“My royal what?” A pig? He was comparing her to some stinking barnyard beast, now? “Insolent dog. How dare you speak to—”
“Oh, but I do dare. So save your breath, beautiful, before I forget you’re a princess, along with all my knightly manners, and kiss that venomous mouth of yours—”
“What manners?” Ignoring the wild pounding of her heart, Miriam gave a burst of shrill laughter. “Imbecile. Even a lowly pig has better manners than you.”
Anselm dragged her roughly towards him, his strong arm about her waist, holding her firmly to him. The heat of his muscular body burned through the thin fabric of their clothing, searing Miriam’s flesh like a brand.
“You think so?” he hissed, their lips barely separated.
Excitement coursed through Miriam’s body. He was so close she could hardly breathe. If making Anselm angry was the only way to destroy the icy wall he had built about himself, then she would do it. Whatever it took.
“I know so,” she hissed back, adding a couple of little pig-like grunts to illustrate her point.
A curious light flashed in Anselm’s silvery eyes. “Do you want to know what I think, m’lady?”
“No.” It took every grain of courage Miriam possessed to keep her eyes fixed on his. “Go ahead. Astound me, Northman.”
“I think you want me to kiss you again. That you’d do anything in your power to make me lose control.”
“Really?” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Yes, really.”
Of course, he was right, but to her utter vexation, Anselm still did not kiss her. He seemed quite content to hold her there, staring into her eyes, his body pressed to hers. He tilted her slightly backward until she was helpless and forced to cling to him, her entire weight supported upon his arm. Miriam moistened her lips, staring at the temptation of his mouth. So temptingly close. His wine-scented breath caressed her super-heated face.
“So wh-who is she, then, th-this Isobel you spoke of with such longing?” Despite the danger of asking that which Anselm clearly had no desire to tell, Miriam persisted. “Is she your wife… or your lover?”
A glimmer of some deep emotion flared behind his eyes. “I wanted her to be both.”
Miriam ignored the pain his honest admission caused her. She had asked, after all. “W-What happened to her? Did she bind herself to some other man?”
“No. She died.” With that terrible revelation, Anselm swept Miriam up until she was standing on her own two—rather wobbly—legs again. To her deep regret, he released her and stepped away, turning to gaze out to where the black line of the mountains met the indigo sky.
Miriam felt terrible. Through her unreasonable jealousy she had managed to cause him further pain. Yet another tally mark to add to her long list of offenses.
“I’m sorry, Anselm.” Shyly, she lay her hand upon his arm. “I-I had no idea.” His muscles felt tense beneath her fingers, but at least he didn’t pull away. Encouraged, Miriam wracked her brain for something to say. “How long is it s-since your lady love took her first steps along the path of the Ancestors?”
“Sometimes it feels like forever ago. Sometimes like only yesterday,” he answered huskily without looking at her.
A fairly recent bereavement, then. Chewing her lower lip, Miriam studied his handsome profile. Poor Anselm. No wonder he constantly blew so hot and cold. He was obviously still deep in mourning for the woman he had lost.
She slowly retracted her hand, reluctantly removing it from his arm. As much as Miriam was beginning to care for this man, Anselm wasn’t looking for another love. Not yet. So what else could she do but retreat?
No matter how much she wanted to, she could never be poor Isobel’s successor. The king’s sister could never bind herself to a lowly hearth-knight, something Anselm had made perfectly plain on a number of occasions.
It wasn’t possible—not even if the king’s sister in question wanted the lowly hearth-knight with all her heart, which Miriam certainly didn’t. No, not at all. The thought had never crossed her mind.
Well, not often.
For both their sakes, she must rid herself of this foolish yearning. Now. Before it was too late. To be his friend was the best she could ever hope for. If she cared for Sir Anselm at all, she would let the poor man to grieve in peace.
