King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  Gloriously and utterly bare-chested, Anselm lay back in the shade, his eyes closed, hands behind his head, while Otto’s bearded physician conducted a thorough examination.

  Oh. My!

  Modesty demanded that she look away, but Miriam wasn’t listening. She’d waited days for a moment like this, and she wasn’t about to waste a second. Modesty be damned.

  As her greedy eyes devoured every visible inch of Anselm’s muscular torso, her heart rate quickened until her blood thundered alarmingly in her ears. Unlike the men of the south, Anselm’s skin was light, golden-pale with just a hint of the sun. His neck and forearms, however, were much darker, the exposed skin burned to a deep umber.

  He wasn’t particularly hairy—nothing at all like the male palace servants. On those occasions when they’d been obliged to work without shirts, Miriam couldn’t help but notice how thickly their dark chest hair grew, some of the men also had a covering on their shoulders and down the length of their backs.

  Anselm was different. Apart from a scattering of golden hair over his upper chest and a faint line that traveled down the center of his torso to… somewhere else… he was exquisitely bare.

  But then the physician leaned away. With a gasp, Miriam saw the full extent of the dreadful bruising covering Anselm’s torso. In the blink of an eye, all her illicit thoughts were gone.

  A patchwork of hideous purple splodges bloomed all over his chest, interspersed here and there with a flash of bright yellow, and a vibrant smudge of green.

  Quite simply, he was a mess. Miriam’s remorse was swift indeed. She covered her mouth with her hand. Why hadn’t he told them how injured he was?

  “You look rather pale, Princess,” Otto said with concern, coming over to take her arm.“Are you feeling unwell, my dear?”

  Miriam couldn’t answer. She had not the words. All of her attention was fixed on poor Anselm.

  “What is it, Mirry?” Anselm said, opening his eyes. “Is something the matter?” His concerned ignorance only served to fan the flames of her temper.

  “Yes, Northman. As a matter of fact, there is. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were so badly wounded? You should have said something, you… Oh, you bloody fool!”

  He actually had the audacity to smile. “Would it have made any difference if I had, except to cause you more unnecessary worry?” said he, looking at her over the top of the physician’s curly head. “Besides, Percy was treating me, weren’t you, lad?”

  From where he sat at his master’s side, Percy nodded and looked more than a little smug. “Aye. As best I could.”

  “What with?” Miriam snarled at the irritating whelp. “Fresh air and good wishes?”

  “Oh, come now, Mirry,” Anselm protested, instantly defending his red-faced squire. “That was uncalled for, and you know it. Granted, the bruising does look rather spectacular at the moment, but I’m not nearly so badly wounded as you might suppose.”

  “Perhaps you would allow me to be the judge of that, sir knight,” the taciturn physician said, briefly looking up from his examination. “Now, inhale again. Slowly this time.”

  Anselm obeyed then released a long slow breath.

  “There, you see? I’m perfectly well. You’re overreacting, all of yo— Fuck me!” With a fierce cry of pain, he stumbled to his feet, backing away from the physician’s probing hands. “What the hell are you trying to do to me, man? Finish me off?”

  “Sit back down and I will explain,” the physician replied calmly, seeming not at all repentant for causing his patient further suffering.

  Warily, Anselm resumed his seat, still glowering at the good doctor as he revealed his diagnosis.

  “You have two broken ribs, maybe more. At this stage I cannot be certain. Just here, I think, and here, and perhaps here.” The doctor gently ran one long finger over Anselm’s skin at the site of the darkest bruising. Anselm winced but he did not speak. “There may be another fracture here.” When the physician touched Anselm again, Miriam found herself flinching on his behalf.

  “Do not worry yourself unduly, dear princess” Otto said in a kindly whisper. “Sediq may be a little crusty, but he is the very best there is. Your young man will recover quite nicely. Just you wait and see.”

  Her young man? Was that what Anselm was? No. Surely not.

  “Tell me, is there pain on breathing?” The physician took Anselm’s wrist between his slim fingers and held it for a few moments. “Or upon exertion?”

