Princess in a Strange New Land

by Linda Skye

  Despite herself, Akna’s heart skipped a beat. He was so tall, so broad and so…close. She could sense the heat radiating from his chest and feel his warm breath as he spoke. Her lashes fluttered of their own accord, and she cursed the man half-heartedly. For here was a man who had started with condescension and yet proceeded to banter with her as an equal, trading insult for insult without true malice. And by the gods of earth, was he ever handsome! Akna had never seen such a man, neither in Labrador nor in England. Though she was tall, he was taller. He had a wide, strong chest and a trim waist, and she could see the bulges of his muscles as he moved. This was no English dandy; no, here was a man’s man, a rough-and-tumble warrior disguised as a courtier. And when he lifted her hand for a kiss, his hooded eyes spoke volumes of sensuality and dark passion. She prayed that he had not noticed the flush that rose from her breast to her chin.

  “Shall I give you the grand tour of this civilised mass of people, Lady Akna?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “By all means.”

  As he began to lead her to another part of the hall, Akna steeled her heart. She would have to tread carefully with this man, she told herself sternly. For it was obvious that he was not only skilled in the battles of men—he was also adept at waging the war of hearts.

  Chapter Two

  The hall was swathed in warm candlelight, and the golden light sparkled and danced in the prisms of the hundreds of jewels and crystals that swung from towering candelabras. The king had ordered an impressive display of pomp: a royal dinner party. The servants had decked the hall with the richest decorations, and the cooks had prepared the most decadent displays of food. Only the most important aristocrats had been invited to the special dinner, and they were seated along a line of rich mahogany tables adorned with innumerable platters of richly presented delicacies. A few places down from the king and his most important retainers sat the Inuit delegation. The elders, along with Akna, sat stiffly in their regal seats, their eyes roving disbelievingly over the mountains of exotic dishes. Sir John Frederick sat at Akna’s right, his eyes carefully gauging her reaction to the lavish celebration.

  The nobles began to heap food onto their gilded plates, and the Inuit elders politely picked at a few dishes and began to nibble—but Akna remained stiff and unmoving, her eyes still wide. There was just so much. And so oddly prepared, as well. Her eyes darted from a silver pedestal so filled with fruit that it cascaded down like a waterfall to a platter filled with fowl that had been roasted and arranged into a sculpture of some mythical creature. Her stomach gurgled in response to the tantalising smells, but her eyes told her that food should not be treated in such a way.

  “My lady,” John said, interrupting her thoughts, “are you not hungry?”

  “To be sure,” she answered, blinking slowly. “But I cannot discern what is to be eaten and what is to be looked at.”

  “Do you not have feasts in your village?”

  “Indeed,” Akna said, turning to meet his eyes. “We celebrate with food—but we do not eat to such excess. And I have never seen such…amazing arrangements.”

  John pulled a dish of roasted chicken pie closer to them. He broke into the flaky crust with his heavy silver spoon and lifted out a small portion, depositing it on her plate. He gestured to the creamy chicken filling and the beautifully browned pastry that topped it.

  “And what, may I ask, dear lady,” he said, “displeases you about this beautiful dish?”

  Akna delicately speared a chunk of chicken with her fork and placed it in her mouth, her lips caressing the tines of the silver utensil as she savoured the delectable morsel. Then she carefully set her fork down and once again met John’s eyes.

  “Well, my lady?” John asked.

  “Sir Frederick,” Akna replied, her melodic voice unwavering. “I find the taste very pleasing, indeed. However, it is not the ingredients that I find unnatural. It is the presentation.” She gestured to the strange meat sculptures. “Why is it important to make ducks look like dragons?”

  “It is interesting to the eye, and it shows the skill of the cooks who made it,” John said, shrugging.

  “Perhaps,” Akna said. “But can you honestly tell me that all this food is necessary?

  “The king wants to show his generosity.”

  “But,” Akna said, wrinkling her nose at the sight of nobles pushing mouthful after mouthful of juicy meat past their lips, “will we be able to consume all this food?”

