King's Errand

by N. J. Layouni

  Once the fair couple released him, taking a deep breath to brace himself, he turned to face Miriam. “Greetings, m’lady. I’m glad to see you looking s-so well.”

  So well? Was that the best he could do? She looked bloody spectacular.

  “I expect we will soon be g-gathering here again to celebrate your own betrothal,” he continued. “Doubtless you will not want to be long behind your dear sister.”

  Blood and sand. What the hell was he saying? Of all the things he could have said, why mention her her getting married? Damn. Now it sounded like he wanted to be rid of her. All that wine must have pickled his wits.

  To her credit, Miriam’s facade of calm wobbled by only the most infinitesimal degree, although her beautiful eyes berated him severely for his words.

  “It won’t be too long, I hope.” Protocol bade her to smile and extend her hand in friendship. However, it was clear by the trembling brevity of her touch that this token of civility cost Miriam a good deal. “It’s good to see you again, Sir Anselm. Now if you will excuse me—”

  “Surely not without a dance, m’lady?” Anselm clung to her hand when she would have retreated. “Please? Take pity on your old friend.”

  Up close she was lovelier than Anselm remembered. Even with the miniature to aid his memory, the passage of time had smudged the crisp lines of her true likeness, blurring them until they’d faded like a delicate watercolor picture left out too long in the sun.

  Only now that he stood before her again, with her little hand clasped in his, did Anselm understand how just much he had forgotten: the way the candlelight glinted upon the silken strands of her raven-black hair; the sharp shadows of her cheekbones, and the way those long and lustrous lashes framed her incredible almond eyes. Surely no artist alive had the skill required to truly capture those hypnotic amber depths.

  “I fear I am rather weary tonight, m’lord,” the princess said, discreetly trying to pull her hand free from his. “Another time, perhaps?”

  Anselm smiled. Feeble, Princess. Come now. You can do better than that. But still he held her. Indeed, he could not seem to let go.

  Surprisingly, it was Catherine who came to his aid. “Oh, Miriam. This is a fine way to treat one of the heroes who saved us from such peril. The very least you owe the man is one dance.”

  Miriam huffed. “Oh, very well,” she said, albeit a tad grudgingly. “One dance, then.”

  There was nothing else for her to do but take Anselm’s arm and allow him to lead her out to the dancefloor.

  Perhaps it was his imagination, but as they departed, Anselm fancied he heard Lord

  Radleigh chuckle and say, “Nicely done, poppet. Most discreet indeed.”

  Now what could he have meant by that?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  There was no time to give any more thought to Lord Radleigh’s parting words for just then, the lively reel ended. Instead—as if instructed by a kindly angel who wanted to see Anselm happy—the musicians began playing a slower tune.

  A popular love ballad, no less.

  Miriam rolled her eyes. “Oh, confound it all!”

  Although he didn’t want to, Anselm felt compelled to say, “If you’d rather dance this particular tune with your dinner companion, I completely underst—”

  “Oh stop being so disgustingly bloody reasonable, Anselm. It suits you not at all!”

  His heart soared. There she was. His fiery, feisty girl. And not before time, either. Finally, their polite pretense was at an end.

  Miriam glared up at him. “After all this time—after all we’ve been through—you would try to foist me off on another man like a piece of unclaimed baggage? Pig of a Northman! I’d quite forgotten how thoroughly disagreeable you can be.”

  Delighted by her change of mood, Anselm chuckled. “Hello again, sweeting, I was wondering where you’d got to.” Taking her in his arms, Anselm held her as closely as the music—and his heart—dictated he should.

  “Don’t sweeting me, you insolent dog.”

  They were close. So close. But there was nowhere else he ever wanted to be. The scent of warm jasmine intoxicated his senses, flooding his mind with a thousand perfect moments.

  Moments with Miriam.

  Although her eyes were still firing amber flames at him, to his joy, Anselm saw love there, too. Despite her insults, Miriam’s little fingers constantly caressed his arm, smoothing the fabric of his tunic as though reacquainting themselves with the flesh of the man beneath.

