Betrothed to the Barbarian. Carol Townend
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Theodora reached for her daughter. ‘Let me hold her.’
‘Are you sure, my lady?’ Sophia tipped her head at the watchful Varangian and the army of servants and slaves. ‘There are many eyes here.’
‘Sophia!’ As Theodora took her child, a measure of peace settled over her. Martina gurgled. A chubby hand reached out, pushed Theodora’s veil aside and reached for an earring. Theodora’s heart squeezed. ‘She has her father’s eyes,’ she murmured. ‘Thank heaven we found a suitable wet-nurse—I like Jelena.’
Sophia nodded.
Theodora felt stinging at the back of her eyes. She had enjoyed feeding Martina herself, a sentiment that would surely shock most ladies in the Great Palace, Princesses did not usually feed their babies. But since she had been sent to join the barbarians in Rascia, it would seem she had become something of a barbarian herself. It had been more painful than she cared to admit, handing Martina over to the wet-nurse. It had taken time. Weaning Martina had been as painful physically as it had been emotionally. Theodora’s breasts had hurt, her heart had ached. The sacrifice had been necessary though, no one at Court must suspect that she had borne a child.
Setting her jaw, she stared out of the window, out past the Palace Harbour to the Sea of Marmara. The sea was as grey as the sky. Ships were sailing past the promontory—merchantmen, dromons, rowing boats. Seagulls were circling a fishing boat; she could hear their thin mewing.
‘The lions and oxen are still there,’ Sophia said. ‘I had forgotten about them.’
‘Hmm?’
‘The statues on the Imperial quays. I had forgotten how impressive they are, like sentinels.’
‘It is certainly a change from Rascia,’ Theodora said, wistfully. She caught a flutter of gold, a couple of galleys were flying the Imperial standard. The same flag was flying on the towers on either side of the entrance to the Palace Harbour and the double-headed eagle was plainly visible on both of them. There was no doubt of it, she was home. She sighed and wished she did not feel so torn. The coup had changed everything.
What will I say if I am summoned to meet Emperor Alexios? It was one thing to have planned to deceive a weak and ageing Emperor, but Emperor Alexios was strong and in his prime. Intelligent. God save me.
Sophia was fingering the delicate purple curtains. ‘I have never seen such hangings, my lady, all silk. Everything in your apartment is silk, silk and marble.’
‘This apartment is not mine,’ Theodora reminded her quietly. ‘Not until I have reclaimed my identity.’
She risked another look at the Varangian by the doors. He had stood at his post like a rock since their arrival. His gaze was alert. Too alert. Several ladies had returned with her to the Palace, but it was she whom he was focused on. He has noted the resemblance between me and Katerina. ‘That man knows exactly where Katerina and Anna are, and I would swear he knows who I am, too. Why will he not answer our questions?’ Anxiety clawed her insides. ‘Do you think they are safe and well? Do you think they have been found out? Arrested?’
‘Sweet Mary, I hope not.’
‘Then where are they? I took pains to tell them to be discreet until we arrived. I shall never forgive myself if they have come to harm, but I had to wean Martina on to the wet-nurse, I had to—’ she broke off as the guard’s gaze never wavered.
Enclosing Martina’s tiny hand in hers, Theodora pulled her veil across her face and presented the Varangian with her back. She was on the point of handing Martina back to Sophia when there was a disturbance at the entrance.
The shining double doors were flung wide. The guard stood firmly in the centre, feet braced as he challenged someone out on the landing.
‘I am sorry, General,’ the Varangian said. ‘You may not enter these chambers—they are assigned to Princess Theodora.’
‘I am aware of that.’ The newcomer’s voice was cultured. ‘Why do you think I have been sending messages here these past few days?’
Theodora froze. She could not see the man on the landing clearly—the doorframe blocked full view of him—but she caught the impression of height. He sounded confident, even arrogant. A jewelled sword-hilt flashed, a gold ring gleamed on a strong, well-shaped hand. Oh, no! If this man was permitted to bear arms in the Palace, he must be trusted indeed. And for him to have been sending messages to the Princess’s apartment, he must be …
‘Duke Nikolaos,’ Sophia hissed. ‘It must be your general.’
Theodora’s heart started to race. If it was Duke Nikolaos, he was breaking with the conventions by coming in person to an apartment in the women’s quarters. She was not prepared to meet him. And yet … curiosity flared into being, undeniable curiosity … What did he look like? If she were careful …
Martina firmly in her arms, Theodora went to the door. It might not be Duke Nikolaos, she told herself, it might be that this man was one in a long line of courtiers who had come to pay his respects to the Princess. Katerina could simply be hiding away because she had been overwhelmed by the part she had been asked to play.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered. He had strong features and a Roman nose that would not have looked out of place on an ancient coin. His hair was thick and dark and in need of a trim. Theodora received the impression of much energy, energy that was barely contained. He had a faintly disreputable air, despite the patrician profile. His jaw was square and he had high cheekbones. Bold, dark eyes.
Noticing her looking at him, he smiled. His teeth were white and even, the smile practised.
Theodora’s belly lurched. She had time to notice a small scar beneath one of those dark eyes. She had time to notice how good-looking he was—if you found dark men who ought to have visited a barber a week since attractive. Which she, of course, did not. She had time to notice his clothes. They were those of a nobleman. His tunic was olive-coloured samite, a heavy silk, lavishly embroidered in silver and gold thread. Theodora’s gaze lingered on his sword. The grip was leather, the pommel was gold and set with an emerald of exceptional clarity. The sword looked like a dress sword, but the wear on the grip warned that this sword was more than mere ornament. This man might be dressed as a nobleman, but he was clearly more warrior than courtier.
Duke Nikolaos of Larissa, General of the Athanatoi Cavalry regiment—the famous Immortals—Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Army. He had come to the very doors of her apartment. Captain Brand had been correct—the coup had brought the Duke racing back from Larissa in support of his fellow general, Alexios Komnenos, now Emperor.
Mouth dry, Theodora lifted her gaze. Dark eyes were fixed on her, the intensity of his gaze was vaguely unsettling. He inclined his head.
‘My lady?’ He glanced briefly at the baby in Theodora’s arms. ‘I take it you are one of the Princess’s ladies-in-waiting?’ His voice had a thread of steel running through it; it was the voice of a man who had the habit of command, of a man whose commands were always obeyed. And his mouth, now she looked at it, was held in a tight line. The veneer of politeness was thin in this man, his manner was verging on insolent.
Theodora ignored the frantic tug Sophia gave to her sleeve and her murmur of protest; she was not going to retreat. ‘Please take the child,’ she said, placing her daughter in Sophia’s arms. Secure in the knowledge that her veil was wrapped tightly about her and that only her eyes were showing, she turned back to the man in the doorway. ‘My lord? You are addressing me?’
The dark eyes sharpened, her tone had been too peremptory. A lady-in-waiting, as she was purporting to be, would never address a nobleman in such a tone. Certainly not before she found out who he was.
‘Yes, you.’ Shouldering the startled Varangian to one side, he occupied the doorway. ‘Where is your mistress?’ His tone moderated. ‘I have been trying to arrange an audience with the Princess for some days, but I have been told she is ailing. I trust she is not seriously ill?’