“Forgive me, m’lord. I had no right to intrude upon your solitude.” She sighed up at the moon, bright and lovely, and just as unattainable as Anselm. “Ah well… the hour grows late, so I will leave you to your thoughts. Good night.” With a rustle of her skirts, Miriam turned to walk away but as she did so, Anselm’s hand snaked out, his fingers gently closing about her wrist.
“Stay.” A question or a command, she could not decide which. Not when her heart skipped so wildly. What was it about this man? Even at the height of his power over her, Fabien had never made her feel this way. Anselm turned her to look at him. “Please, Mirry?”
“Er, that might not be wise. N-Not without a chaperone.”
Anselm chuckled. “’Tis a little late in the day for one of those, don’t you think?”
She smiled up at him. “Perhaps. Still, the night has eyes and ears, and I should not want word of our… our… ”
“Friendship?” he offered with a heart-flipping grin, his golden hair tumbling forward over those disturbing eyes of his.
Before he could rake back his hair as was his habit, to her utter astonishment, Miriam found herself reaching up to stroke the wayward locks from his face. “Friendship—yes, precisely. I would not want our friendship to be misconstrued.” She smoothed the silken strands of his hair until they lay in place again.
“Have a care, sweeting,” Anselm said, capturing her wayward hand and raising it to his lips. “I’m not sure friends would caress one other quite so intimately… not that I’m unappreciative, of course.”
Oh, no. He was doing it again, reeling her back in after he’d pushed her away.
“Stop it, Anselm,” she cried snatching her hand away from the seduction of his lips. “You can’t keep toying with me like this. Indeed, I hardly know how to think anymore, or how to act, or… ” She stepped back when he would have taken her hand again. “No, don’t! As you rightly said, we are friends, nothing more. With that, we must both be content. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must away to my bed.”
“I see.” Taking a deep breath, Anselm stepped back, his expression impossible to read. “In that case, may I wish you a good night, m’lady.”
To Miriam’s disappointment, he did not attempt to delay her departure.
What might he have said—or done—if only she’d had the courage to stay?
Now she would never know.
As Miriam hurried back toward the house, Anselm cursed himself for his folly.
What had come over him? ’Twas unwise to play such games, especially with a woman like Miriam; a woman whose company was becoming more vital to him with the passing of each day,
The princess was dangerous, not least because she was the king’s sister.
Despite all his good intentions to keep away, somehow he always gravitated to her side. Just what was it about her that drew him in? He now craved her presence as he yearned for a spot beside a good fire at the end of a long cold day,
But as heartening as a fire could be, when treated carelessly, it could be a fiercely destructive companion. One burning ember gone unnoticed was all it took to transform a tame blaze from an object of comfort into an instrument of brutal destruction that left nothing but charred ashes and ruin in its wake.
The more time he spent in the princess’s company, the more danger Anselm was in of being badly burned. Although Miriam probably never intended to cause him harm, his soul already bore several painful scorch marks thanks to that incredible kiss they’d shared.
She really seemed to have no idea of the great power she wie
lded over him. Despite her loveliness, Miriam seemed oblivious of how easily she could affect a man. Although Anselm didn’t want to feel anything for her, anything at all, he found this facet of her character most endearing.
For a woman so high born to be so unaware of her power was something almost unheard of these days. But that was Miriam all over. When she finally arrived at the king’s court, she would stand out like a rare and fabulous jewel, shining in a sea of paste pretenders. He had no doubt that she would be greatly admired and sought after.
In truth, Anselm was in more danger from Miriam than she’d ever been from him. So, from now on, he must go more carefully. He must treat the princess with all the respect he would give to a fire. If not, one of them was sure to end up getting badly burned.
He needed no special gift of foresight to guess who the most afflicted party might be.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Despite Otto’s pleas and the physician Sadiq’s frequent doom-laden warnings, one week later they rode away from the welcome haven of Nakara.
It was a tearful parting, for Miriam was extremely fond of the head-man. Heaven only knew if or when they would meet again.
