King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

“Then I’ll do it,” Percy said, suddenly making up his mind. “I’ll go look for him.” But then the fire in his eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry, Princess. But I daresn’t take you with me.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Well, for starters it wouldn’t be seemly—”

  Miriam laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Percy. Nothing about this entire expedition has been, as you so delicately put it, seemly, has it? Besides, being taken captive by pirates has already damaged my reputation—not to mention that of my poor sister—beyond any hope of restoration.” She ought to have been sorry about that, but she wasn’t. Not for herself, anyway. “In the eyes of the world, our good reputations vanished at the very same moment as we were abducted, right along with our supposed purity.”

  Percy blushed. “But, m’lady, Sir Anselm would lynch me if I allowed you to come along with me—if he’s still alive, that is.”

  Allowed? That one word sealed her decision. Drawing herself to her full height, Miriam looked down her nose at Percy. “You take far too much upon yourself, squire. Save for the king, no man commands me. Least of all you.” With that Miriam set down her brush and stalked back to camp, the kernel of a plan already taking root within her mind.

  She’d get Anselm back, with or without Percy’s help. Just see if she didn’t.

  After a deliciously cooling swim, Miriam gladly exchanged her filthy shift for the spare set of clothes she was given. Men’s clothes. Not that she minded. On those rare occasions when she’d managed to escape the palace alone she’d invariably been disguised as a man, enjoying the freedom and anonymity such clothing gave her.

  She smoothed her hands over the fabric of Percy’s loaned trews. They were a little baggy, to be sure, but nothing a good sturdy belt couldn’t remedy. Teamed with an equally roomy maroon shirt, Miriam was rather pleased with her new outfit.

  Tying back her tangled hair with a thin strip of leather—for there was no hope of taming it now, not without the help of warm oil and a comb—Miriam made her way back to camp, enjoying the cooling shade of the trees, for the day was another shimmering hot one.

  Back at camp, a scene of domesticity awaited her.

  Catherine was sound asleep again. Snoring softly, her damp golden head was barely visible, buried deep within the folds of her borrowed cloak. Predictably, she had refused to accept any further items of donated clothing, preferring to stick with her own filthy shift.

  Fergus was busily stirring a small pot suspended over the fire by a makeshift wooden tripod. Sir Hugh, meanwhile, sat frowning and rubbing his beard chin while he studied the unfurled map spread out on a log before him.

  The scent of sizzling meat made Miriam’s mouth water.

  “Mmm. Something smells good.”

  Hugh looked up, greeting her with his usual ready smile. “Our wily Fergus has managed to snare us a rabbit for our midday meal,”

  “Well done, Fergus. I look forward to sampling your cooking.” Miriam looked around. “Where’s Percy? Will he not be joining us?”

  “Oh, him. He’s taken himself off to eat with the horses,” Fergus replied. “To tell you the truth, he’s in a fair old snit, m’lady. Seems the lad’s taken the loss of his master rather badly.”

  An invisible fist crushed Miriam’s heart from within. “So i-is there no hope of Sir Anselm rejoining us, do you think?”

  Fergus shrugged and resumed stirring his pot. “He has the lives of a cat, that one. But in the end, even a cat’s luck will run out.”

  “I see.” Miriam sank down on the log beside Hugh.

  With a kindly smile, the bearded knight offered her a piece of cram. “Here. Eat this to tide you over, m’lady. I’m afraid dinner will be a while longer yet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You look so weary, Princess. Why not take a nap? You must be just as exhausted as your poor sister. Go. Rest your eyes while you may.”

  A sleep did sound rather good. Miriam had barely closed her eyes in days for fear of what Fabien and his vile crew might do if she were foolish enough to let down her guard. Anyway, delaying her departure by a few hours would probably make little difference to poor Anselm. Besides, the horses were weary, too. After their heroics of the day, they’d earned themselves a decent rest.

