Suddenly she was impatient to find out.
“I-I never properly thanked you for coming to my rescue, did I?” she whispered, daring to touch his bristled cheek with her trembling fingers.
“There’s no need,” Anselm replied on a murmur, resting his forehead lightly against hers.
Oh, but there was! Every need.
Any moment now Percy would come blundering through those bushes, and his ill-timed arrival would break the spell of this moment, snapping the fragile threads and scattering them like dry leaves to the four winds. Perhaps forever.
’Twas this sense of urgency that compelled Miriam to reach up, to boldly cross the infinitesimal barrier that kept them apart, and press her lips to his. As she did so, she could have sworn she’d been struck by a stray shard of lightning for, the moment they touched, every inch of her body tingled and burned.
Anselm growled. Although he tried to remain motionless, to resist her advances, he didn’t back off, either. But neither did she. Instead, Miriam used her tongue upon the seam of his mouth, coaxing him to respond in a manner no well-bred lady ought to be aware of.
With a deep groan, Anselm’s resolve finally crumbled. With one arm, he gathered her roughly to him, kissing her fiercely, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth. Miriam welcomed him inside, glorying in the taste of him. Burying her fingers into his wonderful mane of golden hair, she arched her body shamelessly against him, aching for something she couldn’t name but needed so desperately.
The warm, slightly musky, male scent of him enveloped her, arousing all of her senses, and opening her mind to a new world of fresh possibilities. Who would have imagined the scent and taste of a man could be this intoxicating?
“Anselm!” His name was a sigh on her lips, half-pleading, half-command.
“Hmm?” Cupping the back of her head, Anselm transferred his mouth to her neck, kissing and nuzzling her sensitive skin until she was ready to scream with frustration. Dear Gods! What was he doing to her? She was burning. Melting.
She wanted… wanted…
Those teasing kisses were not nearly satisfying enough. Not by a long way. With a growl of frustration, she grabbed Anselm by his hair, pulling him up so she could kiss him properly again. To her dismay, Anselm caught her shoulders and arched out of reach of her hungry mouth.
“Sweeting, st-stop. This is madness. We cannot… we must not.”
“Why?” Did he want her to beg? If so, she was dangerously close to doing so. She changed tactics, kneeling upon the tree trunk beside him, she pressed her lips to his neck, gently nipping at his flesh with her teeth until he groaned. “Don’t you want me, Northman?” she purred in a husky voice that sounded nothing like her own.
“Oh, for fu—” What he was about to say was lost as Anselm pulled her to him and kissed her half senseless, plundering her mouth while his hands boldly roamed the curves of her wanton, aching body.
“Of course I want you,” he said, at last, breathlessly dragging his mouth from hers. “Who wouldn’t? Just look at you, sitting there, lovely enough to breathe life back into the dead. You’re beautiful, Miriam. Incredible.” Cupping her face between his hands, Anselm placed a tender kiss upon her swollen lips. “But you’re a princess, sweeting. Too high born for a lowly knight like me. You’re destined for greater things, and a far better man than I could ever be.” He sighed against her mouth. “A magnificent future awaits you, love, a future brighter than anything you have yet imagined. But not with me.”
Something inside Miriam’s heart cooled and froze into solid rock.
“I see.” Abandoning the delightful comfort of his lap, she withdrew, forsaking that which she wanted most. “S-So you d-don’t want me, then?”
“It’s not like that. Have you not been listening to me, sweeting?” He tried to touch her face but this time Miriam was the one to back away. Anselm’s hand hung uselessly in the air for a moment then fell to rest harmlessly on his lap. “Yes, I want you… so much it hurts, but you and I… ” He gestured between them, from one to the other, and shook his handsome head. “It could never be. Surely you understand that?”
At that moment, she almost believed he regretted her. Almost! Crossing her arms, Miriam glared at him, anger taking the place of passion. “You still haven’t given me a reason why.”
