by Betina Krahn
“Well, it was hardly by choice!” she declared, thinking how to explain, while still trying to escape Saxxe’s hold. “As we left Nantes, we were set upon by . . . rogue soldiers. Countess Lillith and I were separated from Captain Pernaud and the rest of our escort,” she said, avoiding the disturbing details of her numerous abductions. Her words unleashed gasps and murmurs through the crowd. “This . . . barbarian . . . agreed to escort us home and I was . . . he was merely . . .” She scrambled for words, trying to decide how to explain their shocking position without revealing that she had been trying to escape her resulting debt to him.
“Nay, I did more than agree to escort her home!” Saxxe’s deep voice boomed out as he took up the tale himself. “I rescued her . . . from an army of pillaging mercenaries.” Cedric and the other elders started at the force of his voice and edged back a step.
Saxxe’s shock at learning Thera was a princess had momentarily eclipsed his anger at her desertion. But it came flooding back to him as she issued a ringing dismissal of him as a barbarian. After he had feared and fought for her, made pleasure for her, and brought her home safely, she turned haughty and arrogant and royal with a vengeance.
“She owes me a sizable debt for saving her,” he declared defiantly. “And I’ll not leave here until I have the reward I was promised!”
“Cedric!” She turned to her adviser, frantic to be rid of Saxxe and praying that his greed was greater than his desire for vengeance. “Send straightaway to the treasury and bring two hundred silver groats in traveling pouches . . . so that he may be on his way.” She had just doubled her highest offer to him, and now held her breath to see if he would accept it.
Two hundred silver groats. More money than he could count . . . more than he could even imagine, Saxxe realized. His lifeblood had been poured out on foreign battlefields for a few deniers, and she was offering him two hundred silver groats. A small fortune. Enough to buy a dream.
His legs began to tremble. He looked around at that sea of curious, bright-eyed faces, then lifted his gaze to the inviting little city in the distance. His arrogant, pampered demoiselle was not just a noblewoman; she was a princess. That fact explained a great deal. And it also widened the personal gulf between them to vast proportions.
Just then, loud voices came from behind them, and Saxxe turned Thera partway to find Lillith and Gasquar tussling toward the center of the crowd. “Let me go, you disgusting brute—”
Gasquar had Lillith by the wrists, and she was hissing like a cat caught in a rain barrel. When she glimpsed Thera, she made a last valiant twist in Gasquar’s hand and wrenched free. She rushed toward her mistress, but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Saxxe’s arms around Thera and the shock on the elders’ faces.
Lillith’s arrival had given Saxxe another moment to think. All he had to do was let it happen. Hard silver coin. Wasn’t that exactly what he had always wanted? Now, somehow, it didn’t seem enough.... Before he could completely sort it out, he heard Thera repeating her order, and saw the one she called Cedric bow and turn away. And though he still held her bodily, he somehow felt her slipping away.
“Nay.” The booming sound of his own voice startled him. “Silver was not our bargain. And your lady knows it.”
A storm of confusion swirled through the crowd as Cedric turned back to Thera with surprise. “Is this so, Princess?”
“We discussed silver,” she insisted hotly, wresting about in Saxxe’s arms to glare at him. “Two hundred is more than generous, considering the service rendered. Go, Cedric,” she commanded.
“Stay, Cedric!” Saxxe countered in an even louder voice.
The chancellor stood rooted to the spot and cast a glance at his fellow elders, whose expressions mirrored his own shock at the way the fellow handled their princess bodily and presumed to countermand her orders.
“Well, then, if I may be so bold . . .” Cedric addressed Saxxe directly. “Just what did Princess Thera promise you?”
Saxxe pinned Thera with a vengeful smile and declared boldly: “Three nights of pleasure!” And he braced for an explosion.
None came. The common folk, the blue-clad elders, and Cedric all just stared at him, unmoving, unblinking . . . as if unable to believe their ears.
“Three nights of pleasure,” Saxxe repeated firmly, adding, “with her.”
In any other kingdom in the known world, Saxxe knew, such a claim would elicit an order for his arrest, a blade challenge, or at the very least a punishing blast of fatherly outrage. Thus, he was understandably confused when Cedric roused from shock, glanced anxiously at the rest of the group of elders, then inched forward with an expression of intense concern.
