offered. Despite the heat of the day, his fingers were pleasingly dry, albeit slightly rough due to all their calluses. When his strong hand closed about hers, a delicious shiver rippled up and down the length of Miriam’s spine. But there was nothing remarkable about that. After all, wouldn’t any female react similarly while in the presence of such a fine specimen of manhood?

  In silence, she allowed Anselm to lead her over to the partial seclusion of a nearby stream.

  “So,” Miriam said at last when it seemed he would not speak. “What’s all this about?”

  “We’re being followed.”

  “I know, but what does that have to do with me?”

  Seeming awkward, Anselm glanced away and cleared his throat before speaking. “I… I fear it may be your pirate friend and some of his henchmen.”

  “Fabien is not my friend.” Not anymore, if indeed he ever had been

  Anselm shrugged. “Whatever he is—or was—I fear that it’s you he’s coming for, Mirry. ”

  “Princess Mir… ” Oh, what did it matter what he called her when Fabien and his crew might be preparing to snatch her at any moment? “Are you quite certain?”

  “Yes.” Such an affirmation from him was proof enough. The way he suddenly wouldn’t directly meet her eyes
was all too revealing, for Anselm generally saw things that other people did not.

  “Then what must I do?” The last thing she wanted was for anyone to be harmed because of her foolish stupidity—even Catherine. “Does Lord Edgeway think I should try to speak with Fabien, to persuade him to leave us al—?”

  “Certainly not!” Anselm’s eyes flashed to silver. “Vadim has no idea that the pirates have any connection with you.”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  “I’ve told no-one. Oh, I realize my name is mud these days, but what do you take me for? I do have some honor, you know.” Anselm flicked back his golden hair and glowered at her.

  “S-Sorry.” Suddenly Miriam was no longer afraid of the warrior who lurked within this man. Whatever the rest of the world thought of him, on some instinctive level, she knew Anselm would never harm her. Not deliberately.

  As their eyes met, a spark of intent flashed within Anselm’s eyes. Had they been alone, Miriam suspected he might have tried to take her hand again. However, knightly courtesy—not to

  mention so many pairs of watchful eyes—had them in fetters. He did move a little closer, though. Close enough for her to catch the scent of horse and leather that clung to his skin.

  “If we’re to properly protect you—you and your family—then Vadim needs to know about your boyfr… the pirate and all of his dealings with you.”

  All of them? Miriam felt the blood draining from her face. By the spirits, no! But as Anselm looked at her, the warmth of his expression had a peculiarly calming effect upon her fears.

  “Worry not,” said he. “My brother is the most discreet of men. Vadim will neither judge you nor spread gossip or rumor. But if we hope to defeat these pirates, he needs to know all of the facts.” Again Anselm looked as if he might touch her, for he reached out his hand as if to stroke her cheek. But to Miriam’s disappointment, he recalled himself before he could do so, and his hand fell away to hang harmlessly his side.

  She ought to be glad about it. So why, then, did she suddenly feel so deprived?

  Oh no. Not again.

  Hadn’t her associations with Fabien taught her anything? How stupid she was. No. She would not allow her heart to be swayed by another handsome face. Not this time. Besides, Sir Anselm was not at all her usual taste. She generally preferred men of a stockier build, someone darker. Someone more—

  “Do I have your permission, m’lady?”

  “Hmm?” Like a fool she had been staring up at him, mentally trying to list all the other ways in which Sir Anselm did not suit her. Unfortunately, her befuddled mind could come up with nothing.

  “To tell Lord Edgeway about your dealings with the pirate captain… do I have your consent?”

  “Oh, yes. That.” Miriam mentally shook herself and took a hasty step backwards. “Of course. Do what you think is best, m’lord.” She took another retreating step. Then, disaster struck. In her haste to retreat from Anselm’s disturbing presence, her boot inadvertently caught in the trailing hem of her gown. There was a nasty riiiip-ing sound, and Miriam stumbled. Off-balance, she would have fallen had Anselm not reacted so quickly and seized her about her waist.

  “Steady on there, Princess.” His eyes twinkled as he held her, his impudent grin returning for a moment. “We can’t have people saying that you’re falling for me, can we?”

  ’Twas only said in jest, she knew, but his words sailed a little too close to the mark.

  “N-No, sir. We most certainly cannot.” Summoning her iciest glare—which couldn’t have been terribly cold given the current temperature of her blood, Miriam said, “Unhand me. At once, if you please, m’lord.” Part of her was sorry when Anselm immediately complied. Like the sun slipping behind a cloud, his smile vanished until not a trace of his former warmth remained.

  “My apologies, Princess. Next time I’ll be sure to let you fall in the dirt.”

  “Then let us hope there never is a next time.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Good day to you, Princess.” With a stiff little bow, Anselm departed, leaving Miriam angry with herself for not handling the situation with more tact.

  Now what must he think of her?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  What a shrew.

