After all, he was just a man.
The sudden aching in his trews told him it was time to pay a visit to the nearest bordello. He’d never gone this long without having a woman in his bed, not since attaining his prime. Once they were safely installed in their lodgings, he would take Percy out on an erotic excursion around the town, giving them both chance to sample the various diversions and delectations that a night in a foreign port had to offer.
Miriam was miserable, and she had no idea why. The sight of the harbor had sent her spirits plummeting through a thick fog of doom and gloom.
Why? Surely she should be celebrating their safe arrival not feeling as though someone had just stolen her favorite horse. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?
Upon reaching the livery yard, Anselm dismounted with his usual careless grace. Then, hastening to Miriam’s side, he offered up his gloved hand, intending to help her dismount. Of course, she was more than capable of getting off without any assistance. Even so, she accepted his hand, such was her need to touch him again.
As Anselm smiled up at her, a sudden wicked impulse needled its way to the forefront of her mind. What if she were to feign a slight stiffness in her limbs? They had been riding for many hours, after all. What if she were to… accidentally stumble and fall? Oh, dear. How unfortunate that would be. Pitching herself into Anselm’s waiting arms. She chewed on her lip, seriously considering the idea even as Anselm’s fingers closed gently about her hand.
Such feminine trickery was utterly beneath her, her conscience scolded. Oh, it most definitely was.
But she did it anyway. Falling sideways from her horse, she gave a fake cry of alarm.
“Have a care!” Just as she’d anticipated, Anselm was quick to react. Snatching her from mid-air, he secured her firmly to him, gently cradling her, his warm lips moving against her temple. “Steady on. I have you, Mirry.”
Oh my! The thrill of having him hold her in such a manner was worth any amount of blushing and inner shame.
All too soon, Anselm gently set her back on her own two feet. “Have your legs gone to sleep, sweeting?” he asked kindly. “Here.” He offered his arm. “Hold onto me until you have your land legs again.”
“How kind. Thank you.” Despising herself for her shameful cunning, Miriam did as Anselm suggested, tucking her hand snugly into the comforting warmth of his arm. Hardly daring to breathe, she pressed her fingers down upon the sleeves of his leather hauberk, testing the strength that lay beneath. Standing so close, she could not help but breathe in his scent. Leather and clean sweat, and a slight musky scent that was all his own.
Already, Anselm was so familiar to her, as if she had known him for many lifetimes. How would it be when their journey ended, when Anselm finally left her life? Perhaps forever.
Scalding tears stung with tears. The mere thought of saying farewell to her arrogant Northman was enough to make her tremble like a feeble ninny.
Anselm turned, studying her profile with a frown. “Are you cold, m’lady?”
“A-A little,” she lied.
“No wonder. The sea breeze carries news from the icy north upon its back. Percy? Go and find the stable master, and hurry him along, would you? The sooner our horses are settled for the evening, the sooner we can arrange our own lodgings. Be quick now, lad. Our lady is freezing.”
While Percy raced away to find the proprietor of the livery yard, their three weary mounts stood in a line at a stone water trough, jingling their bits as they drank their fill.
There was nothing else for Miriam and Anselm to do but wait.
“May I rearrange your cloak a little more securely, m’lady?” Anselm asked at last, just before the silence between them could be considered oppressive. Without waiting for her consent, he released her arm and began draping the deep folds of her voluminous cloak about her exposed neck. “I would not want you to go home with a chill,” he said brightly. “There is a real nip in the air tonight, is there not? Autumn is almost upon us. There we are.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork. “That’s much better, is it not? Far cozier. You’ll soon feel the benefit… ”
A hot tide of frustration rose up from deep within her soul until Miriam wanted to scream in his face. How could he speak to her thus? Was this to be their fate from now on, condemned to discuss naught of more importance than the bloody weather and the state of the roads?
Oh, vile insipidity, be gone! She wanted none of this talk—not from him. It was intolerable. Unthinkable.
After traveling so far, after all their adventures, not to mention the passionate moments they had shared, were they now reduced to discussing dull topics like polite strangers?
But their current situation was even worse, for at least polite strangers had the chance to get to know one other, to become friends. Friends… or something more.
A sob lodged in Miriam’s throat like a hard knot. No matter how many times she tried to clear it, it simply would not budge. She couldn’t bear this. This barrier between them. This… polite indifference.
If Anselm didn’t look away she feared she might crumble, howling and clinging to him like a child that had just skinned its knees—something else she would have to regret in all the empty days that lay before her.
But Anselm didn’t look away. Instead, he studied her more closely, unbearable tenderness softening his eyes, and a frown marring his fair brow. “Hey now, my Mirry. What’s all this, then?”
His sweetness was her undoing.
With a strangled sob, sorrow and rage burst their banks, rushing from her eyes in a bitter torrent that poured unchecked down her cheeks.
“Oh, dearest.” Anselm rubbed her arms in a brisk, comforting manner. “Are you unwell?”
As much as she would have liked to reassure him that she was fine, Miriam was unable to speak. Liquid misery still blocked her throat. Anselm’s gentle concern only served to summon yet more of pathetic, futile tears.