Having finally accepted that his guests could not be persuaded to delay their departure, Otto gifted each of them with a fine horse from his own stables, as well as a sturdy pack-pony, laden with all of the provisions their kindly host could press upon them to accept.
In addition, Otto had provided them with four of his best men to escort them on the path through the mountains. The caves and rocky passageways were home to many shady characters who made their living by preying upon the unwitting. They would think twice before engaging with a party of such heavily armed men.
Clad in her borrowed gown—for Otto had disapproved of Miriam’s fondness for men’s clothing—she had little else to do but sit back and watch the scenery as the leagues rolled slowly by.
Since setting out from Nakara, Anselm’s conversation had become more and more monosyllabic until, at last, he’d lapsed into silence.
As if to make up for his master’s unusual quietness, Percy rode at Miriam’s side, keeping her entertained with a wide repertoire of amusing anecdotes and stories he’d gleaned on the long journey south. While some of his tales were, perhaps, not entirely suitable for the ears of a lady, Miriam enjoyed them all the same. At other times, when their appetite for conversation flagged, Percy would hum quietly to himself or sing brief snatches of songs—travelers’ songs, as he called them. It helped pass the hours.
But as diverting as Percy could be, from time to time, Miriam could not help but cast an occasional glance at his stern-faced master.
Was Anselm in any pain at all? He didn’t look uncomfortable, nor did he hug an arm about his ribs as he’d done before. So there must be another reason why he was so unusually withdrawn. Was he lost in memory, perhaps, thinking of the woman he’d loved and lost? Was Isobel the reason he’d retreated so deeply within himself? Poor man. As Miriam knew only too well, not every wound was visible to the naked eye.
How could she compete with a ghost? Not that she wanted to, of course. Not at all.
When the time came to bid their armed escort farewell, Anselm was exceedingly sorry to see them go. Not only had the four men been pleasant company, but they’d provided an extra buffer between himself and Miriam. However, as the port where they would, hopefully, board a ship back to the Norlands was now a mere day away, it seemed churlish to have their escort travel on any further. Besides, from the conversations he’d overheard, it was clear they were itching to return home. Back to their families.
To Nakara.
Once again, Anselm traveled in memory to that most tranquil of havens, and a sharp pang of longing stabbed within his heart. But this was no time to be morose. Rousing himself to cheerfulness, he smiled and shook hands with each man in turn, somehow managing to say all that was proper, as well as bestowing messages of sincere gratitude for them to relay back to their genial master. Anselm also sent a few words of thanks for his dour physician. Although Sadiq might not be the most gregarious of companions, Anselm could not deny that when it came to aiding the afflicted, the man performed wonders.
Thanks to the good doctor’s ministrations, not to mention the generous supply of analgesic infusion pouches he’d supplied him with, Anselm’s ribs were barely giving him any trouble at all. A few colorful bruises remained serving as a sobering reminder of just how lucky he’d been. Fortune had certainly been with him on the day he’d tangled with the pirates.
From their vantage point atop of a grassy hill, the three companions watched in silence as their escort rode off into the lengthening shadows. Then, with a final wave, they were gone, swallowed up by the desert lands, bound for that blessed place they were fortunate enough to call home.
Anselm sighed. As for themselves, they must set their sights and thoughts northward, to a land that was altogether colder. To the realm of the king, and journey’s end.
What would he do when their mission was finally over? Should he return to Edgeway with the others? Although it would be good to see Martha and the babies again—yes, even her mentally-unhinged aunt Lulu—after so many months of freedom and acceptance, he didn’t relish the thought of returning to a place where he was still so reviled.
Percy and Miriam’s combined stares roused him from his reverie. Time to return to the business in hand. The weighty considerations regarding his future would have to wait until he had time to properly turn his mind to them.
“We should be on our way, too. There are still several leagues separating us from our lodgings for the night. M’lady?” he addressed the princess with careful politeness. “Now that our friends have gone, perhaps it might be wisest if you exchanged your fine raiment for a… less conspicuous garb.”