  Nibbling a corner of the salty cram, Miriam suddenly made up her mind. “In that case, I shall take your advice, m’lord. But when I awaken,” she added slyly, “I shall insist that you and Fergus take some rest, yourselves. Percy and I are more than capable of guarding our camp for a few hours.”

  Would Hugh agree? Her plan of escape would be so much simpler if he did.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then it’s settled. Now, snuggle down and make yourself comfortable on my bedroll, Princess. I will wake you in time for dinner.”

  In the end, escaping from Hugh and Fergus turned out to be a relatively simple matter.

  After eating a decent dinner, the men had quickly fallen asleep and were soon snoring peacefully. Catherine, however, had still not woken, not even to eat. Truly, her hangover must have been most severe.

  Once everyone had settled into a pattern of deep slumber, Miriam hurried away to where the horses were tethered. To her surprise, she found Percy waiting for her. What was more, their horses were already saddled and ready for the off.

  “What kept you, m’lady?” he asked with a grin. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

  “So you aren’t in a snit, then?”

  “Naw. But them believing I was served its purpose.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it kept ’em away from here, did it not?”

  Cunning lad. Miriam smiled. “Then let us be off before our little deception is discovered.”

  Although their stopover had been brief, it had done enough to invigorate them. Even the horses seemed back in good spirits, happily cantering back down the road they’d so recently traveled. As they thundered along the hard-packed road, Miriam fixed her mind on the mission ahead and on what they might find at journey’s end.

  Would they encounter the pirates? Were they still hunting for them? It didn’t seem likely, not now they’d lost their hired thugs. Knowing Fabien, he’d have already turned tail and run, bolting back to the ocean like the cowardly water-rat he was.

  Once again, Miriam cursed herself for falling under the pirate’s spell.

  What decent man would ever want to marry either of them now? Who would covet such a tarnished prize? Thanks to her stupidity, neither she nor Catherine had hope of making a decent match—not unless Rodmar was prepared to sweeten the contract with huge amounts of land and gold.

  But whenever her thoughts turned to men, it was always Anselm’s face she saw. Blond and smiling, his roguish image dominated her mind. Brave, stupid, Northman. Always so unfailingly—infuriatingly—charming.

  Was he already dead as she secretly feared?

  Fury and sorrow burned within her heart, a bitter concoction of equal measure. Reaching down, she touched the sword sheath attached to the saddle and traced her fingertips over the smooth, well-worn swirls and flourishes etched so carefully onto the leather. Having Anselm’s spare sword at her side gave her courage as if the spirit of its bold master had somehow fused with the weapon.

  If any harm had befallen her heroic Northman, Fabien and his crew would pay for it, and dearly. One way or another, she’d make sure of that.

  “M’lady, look!” Percy cried, slowing his horse to a trot. “There. In the road ahead. Do you see it?”

  Slowing their horses to a walk, they squinted into the lowering sun, shielding their eyes from the intensity of its fiery-red glare.

  A huddled mound blocked the middle of the highway. What could it be? A bundle of rags? An animal?

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving.

  Percy held up his hand, silently signaling her to stop
. Miriam obeyed, marveling at the sudden transformation that had come over her companion. Gone was the blushing young squire. In his place was a wary animal, an animal who’d caught the scent of danger on the wind. Chin raised, sword drawn, Percy looked about him, regarding the lengthening shadows with suspicion.

  “What do you think it is?” Miriam whispered, her knees brushing against Percy’s for their horses stood so close together. “Do you suspect a trap?”

  “Perhaps.” Percy’s face was unusually grim, offering a sudden glimpse of the mature man he would one day become. Well, if he didn’t die before reaching his maturity. “But if we hope to find my master, we have no other road but this one.”

  Swinging his leg over his horse’s neck, he dismounted. “Wait here, m’lady.” he said as he handed her his reins. “At the first sign of trouble, take the horses and go. Do I have your word, Princess?”

  Although Miriam had no intention of doing any such thing, she nodded. Nonetheless, the lie seemed to reassure Percy. Raising his sword in salute, he moved off, slowly advancing on the motionless bundle in the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  From the safety of his hiding place, Anselm observed the hooded man’s progress.