Hating herself for being such a weakling, Miriam bowed her head and wished herself far, far away. She didn’t want Anselm to remember her like this, pathetic and sniveling.
Any other gentleman might have had the decency to turn away, to pretend not to have noticed that anything amiss, thus allowing a lady time to compose herself.
Not Anselm.
Instead of looking elsewhere as he should have, to her delight and sorrow, he gently enfolded her in his arms and gathered her to him, tucking her head snugly beneath his chin.
“There now, my sweet girl. You needn’t be so brave. Not all of the time. Let out your tears while there is no one else around to see them. You are quite safe with me, dearest. ”
What else could she do but weep? If only Anselm would remain silent, perhaps she might have hope of recovering her shattered composure. But, alas, he crooned the most delightful nonsense against her hair as he slowly ran his hand up and down her back.
As much Miriam enjoyed being held in this way, her tears would not last forever.
When the storm had finally abated, Anselm was all solicitude again, dabbing her cheeks dry upon the soft lining of his cloak. Percy, thankfully, had not yet returned. Or if he had, he’d had the good sense to withdraw again.
“Better?”Anselm asked.
Miriam nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.
“Good. That’s good. Now, where can that wretched boy have got to, I wonder?” For once, Anselm seemed jittery and ill at ease. He glanced around, looking hopefully in the direction in which Percy had disappeared. “What you need is a hot meal and a comfortable bed, m’lady. That’ll soon set you to rights.”
Food and sleep. Ah. If only it were that simple.
But instead, she answered, “Yes. I expect you’re right.”
“What the devil could be keeping—? Oh, look. Here he comes now.” Stepping away from Miriam with undue haste, Anselm waved to Percy and the
two grooms who accompanied him as they moved like spirits through the swirling, tumbling sea fret. “Over here!”
Miriam rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they can see us perfectly well,” she muttered, not that Anselm paid any heed, so intent was he on escaping. Grabbing the reins of all three horses, he headed off to intercept the grooms and Percy.
By all the spirits, what was wrong with the silly man now? He was as unpredictable as a desert storm. For all his undoubted bravery and heroism, unless she was much mistaken, Miriam had the distinct impression that her brave Sir Anselm was more than a little afraid of her.
She watched his retreating back. Yes, that was most definitely a man on the run.
The problem was, she had no idea why. Oh well. If they had missed the last ship to the Norlands, she’d have plenty of opportunity to winkle the truth from him over the long, dark days of winter.
Was it wicked to admit that the prospect of spending so many months cooped up here in this town with him didn’t dismay her as it should? Quite the reverse, in fact. The truth was, she was actually looking forward to getting to know her bold knight better, to say nothing of discovering his secrets.
Leaving the princess in peace to sup and bathe in her room—attended by the young maid the innkeeper had provided for her use—Anselm and Percy dumped their packs in their chamber and then ventured back out into the deepening night.
Their own suppers must wait until Anselm had spoken with the harbormaster. He could not rest until he knew the worst. Had they missed the last boat home?
As much as he enjoyed Miriam’s companionship, despite his best efforts not to, he was becoming far too attached to her. Even worse, this unseemly craving wasn’t solely based on lust. Oh no, it was much more perilous than that.
For his sins, he truly liked her.
With each furlong they rode, this burgeoning fondness had increased. The perma-ice about his heart was melting fast, and he liked it not at all. He fancied he could almost hear the steady drip-drip-dripping as his inner armor slowly but surely shrunk and thawed.
This attachment was insane. Dangerous. But still he craved her.
“Master? Look,” Percy cried, suddenly. “There! No, there, over by the tavern.” He pointed. “Doesn’t that look a lot like… ?”
Anselm squinted into the gloom, peering through the wispy sea fret at the shadowy figures of two men who’d stepped out into the night. Was that…? Could it be…?
Oh, praise the rat-gnawed bones of all the moldering Ancestors.
“Hugh, Fergus!” Anselm yelled, startling the dog population into a rousing chorus of barks, such was his relief at seeing his companions once more.
“Anselm? Percy? Can it really be you?”
“It is, Hugh. it’s them!”
To his everlasting amazement, Anselm found himself at the center of a loud, merry reunion. Even Fergus seemed glad to see him again, thumping him on the back in a friendly fashion.
“What kept you so long?” Fergus asked with a laugh. “We’d about given you up.”
“Where’s the princess?” Hugh and Anselm asked on oether at the precise same moment, making them all laugh even harder.
It transpired that both ladies were, albeit unwittingly, currently lodging beneath the roof of the same inn. Hardly surprising given that it was the most respectable lodgings in town.
Much reassured, Anselm and Percy allowed their companions to lead the way back inside the smoky tavern they’d just vacated in order to sup, drink, and catch up on all they’d missed.
As Anselm spoke with these men who had somehow become his friends, the heavy load of worry he had shouldered for so long suddenly fell away. It was good to see them again. A blessed relief, in fact.
Surely the worst of their trials were now behind them? His fortune was on the rise from here on in.
