“She’s dead drunk,” she whispered by way of a greeting, but the sound of her voice reminded Anselm of how much he had missed hearing it. “I cannot wake her.”
Despite his vow to keep Miriam at a safe distance, Anselm cupped her poor bruised face with his hand, gently caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He frowned. Which bastard was responsible for harming her, as if he could not guess? It took all the self-control he had to tamp down his rage and set it aside. There would be time enough for revenge once the princesses were safe. “I’m glad to see you too, Princess,” he whispered back.
Despite all she’d been through, Miriam didn’t flinch from his touch as he’d half expected her to. Instead, she smiled and leaned into his hand, turning her head to press a brief kiss into his palm. A simple act, yet one so intimate it threatened to shatter his fragile self-control.
Erde! What was she doing to him? This was neither the time or the place—and it never would be!
Forcing himself away from her, instead, Anselm lifted the sleeping Catherine from the dirt and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The king’s other sister was taller than Miriam. Heavier too, for her womanly attributes were more well-rounded than those of her little sister.
Damn it. Was every woman he encountered from now on to be held up against the impossible perfection of Princess Miriam? If so, they would all compare poorly, or be found wanting in some way or other.
No. This could not continue. He would master his foolish heart and exert better control over his mind and body.
Once back on his feet, Anselm jerked his head, indicating that Miriam was to follow him. Side by side, they crept toward the sparse concealment of the spiny bushes.
Good fortune remained on their side. No one cried out or raised the alarm.
Two shadows suddenly emerged from the predawn gloom Anselm’s heart lurched. He was already reaching for his dagger when, to his relief, he realized it was just Hugh and Fergus, both of them grinning like fools and looking exceedingly pleased with themselves.
“Princess.” Even now, when at any moment they might be detected, with his face and beard speckled with tiny red droplets of drying blood, Hugh still found time to be Sir Hugh, to say what was right. With a polite little bow, he said quietly, “I’m heartily glad to see you again.”
“Not nearly as glad as I am to see the three of you,” Miriam whispered back. “You are all a most welcome sight.”
This was all most pleasant, but they weren’t socializing at some fancy banquet or dance. Their reunion could wait, preferably until they were in a place many leagues from here.
Without speaking to his companions, Anselm set off downhill at a fast march using the quickest route possible. However, the trail was steep and the weight of Princess Catherine kept throwing him off balance, causing him to stumble over the rough terrain.
Princess Catherine was precisely the sort of woman Anselm usually preferred. With her fair, exquisite beauty, those cascading locks of golden hair, not to mention all those delectable womanly curves, she was precisely his type.
How odd, then, that he should be so utterly unaffected by her. Holding her lush body did absolutely nothing for him. Even his treacherous cock seemed to be in agreement and slumbered peacefully on.
But at that very moment, their run of good fortune turned sour.
As he rounded a bend in the track, Anselm suddenly spied a startled face peering back at him from the edge of the shrubbery. Damn. It was one of the pirates. Crouching down low, the unfortunate fellow was half-way through the process of pushing out a rather substantial-looking turd.
Time slowed. Each moment felt like a lifetime.
Recovering his wits, Anselm reached for his dagger, but the voluminous folds of Princess Catherine’s shift worked against him, foiling his efforts to retrieve his blade.
Caught, quite literally, with his trousers down, the pirate scrambled to his feet, his shriveled manhood and pendulous ball sack flapping comically as it swung from thigh to thigh. Thankfully, at that moment, Fergus arrived, his dagger trained on the hapless pirate who had begun weaving and dodging from side to side, trying to escape his fate.
“Be still, damn you!” Fergus hissed.
But of course, he didn’t. In his situation, who would?
In desperation, the pirate picked up the only missile available to him… a lump of his own steaming turd. With a black-toothed snarl, he hurled it at Fergus.
Fergus ducked. The excrement had missed him by only the narrowest of margins. Taking aim, he wasted no more time and hurled his dagger.