“What?” Miriam glanced down at her magnificent blue, silver-edged riding gown. “Oh, so you don’t approve of my clothes now?”
The two points of heightened color on her cheeks told a tale her words did not. She was angry with him again. Everything he said and did of late seemed to irritate her, and for the life of him, Anselm could not imagine why.
“’Tis a perfectly lovely gown,” he said soothingly. “Truly, a most becoming garment. But perhaps a little too becoming, if you catch my meaning?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Speak plainer.”
“What my master means to say,” Percy said quickly, slipping into the guise of their go-between, a role he’d recently acquired, “is that we don’t want anyone to suspect you’re royalty, m’lady, especially if we’re forced to over-winter at an unfamiliar port. The quality of your gown might draw us some… unwelcome attention, let’s say.”
“Of course.” Miriam bestowed Percy with a smile so sweet it quite set Anselm’s teeth on edge. “If I had not been so absorbed in my own thoughts, I might have considered it myself.” She leaned across and briefly touched the squire’s arm. “Thank you, Percy. Truly, you are wise beyond your years.”
Him? What the devil had Percy to do with anything? Somehow—only the gods knew how—Anselm managed to conceal his irritation, contenting himself with a glare and an annoyed huff. Wise, indeed!
“Well, now that’s settled, let’s see if we can find you somewhere suitable to change, Princess.” Hopefully, not back into the sweet girl he’d kissed. As much as Anselm disliked the annoying shrew Miriam had become, it was safer that way. For all of them.
At long last, the harbor of Joxholm-Cadiz lay spread out before them. In the last dazzling light of the dying day, the temperate sea sparkled a deep enticing blue, while overhead screeching gulls swooped and soared, their undersides glowing with the same brilliant orange as the setting sun.
Crowding the harbor, boats of every size and description bobbed companionably together in their moorings. Humble coracles and floating wrecks sat alongside sleek, impressive merchants’ ships, al
l of them connected by a seemingly chaotic maze of narrow-planked gangways that ran the entire length and breadth of the harbor like a fragile web. A constant stream of sailors navigated along this perilous web-way, traveling from ship to shore and back again. Many of them seemed pleasantly inebriated, staggering along arm in arm with a local doxy, or sometimes two.
From this high up, the world of humanity was reduced down to naught but an endless line of scurrying insects.
“The final stage of our journey awaits us.” Anselm glanced at his companions. “Are you ready?”
Percy instantly responded with an excited, “Yes, m’lord,” but Miriam remained silent and she huddled a little deeper within the hood of her dark cloak.
Suddenly Anselm was transported back in time, to a vision he’d had, back home in Edgeway, in the bath-house with Sir Hugh.
The dark-haired woman who concealed herself beneath a hood. All alone on the dockside as a flock of bejeweled beauties swirled about her.
’Twas her. She was the sparrow he’d glimpsed in the midst of so many swans.
“Miriam.” Her name flew from his lips before he could stop it.
Suddenly Miriam looked directly at him. “Yes, I’m ready, too,” she said, answering his previous question. Chin raised, the light of battle blazed in her eyes.
A challenge of sorts? If so, that particular wager was too rich for Anselm’s blood.
Resisting her would be doubly difficult now she was dressed in her borrowed trews and shirt again. Without her shield of regal attire, Miriam seemed much too attainable, almost within his reach.
A mighty princess was one thing but a pretty maiden was quite another.
Dangerous thoughts. He must learn to set them aside. Clicking to his horse, Anselm rode on. Although he hadn’t much faith in anything anymore—his relationship with the spiritual world being of the complicated variety—if a Great Spirit did indeed exist, Anselm could only hope that he, or she, was in a particularly benevolent mood. He was quite prepared to pray to any deity if the act of doing so meant they would not have missed the last ship home. For if he were forced to spend the entire winter with Miriam, alone, and largely unchaperoned, all of his good intentions would surely be ruined. He wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of kissing her again.
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