  Anselm shrugged… and winced again.

  “I shall take that as a yes, m’lord. And has there been any feverishness at all?”

  This time Anselm shook his head.

  “That is good.” The physician glanced over at Miriam and Otto. “Once he is clean, I recommend that the patient spends the remainder of this day in his bed, yes? Although your bold knight will admit to only the most minimal discomfort, I shall leave you with dried infusions with which to ease his pain, Princess. Oh, and no more bandages, yes?”

  The good doctor directed his instructions to Miriam as though she had any control whatsoever over what Sir Anselm did or did not do.

  “Other than that, he may continue as normal, though I recommend only the gentlest of activity over the next few days.”

  “Er, hello. Remember me? I am still here.” Anselm said with a wave. Aided by the faithful Percy, he struggled back into his shirt, depriving Miriam of a view far more inspiring than any mere mountain range, much to her disappointment. “I’m not so incapacitated that I cannot speak for myself,” he added.

  Turning his elegant head, Sediq looked down his long hooked nose at his patient. “Indeed? In that case, you must also do this. Cough, sir knight—and frequently, yes? Oh, I know there will be much pain, but to leave the phlegm static in the lungs is a very bad thing. So bad you maybe even die. No, ’tis much better to cough and endure a little discomfort.”

  “Oh, that is cheerful,” Anselm remarked sulkily. “Truly, I am all gratitude, sir.”

  Miriam’s expression of gratitude was rather more heartfelt. “Thank you, sir. I am most grateful to you for tending my friend.”

  Sediq’s stern expression melted as a tiny smile curved his thin lips. “No, ’tis I who am grateful to you, Princess, for allowing me to be of service to a member of the royal household.” He rose from his seat and bowed. “I will return tomorrow, yes?”

  Miriam nodded and took the muslin wrapped infusions the physician pressed into her hands. “How soon before we can be on our way again, Doctor?”

  The physician’s smile faded. “Nothing but gentle exertion for the next week, then we shall se—”

  “A week?” Anselm exploded. He scrambled onto his feet with his arm firmly wrapped about his middle. “We don’t have a week, not if we have any hope at all of getting to where we need to be before autumn sets in.”

  Sediq shrugged one shoulder in his elegant manner. “Better to arrive a little late than not at all, I think.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Stay or go,” the physician said, calmly. “It does not matter to me either way. Only think of this, if you will. If you die of lung congestion halfway through your journey, what will happen to the princess and your squire then, alone in the wilderness without their knight to defend them?”

  “We’re staying,” Miriam said firmly. “No arguments.” She looked directly at Anselm. “No negotiations. Is that clear?”

  He opened his mouth to speak then quickly shut it again. He looked away, apparently admiring the vista of the distant mountains. But Miriam wasn’t fooled. The pulsing muscle in his jaw told her Anselm was most seriously displeased.

  Bidding farewell to the physician, Miriam sank down onto a cushioned couch opposite Percy and Anselm. Whilst Otto walked Sediq out, exchanging a few private words with his friend before he departed, Miriam gratefully accepted a goblet of ice-cold lemon cord
ial from one of the serving girls. She drained her cup in mere seconds, the fire in her throat finally snuffed out. Heavenly.

  “We cannot afford to delay, Princess,” Anselm said quietly, finally turning to look at her. “Surely you understand why?”

  “And I cannot afford to lose you, Northman,” Miriam countered with a softness to match his own. “Surely you understand why?” With a smile of thanks, she took another goblet of juice from the hovering serving girl. Thirst now quenched, she settled back to savor this one.

  “You would risk missing the last boat, then? The prospect of spending the entire winter trapped in some godforsaken fishing village does not trouble you at all?”

  Actually, it didn’t. Not as it should have. It sounded rather cozy.

  Anselm shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Oh, how your brother would love that.” Momentarily forgetting about his damaged ribs, he slumped back in his seat only to sit up a moment later with another sharp hiss of pain. Levering himself carefully from the divan, Anselm began hobbling toward the small pool of water at the center of the terrace.

