Bound to the Barbarian. Carol Townend
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is coming and I am sworn to a man who does not command my respect. A man who has yet to heed my advice. Ashfirth gazed bleakly at the cross on the dome of the church. He had sworn a holy oath and he would not break it. Come what may, he was the Emperor’s man.
‘Brand, the sooner we get Princess Theodora to the Great Palace, the better.’
A couple of hours later, Ashfirth and Brand were sitting on a low wall opposite the convent gate, a loaf and a wineskin between them.
Eyeing the position of the sun, Ash tossed his bread aside. For this meeting with the Princess he had thought it polite to remove the trappings of a warrior and don the clothes of a courtier. He had put aside his mailcoat and leather gambeson and was wearing a blue linen tunic. His cross-gartered chausses were tucked into his riding boots.
The gate creaked and slowly opened. Ash exchanged startled glances with his captain.
Surely this could not be the Princess already? Heavens! A woman who is only a few minutes late? And she…aprincess…how extraordinary.
He strode over, brushing crumbs from his tunic.
She was standing in the midst of her ladies-in-waiting. Doe Eyes. Lord, so many ladies, a grand woman. She is not going to like being commanded.
She was not tall, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Close to, her brown eyes were flecked with green lights. Ashfirth blinked. Something had changed. Her eyes were starkly outlined with some sort of black paint or cosmetic, he was confident they had not been before. The eyeliner made those beautiful eyes more noticeable. Oddly, the cosmetics had the effect of changing his perception of her. Before, he had received a fleeting impression of softness and vulnerability. It was not there now.
He was puzzling it out when those long lashes swept down. She had darkened her eyelashes, too, they appeared thicker and longer than when she had spoken to him through the convent grille. It was baffling how the cosmetics defined her eyes and drew his gaze, while at the same time they seemed to hide her. She looked mysterious and other worldly. Earlier, he had been conversing with a pretty young woman. Did she usually face the world from behind a painted mask?
Shame. I prefered the pretty woman.
But this, Ashfirth must remember, was the Princess, his opinion of her was irrelevant.
For her departure from St Mary’s, the rest of Princess Theodora’s face was almost entirely swathed in her veil. Her body was lost beneath the folds of a green silk cloak. She was slender, as far as he could judge, tiny and delicate. Gold glittered at her throat, in the threads of her veil, at her fingers and wrists.
‘Princess Theodora?’ Aware that he had been staring, Ashfirth bowed. Behind him, he could hear the men saluting, their coats of mail clinking.
‘Commander.’
He held out his hand. She would not like what he had to say. Ashfirth might have set aside his mailcoat, but he was painfully aware that he was no courtier to win her over with clever words. He would simply have to do his best.
Slim fingers lightly touched his. When he attempted to lead her away from her ladies, she pointedly withdrew her hand from his. It was not quite a snub, but it was close.
‘Despoina, will you walk this way? There are matters I would discuss with you.’
She gestured haughtily at one of the women. ‘Lady Anna, please attend me.’
Ashfirth cleared his throat. ‘My apologies, my lady, but what I have to say is for your ears alone.’
An arched brow lifted, the brown eyes searched his.
Ash found himself holding his breath. He was praying that she was not going to prove troublesome. He had his orders and he had hoped to execute them with courtesy—she was a princess—but after receiving a disturbing report in Dyrrachion this morning, he realised he might no longer have that luxury. If Princess Theodora became awkward, he might have to resort to force.
When she nodded, Ash breathed again.
‘Very well, Commander.’
She allowed him to lead her to one of the apple trees at the edge of the orchard. Her ladies remained by the convent gates, their silk veils fluttering in the breeze: pink, green, bronze. Bright as butterflies. One of the goats must have got into the convent again, Ashfirth could hear it bleating from over the wall. It sounded rather like a baby crying. The Princess must have heard it, too, because for a moment her attention wandered from him.
She sighed and then those dark, outlined eyes were looking expectantly at him. ‘Commander?’
‘Despoina, if you will forgive me, I must be blunt.’
‘Please, say what you must.’
Be courteous, she is a princess. Be tactful. Do not question her about her failure to respond to the Emperor’s letters.
‘When we arrived in Dyrrachion,’ Ash kept his voice low, confidential, ‘one of my troopers overheard a conversation in Norman French.’ He paused; she must be aware there had been Frankish incursions into Imperial territory in Apulia. She had been out of the Empire for some years, but surely even in Rascia word must have reached her about losses in Apulia?
She frowned, eyes bright and alert. Clever. She had heard. ‘You think they are spies, that the Normans have designs on Dyrrachion? How many were there?’
‘My men saw only two, my lady. We do not know what they are planning, but their presence here does concern me. Several Frankish ships have been sighted in these waters. It is vital we leave without fanfare, and because our Varangian galleys are so distinctive, I have reserved a Venetian merchantman for your use.’
Rings flashing, she waved at her entourage, at the pile of trunks and travelling chests that had been deposited next to her ladies-in-waiting. Brand was in their midst. Ash had asked him to discover which of the trunks belonged to the Princess so that they might be extracted from the rest, the baggage mules were waiting.
‘As you see, we are ready, Commander,’ she said, voice aloof.
Ashfirth cleared his throat and resisted the desire to shift the weight from his healing leg. ‘I am sorry to say this, my lady, but with your uncle’s enemies nearby, it is vital we leave as unobtrusively as possible.’
An immaculately plucked eyebrow rose.
‘It would not do—’ Ash pressed doggedly on ‘—for word to reach the Normans that the Emperor’s niece was seen boarding a ship bound for the capital.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Your entourage is too large. So many ladies are bound to attract attention.’
‘Commander, my ladies-in-waiting accompany me everywhere. Surely you are not telling me I cannot take my ladies…that…that I must travel alone with you?’ Her voice was high, incredulous.
Spoilt, of course. Used to getting her own way. A pang of something that felt surprisingly like disappointment shot through him. Spoilt. Ash held down a sigh and reminded himself that he was dealing with a member of the Imperial family. This woman had spent much of her life in a foreign court where a Greek princess was bound to have been seen as a rare treasure. Her every whim would have been granted. It had probably been years since she had been denied anything.
And Ash did not like the tone in which she had asked if she must travel alone with him—as though he were some kind of monster.
‘I am not saying that your ladies may not travel to Constantinople, despoina. All I am saying is that they may not travel on your ship. I would suggest that they follow us in the Varangian galley in a couple of days’ time. My captain, Brand, will accompany them. You need not concern yourself about their safety—Brand is my best man.’
Her chin inched up and her veil slipped to reveal a pretty mouth; it was set in a very determined line. ‘It