“As if your being royalty isn’t reason enough?” he said with a bitter laugh. “Very well, then how about the fact that your brother—the king no less!—absolutely loathes and detests my bloody guts? Even if he were willing to overlook my the deficits of my bloodline, it’s not likely he’d ever look upon a union between myself and a member of his own precious family with a favorable eye, is it?”
He did have a point. Rodmar was renowned for the way he fiercely guarded what was his—and he was particularly protective of his womenfolk. For the lucky few, the people closest to his heart, they knew Rodmar would always strive to provide them with the very best of everything, be that a jewel, a gown, a horse.
Or a husband.
’Twas to be hoped Catherine, at least, would accommodate their brother in his desire to see them both well married—although recent events now made this prospect rather unlikely. Even so, Miriam would never consent to marry where she could not love.
Not that she was in love with Anselm, of course. That would be utterly ridiculous. Her noble rescuer was merely a handsome diversion on the homeward journey—or he would be if he’d stop being so bloody noble about it. Indeed, she couldn’t imagine a pleasanter, or more efficient way to remove the taint of pirate from her lips and her foolish heart.
Although her passion for Fabien had burned brightly in the beginning, like most infatuations, for all its fierceness, its flame had been relatively short-lived. In truth, Miriam was glad to be rid of him. She couldn’t even pretend to be sorry that he was probably lying dead somewhere.
Fabien’s acts of cruelty, however, were naught when compared with her own shameful guilt. The casual manner in which she’d betrayed and endangered her family was unforgivable. Her ill-considered actions were worse than anything Fabien had done. After all, she’d acted against the wishes of her own family. The very people she was supposed to love most.
Only a full and frank confession would appease Miriam’s bothersome conscience, and then only by the smallest degree. One thing was certain, though. Even if Rodmar and the rest of her family could forgive her stupid, selfish actions, surely they would never forget.
Catherine certainly wouldn’t.
No, indeed. Although she wasn’t looking forward to the moment when she would finally have to face her family and confess her crimes, they deserved the truth. Until then, Miriam could have no hope of future happiness. There was no other way. The evil deed must be done—and the sooner the better.
Preferably before Catherine beat her to it.
Frowning, Anselm touched her arm, summoning her back from her wandering thoughts.
“Miriam?” His eyes were no longer silver. They were now as dark and troubled as a winter sea.
“What?” She could still taste him. Smell him. But no matter how badly she wanted to kiss him again, she didn’t need any more indiscretions to add to her lengthy tally of sins. As handsome as Anselm was, and as much as she desired him, if she were to have any hope of redemption, she must resist these longful urges. He would be her penance.
“You were many leagues away, just now,” he said softly. “Where did you fly to, little bird, I wonder?”
“Why should you care, Northman?” She realized she was being unreasonable—and brattish.
Definitely brattish. Poor Anselm had risked a good deal to save her and Catherine. She ought to be down on her knees thanking him not snarling and snapping like an ill-tempered gator, but she couldn’t help herself. “What did you just call me?” If he couldn’t make love to her, any reaction was better than none at all.
“Li
ttle bird?” Anselm chuckled and raked back his hair with one hand in a manner she was beginning to find utterly endearing. “Sorry, m’lady. For a moment there, I forgot myself.”
Miriam arched her eyebrows meaningfully. Only for a moment? Those delicious kisses of his had lasted a lot longer than mere moments.
“It’s just… ” For once, Anselm seemed ill at ease. “Well… that is, er, you sometimes remind me of a hawk I used to own.”
So he was comparing her to a bloody bird now, was he? Unbelievable.
“A hawk?” She regarded him with icy disapproval. My! With such lavish compliments as these, there was no danger of her developing a swollen head any time soon. “Actually, forget I asked.” She hopped down off the tree trunk. “I think it’s probably better if I left—”
“No, wait!” Abandoning all propriety, Anselm grabbed her hand. Miriam gasped as his rough, strong fingers closed about her hand, firmly but gently restraining her when she would have gone. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Mirry.” The moonlight bathed him in such a wondrous light, she was prepared to give him a chance to redeem himself. “Oh, but I’m expressing myself badly!”
