King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  All he could do was continue as he always had whenever life presented him with another generous serving of unpleasantness. He would simply hunker down and hang on. Live through the storm one moment at a time. It was the only way he knew, how to endure that which was most intolerable.

  Now. Now was all that existed.

  These very same words had dragged him through the immediate shock and brutal agony of Isobel’s death, sustaining him when he hadn’t wanted to live another second without her. All those dark, miserable days when all he’d wanted to do was settle down beside her corpse and force his heart to stop beating.

  But his separation from Miriam would be a death of a very different kind. No matter how wretched he might feel, at least he would have the consolation of knowing that she still lived and breathed. Somewhere in the world. Somewhere without him.

  He hadn’t wanted to love her—only the Great Spirit knew how hard he’d fought to resist her—but it was no use. She’d defeated him at every turn without ever really trying, damn it all to hell!

  A sudden violent squall blew up, tossing their little ship about the ocean like a child’s fragile toy, but Anselm didn’t relinquish his seat on his coil of rope. Huddled deep within his saturated cloak, he pulled the hood lower, shivering as another icy spray of salty water enveloped him, the bitter cold biting into his skin until he was too numb to feel anything at all.

  Hopefully a good soaking would bring him to his senses.

  Two sailors swayed by, staggering to stay upright in the fierce swell. As Anselm glanced up, he caught them raising their eyebrows at each other, indicating with subtle hand gestures that they guessed their noble passenger was deep into his cups.

  If only. Unfortunately, alcohol was a woefully inadequate form of pain relief, its effects fleeting and too uncertain. No use at all in the long term. Added to that, resurfacing from liquid oblivion was always a painful bloody nightmare, having to relive anew all the things he’d drunk so hard to forget. Bitter memories. Memories no amount of grog would ever drown.

  Sobriety was the least painful course—a lesson his father was still in the process of learning, for Seth’s grief was still a raw, suppurating wound. Poor Father. He was a mere novice on the rocky trail of bereavement and suffering.

  As Anselm sat shivering with cold, from out of nowhere, a most singular thought struck him.

  The blame for his suffering—past, and present—lay squarely upon his own threshold.

  Isobel’s demise was a tragedy, true enough, but how had he dealt with the pain of her passing? By becoming everything his love had despised. And, in doing so, he’d hurt his own dear mother, shamelessly using Sylvie’s unquestioning maternal love as a way to gather information on Vadim and his band of outlaws—or Lord Hemlock as he’d been known back in the day.

  Poor Mother. When the truth had finally come out, Sylvie had taken her life rather than face the shame of having betrayed her husband and neighbors for so many years.

  And why had she done it? Because of him. Anselm—her beloved son. He’d pushed her to her death. Hell—he might as well have cut her down with his own sword.

  No wonder Seth hated him so. At that moment Anselm despised himself.

  Feelings. Nothing good ever came from having them. Staying numb was a wiser option.

  Coward.

  Yes, he was a coward. For all of his supposed bravery and his undeniable skill with a sword, he was naught but a sniveling yellow-belly.

  Too afraid to truly live, too gutless to properly die.

  As their ship reared wildly in the broiling sea, the heavens opened sending a brutal shower of fat raindrops bouncing off the wooden deck.

  Anselm didn’t abandon his post.

  As the painful deluge continued, he threw back the hood of his cloak and closed his eyes, tilting his face skyward. The raindrops battered him fiercely but he didn’t try to escape their punishment. He deserved it.

  For the first time in years, he experienced the full weight of his guilt, and he knew what it was to feel truly sorry.

  Martha had tried to make him see the error of the road he’d taken, but although she’d given him a glimpse of the truth, he hadn’t experienced anything close to real remorse.

  Not until now.

  A torrent of long-buried tears flooded from his eyes. Here, in this storm, at last he was free. Free to let loose all of a lifetime of pent up sorrow and regret. Free to embrace his many failings,

  At last, he could confront all the terrible things he’d done.

  All the people he had hurt. Father. Vadim. Sylvie. Martha… So many people.

  So many slights and injuries, of the mental and the physical kind. Within the swirling shadows of his mind, the faces of those he’d killed returned, alive once more, bright and clear like lightning. Anselm met each accusing gaze and welcomed it.

  A coward and a fool he had been, but no more. He was tired of running.

  Instead, he wept, allowing the brutal raindrops to wash away his carefully constructed facade until only the barest foundation remained. Open and exposed, there was nowhere left to hide, nothing left to cower behind.

  Just him. Bruised and raw but himself.

  To find a lasting peace, Anselm knew what he had to do. He must make amends wherever and however he could. The very least he could do was apologize, even to those who could neither forgive nor forget. After all he had done, did they not have the right to cling to their hatred and anger?

  As for those who had already departed, he must learn to let them go; Isobel, Mother. Yes, even Lord Godric. From now on he had a different course to follow.

  A new beginning. And he would start his new leaf with Princess Miriam.

  However much he cared for her, he did not deserve such a woman. Miriam was noble through and through. She was a daughter of kings, far beyond the aspirations of a humble hearth knight.