  Percy immediately hastened to his side. “Are you alright, master? Lean on me if you will.”

  “I’m fine, boy. It’s easier when I move around.”

  Miriam snorted. “Just look at you. You can barely walk. How do you expect to ride or defend me in this condition?” As much as she pitied him—not least because his current suffering was her fault—she had to harden her heart. Anselm was a proud man. He would not want anyone’s sympathy.

  “I’m a little stiff, to be sure, but only because I’ve rested. To keep moving, that’s the key. Now, if your friend Otto would be so kind as to loan us three fresh horses we can—”

  “No. Whether you like it or not we’re staying here, Anselm.”

  Judging by his grin, Miriam’s words greatly pleased Percy. Not so much his master, though. They seemed to have the opposite effect upon him. Anselm’s eyes glinted dangerously, a combination of raw pain and gray steel.

  “Very well. But if we miss that last boat and your brother takes umbrage, whatever follows will be on your head, Princess.”

  She smiled. “I’m prepared to risk it.”

  “Aye, no doubt you are. Just remember, it’ll be my neck stuck in that noose when we

  eventually get back home, not yours.”

  “Oh, you’re over-reacting. Rodmar has always been the kindest, most honorable of brothers.”

  Anselm hugged his arm a little tighter about himself. “I do not doubt it. Unfortunately for me, your precious brother has always hated my guts. However Vadim persuaded him to spare my life, I’ll never know.”

  “You silly man,” Miriam said in a gentler voice. “Whatever sins might inhabit your past, you’ve certainly redeemed yourself now.” To see him so tired and weary made her heart ache.

  Placing her drink on the low table, Miriam got up and took a hesitant step toward him. Immediately, the anger in Anselm’s eyes faded. A far gentler emotion took its place.

  “Don’t you see? You’re a hero, Anselm… you and all your friends,” she added with a nod to Percy. “When we most needed help, you came after us. Somehow—and I still don’t know how—you managed to save us from a terrible fate. When hope of rescue was almost gone, suddenly there you were.”

  Standing before him, unable to help herself, Miriam touched the arm he held about his waist. “Ah, my poor brave knight. See how you suffer for your courage and selflessness.” She smiled, her head spinning with the nearness of him. “You have no reason to fear my brother. I’m certain he will reward you handsomely. All of you.”

  Anselm took Miriam’s hand, caressing her tender skin with his thumb. “And if you’re wrong, what then?”

  She stared up at him, lost in his eyes. “I would cut you free of the noose myself.”

  Someone cleared their throat, breaking the fragile magic that had begun weaving about them.

  Otto stood beside Percy looking from Miriam to Anselm and back again, a smile of amusement brightening his pudgy face. “Come now, my dears. Your rooms are ready. And not before time, too,” he added in a muttered aside to Percy, making the squire grin. “Come. Follow me if you will.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  With the leisurely passage of each new day, their time in Nakara assumed a golden quality. Even if Anselm should have the good fortune to live long enough to become a graybeard, the memory of those days would never lose their luster. A collection of perfect moments condensed down into just a few precious days.

  He hadn’t wanted to come here, but now he never wanted to leave.

  Life in Nakara danced to the slow beat of its own drum. A blessed oasis of calm in the vastness of the desert lands which surrounded it.

  The world might be large, but the inhabitants of Nakara showed little interest in the lands beyond its borders. The people who had the good fortune to call this blessed place home seemed perfectly content with the life the Great Spirit had granted them, safe within the sanctuary of their tranquil desert home.

  For himself, Anselm found he was no longer in a hurry to exchange the peace of Nakara for the uncertainty and turmoil that awaited them in the outside world.

  On the fourth evening of their stay, he sat out on Otto’s beloved terrace, lounging on one of the long cushioned seats with his robe-covered legs stretched out before him as he watched the sun slip down from her blue heaven and slowly vanish behind the purple mountains.