“Then, what did you mean by bestowing such an unflattering name upon me?”
“You must first understand something. Little Bird was my favorite hawk. She was headstrong and stubborn. Beautiful”—smiling, he cupped Miriam’s cheek with his hand—“and, much like you, she seldom obeyed me, and then only on her own rigid terms. That wonderful little lady was the most willful, ill-tempered, and the most headstrong of all my birds.”
Not precisely the flattering comparison she’d hoped for—some sweet nonsense about the moon and stars would do a much finer job.
“Being so horrible, I can only wonder that you kept her.” Anselm kept hold of her hand and gently caressed her fingers. Miriam tried to steady the frantic beating of her heart. Whenever he touched her, her flesh burned with longing.
He chuckled. “Many people have wondered that very same thing, especially on the day I was forced to climb a tree to rescue her because her jesses had become entangled in the uppermost branches.”
“And was she happy to see you?” Miriam still didn’t understand why Anselm was comparing her to his pet hawk, but as long as he was touching her she was content.
“You might think she would have been, but no.” His smile broadened. “She only pecked me for my troubles. Look.” He held up his hand so that Miriam could see the pale v-shaped scar of an old wound on the tip of his thumb. “It looks insignificant now, but it bled like a stuck pig at the time. The little wretch marked me for life.”
“She sounds a terrible creature. I think you might have done better to wring her neck.”
“Never!” Anselm declared fiercely. “Of all the birds I’ve owned before or since, she remains the one I love best.”
“But why?” Miriam could not understand him.
“Because,” he told her softly, touching the tip of her nose with his finger, “on those rare occasions when the stars were all aligned to her liking, my Little Bird could be the most affectionate creature imaginable. She would sit on my shoulder, right here,” —Miriam shivered as Anselm lightly trailed his index finger over her shoulder— “and she’d gently nibble on my ear”—he traced his finger around the curve of Miriam’s ear— “or sometimes,” he continued gently sifting her hair through his fingers, “she would groom my hair with her beak most tenderly.”
“Oh?” Miriam’s voice came out as a high pitched squeak, such was her turmoil at being touched so intimately. Clearing her throat, she tried again, hoping to sound a little less like an imbecile. “W-What h-happened to her, then, your Little Bird?”
Anselm’s smile went out. Drawing back his hand, he retreated from her again. Without his touch, Miriam felt curiously bereft.
“She picked a fight with a much bigger bird. No matter how much I called to her, begging her to stand down, she heeded me not.” Anselm looked away, gazing at some far off point over Miriam’s shoulder, his eyes glistening with memory. “After a long and violent battle, she finally plummeted from the sky.” He sighed. “She was dead before she hit the ground.”
“Oh, Anselm. I’m sorry.” Without thinking, Miriam rested her hand upon his thigh in a gesture of comfort. “Be they human or animal kind, it is always difficult to be parted from those we care about, is it not?”
“Indeed it is.” He glanced at her hand on his thigh then looked deep into her eyes. The intensity of his gray stare caused the breath to hitch in her throat. “Extremely difficult. So have a care, Little Bird. Choose your future battles wisely, for I will not always be there to watch out for you.” He leaned closer until the heat of his murmured words caressed her trembling lips, but still, he did not kiss her. Miriam could only marvel at his restraint. “If I were to ever call out your name, my Mirry, would you come back to me, I wonder?”
“Perhaps.” What was going on in that head of his? “A-And if I should f-fall, what then?”
With a sad smile, he said, “Then I should weep as bitterly for you as I did on the day I buried my precious companion.”
Suddenly, there was the sound of someone tramping heavily through the bushes, headed in their direction. Immediately Anselm scooted along the log, putting himself far from Miriam and well out of her orbit.
