by Jody Hedlund
“Of course not. You are a handsome and brave man.”
Her words sent warmth through my middle again, especially when she dropped her gaze, as if her admission embarrassed her.
I swallowed the cheese, and when she offered another piece, she was again careful not to let her fingers brush my mouth. “Will you get a say in your bride? Or must you accept whomever your father chooses?”
The Lagting and my father were in the process of arranging brides for my brothers and me. They would assign us our marriage partners based on the outcome of the Testing, and we would have no input into the matter. Whoever was awarded the honor of becoming the next king would likely wed the eldest daughter of the King of the Danes—at least that was my speculation. The union would be advantageous for Scania. And the two who weren’t chosen as king would marry other princesses.
But I could say none of this. “’Tis of no consequence to me who is chosen for my bride. I trust my father and shall marry the woman he selects for me.”
“Then you need not love her?”
“Love? Of course not. My emotions are not important in so great a matter. Surely as a noblewoman you understand that.”
She fidgeted with a piece of cheese. “I should like to think even if love is not present initially that it would grow.”
“Love can always grow. ’Tis a choice we make to respect and cherish someone.”
“Then you disregard feelings of attraction altogether?”
Heretofore, I’d never met a woman who snared my attention for long—at least long enough that I’d felt any sort of attraction worth pursuing. What would have been the point? “Perhaps after I am married I may enjoy the luxury of fostering love and attraction. But at the start, any sort of arrangement would be purely practical.”
“You are such a romantic, my lord.” Her voice gently scolded me even as she slanted a look my way that fanned warmth through my veins once more. What was it about this woman that made me react in so strange a manner?
“What about you?” I needed to change the subject. “Do you have hope for love?”
She hesitated, staring at the remaining cheese in her hands.
At once, I wished I could take the question back. Of course she didn’t have any hope of love, not with her blemishes. “Forgive me for asking. You likely had to give up much when you came to live here.”
“My mother never mentioned any marriage plans for me. Perhaps she never intended for me to have a future.”
Her mother? “Then your father is gone?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with shadows. “He died three years ago from a heart attack.” As she settled next to me and finished feeding me the cheese, I could see from the tense way she held herself that her grief was raw and her love still deep.
We talked of our fathers for some time, reminiscing and sharing fond memories. Finally, the guard above called down to her, and she stood and began to repack the baskets. I didn’t want her to go. Strangely enough, the more I talked with her, the more I wanted to keep conversing.
When she started up the ladder, I was tempted to call her back and ply her with more questions. Not because I wanted to use her in escaping, but because I genuinely was interested in knowing more about her.
No matter what physical imperfections she might have, she was an intriguing woman. And once the door above closed and darkness descended, I already anticipated her next visit.
Chapter
6
Pearl
Over the next week, I spent hours upon hours down in the dungeon with Mikkel tending his wounds, changing bandages, refreshing poultices, and conversing about a wide variety of topics including politics, philosophy, history, and even religion.
Not only was he well educated, but he reflected deeply on matters and had a wealth of wisdom to add to almost any subject. I’d never had such thorough and thoughtful discussions with anyone before, and I enjoyed my time with him, even making additional excuses for why I needed to descend into the dungeon.
Whenever Irontooth or Felicity questioned the appropriateness of my spending so much time with our prisoner, I reminded them Gregor sat a dozen feet away chaperoning us. And, of course, Tommy or one of the other outcasts guarded the entrance and likely heard our conversations as well.
Besides, Irontooth had given me just a week in which to learn Mikkel’s purpose on the island, and I endeavored to make the most of every minute to befriend him and gain his trust. Yet, for all my attempts to elicit more information about his deeper motives, he always held back.
Of course, I withheld from him as well, although the better I knew him, the more I wanted to confide in him. On some level, I sensed he would do me no harm. But at the same time, I’d learned I had to be careful whom I trusted. After all, if my own mother could betray me, anyone could.
On the sixth night of captivity, Irontooth commanded workers to prepare a pyre of wood in readiness for burning Mikkel and Gregor. I halted beside Irontooth in front of the growing stacks, trying not to show my dismay. “I thought we were feeding our prisoners to Loch Ness.”
Irontooth crossed his arms and glowered at me. “I changed my mind.”
I didn’t want the prisoners to perish either way. But at least in the sea, they’d have a fighting chance of escaping. “Give me a few more days.
“You’ve had long enough. Tomorrow they die.”
With increasing desperation, I descended into the dungeon, carrying what could very well be Mikkel’s and Gregor’s last meal.
Earlier in the week, I’d felt guilty for keeping Mikkel so heavily bound and had Tommy unshackle his hands. Now while he ate, my mind spun. I needed to increase my efforts at getting him to talk, even if that meant I must bind him again and scare him with threats.
As soon as I entertained the prospect, I tossed it aside. He was too strong a man to capitulate under duress. He’d shown that by never once taking any of the pain medicine I offered.
From what I could tell, he had no weaknesses I could exploit. Not even a weakness for women.