  Soon the moon and stars would creep from their hiding places, filling the heavenly void of infinite blackness with the brilliance of their distant light. It was a sight Anselm never grew weary of. How could he when this new nightly ritual brought him so much peace?

  No wonder Otto valued his precious terrace so highly. Had it belonged to him, Anselm would have slept outside every night. As it was, he had a small, perfectly comfortable guest room back in the main house waiting for him. Even so, he closed his heavy eyes for a few moments, enjoying the waves of pleasant heaviness that washed over him, heralding the approach of sleep.

  Deprived of his vision, his other senses took over. He caught the scent of jasmine and heard the distant call of a night bird carried on the still-warm breeze. From inside the house, a sudden burst of laughter. One of the servants, no doubt, for they were just as cheery as their genial master.

  What must it be like to live here, he wondered. To wake up every day to a life that demanded so little save the things that mattered most. A life less complicated. To work, to eat, to sleep… to love.

  Obligingly, his mind conjured up a fresh vision of Miriam with which to torment him. Dressed in the flowing gown of emerald green she’d worn at supper, she looked as delicious as any feast. The usually wild tendrils of her ebony hair had been arranged with care into perfect order, piled on top of her head in one of the smooth, elegant styles favored by the noble ladies back home in the Norlands.

  Tonight, Miriam had looked every bit the princess she was.

  Perversely, it was somehow easier to resist her when she was decked out in her most regal finery. At least when she dressed like royalty, she was as distant as a beautiful goddess of myth, far beyond the reach of a mere mortal being. A woman to inspire poetry and be admired from afar. Untouchable and lovely.

  If only Miriam would dress like a princess for the remainder of their journey, perhaps then he might regain some control of himself. It was easier to recall the differences in their stations when Miriam wasn’t dressed like a man. Without her finery, the borders separating them were much less distinct.

  Anselm inhaled another deep breath of the sweet night air, grateful for the simple pleasure of being able to do so without pain. Thanks to the physician’s advice and Miriam constantly plying him with analgesia, the ache in his ribs had subsided to just an occasional throb. His bruises were still quite spectacular, though, in all the glorious hues and colors
of the rainbow. Whenever Miriam happened across him being examined by Sediq, Anselm could still detect the glow of sympathy in her eyes.

  If her sympathy was all he could ever have, he would take it, and gladly, too.

  Oh, what was happening to him? This infinitesimal softening of his heart was horribly vexing. He liked it not at all. So much for his vow never to care for another woman.

  Care, or love?

  How fickle and disloyal his heart must be. How could he betray the memory of his lost love?

  Forgive me, Isobel.

  He must have spoken his lament out loud, for he heard an irritated female voice behind him demanding;

  “Who the bloody hell is Isobel?”

  Anselm’s eyes snapped open. He sat up much too quickly for he immediately clutched at his side.

  Good. He deserved to suffer. He deserved to be in pain, lying there stretched out on one of the couches without a care in the world, oblivious to anyone or anything but this Isobel. Whoever the hell she was.

  “Well?” Hot knives of jealousy shredded Miriam’s heart to ribbons.“Who is she?”

  “Leave this alone, Princess,” Anselm warned, scrambling to his feet.

  Hah. Like hell, she would. “Oh, you’d love that, would you not? For me to meekly obey, to be cowed into submission. Well, I won’t!”

  Anselm’s eyes were suddenly granite-hard. “Do as you will,” he said with cold politeness, turning to walk away from her. “Think of me as you will. I care not.”

  Her temper soared. Driven on by the jealous inferno raging inside her, without thinking, Miriam grabbed Anselm by the sleeve of his dark flowing robe, dragging him to a halt when he would have walked away.

  “Don’t you dare turn your back on me, sir. I am a member of the first family, the sister of your king—!”

  “And a nosy, interfering wench to boot, meddling in matters that do not concern you.” Anselm seized the hand that restrained him and began prying her fingers from his robe, one by one. “Kindly keep your royal snout out of my affairs and we shall get along perfectly well.”