“Ah, there you are at last, Percy,” he cried, sounding much more like the Anselm she knew. “What kept you?”
“I was, erm, boiling up some water to clean your wounds, m’lord.”
Was it her imagination, or was Percy rather pink about the gills? Had he seen them together? Judging by the way the young man kept avoiding her eyes, it seemed most likely that he had.
But if Anselm detected anything odd in his squire’s manner, he made no mention of it.
“Excellent. Let’s get to it, eh? Please excuse us, m’lady. This shouldn’t take long.”
Chapter Thirty
Following the faded hoof prints in the dust, Anselm had high hopes of catching up with Hugh and Fergus before too long. However, having only two horses to serve three people severely hampered their progress.
Sharing a horse with Miriam was a trial of a very different kind. The proximity of their bodies was almost more than he could bear. Indeed, she was a sweet temptation, but one he must never sample again.
Following their post-kiss conversation, Miriam had lapsed into her princess persona once again, and Anselm was not sorry for it. Her current reserve was the only thing stopping him from taking her into his arms and kissing her all over again. Or maybe something even more perilous. An act so intimate that was guaranteed to secure him an exclusive appointment with the nearest executioner.
No. ’Twas better to keep his eyes and thoughts on the road ahead.
They made fairly reasonable progress until Percy’s delicate palfrey showed signs of lameness two days later. Upon further inspection, they discovered his mare had lost a shoe. It could have been worse, but here in the badlands, such a delay might prove costly.
Anselm doubted the remainder of the pirates possessed the means or necessary courage to follow them. Even so, it was a risk he must consider. That, and the fact that they were down to just one horse which meant they would have to proceed on foot from here on in, thus reducing their gains and slowing their progress to almost a standstill.
They needed a blacksmith, and soon, otherwise they would have little hope of ever catching up with Fergus and Hugh. But the villages in these lands were far and few between. Towns were even scarcer. ’Twas a far cry from the civilization of the North.
Hurriedly consulting the maps Percy had had the foresight to bring with him, Anselm discovered they were but a day away from a small village that sat at the foot of a great mountain range.
But fortune, it seemed, remained was on their side. Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen.
“Wha
t is the name of this godforsaken place?” Anselm squinted at the map, unable to make out the faded writing “Nakkar… Nakarre? I swear, I cannot make it out. Whatever it is, I hope it has a decent smith.” If so, their small diversion would be worthwhile. Perhaps they might even be able to pick up another horse. “Narke—?”
“Nak-ara,” Miriam announced, correcting Anselm’s pronunciation as she returned to camp following her morning bathe. “And yes, Nakara does have a smith, an extremely skilled one, too.”
“Oh?” Anselm turned to look at her, but soon wished he had not, for with her glowing complexion and with her damp shining hair scraped back from her face, Miriam looked as fresh and beautiful as the new morning. “H-How do you know?”
“My brother used to take me there when I was a little girl. You might not know it, but the name of old Mehmet of Nakara is almost legendary in this corner of the world. He was a master swordsmith in his time, the very finest of them all.”
Was? That wasn’t altogether encouraging. “Old Mehmet?” Anselm doubted such an elderly fellow would be up to the task of shoeing a horse, no matter how great his skill at making swords might have been.
Miriam smiled. “Do not vex yourself, m’lord. Since old Mehmet’s retirement, I understand his eldest son, Behmet, has taken over the family business.”
At times, Miriam seemed to possess the rather uncanny ability of being able to read his innermost thoughts. It was quite disconcerting.
“In that case, Princess, lead on. Unless, of course, you have forgotten the way.”
Miriam tilted her head to one side and arched her eyebrows, subjecting Anselm to such a withering look he experienced a powerful urge to kiss the expression from her lovely face.
“Oh, I think I might just be able to recall the way, m’lord,” she said saucily. “But if I should happen to wander astray, I am glad to have such a big strong knight to protect me from the dangers of my feminine folly. ” For good measure, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Minx.
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