Not fast enough.
Just as the blade’s metal point pierced the pirate’s throat, almost with his final breath, the man emitted a shrill cry, effectively alerting the world and all its neighbor to his plight.
A moment later, he was crumpled on the ground, quite dead. His twitching hand still clutched the handle of the blade embedded deep within his ruined throat.
Startled shouts rose from the direction of the pirates’ camp, and Anselm immediately discerned Fabien’s voice within the noisy rabble as he belted out orders to his crew.
Shit. Anselm turned to his friends. “Run!”
“Give the princess to me.” Without waiting for his consent, Hugh snatched Catherine from Anselm’s shoulder.
Anselm didn’t argue. It made good sense. With his superior height and bulk, Sir Hugh was the best man for the task.
Besides, Anselm had other tasks to perform.
“Go.” In one smooth motion, he drew his sword and dagger. “I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”
“All alone?” A frown marred Miriam’s smooth brow. “But there are too many of—”
“Get them to safety, Hugh.” Already Anselm could hear the approach of hurrying bootsteps. “Go!”
“Farewell, my friend.” Then, with a tense smile of parting, Hugh plunged away into the fading night with the groaning princess in his arms.
Fergus’s face was grim. “We’ll meet up with you on the route,” he said. With those parting words—words no one truly believed—he grabbed Miriam’s wrist and dragged her away, still protesting, down the path Hugh had so recently taken.
Alone at last, Anselm could concentrate. Somehow, he had to persuade the pirates to follow him instead of the others. Racing off in the opposite direction, he stepped on twigs, skidded upon dry earth, breathed hard, and generally blundered about making as much noise as he possibly could.
If he could delay the pirates even by a few minutes, it might be enough to give the others time to reach the horses. Once mounted, Miriam would have a much better chance of escape.
Miriam again.
Cursing loudly, Anselm plunged blindly downhill, following a rocky trail only fit for mountain goats and rabbits. What the devil was wrong with him? Why was he so fixated on the wretched woman?
“Hurry, Princess!” he called breathlessly over his shoulder for the benefit of anyone who might be following him. “They’re gaining on us.”
Just then, his feet hit a slippery river of scree. As he skidded to a halt, the action sent a perilous wave of fast-moving stones down the entire length of the steep slope.
Abandoning the path—such as it was—Anselm ducked behind a low-growing bush. The scree was still moving. For all the world, it sounded like someone was running downhill, disturbing thousands of pieces of loose granite slabs and pebbles as they went.
Like a spider in its web, Anselm waited for his first victim to arrive.
Who would be the first to die? Fabien, he hoped. He had a sizable debt to settle with that odious bastard.
Gripping the handle of his sword, Anselm concentrated on slowing his breathing and calming himself for the fight ahead.
Footsteps. Several sets of footsteps. All of them hastening in his direction. Good. His ploy had worked. They were coming.
Pushing aside every other thought, Anselm emptied his mind, allowing the warrior who had carried him through many a fierce battle to take over.
A fighter both fearsome and bold. The man he was born to be.
No place for weakness or sentiment.
Kill or be killed.
Breathe. Slower.
The comforting weight of the sword in his hand. Trust it.
At that moment, the coming battle was all that existed. The only thing that mattered.
Anselm smiled. Let them come.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I can’t believe you just left him there… all by himself.” Miriam panted, struggling to break free. But Fergus held her wrist too firmly and dragged her along easily in his wake. “Unhand me at once!”
Only he didn’t.
“Save your breath for running, Princess,” was all he said.
“Sir Anselm—”
“Has given us a chance to escape.”
“B-But… he’ll die back there. All alone.”
“All the more reason why we shouldn’t allow his noble sacrifice go to waste.”
Ooh, what an insufferable young man he was. Didn’t Fergus care for his friend at all? What of the supposed fellowship between brother knights she’d heard so much talk of?