  The warmth of her touch seeped through his clothing, heating his blood and bringing his body roaring back to life in a way he hadn’t experienced in many months. He glanced down, drawn by the swell of Miriam’s bosom in her daringly-cut gown. A simple diamond pendant rested just above the narrow valley between her breasts, tempting him to admire what he should not.

  “Are you even listening to me? Er… what are you looking at?” she demanded sharply.

  Anselm dragged his eyes back up from their furtive exploration. “I was merely admiring the facets of that fine jewel about your neck.”

  “Oh, of course, you were. Well, don’t. Not unless you want me to gouge out your eyes,” she snarled.

  “Ah, dearling. I’ve missed you so much.” Unable to help himself, Anselm drew her even nearer. Lowering his head, he pressed his cheek to hers, murmuring against the perfect curve of her ear. “Have you missed me at all, hmm?” The warm scent of her made his head spin faster than any amount of wine. “Say you have, my darling.”

  Miriam muttered something unintelligible beneath her breath, but at least she didn’t pull away. Instead, with a contented little sigh, she suddenly relaxed and leaned against him.

  “Was that a yes, Princess?”

  “Not at all.”

  He chuckled. “Come now. It’s a little late in the day for maidenly modesty, dearest.”

  The force of Miriam’s laughter made her body quiver in a most delightful manner. “You really are an arrogant wretch.”

  As she raised her head to look at him, Anselm saw the last remnants of anger vanishing from her eyes, dispersing as quickly as the morning mist on a hot summer day. Now only tenderness remained.

  “So, Princess?” he said softly.

  “So?”

  “Have you missed me at all?”

  She smiled. “Perhaps. But only a little.”

  “Of course. To admit more than that would be most improper.” With his hand splayed possessively upon the small of her back, Anselm whirled them energetically about the room. Joy had given his feet new life and his heart fresh hope.

  Their private dance had resumed once more. The question was, where would it all end? No, he would not think about that. Not yet.

  “Stop, Anselm,” Miriam cried at last. “All this spinning is making me dizzy.” Laughing and breathless, she clung to his tunic.

  Taking pity on her, Anselm slowed their pace to one more in keeping with the gentle tempo of the music—one that was far too sedate for the current happy state of his emotions. With Miriam by his side, he wanted to run, or shout, or sing. Perhaps a combination of all three.

  Suddenly her smile faded. “What’s this?” she asked with a frown, pressing her palm to the gold-mounted treasure concealed beneath his shirt and tunic. “Something hard… and oval?” She looked up at him expectantly.

  Anselm saw no reason to lie. Not to her. “’Tis the miniature you gave me.”

  Miriam raised one perfectly shaped black eyebrow in surprise. “And you wear it about your neck?”

  “Yes.”

  “All the time?”

  He inclined his head. “Constantly. Well, unless I am training or bathing. Does that surprise you?”

  “A little,” she confessed looking up at him in such a delightfully perplexed manner that he almost lowered his head and kissed her then and there.

 
; “Why so surprised when you already know the truth?” With careless regard for who might be watching them, Anselm raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I love you, Mirry. Now that I’ve begun I can’t seem to stop.”

  “Really?” Her smile was like a bright ray of sunlight cutting through the gloom of a winter’s day, dazzling and golden in its intensity. “You do?”

  “Did you ever doubt it?”

  A pink flush tinged her cheeks. “It’s been so long… I th-thought you might have found someone else and forgotten me.”

  “Forgotten you?” He chuckled softly. “Impossible. You might as well ask the stars to fall from their heaven, dearest.” If this was the fate the gods had decreed for him, a lifetime sentence of loving someone he could never have, then as long as that person was Miriam, Anselm would be content. “You and no other, remember?”

  Indeed, he could think of no one else he’d rather be embroiled in a hopeless love affair with.

