The Princess and Her Pirate

by Lois Greiman

She said nothing, but listened as the final pieces of a puzzle fell into place.

  “Your enemies are strong, my dear,” he said, and patted her hand. “But your allies are many, and eager to risk their lives for you.”

  She nodded. “And who was it who killed the would-be assassin?” she asked.

  “That is the strangest truth yet,” he assured her excitedly. “For it seems Prince Edward of Romnia was visiting our city when he saw the gunman in the tower. ’Twas the prince himself who fired the shot that killed the wretched traitor.” He dropped his head and kissed her hand again. Tears? Were there tears in his eyes? “I owe him my very life.”

  “The prince saved my life?” she asked. It felt, almost, as if she were in a void, a deep chasm with steep walls and no air.

  “Yes. I believe it was an act of God.”

  Pieces of a strange, abstract puzzle seemed to fall into place like pebbles in a stream. “Yes,” she said. “Thank God and whatever unlikely coincidence brought him to that exact place at that exact moment.”

  “He is very concerned with your well-being, Your Majesty, and begs for an audience.”

  She glanced up at him. “And it would surely be rude to refuse him after all he has done.”

  “Shall I send him forth then, Your Majesty?”

  “Certainly,” she said.

  He kissed her hand again, then backed away at a crouch. The prince of Romnia entered only minutes later.

  He was as lanky and lackluster as she remembered from her childhood. She rose to her feet, extending her hand. “I am told I owe you my life, Prince Edward,” she said.

  He pursed his lips. They were very pale, but the bright circles of artificial color on his cheeks well made up for that lack. “You owe me nothing, Your Majesty,” he said, and bowing over her hand, kissed her knuckles exactly as Paqual had. She drew away as quickly as she could. “’Twas my duty and my honor as your ardent admirer.”

  She smiled. It seemed amazing that she could still do so on cue. “Tell me, Your Highness, what brought you to Sedonia?”

  “I heard there was a carnival on your fair shores.”

  “Have you no carnivals in Romnia?”

  His cheeks seemed to brighten under the ruse. “My ship needed to take on provisions.”

  She remained silent. He was a poor liar.

  “And…” he added, “I had business here in Skilan.”

  She almost closed her eyes to the ridiculousness. “So threefold reasons then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it was pure coincidence that put you at that exact spot at that exact moment?”

  His lips opened and closed for the briefest moment. “I believe it was an act of God,” he said.

  “Yes.” She glanced toward the window. “God must be very bored.”

  Nicol poured himself a bit of sherry with his left hand. His right arm was bound up against his chest. The bandage looked starkly white against the dark skin of his neck.

  Tatiana watched him. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  He pulled his gaze from the window, saluted her with the glass and drank the contents. “Only when I’m not drunk.” He sounded even more jaded than she remembered, and far more tired.

  “Did you find the girl?”

  “Birgit?”

  Tatiana nodded.

  “No,” he said. His voice was slightly slurred. Perhaps he was already drunk. “I believe now that she did not disappear into the crowd as I suspected, but hid beneath the carriage.” He chuckled a little, as if amused by some dark humor she did not understand and lifted his glass in a sort of salute. “I will not find her.” He gazed out the window. “Not Megs.”

  She felt herself go cold. “Megs?” she said. “Her name was Megs?”

  Nicol glanced up at her sharp tone, then shrugged his hale shoulder. “’Tis hard to say exactly. She seemed to have a host of names. The more I learned of her the less I knew.”

  “You said she was a barmaid. ’Tis what you told me.”

  “Aye, ’tis what she said at first—when I caught her nip-ping my pockets.”

  It seemed as if the world was spinning slowly off course. Her counterpart, the girl she had put on her throne, was a pickpocket, and not just any pickpocket, but the very lass who had stolen MacTavish’s brooch. “She stole from you, Nicol? You put a thief on my throne?”