  “Well,” John said, slightly taken aback, “no.”

  “Exactly, Sir Frederick,” Akna said with a nod. “In our village, we frown upon such waste.”

  Despite his misgivings about the Inuit delegation, John could not deny the sense in her speech. It was true that he also viewed the excesses of court with disdain after he had lived a life of meagre rations in the navy. It was no doubt wasteful and perhaps foolish, but still, it showed off creativity and talent.

  “True, the waste is a shameful practice,” John conceded. “But can you not appreciate the skill involved?”

  “Perhaps other outlets for creativity would be more appropriate?” Akna quipped, taking another bite. “We frown upon the wasting of precious resources.”

  “Such harsh criticism!” John exclaimed, bending as if wounded, but with a wry smile on his face. “However, you cannot deny the skill of the English! Waste has made us experiment. We have built castles and great ships and armies. We have explored the world and brought technology across the oceans. What has your tribe accomplished that can compare?”

  Akna smiled, a baring of teeth that promised a verbal battle. Finally, she thought, she had found someone willing to trade honest information.

  “We live at peace with our land,” she countered. “You exploit it until there is nothing left.”

  “We make the most out of every situation,” John said, shrugging. “How else would we achieve greatness?”

  “That depends on your definition of greatness,” Akna was quick to reply. “Is it a sign of greatness to impose your ways on other cultures?”

  “Why not?”

  “Then why have we been invited here? Surely your king would not have invited us if he did not see our value.”

  “As entertainment, perhaps?”

  John said the words without menace, but the instant they left his mouth he wished he could take them back. He had meant to pique and tease, but he could see that he had struck the wrong chord with his guest.

  Akna had paled, her eyes sparking in fury. She’d warned her father about this when trying to dissuade him from visiting Britain. She’d feared they’d see her people as nothing more than entertainment, an amusement to fill their time. But they were so much more than that. She clenched her fists as she gritted her teeth, then forced her voice to remain low and controlled as she replied.

  “You assume too much, Sir Frederick,” she hissed. “And do you think that I don’t know that we are here as entertainment to satisfy your king’s curiosity for the exotic? Do you think such a status pleases us? Do you think we even had a choice?” Angry tears shone in her eyes, and she stood suddenly. “Please excuse me.”

  John reached out, catching her by the wrist. He tugged gently, and Akna glared down, only to see the chagrin written plainly on his face.

  “My apologies, my lady Akna,” John said, his tone contrite. “I spoke out of turn and without thought to your personal circumstances. Please sit, my lady.”

  Akna slowly sank back into her seat, her eyes wary. John’s fingers lingered on her wrist, his eyes searching her face. Confusion clouded his expression as he struggled to come to terms with his understanding of the young woman.

  “Why do you all hate my people so?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

  “I am a man of war,” John explained, his large hand covering hers under the table. “I am not a man of polite words. And besides, I have never had the chance to properly converse with one of yours, much less with a woman like yourself.”

  “Bu
t all warriors can be this way,” Akna countered. “Why do you disdain us in particular?”

  John glanced away, his features darkening in remembrance.

  “Bloody battle is one thing,” he murmured in a haunted whisper. “But I watched a native warrior take a blade to a fallen man’s head to peel away his scalp like the skin of ripe fruit. Would you not see this as barbaric?”

  “It is,” Akna conceded, her fingers unconsciously squeezing his. “But this is not the way we all behave. And also, you must understand how much suffering has been wrought upon our continent because of your diseases and your obsession with wealth.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “How would you feel if I told you all Englishmen and women are stuffy, preening fools?”

  “I would tell you that you do not know us all,” John admitted.

  “It is the same with us,” Akna said with a curt nod. “We are not all thirsty for revenge and violence, just as you are not all wasteful peacocks.”

  “Your words humble me, my lady,” John said with a rueful smile.