And more to the point, why was she so upset about abandoning Anselm to his fate?
Admittedly, she’d behaved rather rashly earlier when she’d kissed his hand, but the act had been impulsive. An innocent demonstration of relief and gratitude, nothing more.
Curiously, Miriam had not experienced a similar desire to kiss either Fergus or Sir Hugh. Instead of thanking them, she’d cursed them for their cruelty. No soldier of Haldenberg would ever leave a man behind.
Or would they?
She stumbled, almost losing a slipper in the process. With a grunt of irritation, Fergus swept her up into his arms and kept on running.
“Put me down!”
“Be silent. Unless, of course, you want them to catch up with us.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Miriam scowled at his stern profile. “I’m beginning to feel much sympathy for your poor lady wife.”
“Yes?” For a moment, Fergus looked angry, but then the look was gone. “If it’s any consolation, so am I.”
A short distance ahead the land leveled out. In the pale pre-dawn light, Miriam spied Percy, Anselm’s squire, peering out of a small coppice where he’d been waiting.
“Where’s my master?” Percy demanded, his look of relief replaced by one of anxiety when he realized Anselm wasn’t amongst them.
“He’ll be along shortly,” Hugh answered gruffly, restoring a squirming, complaining Catherine onto her own two feet. “Princess Catherine? If you’ll kindly go with young Percy, we’ll get you aboard a horse.”
Catherine’s big blue eyes widened to their fullest extent “You want me to ride… now? Dressed only in my shift? Have you all gone quite mad?”
Never had Miriam wanted to slap her sister more. “Then stay with the pirates,” she said coldly. “Indeed, you seemed to be rather warming to their company last night after they kept plying you with grog.”
“Oh, do shut up, Miriam,” Catherine snapped back. “You needn’t be so self-righteous. Let us not forget who is responsible for our current plight. This whole dreadful affair is one entirely of your own construction.”
Miriam opened her mouth to argue then promptly shut it again. What could she say to defend herself? Nothing. Catherine might be a bitch of the highest order but in this case, she was right. This was her fault.
And now, because of her appalling taste in men, her poor brave Sir Anselm was probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She covered her mouth with her hands, tears stinging her eyes. He couldn’t be dead. Not him. Could he?
“I suggest you save your quarrel for another time, ladies,” said Fergus. “We need to get out of here. Now everyone mount up! Catherine? You’re with me.”
They rode hard, alternately galloping then cantering. A little trotting, then back to cantering again. League after weary league passing in a miserable blur of heat and motion. Eventually, Sir Hugh decreed that they had ridden far enough. No one followed them.
As the sun approached its zenith, they happened upon a small lake cradled between the arms of two scar-faced mountains. The sparkling water looked tempting, so deliciously cool and inviting. Fergus immediately dismounted and went to have a look around. He was probably checking for snakes… or bandits. Or both.
Having seen their wistful looks, Sir Hugh bade them dismount and rest for a while.
Without waiting for assistance, Catherine slid from the horse she’d shared with Fergus. “I’m going for a swim,” she announced curtly. “Make sure I’m not disturbed.” Without waiting for a response, she thrust her reins into Percy’s hand and marched off—rather stiffly—along the faint path heading toward the lake with the cloak Sir Hugh had loaned her trailing in the dust behind her.
As Anselm’s squire, and not one of Catherine’s long-suffering personal servants, Percy was clearly unused to being treated quite so rudely. Stunned into silence, he watched her depart, open-mouthed.
“Please don’t take my sister’s manner to heart, Percy,” Miriam said coming over to stand beside him. “She’s the same with everyone.” Especially me.
“Thank you, m’lady. I thought I may have offended her.” Percy smiled. “Would you like me to tend your horse?”
The black palfrey. The horse Miriam had been permitted to ride alone because its rider was lost.
Anselm’s horse.
