By Royal Command

by Laura Navarre

  This was unwise. She warned him away with a frown, which he ignored. At least she would see him and speak to him once more—although why that should suddenly seem important, she couldn’t fathom. Like a guardian angel, he appeared at her side.

  “My lady,” he said wryly, brows lifting. “I’ll bring you to the king.”

  Lightheaded with gratitude, she sank into a curtsey. Now he stood beside her as she faced down this whispering throng. Lithe and blazing in his ocher tunic, bronze torques gleaming at his wrists and throat, his hair on fire in the torchlight, he raked the hall with his Viking gaze and made the sea of bodies recede into insignificance. Eyes skewed toward him and flinched aside, as though his light blinded them.

  “’Tis good of you to attend me,” she murmured. “I didn’t expect it.”

  “Might as well finish the job, aye?” He charted them a course across the hall, circling a tangle of brawling dogs, and pitched his voice beneath the roar. “Well do I recall you in that gown. You wore it the night we met, and I was convinced you were a witch. Tonight you’ve bewitched this entire hall. They speak of nothing else.”

  “La! You say nothing to settle my nerves.” She wanted to know if he meant his casual flattery. She wanted to know a hundred things about what he thought and felt. But she would need all her wits for the trial before her. “All this honor for a disgraced relation is a thing I can’t comprehend. Have you heard any tidings of my would-be marriage?”

  “The keep is rife with it. But no man’s name is set above the others. Perhaps it’s all gossip and nothing more.”

  “I pray God that could be true,” she whispered.

  A red-faced villein jostled her as he passed. Eomond growled a warning and gripped her arm to steady her. “Be at ease. You’ve passed through all peril to safety here.”

  Safety? Is there such a thing in all the world for me?

  They had reached the high table. Before her reared a canopied chair, carved with a wyvern’s snarling jaws. Seated beneath it was her father.

  Don’t be so foolish! She felt faint. He was only her father’s brother—only Ethelred, the king of England. They’d always been like enough for twins. He’d changed little in four years, and softened not at all. Silver threaded his black beard and the mane curling around his shoulders. A few lines scored his saturnine features, bracketing full lips and heavy-lidded gray eyes. His eyes—for very life she couldn’t look into them.

  They said he was as vain of his own beauty as Lucifer. They said he’d ordered the death of his eldest son, merely because the boy was too ambitious.

  Katrin sank into her deepest curtsey, eyes on the floor, and held her position until he acknowledged her. From this submissive posture she felt those glittering eyes upon her, his attention laced with predatory interest.

  They said no woman living was safe in his presence.

  “So you have come at last.” His voice was beautiful, which she’d forgotten. They said when he sang in church, it made the very angels weep. “We are well pleased to have you in our keeping. Rise up so we may look upon your dear face.”

  Chills crawling down her spine, Katrin lifted a bland countenance to her liege. Aye, he is Eric of Grayhaven in the flesh. He is my father come again. For a dangerous moment she struggled, near to tears.

  She swallowed her fear and lied. “My dread lord, I’m pleased to serve at your convenience.”

  “Oh, no doubt,” he said softly, those somnolent eyes sweeping over her. He lifted a finger to beckon her. Dutifully she mounted the dais, leaving Eomond behind.

  Ethelred’s eyes shifted to his knight, going from warm to wintry. “And you, sword-theyn, are late to arrive. We’d begun to fear you would not come at all. All the same, you have our gratitude for bringing this dear lady. What reward will you ask of me?”

  “Serving you is reward enough, my liege.” Eomond bowed. She dared not look at him, though she sensed his solid presence like a wall at her back.

  “Nicely said.” The king smiled. “Nonetheless, you will accept this small token of our regard. Our kinswoman’s welfare is precious to us.” Sliding off a gold ring set with ruby, he laid it on the table.

  Eomond bowed again and retrieved the token. The king flicked his fingers in casual dismissal and his theyn melted into the crowd, leaving Katrin alone.