“Only three nights?” he asked.
Saxxe stared at the little fellow. “Yea. It was three nights,” he answered. Cedric crept even closer, ignoring Thera’s high-pitched groan of outrage.
“Three. Not four or six or . . . seven?” Cedric ignored her sputters to focus fiercely on Saxxe’s response.
“Nay, I have said three was our bargain,” Saxxe insisted, bewildered by the fact that Cedric and the others seemed more relieved than outraged, and more concerned with the number of nights than with the passion they implied. When Cedric turned to Lillith for confirmation, Saxxe’s jaw loosened.
“Countess . . . is this true?” the chancellor demanded. “The princess has promised this fellow three nights with her?”
Lillith lowered her gaze to avoid Thera’s and answered so quietly that the contingent of elders had to lean forward with their ears cupped in order to hear.
“Upon my vow . . . it is true. She has indeed promised him three nights.”
Cedric looked a bit pained, tugged the neck of his tunic with a pudgy finger, and cleared his throat. “Well, then.” The weight of his chancellor’s responsibilities settled heavily on his shoulders, rounding them. “There is naught for us to do but welcome you as our guests until our princess’s debt is settled.”
“Guests? In my palace?” Thera finally succeeded in pushing free of Saxxe’s slackening hold and backed away, glaring at him as if he possessed horns and a long red tail. “And what if I re—”
She caught back the rest of that shameful notion before it was fully out. It wasn’t possible for her to refuse. It was a matter of royal honor now. Her people would be mortified to learn that the thought of breaking her royal pledge had even crossed her mind. She was caught . . . trapped by her own word.
Ever the soul of courtesy, Cedric introduced himself with a bow—“Cedric of Cyan, Chancellor of Mercia, chief adviser to Her Highness Thera of Aric, Crown Princess of Mercia”—then began to introduce the dignitaries behind him. “These are the elders of Mercia: Elder Fenwick, Elder Audra, Elder Mattias . . .” By the time he reached “Countess Lillith, whom, I believe, you already know,” Thera’s temper was at a slow boil and Saxxe was hearing only one word in three.
The little chancellor and the others behaved as if they expected Thera to actually honor her outrageous debt to him, Saxxe realized. He slid his hand to his dagger and searched the crowd for soldiers or guardsmen who might be summoned to cart him off to imprisonment. But he saw nothing more ominous than an occasional scowl in the crowd, and released his blade hilt in furious confusion.
What the hell kind of place was this?
Chapter Twelve
A very odd sort of place, Saxxe learned shortly, as Cedric and the elders dismissed the crowd, then escorted their princess’s party into the city. The streets were wide enough for several horsemen to ride abreast and were paved with flat slabs and cobblestones. There wasn’t an open gutter, a heap of rotting garbage, or a pile of animal dung to be seen anywhere. The houses and shops, owing to their thick stone walls, stood straight along the tidy streets, their upper stories freshly whitewashed and painted. Bright-colored boxes of cooking herbs and flowers hung beneath nearly every window. In the two open squares they crossed, stone-lined wells provided fresh water and large trees provided natural awnings for a nu
mber of merchants’ brightly painted stalls and carts. He had never seen such an immaculate place in his life.
As they passed through the streets, the people came out to see their dirty, rumpled princess and the wild-looking strangers accompanying her. Their curious stares made Saxxe acutely aware of the dried mud in the creases of his boots, of his wild bush of a beard, and of his dusty and sweat-streaked body.
He returned their scrutiny and found their faces well scrubbed, their hair neatly cropped or capped, and their tunics handsome and well made. The men were clean, close-shaven, and weaponless, and he began to feel oddly out of place . . . walking along half naked, with daggers bristling at his sides and a great blade hilt looming over his shoulder. He was bigger, darker, and dirtier than anyone he laid eyes upon, including the hounds that frisked in and out of the royal party as they passed.
But if the city had surprised him, the palace truly shocked him. They crossed a small greensward and came to a broad set of steps leading onto a terrace. Looking up, Saxxe stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck. Before him lay a magnificent stone structure topped by several graceful domes supported by stone arches and pillars. It looked much like the great church of Saint Etienne, and all around lay plots of well-tended earth and wild roses, interspersed with oaks of varying ages.