  Although she’d worked her way into his heart, it wasn’t Miriam’s permanent home. She was destined for greater things. If Anselm truly loved her he would let her go and be glad when she eventually found her life-mate.

  Perhaps in time the gods would grant him with a woman of his own to love, but it wouldn’t be Miriam… or Princess Miriam as Anselm must now think of her.

  “What are you doing out here?” Hugh cried, poking his grizzled gray head from out from the doorway of the small cabin. “Have you lost all your wits?” He had to shout to be heard over the howling gale. “Come inside at once and help me calm the ladies.”

  “Go back inside, Hugh. I’ll be right with you.” Although the storm raged on around him, as Anselm rose unsteadily from his coil of rope, deep within himself, he felt much calmer. More at peace than he had been in years.

  His new life began now, starting with reassuring the two princesses.

  Suddenly, quite clearly, he heard his mother speaking within his mind.

  Live a better life, my son. It’s not too late.

  Whether Sylvie’s voice was real or imagined, Anselm felt compelled to answer her.

  “I will, Mother,” he murmured. “I will.”

  Huddled deep within her cloak, Miriam stood silently at Catherine’s side, watching the lump of land on the horizon growing steadily bigger. Closer still, until she could make out the white cliffs, beckoning them to the start of their new life.

  Journey’s end, at last.

  The Norlands. Home. Or it soon would be.

  Miriam’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch that had nothing to do with the rolling motion of the ship.

  She glanced over at Anselm, hoping to see his familiar smile, the one that always reassured her, but he was deep in conversation with his three friends. As they spoke, Fergus, Hugh, and Percy smiled frequently and laughed even more, seeming relieved and extremely happy at their homecoming.

  If only Miriam could share their optimism. Instea
d, she felt as cold as a marble sculpture, her feelings buried beneath a thick veneer of stone.

  Anselm didn’t love her. Or if he did, not nearly enough. Not enough to declare it to the world. He was probably too afraid of losing his head. And what a handsome head it was. In her heart, he would always be her ideal of the ideal man. Both in looks and character, he suited her perfectly. Almost as if he had been designed to be her other half. She’d never met anyone who understood her better.

  Now that she’d found him, was she expected to simply step aside, to meekly allow him to walk out of her life? But what else could she do? No matter how much she longed to do so, she wouldn’t beg for his love. Some last vestige of pride wouldn’t allow it.

  “What are you sighing about?” Catherine demanded. Following Miriam’s gaze, she gave a rather unladylike snort. “Oh, I might have known. How glad I will be to finally see the back of those three fellows.”

  “Be silent, you ungrateful sow. Have you forgotten your promises? We owe them everything, least of all your precious virtue. Perhaps you will think of our saviors more kindly when you finally secure the faceless husband you crave so badly.”

  Her face a study in righteous indignation, Catherine opened her mouth to reply. However, she must have sensed the danger she courted, for she promptly sealed her lips. A good thing, too, or Miriam might have been tempted to shove her sister overboard.

  But the warmth of her victory soon dissipated, leaving Miriam shivering in her cloak again, scowling at the horizon.

  “How are you feeling, Princess?” Anselm’s voice intruded on her reverie. “Nervous?”

  Miriam turned to him with a smile, dark thoughts instantly banished.

  “A little. Brr. Is it always so cold?”

  “As much as I’d like to lie and assure you that today’s weather is unusual, I’m afraid I cannot.” There it was at last. The sweet smile she’d craved. “But the summertime is always something to look forward to.”

  “Oh. I see.” So, this gray, inhospitable land was to be her home from now on, was it? What a pity she would not even have the consolation of Anselm’s company to warm the long winter days ahead.

  Catherine turned away from the rail. Acknowledging Anselm with a brief inclination of her head, she retreated below decks leaving the two of them alone.

  Miriam’s heart skipped. If this was to be the final time they were alone, she mustn’t waste a moment. She wracked her brains for something to say.

  I love you.

  No. That would never do. Clearly, her love wasn’t wanted.

  Instead, she said, “I-I want to thank you for all you have done, Sir Anselm. My family owes you a debt that can never be repaid.” She dared to look deeply into his glittering eyes. “As long as I live, I shall never forget your bravery.”

  Ye gods, but I love this man. Please let me keep him.

  Taking her hand, Anselm politely raised it to his lips in the way of his people. “Speak not to me of debt, Princess. Your gratitude is reward enough,” he said with a gallant smile.

  Miriam blushed and giggled—in such a maiden-like manner she immediately wanted to slap herself. But she couldn’t help it. “I imagine there were times when you feared we’d never reach the Norlands, hmm?”

  “Once or twice, perhaps,” he admitted, lowering her hand, but to her deep joy he didn’t let go. Instead, he tucked it into its place on the fold of his arm and then covered her fingers with his other hand. The warmth of his touch soon banished every chill from her body.

  “Still no gloves, eh?” he asked with a grin.

  Oh, how could he speak of gloves at such a moment?

  “A-Anselm?”

  “Hmm?” The way he looked at her set fire to her blood. Half-longing, half-misery, she stared up at him.

  “Th-There’s something I n-need to tell you.”

  In an instant, Anselm’s eyes were wide and wild.