  He lifted Akna’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Akna flushed and pulled her hand away, cradling it gingerly. John grinned devilishly. For all her proud words and keen observations, the Inuit princess was still as shy as an innocent debutante. He decided to press his one advantage.

  “So,” he began slyly, “how did you come to understand our language so well? An English lover, perhaps?”

  Akna’s blush deepened.

  “No,” she said, her fingers returning to her fork. “I was simply the voice of our people for the traders.”

  “And have you been pledged to a man of your tribe?” John needled, enjoying the spread of a rosy blush up her neck.

  “I was,” she admitted. “But I am not anymore.”

  “Was the man not to your liking?” He paused. “Or were there others who were more…satisfying?”

  “He was a good man and a strong warrior,” Akna replied stiffly. “But he was unimaginative and unwilling to widen his horizons. And you, sir, certainly ask personal questions.”

  “I only mean to get to know you better, Lady Akna,” John said with a roguish grin.

  “Well, you are just as the rumours say.”

  “Which are?”

  “That you are very free with your affections, and that you entertain numerous lovers.” She raised a slender brow. “So perhaps I should be the one asking about your ability to satisfy.”

  “Lies,” John said without pause, a playful smirk hovering on his lips. “Though it is true that I’ve had a number of lovers at court.”

  “And why then have you not selected one as your wife?” Akna asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. “Surely there has been one worthy to carry your name.”

  “Your naivety is refreshing, Lady Akna,” John replied dryly. “But I have not met a court woman yet who is after love.”

  “So then,” Akna asked with a frown, “what are they after?”

  “Status and riches,” John answered. “You will quickly learn that noblewomen wield their bodies as weapons in order to gain titles and wealth. I have known no woman here who was as true and as sweet as she made herself out to be.”

  “Is there a fiancée, perhaps?” Akna teased.

  His mind wandered for a moment. Before he’d left on his first naval voyage, he had been engaged—to a noble lady of extreme beauty and with a keen wit. He had been madly in love with her, only to have his hopes cruelly dashed to pieces when he discovered she’d been consorting with other men in his absence. When confronted, she’d pled and begged. But when his forgiveness had not been easily given, she’d shrugged and told him in a cold voice that she’d only wanted him for his title anyway. That woman had fooled him well—so well that he’d vowed never to trust another woman again.

  “Yes,” John replied stiffly. “A fiancée who did not love me. Or rather, she only loved my fortunes.”

  “Ah, so you trust no one,” Akna said, her words painfully true yet also gently said. “I see. But yet you indulge anyway?”

  “Why not?” John said with a shrug. Then, leaning in and placing his palm on her knee, he said, “But surely you are not interested in my title or my wealth.”

  “Surely not!” Akna exclaimed.

  “Well then, in the interests of intercultural communication,” John said teasingly, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, “shall we…explore?”

  “Why explore?” Akna rejoined cheekily. “You cannot possibly have anything to gain, and you have nothing I want.”

  “You wound me,” John said, covering his heart in feigned hurt.

  “Rubbish,” Akna scoffed with a smirk. “Your ego is much too large to be injured by the rejection of a simple savage.”

  “Now, now,” John said with a suggestive waggle of his brows. “Surely there is something about me that you might want. And for your information, my ego is not the only thing that is larger than most. And I can promise you hours of…entertainment.”

  Akna laughed, a rosy glow to her cheeks and a sharp retort ready on her lips. They continued to exchange witty barbs over the course of dinner, their animosity forgotten and replaced with banter void of any note of bitterness. John lavished Akna with warm, sultry smiles, which only earned him playful rebuffs and quips. John relaxed in her company, refreshed by her disdain for manipulation and social climbing and intrigued by her unique world view. He found their repartee exhilarating, and she was truly a creature of wild beauty when she met him in verbal sparring. Perhaps, John thought to himself as he admired the fire in her dark eyes, the next few weeks would be exciting after all.

  Chapter Three

  “I do not like it,” Akna declared stubbornly.

  “But it suits you so well,” John protested, chuckling.