  He glanced at her, and for a moment a fraction of his usual levity shone in his eyes. “A very clever thief, Anna. Not only could she steal a pocket watch in a moment’s time, but she can deceive with the barest effort.” A shadow crossed his features, but he shrugged it away. “And she was beaut…” He stopped himself, but his gaze remained on her face. “You must admit, she looked astoundingly like you. I can’t help but believe that you would be much alike in the same situation. But I am sorry.” He paused. “I should not have put you in such a situation, though I admit, I hoped you would learn the value of the common man.”

  “You are an amazing person, Nicol,” she said. “A viscount who is also a champion of the people.”

  For a moment she thought he would argue, but he did not. Instead, he raised his glass in a sort of toast. “Aye,” he said, “a viscount and a champion. What an unlikely combination.”

  She frowned at him, and he grinned.

  “You would have liked her, Anna, had you known her. Whether she was a thief or a countess.”

  Perhaps Tatiana would have argued six months ago. But now…“So she is free,” she said.

  His mouth quirked slightly, as though he knew her meaning, but would not address it. “I won’t find her,” he said. “Not unless she wishes to be found.” He filled his glass again. “And since she has your crown and half the royal jewels, there’s little enough for her to return for.”

  Something about his tone caught her attention. Or was it the cast of his eyes? “Are you in love with her, Nicol?”

  He raised his brows. “Since when did you begin wondering about others, Anna?”

  The room went silent. “Have I been so selfish?”

  He laughed, but the sound was empty. “Yes, you have.”

  She nodded, thinking far more than she cared to think. “I will be choosing a husband soon.”

  He was watching her carefully. She was just as careful to let nothing show on her face.

  “What do you know of the prince of Romnia?” she asked.

  “Ahh, Prince Edward.” He drank again. “Let me think. He plays the lute like an angel, I am told. Oh, and I’ve heard he dances divinely.”

  She watched him for a moment. “And have I been that shallow?”

  His dark eyes were somber, and maybe, behind the bored veneer, there was sadness, desperation even.

  “No,” he said, “you have not.”

  “Then tell me what you know of him.”

  He watched her for several seconds, and for that same span of time, it seemed he could read her thoughts, her doubts, her fears. “He couldn’t shoot a pigeon out of his own ear without a cannon and a full battalion.”

  “Luck is a strange phenomenon at times,” she said.

  “And rarely seen in such astounding proportions.”

  “Then who shot the would-be assassin?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “Can you find out?”

  He nodded without hesitation.

  “And can you learn who told the prince to be there at that precise moment?”

  He settled himself into a chair. “Your time away has made you suspicious.”

  “As I said, I will be choosing a husband soon.”

  “And you would know whom to trust.”

  “Or at least whom to distrust the least.”

  He smiled a little, that roguish grin that was his alone. “MacTavish—” he began, but she cut him off in an instant.

  “Not MacTavish.”

  The smile disappeared and his dark eyes narrowed slightly. “What did he do to you, Anna?”

  She didn’t answer immediately and he rose slowly,
setting his drink aside. He was lean and handsome, dark of skin and hair, and as elegant as a Venetian waltz, but there was something in his eyes that made him seem suddenly dangerous. Her Nicol. Perhaps she didn’t know him so well as she thought. Perhaps she didn’t know anyone.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said and turned abruptly away so she couldn’t see the emotions she failed to control. “But he is not interested in…” She caught herself and straightened. “The match would not be in Sedonia’s best interests.”

  “Sedonia’s best interests.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what does Sedonia need, Anna? A king with half your wit and none of your strength.”

  “It needs a king who can better my people’s lot.”

  He watched her carefully. “What did MacTavish—”

  “I do not think it is your place to question me, Nicol.”

  “Nay, that would be a husband’s place,” he said. “If he had the nerve. MacTavish seems the type—”

  She interrupted him quickly. “I am asking for your help,” she said. “Will you give it?”

  “Help.” He watched her too closely. She held his gaze with some effort. “Aye,” he said. “I will help you. I will always help you, whether you want it or not.”