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her eyes glittering with unshed tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. Although her words gave him joy, he could not bear to watch her unravel. Not in such a public place where so many pairs of over-bright eyes watched their every move. He needed to lighten the mood, and fast.

  He smiled and kissed her hand again. “You have? What, even when you already have so many more eligible suitors wanting to claim you for their own? I swear, sweeting, I can already feel a multitude of their invisible daggers embedded into my back.”

  But Miriam didn’t smile. Instead, she lay her free hand over his racing heart. Could she feel it, Anselm wondered, thundering beneath her fingers?

  “What care I for such men; men who crave only my title and fortune? None of them see me as you do.”

  “Then they are either blind, damnably stupid, or both. Ungrateful swine. Had I the right to approach your brother, I would have asked for your hand long ago.”

  “You would?” There was no mistaking the utter joy of her expression. “Then my fortune does not sway you, my noble Northman?” she said teasingly.

  “Damn your fortune,” he growled. “Thus far it’s been nothing but a bloody hindrance. Oh, if only you had been born a pauper, love, then I could bind you to me without delay.”

  His words touched her very soul.

  More hot tears stung her eyes, but Miriam impatiently blinked them away. Not for a second would she deprive herself of the intense pleasure of looking at him. Touching him. She inhaled, filling her lungs with his scent; sandalwood, sweet leather, and man.

  “I wish that too, my love. With all my heart I do.” But what was to be done? “Perhaps we should run away together?”

  “Elope?” Anselm shook his head. “No, dearest. I would never disgrace you in that way. You mean far too much to me.”

  Just as she was about to respond, an unwelcome presence suddenly made himself known.

  “Perhaps I might be allowed to cut in now, m’lord?”

  Bloody Lord Bertram. There he was, trotting alongside them trying to keep up, and fairly bristling with ill humor. Never had his presence been so unwanted.

  Whirling to a standstill, without releasing Miriam from the shelter of his arms, Anselm

  assessed his rival with an icy gray stare. “I beg your pardon?”

  “So you ought, sir, monopolizing the princess for so long whilst other men await their turn.”

  “Their… turn?” A wiser man might have turned and run, but Lord Bertram had not been blessed with many brains. He was too foolish to sense the danger he courted. “Princess Miriam is not a hired hack, sir,” Anselm advised him curtly, “ I would suggest, in future, that you consider your words more carefully unless you want to lose that honeyed tongue of yours forever!”

  As much as Miriam wanted to cheer, she had a duty to smooth the ruffled feathers of her brother’s guests. “All is well, Sir Anselm. I’m sure Lord Bertram meant no disrespect, did you, m’lord?”

  “Of course not,” Bertram blustered taking a step backward as Anselm continued to glower menacingly at him. “I only meant—”

  “Oh, I know only too well what you meant.” Clearly, Anselm wasn’t in the mood to be pacified. His eyes which had been so full of warmth bare moments ago were now bleak and menacing. “Indeed,” he continued, “your meaning was perfectly plain.” Holding Miriam close to the hard protection of his body, Anselm dispatched his foe without so much as raising his voice, and Miriam shivered on Lord Bertram’s behalf. “Now, be gone, serpent. Blight my vision no longer.”

  Although Miriam was more than capable of dealing with men of Lord Bertram’s ilk on her own, it was a pleasant feeling to have someone defend her honor. Sheltered beneath Anselm’s powerful arm she felt safe. Cherished.

  Regrettably, however much she would have liked to remain there, she couldn’t stay pressed up against Anselm’s hard, warm body forever. A quick glance about the room revealed many interested eyes trained in their direction. Even Rodmar was looking at them, a slight frown marring his brow as he danced with Hortensia. Suddenly, the two of them were dancing across the floor heading in Miriam’s direction.

  “Is something amiss here?” Rodmar demanded looking from Anselm to Bertram and back again.

  “Just a small misunderstanding, brother. Nothing more,” Miriam quickly assured him.

  Anselm and Bertram continued glaring at each other, neither man backing down one jot.