  She prayed he would dismiss her, as well. Yet, when she dared an upward glance, Ethelred was leaning forward, fixed on her with such intensity…she would almost call it longing, if she’d thought him capable of it.

  “Take your place here by our side. Your seat has been long vacant.”

  Heart sinking, she crossed behind him to take it, skin crawling at having to pass so close. A pair of guardsmen stood over him, pikes crossed. The fact that she hadn’t noticed the cruel weapons bore tribute to the king’s monumental menace. Of all the threats seen and unseen in this hall, he was the one to fear.

  To her horror, the king actually rose to assist her. The touch froze her heart—the hand of the man who’d slain her mother, as surely as if he’d wielded a blade to do it.

  At his signal, a horn sounded. With heaping platters, villeins converged on the table. The king’s squire carved from a platter of fat-marbled boar. Ethelred eyed the bloody offering laid across his plate without enthusiasm. Katrin accepted a slice of sole, though she had no appetite for it.

  The king watched with cold eyes. “Katrin, make your greeting to our honored guest, the dowager lady of Argent.”

  She raised her eyes to the elderly woman in the place of honor: an austere figure, gowned and wimpled in black. Sharp green eyes raked over her.

  “I give you good evening.” Katrin tried to sound as though she meant it.

  “So you’re Katrin of Courtenay. The king here says much of you.”

  “I can’t imagine he found much of interest to tell—”

  “Nay, you underplay yourself.” Courteously, Ethelred served her a slice of dripping boar from his own plate.

  “I understand you’re widowed.” The dowager studied Katrin.

  “Aye, for two years now.” The fish tasted like ashes in her mouth. Seeing her lack of appetite, the king beckoned a serving boy to heap the breaded dumplings called mortrews onto her plate.

  “Yet you have no children?” The dowager speared Ethelred with a sharp glance Katrin could not decipher.

  The sight of the mortrews was enough to turn her stomach. “My lord and I were not married long, and he was often away at war, or wounded.”

  “Indeed.” Ethelred sipped his wine. “The need to defend his borders drew Maldred from her side. I, for one, was perplexed by his neglect.”

  Even his charm made Katrin shudder, but the dowager merely lifted her brows. “So your husband’s to blame for your childless state?”

  “Why, I hardly know.” Maldred had always blamed her, but she would hardly say so. “’Tis God’s will, and not my place to question it.”

  Heat was rising in her cheeks, to discuss this intimate matter within earshot of a dozen strangers. But the dowager outranked them all, save for the queen, looking pale and queasy as she pushed a slab of boar around her plate.

  Ethelred nudged away his plate. “Katrin has always enjoyed excellent health. Isn’t that so, my dear?”

  “As you say, my dread lord.”

  “You’ve suffered neither pox nor pestilence?” the dowager asked.

  Katrin was tempted to ask if the woman wanted to count her teeth, but held on to her temper with both hands. “I had the pestilence two years ago. It killed my husband, but I survived.”

  Gently the king spoke. “The good folk of Argent suffered an epidemic of murrain not long ago—do you know it, Katrin? ’Tis the illness they call anthrax. Happily, through God’s grace the dowager’s son was spared.”

  Her son. Katrin’s heart n
early stopped. “Has your…your son come with you to court?”

  “Borovic?” The old woman looked surprised. “Nay, he’s in Argent. His lady is breeding. His first son, so he thought it best not to leave her.”

  Pale with relief, Katrin closed her eyes. Perhaps it was all naught but gossip, this business of her marriage. Appetite returning, she gestured for a slice of guinea hen. “My lord, you lay a sumptuous table. It’s long since I’ve eaten so well.”

  His heavy-lidded eyes flickered to her untouched plate. “No doubt you were all but fasting on the road. Was it a difficult journey? Come, entertain us with traveler’s tales.”

  Thankfully she set herself to this anodyne topic, praising Eomond’s performance in her defense. He should take credit, after all, for doing his duty so well. When the talk turned to other matters, she did nothing to draw attention.