The party crossed an arched portico and entered the palace through two massive carved doors. At the end of a short passage, they entered a soaring hall covered by a grand dome, and Saxxe halted again, staring in wonder at the marble columns, ceiling paintings, and finely crafted silk weavings which hung on the walls.
Thera knew the instant he stopped; she was achingly aware of every motion he made, of every direction he glanced. He stood in the center of her main hall, his fists on his hips, surveying the size and richness of her palace. He stood a head taller than the people around him and his huge, bronzed shoulders seemed to fill the space. As he turned slowly, his heated gaze fell on her, battering her strained defenses, and she felt crowded by his massive presence.
Turning to Cedric, she declared in regal tones: “I shall retire to my chambers now. But this evening I shall dine with you and the elders.” She tossed a scathing look at Saxxe. “See that he and his hairy friend bathe and get decent clothing,” she said with a fierce wave of hand. “I will not have him stalking about the city . . . fouling the air and frightening the women and children.” She was gratified by the stiffening of Saxxe’s big frame.
“Where shall I put him, Princess?” Cedric asked, clasping his hands.
“Anywhere,” she declared. “As long as it is far away from me.”
She turned on her heel and glided off in a sea of chattering females, leaving Cedric to deal with the hulking, unwashed barbarian she had just roundly insulted. The beleaguered chancellor swung his gaze to Saxxe’s forbidding countenance with a grimace of a smile. “The east hall, I think,” he muttered, gesturing to a broad passage opposite the one Thera had chosen. “This way, please.”
Still stinging from Thera’s barb, Saxxe glared after her for a moment before motioning to Gasquar and striking off after the chancellor. As they followed Cedric down the passage, Saxxe gradually became aware of movement behind him. He suddenly stopped and wheeled into a defensive crouch, drawing a dagger with practiced speed.
A wide-eyed serving man was scurrying after him with a metal pan and a short-handled broom . . . brushing up the dried mud that had fallen from his boots onto the pristine floor. When the little fellow saw Saxxe’s blade, he dropped the pan with a clang and froze in terror. Saxxe reddened, sheathed his blade, and strode on, steaming from the realization that the servant had been cleaning up behind him as if he were a hound that had messed the hall!
By the time they reached two sets of doors on opposite sides of the passage, Saxxe was sunk into a foul mood and berating himself for not taking Thera’s bribe. If he had, he told himself savagely, he would be well on his way to Paris now, with a dream jingling in his pouches. What in hell had gotten into him—demanding those cursed three nights with her?
She had gotten into him, he realized. Again. He wanted more from her than just cold, impersonal coin. The stinging male pride in him wanted to make her admit that he had been more to her than just a means to an end. He wanted to make her deal with him as a man . . . as a man she wanted.
“These will be your chambers, goodly sirs,” Cedric said, breaking into Saxxe’s thoughts as he gestured to the two sets of doors. He pushed back the great oaken planks and entered one chamber. Saxxe sent his hand to his dagger and glanced at Gasquar, whose shoulders were tensed with the expectation of treachery. Each took a harsh breath, braced, and entered.
There was no hidden force, no attack . . . only a handsome chamber with polished stone floors, colored glass windows, and a dry stone-lined pool sunk into the floor at the far end of the chamber. Saxxe watched the chancellor hurry across the chamber to a second set of doors, which led to a columned and terraced courtyard beyond. Warm light flooded the chamber, revealing the richness of the furnishings: a carved chest and table, several pillowed benches, and richly colored hangings on the walls. To one side stood a large bed draped with thick, patterned satins and swathed in sheer silk that flowed from the high ceiling like a waterfall.
“Your quarters are across the hall, sir,” Cedric said to Gasquar, waving a hand toward the door. Without waiting for escort, Gasquar rushed into the hall and Saxxe heard him throwing back the doors with a crow of delight. “The bathing pool has not been filled for a while,” Cedric said in apology. “We have no visitors in Mercia, and it has been a long while since these chambers were filled with royal children and family.” He looked up to find several serving women huddled in the doorway and he beckoned them inside to do their work, frowning at the way they giggled and eyed Saxxe as they scurried past.