“No, no. That’s quite alright, thank you. I’ll see to her myself. But,” she added with a smile of her own, “I wouldn’t mind some company.”
So, while Hugh and Fergus made a start on setting up a make-shift camp, Percy and Miriam walked the four weary animals down to a small stream that fed the lake. After the animals had drunk their fill, they led them to a spot of decent grazing in the shade of a grove of Ghaf trees. There, in a companionable silence, they brushed the sweat from the coats of their weary beasts.
The repetitive action of sweeping a brush over a horse’s white-encrusted coat was strangely soothing, quietening the mind as dull labor so often dis. Since Percy was apparently not one to indulge in idle chatter, Miriam’s thoughts were free to drift where they would.
But she didn’t think of her brother, nor of poor Hortensia who must be worried sick by now. Neither did she think of the new life awaiting her in the Norlands. Even Fabien and the horrible ordeal he’d put them through had not the power to claim her mind.
Only Anselm possessed that gift.
The ability to steal so unexpectedly into her waking dreams was all his. But there was no point thinking about him, was there? Chances were, her poor noble Northman was probably well along the path to the afterlife by now. Not even a knight as bold as he could hope to defeat an entire pirate crew. Not single-handedly.
Arrogant brute. Only he would consider himself capable of carrying out such a feat.
Ah, but how it pained her, to imagine him lying bleeding and broken somewhere, far from aid and from those who cared about him…
“M’lady?” Percy stood frowning at her side. “A-Are you unwell?”
“I’m quite well, thank you.”
“Then what is it that vexes you so? Is there anything I can do to ease your sorrow?”
“Hmm?” Whatever was the boy talking about?
Seeing her confusion, Percy touched the side of his own cheek with his finger. “Y-You’re weeping, m’lady.”
“Am I?” Miriam touched her face. To her astonishment, her fingers came away wet. “Oh! So I am.” But she never cried. Never. Not since the day Mother died. Sniffling, she hurriedly dashed her tears away. “It’s probably some kind of delayed relief at having being r
escued, I expect, or something of the like.”
“Or something,” Percy agreed as he handed her a piece of fabric from his saddle pack. “Here, m’lady. Use this to wipe your face. Worry not, it’s quite clean.”
“Thank you, Percy,” Miriam said with a watery smile. “You’re very kind. Your m-master must be extremely p-proud of you.”
“Perhaps.” At the mention of Anselm, the young man’s expression darkened. “But I don’t suppose I’ll ever know for sure. Not now.”
“Try not to be so downhearted,” Miriam said, trying to raise the lad’s flagging spirits along with her own. “Did Sir Hugh not tell us that your master would catch us up?”
“Aye, that he did.” Percy gave a bitter smile. “But you didn’t believe it any more than I did.” Suddenly recalling to whom he spoke, Percy flushed scarlet with embarrassment. “Forgive me, m’lady… Princess… It’s just… I’m that upset about my poor master. It was plain wicked to leave him all alone like that. For two tacks I’d sneak back to where we left him.”
Candle-bright, a happy, rebellious thought suddenly flared within the gathering darkness of Miriam’s mind, dispersing the gloom. Her lips curved in a smile. “Then why don’t you?” she asked. “Go back for him, I mean.”
“And outright disobey Sir Hugh?” Shocked by the mere suggestion, Percy looked about him as he expected Hugh to appear out of nowhere to squash the plan himself. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“But I’d be with you,” Miriam coaxed, placing her hand lightly upon the youth’s forearm. “You could say that I put you up to it.” Now she’d begun spinning this fragile strand of hope, she couldn’t seem to let it go. “Think about it for a moment, Percy. How could a humble squire refuse to obey a direct command from a princess, hmm? Oh, and I’m not bad with a sword, at need, for the king took it upon himself to train all the women of his family.” While there were weapons to be had, the womenfolk of Rodmar’s household would never be defenseless against invaders and marauders.
King's Errand Page 30