  The man moved slowly as though he knew the bundle of rags was a trap.

  Witless fool. He had every reason to be wary for he was about to be relieved of his horse and supplies. Cautious or not, the buffoon still kept on coming.

  Fortunately for Anselm, people seldom paid heed to their instincts any more.

  As he crouched behind a tumble of rocks by the side of the road, Anselm tightened his hand about the handle of his sword, bracing himself for yet another fight when he was already aching and weary to his marrow. Every muscle in his body screamed out in protest, but he had no other choice but to ignore it and push past the pain.

  To have any hope of catching up with the others, he would need a horse. Whether he liked it or not, this was one battle he could not afford to lose.

  As the man came closer, a sudden frisson of recognition tingled within Anselm’s weary mind. There was something familiar about this fellow. Something in his bearing. Something in the way he moved and—

  And then it struck him.

  Oh, for the love of Erde!

  Bloody, sodding, Percy.

  Unaware that he was being observed, the young squire advanced. Annoyed with him as Anselm undeniably was, Percy’s unexpected loyalty caused an uncomfortable softening sensation somewhere in the region of his jaded heart. Anselm massaged the heel of his hand into his chest, trying to ease the discomfort. When was the last time someone had put themselves out for him like this?

  Loyalty? Bloody-minded foolishness, more like.

  Summoning his last remaining dregs of anger, Anselm leaped out from his hiding place, descending upon the unwitting Percy like some snarling beast from the Underworld.

  “Of all the mindless imbeciles you take the prize, Percy. Indeed you do.”

  “Master!” Percy threw back his hood, beaming at him with apparent delight. “How glad I am to see you again.”

  But Anselm didn’t return his smile. “You ought to be halfway to the next village by now. What the devil were you thinking, coming back here?”

  Percy’s smile faltered. “Well… we came to find you, m’lord… to see if you were still alive—”

  “Oh, believe me, you’ll soon wish I wasn’t. Curse your stupidity.” Wait a moment. We? We who? Surely Hugh and Fergus wouldn’t have been so reckless?

  Before Anselm could ask, the words died in his throat as he noticed the rider waiting in the shadows further down the road. Sitting astride Anselm’s borrowed black horse, the rider watched them intently. A slender rider clad in the garb of a man. But this was no man. Suddenly Anselm knew precisely who ‘we’ was.

  No! Soundlessly, his mouth formed her name. “Miriam?”

  Anselm rounded on Percy in fury. Grabbing the unfortunate young man by his tunic, he hauled him in until they were almost nose to nose. “You brought the princess here?” he growled. “Have you finally taken all leave of your piss-addled senses?”

  “Let go of him, you ungrateful swine!” Leaping from her horse, Miriam strode toward them. “Don’t you dare take it out on poor Percy.” Closer she came, her hair a wild black cloud about her face; her eyes flashing amber fire. “He’s been worried sick on your behalf, not that you deserve any such consideration. Pig of a man!”

  My! But she was magnificent. A veritable avenging goddess. The mere sight of her was enough to overpower him. In that instant, Anselm’s anger faltered, sputtered, and died. All that remained was a profound sense of guilt.

  “Is that true?” he demanded, taking his trembling squire by the shoulders. Had Percy really been so concerned?

  Percy nodded. Head bowed, suddenly he would no longer meet Anselm’s eyes.

  “For that at least, I thank you, my friend. Oh, but to have brought the princess with you… ” Anselm’s anger re-ignited. “That was a foolish move, indeed. Truly, at this moment I know not whether to throttle you or embrace you.”

  Miriam closed the remaining distance between them, the close-fitting trews she wore revealing a pair of rather shapely thighs. “Leave him alone, you foul-mannered beast! As a matter of fact, Percy did not want me to come. He actually tried to forbid me, if you can imagine such a thing.” Standing before him, Miriam drew herself up to her full diminutive height. “Had he known me better, he would have known that it was a waste of his breath to attempt to dissuade me. Once I have made up my mind to do something there is no swaying me from my course.”