Or so he hoped.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Miriam stared from Percy to Anselm and back, her lovely eyes wide with astonishment.
“W-What? Catherine is here? Now?”
“Aye,” Percy answered, chuckling at the princess’s obvious confusion. “Even as we speak, your sister is in this very inn.”
The three of them were at breakfast the following morning, sitting within the parlor Anselm had procured for their private use. Sitting across from them, Miriam looked as fresh as a spring morning in her simple gown of pale-blue wool.
She had never looked less like a princess, or more lovely.
“B-But… how can this be?” Miriam’s confusion only added to her appeal. “I thought she’d be in the Norlands by now.” Deliciously perplexed, her frowning eyes sought Anselm’s in a silent yet eloquent demand for an explanation.
However, he could not offer her one. He could not speak at all. For at that very moment, a shard of dazzling sunshine had entered the room through a small casement, piercing the gloom of the little parlor, bathing everything it touched with light—including Miriam.
Anselm’s breath hitched and wedged in his throat as he gazed at her. Such heavenly radiance.
A mere glance was enough to cripple him.
Utterly transfixed, he could not move. ’Twas as if an invisible assailant had just punched him in the guts. Held spellbound by her loveliness, Anselm could only sit there, staring at her like a mindless buffoon.
Hell, even the act of breathing was a struggle. He had to consciously force himself to keep dragging and expelling the air in and out of his lungs.
Shining with the astonishing iridescence of a raven’s wing, Miriam’s hair hung over her shoulder in a thick dark plait, the perfect frame for her sun-kissed complexion. As for her eyes, Anselm had never seen their likeness anywhere. He was suddenly reminded of an old traveler who’d once visited Edgeway, telling tales of the great golden cats that roamed the vast hot prairies to the south. Beautiful, savage creatures that hunted in packs and could outrun a horse. According to the traveler, these beasts could kill a grown man with just one swipe of its mighty paw.
A cat whose amber eyes shone torch-bright in the darkness with light of their own.
What was Miriam? Part-feline, part-human? A blending of the two?
Fanciful thoughts. Whatever ingredients had combined in the making of the princess, the final result was devastating. Look what she had done to him. Without trying, she’d robbed him of his voice, his wits, and all reason. And that wasn’t the worst of all she’d stolen from him.
If Miriam ever decided to hunt him down, Anselm knew she would find him the easiest of prey. What would it be like, to be at her mercy? Or, even better, subject to a lack of it? The imagining was enough to make his blood shiver.
The delightful furrow between Miriam’s eyebrows became more pronounced the longer she looked at him. No wonder. He was behaving like a half-witted fool.
He must speak, find some words of intelligence to utter. Anything. But what?
“Is your master unwell this morning?” Miriam asked, turning her attention to Percy, mercifully releasing Anselm from her spell. “He seems rather more… vacant than usual.”
“We-ell, we did do a fair bit of celebrating yester-eve, m’lady, what with meeting up with Sir Hugh and Master Fergus again, you understand. Some of us celebrated a little harder than others.” At this, Percy directed a pointed look at his master.
Miriam smiled. “Ah. That explains it. By the looks of him, your master is paying dearly for his night of excess.” As she spoke, she looked Anselm over, taking him in from head to toe. Suddenly her smile faded. “Let us hope… all of his appetites have now been thoroughly slaked.”
After so little sleep Anselm knew looked an utter fright, but the look Miriam had just given him was something more. What else had she seen? This wasn’t just about his disheveled appearance.
Oblivious to the sudden frost in the room, Percy sat back in his chair and began wolfing down grea
t chunks of bread slathered with fresh butter and helped himself to the array of cold meats which had been provided to break their fast.
Anselm envied the lad his hearty appetite. If he ate a single morsel himself he feared it would come straight back up.
Percy looked a different today. More man than boy. But after his exertions of the previous evening, that was quite understandable.
Being determined to keep his promise of overseeing every aspects of Percy’s education, once they’d left the tavern, Anselm had taken his squire to a busy dockside bordello.
Naturally enough, Percy had been rather reluctant, somewhat nervous, at first. However, an obliging and exceedingly pretty girl named Pearl quickly put him at his ease. Once he’d overcome his initial shyness, Percy soon made up for his late start in life, remaining locked away in the bedchamber of his comely teacher until almost cockcrow.
No wonder the boy was so hungry. Judging by his relaxed smile, pretty miss Pearl had earned every piece of the silver Anselm had given her as payment for tending to this vital part of any young man’s education.
It would have amused Percy a good deal if he were ever to discover that—of the four of them—only he had enjoyed any special female attention that night. Fergus, predictably, drank far more wine than was good for him. He was soon galloping along the road to merriment until, at last, he finally reached the town of deep-melancholy.
Wallowing in his cups, Fergus purchased a small, crudely-made lyre from a shifty-eyed fellow he’d happened upon. After paying him an exorbitant sum of money for the rustic instrument, Fergus had proceeded to treat tavern’s patrons to several long-winded renditions of the most heartrending songs in his highly extensive armory.
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