  Beneath her lashes, she watched Eomond in the lower hall with Thorkell and a few others. He sat facing her, drinking and dicing, but she felt his keen gaze across the crowded hall. He hadn’t the subterfuge to hide where his eyes strayed.

  Every time she found him watching, her face heated. They were unseemly—the king’s niece at the high table and his theyn in the lower hall, and he stared at her like a man starving. She glanced away—only to find the king’s sleepy eyes upon her, a slight smile on his lips. She dared not look at Eomond again.

  After the meal came music, the skirl of lute and pipe and tambour. A few tables were stacked and some folk began dancing—a ring-dance, more vigorous than skillful.

  As she watched, the king leaned close. “We pride ourselves on the music at our court. The pope himself does not hear finer. I recall you are something of a musician yourself?”

  Katrin shot him a startled glance. Was there nothing the man did not know? “Before I was married, I amused myself with it. Truly, I’ve little skill.”

  “With the lute, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, my dread lord, but I’ve little leisure for it.”

  “Fie, that will never do! We must not allow such talent to lie fallow. We shall instruct our own bard to attend you. Does that not please you?”

  “My lord is generous.” She would be more than pleased to practice the music she loved, but she distrusted the motive behind this largesse.

  “The lute, you say.” The dowager cast him a sardonic glance. “Of course it would be the lute. She’s educated, I suppose?”

  “Aye, to my great good fortune.” She would not allow them to speak of her as though she were mute and witless. “I can read and write and cipher, in Latin as well as English. My mother was a great believer in the virtue of education for females.”

  “Aye,” Ethelred said softly. “Your mother. Well do I recall Goda of Grayhaven.”

  A cold smile curled within his beard, making her flesh creep. Why on earth had she been so foolish to remind him?

  Intimately, the king leaned toward her, shutting out the dowager. “In looks you are much like our brother’s wife. Indeed, you are almost Goda come again. And I am said to be very like your father. Do you suppose they see it in the two of us? Two lovers longing for a bed?”

  Katrin felt a sickening pitch and drop in her belly. He smiled tenderly. “Let us hope you are not so foolish as your mother. Indeed, you are a clever girl, to survive so much—famine, war, pestilence, even that pious fool of a husband. You have always done as I bid you. That is why we hold you so dear.”

  Beneath the table, her hands knotted into fists. Idly, he sipped his wine. Ruby eyes winked at her from the wyvern’s snarling face, worked in gold on his goblet.

  Suddenly, to her horror, Ethelred captured her chin and turned her toward him.

  “My lord?” she said faintly, struggling against revulsion.

  His eyes probed her, reading the emotions she sought to conceal. “Nay, you do not love me. Nor should you.” He smiled. “Until now, I have shown you little kindness. But you have pleased me tonight. Obey me and I will do well by you, for I can be generous as well as cruel. We can both profit by the arrangement I have in mind.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She steeled herself to remain pliant beneath his touch. How they must appear to those who watched—the king favoring his exiled niece with avuncular affection. The very notion turned her stomach.

  “Nay, I know you do not.” To her intense relief, he released her. “Not yet. But in time, my dear, we will come to understand each other very well indeed.”

  The king beckoned negligently, and Eomond sprang to his feet. Her heart thundered as he approached. What had her uncle observed?

  “Sword-theyn. Our lady wishes to make merry with the young folk.” The king arched his heavy brows. “We entrust her to your keeping, since you have done so well at it. She is precious to us—so guard her most carefully.”

  Eomond bowed, hair falling forward to obscure his features. If he was dismayed, he took care not to show it.

  Weak with relief, Katrin rose, eager to leave her uncle’s company.

  Unexpectedly, the king said, “Wait.”

  Again he removed a ring from his finger. “Take it and buy yourself some fine fabric, so you can be gowned as befits your beauty.” His gaze wandered, indifferent, already dismissing her. “Consider it a Yule gift from your doting uncle.”

  Chapter Nine

  Katrin shivered as they retreated from the king’s daunting presence. With every moment she spent in Eomond’s company, they risked betraying their secret. Indeed, the betrayal was as likely to come from her as from Eomond’s unguarded gaze.