“They will soon have it cleaned and filled for your bathing. There is linen in the trunk . . .” He frowned uncertainly and tapped a finger against his chin. “But as to clothing . . . I am not certain we have anything in the palace that would fit—”
“I need no other clothes,” Saxxe declared. Cedric’s dubious smile said that he believed otherwise but was content to let it go.
“By what name are you called, sir?” Cedric asked, dragging his gaze up Saxxe’s formidable frame, then meeting his challenging expression with a thoughtful air. Years of serving and advising royalty had given the chancellor a special fluency at reading other men’s characters in their faces. Interesting eyes, Cedric thought. Intelligent.
“Saxxe Rouen,” Saxxe said, bristling at the chancellor’s scrutiny. “And my friend is Gasquar LeBruit.”
“Rouen? As in the Norman town of Rouen?” Cedric’s gray eyes lighted with recognition.
“Yea, I was born in Rouen and my father’s name was . . . Rouen.”
“I was in Rouen once, as a lad. My father was Mercia’s agent of trade in his early days, before becoming chancellor. I thought the trading fair was wonderful. And the horses . . . such horses!” He seemed transported by memory, then, after a moment, came abruptly back to the present. “And are you a warrior, sir . . . or . . .”
“Gasquar and I . . . we are soldiers for hire,” Saxxe answered, feeling a sudden need to explain himself and his unusual demands to this remarkably even-tempered fellow. “The city of Nantes was overrun by an army of mercenaries and hired barbarians, who captured your princess. She has a way of attracting trouble, that one. And if she cannot find any, she makes some herself.” Cedric choked on an unexpected laugh, then bit his lip.
“Indeed,” he said, smoothing both his dignity and the embroidered front of his tunic. “And what sort of trouble did she make for you, Saxxe Rouen?”
“Every sort of trouble a woman can cause a man. She is spoiled, ungrateful, and stubborn to a fault,” Saxxe declared, daring Cedric to contradict him. But he got no argument from Cedric on that. “She has less sense than my horse . . . spouts orders she can never enforce . . . and refuses to listen to sound advi
ce or even warning.
“I not only rescued her from barbarians and soldiers three times”—he jerked a thumb toward his chest—“I also saved her from being drowned in a flood and rescued her from a man-eating snake! Then I fed and warmed and tended her pampered hide for days on end!” He realized he was nearly shouting and halted to get a grip on himself. “She owes me,” he said with quiet vehemence. “And I intend to collect.”
“I see.” Cedric gave a restrained nod. In fact, he saw more than Saxxe could have guessed. Here was a man who had gone to a great deal of trouble to rescue and care for a woman who had scorned and annoyed and exasperated him . . . a man who had refused a small fortune in order to claim three nights of pleasure with that same woman. What sort of barbarian would do such things? Thera had caused him every annoyance a woman could cause a man, he said. That bore thinking about, for Cedric knew from experience that there were some annoyances wrought by women that were very sweet indeed.
Saxxe’s mind was racing. The chancellor’s mention of children and families had raised the dread prospect of Thera’s father. If she was a princess, then her father had to be a king. And he had seen enough of the workings of temporal kings to know how jealously they guarded their power and possessions . . . including their daughters. It was scarcely believable that he hadn’t been hauled before the throne or tossed into a dungeon straight away.
“When will I see the king?” he asked, glancing toward the door.
“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Cedric said, clamping his hands on his embroidered surcoat. “The old king, Princess Thera’s father, has been dead for over fifteen years now. And we will not have a new king until Princess Thera marries.”
The news hit Saxxe like a fist in his gut. She was to be married. “And just when and to whom will that be—her marriage?”
Cedric sighed and shrugged. “The Council of Elders has been asking those same questions for some time now. The answers, I fear, are entirely up to Princess Thera.” He turned to survey the chamber. “I believe you will be comfortable here. Food and drink will arrive shortly.” He paused. “Perhaps it would be best if you joined us for supper. I shall send someone for you.” When Saxxe didn’t respond, Cedric nodded and withdrew.