  Chapter 31

  “M y lord.” Peters bowed perfunctorily. His face was pale and solemn, his eyes wide. “It is good to have you home.”

  Cairn grunted as he pushed past his lieutenant. His mood was blacker than hell.

  “What’s wrong?” Burr’s tone sounded no more congenial, and Peters stiffened even more.

  “I fear we’ve had a bit of trouble here at Westheath, my lord.”

  “Trouble?” Burr rumbled.

  Peters swallowed. “Some days past, Maid Carolyn thought she saw Wheaton in the village.”

  Cairn’s spine stiffened. He waited.

  “We tried to follow him, but he was gone. Like a shadow really.”

  “But all is well?” Burr asked. “No one was injured?”

  “No…” Peters said, but the single word was uncertain. “No one was injured…so far as we know.”

  Burroun’s scowl deepened. “What the devil does that mean?”

  Cairn would not have thought the man could get paler. He would have been wrong again. Damn!

  “The lass called Gem…” Peters paused. Silence fell like a cannonball into the room, and in that silence, Burr stepped forward and grasped the lieutenant by the front of his tunic.

  “What about Gem?”

  “She’s gone, my lord.”

  “Gone!”

  “Aye. One of the serving maids thought she heard something in your chambers, my lord. But when she checked, no one was there. Still…” He paused again.

  Burr shook him like a rat. “Still, what?”

  “She felt as if she were being watched.”

  “Watched?”

  “Aye. Then later Cormick thought he saw the shadow of a man in the hallway near the girl’s room. We kept a guard there all the while and one below the nearest window, but when we checked…” He swallowed again. “She was gone.”

  Burr let the man’s feet settle onto the floor. A muscle ground in his jaw. “Was she forced? Or did she go of her own accord?”

  “I do not know, my lord.”

  “When was this?” Cairn asked.

  “Two days past.”

  “And you’ve searched for her?”

  “Aye, my liege. We have searched diligently. But we’ve found no sign. Neither of her nor Wheaton.”

  Burr was atypically silent.

  “But no one was hurt?” Cairn asked.

  “No, my lord.” There was another pause.

  Burr reached for him again. Peters stepped back. “But Lord Burroun’s stallion is gone.”

  The Norseman’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he turned like a man of steel and left the room.

  It was some days later that Cairn found Burr in the kitchen. The Norseman had been gone since the night of their return from Sedonia, but he had not found the girl called Gem. Nor had they seen any sign of Wheaton. Just now Burr was sitting alone on a stool near a thick slab table and didn’t turn at the sound of his lord’s approach.

  Instead, he emptied his tankard and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. In the giant hearth behind him, embers still glowed bright. A red-cored faggot popped and sizzled. The scent of cinnamon and cloves was heavy in the warm air.

  “Burroun,” Cairn said, and pulled up a stool next to his. “I’ve no wish to spoil your fun, but I have to tell you, you’re not a drinking man.”

  Burr shrugged. “I believe you’re wrong there, lad, but reality’s a bit blurrier every minute.” He refilled his tankard and drank again.

  Cairn watched him a moment, then sat down. “Give me that,” he said, and took the mug from the giant’s hand. It was not Westheath’s best brew, but he finished it in a moment and set the tankard aside. “Damn them,” he said quietly.

  Burr turned toward him with slow deliberation. “Them?” he asked.

  “You think you’re the only one who’s been wronged, Norseman?”

  A muscle worked in Burr’s jaw. “She took me steed,” he said, and nodded. “The one thing she knew I valued.”

  Cairn shrugged. “She wished to escape. It only makes sense. You’d do the same yourself.”

  Burr glowered into his empty mug. “She doesn’t ride.”

  “Maybe Wheaton took the horse, forced her to go with him.”

  He paled for a moment and his fist tightened around the mug, but he shook his head finally. “More likely she told him just what steed was mine. More likely they’re laughing over tales of an oversized Viking who—” He ground his teeth and filled the mug again. “I’d have thought I was too old to be made a fool by a scrap of a thing like her.”