  “Oh?” Releasing Percy with a gentle pat on the back, Anselm gave Princess Miriam his full attention. “So why did you come back, Princess, hmm?” he asked, looking deep into her smoldering eyes.

  Miriam boldly faced him down, her hands planted on the curve of her hips. “Now that I see you again, I hardly know.” Was she blushing? Curiouser and curiouser.

  What a woman. She’d taken him to task without so much as a solitary tremble. Truly, she was utterly fearless. Few men would be as bold.

  Miriam moistened her lip with the tip of her tongue, and Anselm couldn’t look away. Such full, luscious lips. What would they taste like, he wondered. A kindly breeze delivered a hint of her scent to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply. Warm, and un-perfumed, completely without artifice, it was the primal essence of a desirable woman. Of her.

  Miriam. From this moment on, he would know her anywhere.

  In that very instant, his inner battle was fought and lost as long-forgotten feelings washed over him. Breaching his defenses, the tide advanced steadily. Although the walls of his heart were more or less impenetrable, the same could not be said of the mortar that secured each stony block in place. There was a sudden shifting and a mighty crash as his inner defenses suddenly failed and crumbled into dust leaving behind naught but an open chasm, leaving his heart exposed and vulnerable.

  Such bitter, sweet feelings. How well he remembered them.

  Instinctively, Anselm tried to defend himself, mentally seeking shelter behind his oft-used shield of ice.

  “’Tis a pity, then, that you did not recall my faults sooner, Princess, for your noble actions have condemned me to bear an even heavier burden. Now there are three of us, alone and adrift in the wilderness, without adequate supplies or—”

  Miriam lashed out, slapping Anselm in the face with a resounding crack, and with all the speed of a snake on the hunt. Impressive. Or perhaps she’d punched him? It was impossible to tell. Fist or hand, whatever she had hit him with, it bloody well hurt!

  Somewhat gingerly, Anselm moved his jaw from side to side, the action causing him fresh discomfort.

  Miriam massaged the knuckles of her right hand. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” A punch, then. “Lest you’ve forgotten it, Northman, I am the sister of
your king. You would do well to remember it.”

  Ah. So he was back to being Northman again, was he? Good. Miriam’s coldness had effectively smothered the growing tenderness within his heart, halting the thaw, and restoring its inner climate to a more tolerable deep winter.

  He was safe. For now at least.

  Ignoring his aches and pains, Anselm swept Miriam a bow so low that his hair almost trailed in the dirt. “Forgive me, Princess. Please be assured that in future I shall endeavor to recall your superiority over me, a mere humble knight.”

  “Humble? You? Hah!” Miriam snorted in a most unprincess-like manner. “I’d as soon call you a wise man.”

  Anselm turned away before his smile could betray him. “Percy? Ready those horses. Let’s see if we can catch up with the rest of our party, shall we?”

  To Miriam’s great dismay, Anselm announced that he would share her horse, declaring Percy’s palfrey too delicate to convey two riders over any great distance.

  Grudgingly, Miriam conceded. It made sense, she supposed, for her mare was of a much sturdier build than Percy’s fine-boned beast. However, good sense or not, she didn’t relish the prospect of riding pillion with the infuriating man.

  But there was even greater indignity to come, for Anselm would not allow her to ride behind him—a position that would have been marginally less uncomfortable—explaining that her exposed back would make an easy target for any lurking assassin.

  “No,” Anselm said with a grin, his previous ill-humor apparently gone. “I think it best that you ride before me, Princess.”

  “Then at least let me have the reins.” In that way, she might cling to some small semblance of control. To her immense surprise, Anselm did not object.

  “As you wish. Now, make room, for here I come.”

  With the ease of one well accustomed to doing so, he vaulted onto the horse behind her. Miriam shuffled as far forward as she could, but as generous as the saddle was, she couldn’t help but slide back into him, the heat of his body scorching hers wherever they touched. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to maintain a polite distance between them.