When he finished his soup, he accepted my offering of bread, cheese, and ale. “You’re quiet tonight.” He paused in chewing to study me.
“’Tis your last night. Irontooth prepares to burn you at the stake on the morrow.”
“Has it already been a week?” He resumed eating, his expression unruffled.
Kneeling beside him, I sat back on my heels. “If you do not believe he will kill you, then you are wrong.”
Mikkel finished the last bite of bread, took a drink, and then leaned his head back. “Will my death cause you sorrow?”
There was something likeable about this man. And no matter his reasons for coming to the island, I couldn’t condone his death.
Mikkel’s accusation from earlier in the week came back to haunt me, the one about being under Irontooth’s control. Did I dare defy our daunting leader and insist he spare Mikkel and Gregor? But how could he spare them? Not when the other outcasts expected him to carry through with his word.
“Will you be sad to leave me, my lord?” I countered with a question as I oft did, forcing him to respond first.
“My lady, do you want the truth?” Though his posture was relaxed, his eyes swung to me, the light blue piercing straight to my heart, unsettling me and making my pulse patter faster.
“And what is the truth?”
He brushed back a loose strand of my hair, and the gentleness was nearly my undoing. “You are an amazing woman and have made this last week of my life one of the best weeks of my life.”
The sincerity in his tone and expression were more than I could comprehend. Did he truly mean that?
“Yes,” he whispered, brushing back another strand. “I mean every word.”
How could he read my thoughts so easily? I couldn’t keep from leaning into his touch, and I had the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.
He glanced over to Gregor, and I did likewise. The servant had finished his dinner and was resting with his
eyes closed, as though attempting to give us a moment of privacy.
Mikkel turned his attention back to me. “Thank you for being here with me and showing me kindness, though you had no need to do so.” With one hand, he stroked my forehead. With his other, he slipped his fingers around mine.
The contact on both fronts set to flight a flock of finches in my stomach. “Since you have been honest, then I shall admit to the truth as well.”
“And what is that, my lady?”
“Yes, I shall mourn your death.”
His beautiful eyes held mine and searched my soul. I held my breath, hoping he’d see there what he was looking for. When he tugged my hand a moment later and drew me closer, I went to him willingly, settling against his side into the crook of his arm. I was careful not to brush his injuries, although most were healing well and not troubling him any longer. Even the bruises on his face had begun to fade.
He situated me, cradling me with one arm and still holding my hand with his other. I was so close to him, I could feel his warmth along with every rippling muscle in his body. Though I’d had more than my share of flattery and attention from men at court, I’d never felt this close to anyone before. And I couldn’t abide the thought that he would perish.
Maybe if I revealed some of the details about my situation, he’d open up about his. And maybe in doing so, I could glean enough to satisfy Irontooth.
I stared at his long fingers wrapped around mine, such strong fingers compared to my delicate ones. With my opposite hand, I tentatively touched him, tracing a path across his hand to his wrist, to his arm.
I felt him tremble—or at least I thought I did. His reaction gave me an ounce of courage. “Mikkel . . .”
The warmth of his breath against my temple sent the birds inside me fluttering once more. “Yes, my lady?”
I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensation but blurted the words before I changed my mind. “My real name is Pearl.”
He was silent for a heartbeat, as though digesting my revelation. What if he’d heard the name before in association with Warwick and Princess Pearl? As my fear mounted, I tried to silence it. Even if he had heard of Princess Pearl, he would assume, like the rest of the world, that the princess died last year in a hunting accident.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he whispered. “And it suits you.”
I released a tense breath I hadn’t known I was holding and relaxed into him. “I have always hated the name.” It reminded me too much of Warwick’s jewels and the gem mines and how consumed my mother was with gaining wealth.
“I have seen the beautiful woman you are on the inside. And that is truly what matters most.”
He’d misunderstood me. He assumed I was deformed and that’s why I hated my name. Should I tell him I had no blemish and didn’t belong on the island any more than he did?
“Thank you, Mikkel.” Uncertainty welled within me. Irontooth wouldn’t want me to reveal it. As a condition for remaining on the island, he’d insisted I wear the veil at all times and let everyone assume I was deformed. If the other outcasts learned I had no blemish—was in fact known for my beauty—they’d despise me, perhaps even harm me.
“I mean it.” His whisper was warm against my temple.
I curled closer into his side.
At the gentle pressure of his lips against my head, I stilled, my whole body tingling with awareness of this man, of his strength, determination, intelligence, and sweetness. I couldn’t deny any longer that my attraction to him had been steadily growing. His kiss might be purely platonic, and he might not have any desire for me beyond friendship, but I liked him . . . much more than I ought to.
“You can tell me what happened to your face,” he said softly. “It won’t change how I see you.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I vow it won’t.”
I paused. Maybe I couldn’t take off my veil and show him my fairness, but I could tell him who I really was, couldn’t I? If I did so, would he finally share who he was? “Mikkel?”
“Hmmm . . .?”