  And why not? The thought stopped her in her tracks. A dazzling new strategy burst into life in her brain.

  Her uncle intended to marry her off, did he? Probably her suitor—or his surrogate—observed her even now. How better to convince him and every man present that she would make no suitable bride?

  “My lady?” Midway between the dais and the crowd’s protective cover, Eomond shot her a guarded look.

  “’Tis nothing.” Keenly aware of eyes upon them, she managed a faint smile. “I’m merely…ill at ease.”

  “My lady’s gone soft in the head,” he muttered. “How could you wish for more tender welcome than gave my lord’s grace?”

  “Tender? No doubt he would appear so—across the full length of his hall.”

  A lanky redhead jerked a hurried bow before them. “Good even, milady! Ye’ll never guess—”

  “Is that how you greet the king’s niece?” Eomond said sternly. “You’ll have to show more respect to your betters, lad, if you would advance at court.”

  Gulping, the lad Eahlstan swept her a bow so low his brow knocked against his knees.

  Stifling laughter, Katrin acknowledged him gravely. “Why should he wish to advance at court? He’ll return north with the others, won’t he? Indeed, I’ll send word of my safe arrival with him to Foresthold.”

  “Ye can send it with Wulf or Uhtred, milady.” The boy’s eyes shone. “Milord gave me a place with him. I’m to be his squire, and train for the cavalry.”

  Eomond frowned. “I trust you won’t give me cause to regret it. You shouldn’t approach the king’s niece in the common hall.”

  “Oh, but how should he approach me when we’re private? Marry, that’s like to cause more talk than the other.” Her voice dropped. “I’ve few enough friends at court. Pray don’t deprive me of those I can claim.”

  “You will not want for friends here.” The theyn eyed his squire. “Have you tended my saddle and gear as I told you? I’ll inspect your work before bed.”

  Chagrined, the lad apologized and retreated, his awkward frame ducking through the crowd.

  “Eomond, I trust you don’t intend to plunge the boy into battle at once. His leg has barely healed after his last such adventure.”

  “Y
ou can trust me to look after the lad. He’s safer under my eye than selling his sword in the market where I found him.”

  The heated crush of bodies enveloped them, dogs and children tangling underfoot. Eomond claimed a shielded spot, hidden behind a pillar from casual eyes—an intimacy that now suited her purpose. He placed a brimming cup in her hand and sat beside her, angling his sword out of the way.

  Before them the dancers whirled, jewel-bright figures parting and drawing together. The dragon-headed throne appeared and vanished in the crowd.

  Eomond pitched his voice low. “Be at ease, lady. There’s naught to harm you in your uncle’s court.”

  “Naught but my uncle.” Her interview with Ethelred had done nothing to reassure her; she would be fortunate indeed if it didn’t give her nightmares. “He did not go to the trouble and expense of summoning me merely to exchange Yule gifts. If he doesn’t intend to marry me off, he has some other purpose, which he’ll reveal when it suits him—and some purpose for throwing the two of us together.”

  “He charged me with your keeping, no more. He won’t see you unguarded, with so many strangers about.”

  His tone warned her to say nothing. Although she thought his stalwart allegiance misplaced, that he’d risen by his own efforts rather than the king’s generosity, Eomond would tolerate no word against his liege. She hadn’t persuaded him otherwise on the road, and she would do no better here in the king’s own hall.

  Sighing, she sipped the sweet wine. On the dais her uncle sat, idly nodding to the music. “He is late to retire. Is that his habit?”

  “Aye.” Eomond scooped a brimming cup from a passing tray. “He barely sleeps. ’Tis nothing strange for him to linger.”

  Perhaps the shade of his murdered brother haunts his sleep.

  Her attention shifted to a trio of giggling maids. They were playing some game that involved a kerchief tied around the eyes of one girl and a barrage of small mischiefs to plague the victim. One black-haired damsel, bolder than the rest, threw a coy glance at Eomond. He hoisted his cup courteously in her direction and drank.