  Princess or not, how dare Miriam speak to him so. In temper, without glancing at either of the two guards standing sentry outside Vadim’s tent, Anselm flung aside the flap and barged inside.

  Cold, ungrateful, vindictive little bi—

  “So?” Vadim asked, looking up from where he sat with Reynard, and Captain Tucker—those favored men he truly trusted—at a small table that had been set up in his private quarters. “Do you have any new information?”

  “Yes,” Anselm replied grimly, sinking inelegantly onto an empty chair. “Indeed I do. I suggest you brace yourselves for something of a surprise, gentlemen.” After pouring himself a hefty dose of Vadim’s good wine, Anselm revealed what he knew.

  When his tale of Miriam and the pirate had been told in full, Anselm slumped back in his chair and drained the last of his wine whilst the other men regarded him in stunned silence.

  “I take it the Qu-Queen knows nothing of this?” Reynard said at last, being the first to break the ensuing silence.

  “You take it correctly, m’lord. The only people who know about this sorry tale are seated around this table… Oh, and him, of course. The pirate.” Anselm scowled. “I should have run him through when I had the chance,” he muttered.

  “Yes, with hindsight that might have been the wisest course,” Reynard agreed. “Had you taken the trouble to do so you would have spared us from our current predicament.”

  Anselm merely rolled his eyes and helped himself to some more of Vadim’s wine. “Oh, sorry,” he said as the other men stared at him. “Did you want some, too? Allow me.” Quickly replenishing their half-empty tankards, he set aside the remaining wine for himself. After all his trials, had he not earned a reward? “Ah. It’s a lovely drop, this. Simply delicious.”

  While the other men talked, Anselm stretched out his legs and sipped at his wine, still inwardly simmering at Miriam’s behavior. The way she’d looked at him! Like she had expected him to ravish her there and then in plain sight of her family, not to mention the rest of the camp.

  Impudent wretch. He deeply pitied the poor man she would eventually marry. Life with Miriam would be a constant battle to gain the upper hand. With her flashing amber eyes and those black snake-like curls that tumbled about her face whenever she was out of temper, taming her to docility would be no easy task—either in or out of the bedchamber.

  He was surprised to feel a brief stirring within the most dormant part of his anatomy. What, again? For her? Grimacing, Anselm crossed his legs and discreetly adjusted himself. This was fast becoming something of a nuisance. Had his body finally healed itself. Or, as he secretly feared, was Miriam to blame?

  Oh, what a terrible punishment that would be, craving the one woman he didn’t want and could never have. With another heavy sigh, Anselm drained the last of his wine. If Miriam really was his one true destiny he might as well put away his sword and go off to join some outlandish holy order.

  Or mayhap the pirates would save Anselm the trouble and put him out of his misery themselves. All things considered, a quick death might be considered a huge kindness.

  Ah well. One could but hope.

  Posting extra sentries around the camp perimeter, Vadim decreed—with the exception of the royal family—that they would all sleep in shifts.

  He dared not go on the offensive, for the pirates’ position amongst the boulders was too secure, too easy to defend. Trying to attack them in their stronghold would be futile and ultimately leave their camp wide open and vulnerable.

  To be in with any chance of winning this particular battle, as much as it galled him to do so, they must wait and hope that the pir
ates would dare to bring the fight to them.

  Sitting at his desk, Vadim attempted to compose the day’s entry in his journal—a gift for Martha to make up for all the letters he’d been unable to send while he had been away. But for once the words would not come. Through the open door of his tent, Vadim looked out into the indigo night to where a few of the men sat beside a blazing campfire. Anselm was with Hugh and Fergus, as usual, the dancing orange flames and shifting shadows reflecting upon each of their faces.

  While his companions sharpened their swords with long slow strokes upon their whetstones, Fergus—to the delight of all—picked up his long-neglected lute and began to play, filling the night with a somewhat sorrowful tune that tugged upon Vadim’s heartstrings, instantly transporting him home.

  Setting aside his quill, he abandoned his journal and, tankard in hand, walked across to the open doorway of the tent. Standing there unnoticed, he remained undetected for quite some time, observing the world outside.

  As Fergus played on, the other men lapsed into silence, listening as they performed their personal housekeeping tasks. As the music penetrated their guard, the men slowly relaxed, their faces becoming easier to read than they were during the day when work and duty governed them.

  At moments like these, a watchful man might glimpse the secrets of the unwitting, a hint of their truer selves. Facets of their character they usually kept concealed from the world.

  Predictably, of them all, Sir Hugh’s face was the one least altered by his private thoughts. For, by nature, he possessed a sunny, open kind of disposition. He was a man both loyal and true. Inside and out. Honest to his core.

  To be able to truly see Fergus, however, required the magical key of music. Those long months after he’d disappeared with Effie had had a profound effect on him, completing his transformation from boy into man. As his skilled fingers lovingly caressed the strings of his lute, Fergus closed his eyes and began to sing. ’Twas a gentle lament in the language of the ancestors, a retelling of the age-old story of love and loss. Words that cut Vadim to the quick.