  Suddenly aware of the intimate manner in which Anselm held her, Miriam slowly—reluctantly—edged away from him until their bodies no longer touched. Even so, Anselm kept hold of her hand.

  “Sir Anselm? Would you be so good as to let go of my sister and explain the nature of the

  current disharmony in my hall?”

  When addressed by the king himself, Anselm had no choice but to release Lord Bertram from his icy glare.

  Turning to Rodmar and Hortensia, he bowed. “Forgive me, my liege. I was merely attempting to educate this… ” He paused, but Miriam heard the word Anselm wished to use just as clearly as if he’d spoken it out loud: Bastard! “This… person,” he said instead, “on how he ought to speak to a lady, particularly one of noble birth.”

  Bertram glowered in ill-concealed fury. “Now, look here, you arrogant—”

  “Oh?” Rodmar silenced Bertram with a hard look. “I had not realized Lord Bertram was in want of such instruction.” He studied the three of them in turn. Miriam’s cheeks burned hot beneath her brother’s scrutiny, especially when he glanced down at her hand, her fingers still entwined with Anselm’s. Thankfully, he made no mention of it. “However, if Lord Bertram’s lessons are now at an end, perhaps we might resume the evening’s festivities, hmm? With Sir Anselm’s permission, of course.”

  The silence of the vast chamber penetrated Miriam’s consciousness. Suddenly she was aware of how everyone stood frozen in place, staring at them. No one was dancing. Up in the gallery, the musicians strained to see what was happening down below, their music reduced to a few discordant notes now and then.

  “Of course, my liege,” Anselm said with a chastened bow. “Forgive me.”

  Rodmar glanced up at the gallery, and immediately the musicians struck up a cheery tune designed to banish the frost from the royal hall. All at once, the passage of time resumed its normal course, and everyone began talking and moving again.

  With a brief nod to Bertram and Anselm, the king led his queen away—Hortensia smiling in a most diverted manner. Miriam sighed. She was in for a lengthy interrogation later on, of that she had no doubt.

  “Princess?” There was Lord Bertram, intruding again, offering her his arm although he knew full well she had not the slightest desire to dance with him. “Shall we?”

  “If you wish.” Resigned to her fate, she eased her hand from Anselm’s. The look of regret in his eyes tore at her heart, but he did not t
ry to detain her. Reluctantly, Miriam exchanged his company for Lord Bertram’s, but as she lay her hand upon the other man’s arm, it felt like a punishment. All she wanted to do was immerse herself in Anselm’s company. However long she spent with him, it would never be long enough.

  “Please excuse us, Sir Anselm.” Lord Bertram’s eyes glowed triumphantly in a most unattractive display of gloating at having robbed his enemy of his prize. With that, he led Miriam away to dance.

  She could not help but glance back over her shoulder. Poor Anselm. Standing there so alone in a swarm of swirling dancers, his eyes glinting with fury. A moment later and he was gone, striding from the great hall and out into the night, Percy and Hugh following close on his heels.

  When dawn finally arrived, Anselm had already been up for several hours.

  After a brief, fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of Miriam exchanging vows with some faceless lover, he gave up hope of gaining any proper rest. Instead, he exchanged his comfortable bed for a few hours soothing labor in the stable yard.

  How strange that he should seek, once again, the familiar solace of his former employment. Humble though the life of a stableman was, during times of strife, the regular rhythm of hard work never failed to console him.

  Anselm even beat the stable lads to their work. When they arrived, they found him in the middle of mucking out, but being a good-natured lot, they merely raised their eyebrows at one another and left him to it.

  After tending his own horses, Arion and Otto—the latter named after the headman of Nakarra who’d gifted him to Anselm upon leaving the village—he turned his attention to Percy’s two palfreys. Not only that, but during the course of the morning he’d also found time to rearrange the hayloft to his liking and restore the teetering, steaming muck heap to order.

  Predictably, Vadim was one of the first to arrive in the stable-yard, and he seemed quite taken aback to find Anselm there.