  “For the love of Erde, Mirry, no. Please don’t.” As frantically as a wren’s heartbeat, a muscle pulsed within the line of his firm jaw. Her brave knight looked utterly undone. “If you care for me at all then do not say it, I beg of you.

  “But why?” Uncaring of whether anyone was watching them, Miriam turned to face him. “This might be the only chance I get to—”

  “Because I love you, sweeting,” he murmured, beating her to the finish. “Deeply and irrevocably. Whether you claim me or not, from now until the day I breathe my last, every beat of my heart belongs to you, my love.”

  His words gave her heart wings. “You l-love me?” Oh, such joy to learn that he felt the same way. Joy, but such sweet pain.

  “I do.” Taking her hands, he drew her to him, enveloping her beneath his cloak, warming her with the heat of his own body. “Ah, my beautiful Mirry. How will I manage without you, hmm?” Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers, quite oblivious of the sailors who hurried hither and thither preparing the ship to make port.

  Everything else faded away.

  At that moment, only they existed. Just the two of them, invisible to the world.

  Mirry and Anselm; Anselm and Mirry.

  Not a knight or a princess. Just themselves.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent and tried to commit this one perfect moment to memory. If now was all they had, she must fix it within her heart to sustain her through a lifetime of his absence.

  “I love you, too,” she breathed against his lips, longing for his kiss.

  “I know.”

  “My arrogant Northman.”

  He chuckled. “Always.”

  Before she knew it, Anselm accepted her silent invitation, brushing his lips gently over hers. A momentary embrace that wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all they had.

  A brief kiss of farewell.

  Already she could hear the sounds of the real world intruding, pulling them apart.

  Her eyes burned and her throat was so tight she could hardly breathe.

  “Anselm!” She crumbled, falling against him and sobbing upon his chest as though she would never stop.

  “Hush now, little bird.” Tucking her head beneath his chin, she felt him kiss the top of her head. “All will be well. Just you wait and see.”

  “H-How can it?” she wailed. Rodmar would never consent to their union. Not to a man he so thoroughly despised.

  “Have a little faith, love,” he crooned against her hair.

  “In what? In the Gods who mock us? Never.”

  “Then have faith in this… ” Raising her chin with his finger, he smiled into her eyes and kissed each wet cheek in turn, kissing the sorrow away. “Faith in us.” Another kiss. On her forehead this time. “Come what may, wherever your path may lead you, know that you are loved. That somewhere in the world is a man who truly loves you.”

  “What, even when I have a snotty nose and red eyes?” she asked with a feeble smile.

  “Especially then.” As he wiped her tears with the fold of his cloak, a strange expression entered his eyes. The frost of winter had returned. “No more tears, sweeting. The pain of separation will not hurt forever. Believe me, you will learn to love again.”

  “Wh-What?” How could he say such a thing? “Do you think me so fickle? So inconstant?”

  Anselm shrugged. “You cannot deny that love is a fairly regular visitor to your heart, m’lady. Oh, you will rally again, of that I have no doubt.”

  “Why do you speak this way?” Miriam demanded stepping back from the sanctuary of his arms. “Why are you being so bloody… cruel?”

  “Why?” He shrugged. “Because it’s the truth.” His eyes were no longer warm. They were as cold and gray as the northern sea. “First Fabien, then myself. Trust me, Princess, you’ll do very well indeed.”

  Love him? At that precise moment she wanted to swing her fist at him. “I take it all back… everyt
hing I said—”

  “You cannot. I have already locked your words inside my heart. You cannot unsay them now, dearest.” With a smug smile, Anselm took a step toward her. “Now, how about another kiss, a proper goodbye this time?”

  “You absolute beast!” Seized by a bout of temper, Miriam stamped her foot. “No wonder my brother wants you dead.”

  Another shrug. “A little of my company does seem to go rather a long way, ’tis true.”

  Too angry and miserable to properly consider his words, Miriam clenched her hands into fists at her side. Drawing herself up to her full height, she pulled back her shoulders and, with a last look of loathing, she marched away with all the dignity she could muster.

  Had she bothered to turn about, she would have seen his smile shatter, and the look of abject sorrow that took its place. She would have seen him clinging to the ship’s rail for support, completely unmanned was he by her departure.

  And maybe, just maybe, she might have caught his words of deep sorrow that only the wind stayed to hear:

  “Farewell, my love.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  News of their homecoming must have reached land well ahead of their arrival, for as they approached the harbor, they were met by a flotilla of little ships; coracles, sail-boats, and row-boats of every size, and in various states of seaworthiness, all of them packed dangerously full of people. Some looked perilously close to capsizing.

  Princess-princess-princess, chanted the people in the boats, over and over again.

  While Miriam seemed to shrink away from the noise and attention, retreating into the relative concealment provided by her deep hood, Catherine fairly glowed with happiness. Waving and smiling, she visibly preened in the warm adoration of the crowd.

  As their vessel entered the mouth of the harbor, Anselm saw masses more people thronging every wall and walkway. Crushed together almost cheek by jowl, peasants and nobles alike waved pennants and smiled, everyone craning their necks to catch their first glimpse of the king’s returning sisters.