  “Someone once told me that all men are fools where women are concerned.”

  Burr snorted a laugh. “He sounds like a fool.”

  “Better a fool than a liar,” Cairn said, and, grabbing a new mug from the table, poured himself a full cup.

  “Shut the hell up,” Burr rumbled.

  Cairn drank. “Some might think it unwise to speak like that to one’s laird.”

  “And some would be an arse,” Burr said. “And a dolt.”

  “Are you implying something in your own subtle way, Burr?”

  “Aye,” the Norseman growled, and leaned close. “I’m implying that you’re an arse and a dolt.”

  Cairn drank thoughtfully. “Any particular reason?”

  Burr rolled a jaundiced eye at him. “Because she’s gone.”

  “And you blame her disappearance on me?”

  “Who else? You’re the damned laird.”

  “And you were in love with her.”

  “In love w—” Burr began, but he stopped himself immediately and paled just a little. “It could be that you are the stupidest creature ever to walk the face of the earth.”

  Cairn shrugged. It was possible. In the past few days he had come to a similar conclusion.

  “The lass is gone, sent away by your own hand, and you don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

  “Tatiana.” He said the name slowly, trying it out on his tongue. It fit her so damnably well.

  “Aye. Tatiana,” Burr said. “The princess of Sedonia.”

  Cairn felt his muscles tighten up one by one. “She lied.”

  Silence fell softly into the room.

  “Do you miss her, lad?”

  “Miss her! ’Twas the same thing Lady Nedra asked. Nay, I don’t miss her! She was—”

  “And you do not lie,” Burr interupted. “Is that your point?”

  Cairn stared into his beer. There wasn’t nearly enough. “A princess…” He choked a laugh. “Hardly do I need another fine lady to ruin me life.”

  “Clearly you can do the job well enough on your own,” Burr said.

  “Huh!” Cairn chortled.
“Look at who’s calling the donkey an arse.”

  Burr nodded rumatively. “Aye,” he said. “You might well say so, lad, for I have made a host of mistakes. I left her alone here, and said she was safe in my—” He drank again. “I, too, visited Lady Nedra where she assists in the infirmary. But even she cannot guess where the lass has gone, though she has an uncanny way about her.” He snorted a laugh. “The girl would have been better in the care of an old woman than in mine. She should not have come here. Should not have trusted…” He paused and emptied his tankard. “Aye, I made me own mistakes, but I would right them if I could.”

  “What are you saying, old man?”

  Burr turned on him with a snarl. “I’m saying you’re sitting here like a sack of moldy meal when you should be setting sail for Sedonia this very minute.”

  Cairn’s throat tightened like a knot. The past three days were a blur of vague, unnamed agony. He could not seem to breathe properly, could not function. But she had lied from the start, and the truth had revealed a truth even worse than he had dreaded. She was not just some grand lady, capable of deception. She was a princess, bred to manipulate, born to betray. And yet…leaving her behind…watching her country fade into the mist had been…He winced. But perhaps Burr was right. Perhaps there was a way to right the wrongs, to fill the emptiness where his soul had been. Perhaps…Hope bloomed like wild orchids in his chest, but old wounds gnawed at him, crushing the blossoms.

  “She’s a liar and a noblewoman,” he said. “Just like Eliz—”

  Burr slammed down his mug. The table shook, but the Norseman failed to notice as he leaned toward his laird. “She’s a fucking saint for not killing you when she had a chance, you lackwit. And you’re too much the coward to admit it.”

  “I don’t mind you calling me a lackwit,” Cairn said. “But I don’t care to be called a coward.”

  Burr straightened slowly. “Don’t you now?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then you can admit the truth?”

  “And what truth is that, old man?”

  “That she was naught but good for you.”

  “Good—”

  “Aye. She opened your eyes, lad. You were all but dead before she came along.”

  “I had Wheaton in my grasp before she came along.”