“I am—a princess.”
Chapter
7
Mikkel
I froze. Pearl was a princess?
“My mother is Queen Margery of Warwick.” She whispered the queen’s name as if speaking of a deadly plague.
“Truly?”
She nodded, tightening her fingers within mine, but not before I caught the tremor that told me far more than her words—telling me about her background made her feel vulnerable and frightened.
But why?
I scrambled to remember all I knew about Queen Margery and her children. Though I’d never had the opportunity to meet Warwick’s queen and family, I made a point of keeping abreast of Scania’s relationships with the surrounding nations. And nothing I’d heard about Warwick and Queen Margery had been pleasant.
Early in her reign of Warwick, she’d been obsessed with hunting down her niece, Queen Aurora, who was heir to Mercia’s throne. Because of Margery’s determination to eliminate the young queen, Aurora had been hidden away, and her father was serving as regent until she reached an age when she could reign in her own right.
After years of searching, Margery seemed to have given up her aspirations of taking the throne from her niece. I guessed the time was soon coming when Aurora would come out of hiding and that perhaps Margery would attempt to destroy her niece again.
Several years ago, we’d learned that Margery’s husband had died. And last summer, hadn’t we received news that her oldest daughter had perished? In a hunting accident?
Ethelbard was the name of the queen’s son. That I knew because he would someday be a rival king. But I hadn’t paid attention to the names of Margery’s daughters. Something to do with jewels? Perhaps Pearl had been one of them.
“Margery’s oldest daughter died,” I said. “So you are her youngest child?”
“No, I am her firstborn. Though she tried to kill me during a hunting expedition, one of the huntsmen helped me escape. I ran away and have been living here ever since.”
If an illness or accident had compromised Pearl’s beauty, then she would no longer be a valuable asset to the queen in brokering an advantageous marriage. In fact, maybe Pearl had posed an embarrassment and burden, one the queen wished to eliminate.
“I have heard of Margery’s cruelty. But I didn’t think she was so evil that she would kill her own daughter.”
Pearl started to pull away. “You do not believe me?”
“I do believe you.” I drew her back, not ready for this moment of closeness to come to an end. “I am confused why she would do such a thing, ’tis all.”
“Then we shall be confused together.” The deep echo of hurt in Pearl’s voice told me that she had indeed suffered at the hand of the queen.
I tried to digest everything Pearl had just revealed. She was royalty. Now the conversations we’d had over the past week made more sense. I’d marveled at her enlightenment of matters having to do with ruling a country as well as her insights into other issues that most noblewomen wouldn’t concern themselves with. She was educated beyond what was normal for nobility, and she also carried herself with a proud bearing.
I relaxed against the cold stone wall. “Princess Pearl.”
“Shh,” she whispered. “Please do not speak of my identity to anyone else.”
“If you wish.”
“Vow it.” Her tone took on the commanding quality I’d heard from time to time, and now I understood why. She squeezed my hand. “Please, Mikkel.”
“Very well. I vow it.”
“Irontooth and Felicity are the only ones here in camp who know who I am. And Irontooth will be angry if he learns I have told you.”
“Then he fears I’m here as a spy for the queen?”
“He is a good leader, but he worries about everything.”
“He need not worry. I’m not here to do you any harm. In fact, once upon a time, Queen Margery had sought an alliance and
asked my father about the possibility of a marriage between the Princess Pearl and the next Scanian king.” With Warwick’s dwindling resources and growing poverty, the Lagting had decided against forging such a union. “Just think, if things had turned out differently, we may have married each other.”
At Pearl’s stiffening and Gregor’s exasperated sigh, I realized I’d said too much.
“It wouldn’t have happened.” I tried to think of a way to cover my mistake. “The king of Scania is more interested in the princess of the Danes as a future wife for his heir—”
“And you are the next heir?” she asked quietly.
“No, no. The heir is determined by a process of Testing.”
“So you came to the island for your Testing?”
Denial pushed against my tongue. But how could I lie to her when she’d told me the truth about who she was?
“So you are a prince of Scania. And you have two brothers, do you not?”
Again, I held myself back. It was one thing to divulge my identity and put my Testing at risk. But I couldn’t jeopardize the Testing for Vilmar and Kresten.
She pulled away, and this time I let her. She didn’t go far, only pivoted so she was kneeling and facing me.
A cold shiver worked its way up my spine. I hadn’t intended to reveal my true purpose for being on the island. How had this happened? “Please, I beg of you. Do not speak of this to anyone. As you have wanted to keep your identity hidden, I do as well.”
She studied my face as though seeing me for the first time. “Is revealing your identity against the rules of the Testing?”
“Already everyone rejects me for being different than them. If they discover I am a prince, they’ll kill me. And if not, they’ll banish me from the island and never allow me back. If that happens, I shall forfeit any chance at gaining the kingship.”
“Prince Mikkel.” She tested my name. “You are the firstborn son of King Christian of the Holbergs.”
I didn’t deny her, but neither could I openly admit to it.