  “How so?” she demanded.

  “The material is stiff, and the colour is dark,” John explained frankly. “Would you not say these are qualities that describe your personality perfectly?”

  “How dare you!” Akna seethed, spinning around to pin him with a glare. “Perhaps you should be the one to put this dress on, you stiff-necked soldier!”

  “On the contrary, my lady,” he said, stepping just out of her reach. “I am as limber and light-hearted as any man could be. Perhaps you would care for a demonstration?”

  Akna flushed and turned again, clenching her hands into tight fists. John only continued to chuckle as he retook his seat. The seamstress and her assistant glanced at each other and rolled their eyes heavenward. The diplomatic party of Inuit had been at the king’s country estate for a little over a week, but their young delegate, Akna, and the king’s representative, Sir Frederick, did nothing but bicker their way through the grounds like quarrelling school children. Everyone seemed amazed that the king did nothing to intervene, simply watched with an amused tilt to his lips as they traded barbed jibes while striding though his halls. Nobles always edged away from the pair at parties, worried that the savage would erupt into violence at any minute. But if anyone had dared to look closer, it would be obvious that the two opposites were secretly enjoying their saucy banter.

  “I want to take it off,” Akna muttered discontentedly.

  She shifted uncomfortably under the thick silk, unaccustomed to the tight, unyielding fit.

  “Well,” John piped up from behind, “don’t you think you ought to wait until the seamstress has left before you shed your clothing?”

  Her face flamed attractively and she turned on her heel once more, her eyes daggers. John smirked appreciatively. She was ever so interesting when she was alight with passion—even if it was ferocious anger directed at him.

  “Perhaps you should be the one to leave, Sir Frederick,” she said, jabbing an angry finger at him.

  “And miss the show?” John shrugged. “I think not. And I believed we’d agreed upon John, not Sir Frederick.”

  “You are missing the point, John,” she said, slurring his name and tugging self-consciously at her sleeve. “I do not belong in thi
s dress.”

  “But you do look stunning,” said the seamstress’s assistant suddenly in a quiet, admiring voice.

  Akna turned slowly, levelling the mousy maid with a stare that dared her to laugh. The young woman stepped forward, her hands gesturing shyly.

  “You look so refined,” she explained, her voice an awed whisper. “I’ve never seen any lady look so regal in that style or in that colour of dress.”

  “Surely, you jest,” Akna said disbelievingly.

  “No, my lady,” the seamstress said, slowly climbing to her feet from where she was pinning the hem. “The girl does not lie. This dress brings out your natural beauty, though I’ll warrant it’s not so comfortable.”

  Akna’s cheeks blossomed as she cautiously took in their words. John looked on in amusement. Though he teased her incessantly, no one could deny that the young woman looked every inch like an exotic queen. Instead of the gaudy brocade usually worn by court women, the seamstress had chosen to swathe Akna in blue-and-silver silk, colours that shimmered in the light like ice and set off the toffee tone of her skin. It had a dangerously low oval neckline that bared her slim shoulders. The tightly laced bodice pushed up her pert bosom and was a dramatic contrast to the flare of the voluminous skirts. The seamstress had indeed chosen well.

  “A fine job, lady seamstress,” John said, standing. “Now let us see if the savage can be tamed by fine clothing.”

  “Very well, Sir Frederick,” the seamstress said, brushing the dust from her skirts. “But mind the hem of her skirts. I haven’t stitched them permanently yet.” She paused to eye him critically. “And mind you don’t crinkle the fabric.”

  “Why address me as if I am the savage?” John said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

  “A savage man, you are, Sir Frederick,” the seamstress muttered under her breath as she ambled away. “Ask any scullery maid or beautiful lady.”

  John chuckled and took Akna by the elbow, leading her from the boudoir and into the stone corridors. Akna peered at him through narrowed eyes as they wandered the castle. They slowly made their way toward the open courtyards, the stone corridors gradually widening into covered walkways.