Chained to the Barbarian. Carol Townend
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needed cutting. Matted and dirty, it had not seen a comb in some time. Carefully, wary of waking him, Anna smoothed it from his face. His face had stopped her breath the moment she’d seen it, and not simply because of the resemblance to Erling. The slave’s features were attractive, regular and even, his mouth was most beautifully formed. He had a strong jaw that was shadowed with several days’ growth of beard, he was overpoweringly male. But the bruises beneath the beard! Anna frowned. His cheekbones were far too prominent, not to mention that they were bruised and bloodied. Overall, the Frank had a gaunt look that was at odds with the powerful build.
Half-starved.
‘Juliana?’
‘My lady?’
‘Send to the kitchens for meat and wine.’
‘Meat, my lady? It is still Lent.’
‘Meat,’ Anna repeated firmly. ‘Preferably beef. Tell them it is needed in the Princess’s apartment, no one will gainsay you.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Taking hold of the Frank’s ragged tunic, Anna began easing it from him.
‘Here, my lady.’ Shears were thrust into her hand, a tasselled cushion was placed on the floor next to her.
‘My thanks.’
Anna pulled at the fabric of the slave’s tunic. Like his face, his chest was black and blue. Grimacing, Anna exchanged glances with one of the serving girls. ‘Some people do not deserve to own slaves.’
‘No, my lady.’
The double doors at the entrance to the apartment were flung back and Commander Ashfirth stalked in, his expression was thunderous. He had Katerina by the arm and was towing her behind him.
Anna caught her breath. Heart cold, she pushed to her knees. She was afraid, very much afraid, that the moment she had dreaded was upon them.
Has the Commander found us out? Has he realised that the woman he believes to be the Princess is, in fact, just a serving girl?
She swallowed. ‘Princess Theodor—’
‘Later,’ the Commander snapped, marching towards the Princess’s bedchamber. His face was closed, his shoulders were rigid with anger.
A white-faced Katerina shot Anna a desperate look, but with the Commander hauling her along, she had no choice but to follow.
He knows! Yes, there is no doubt, Commander Ashfirth knows that Katerina is an impostor. Merciful heavens, if this becomes common knowledge, Katerina and I will be in deep, deep trouble …
Commander Ashfirth poked his head through the bedchamber door and signalled to the guard. ‘Kari?’
‘Sir?’
‘The Princess and I do not wish to be disturbed.’
The guard’s eyes widened. ‘I see.’
‘I hope that you do. No one …’ pointedly, Commander Ashfirth jerked his head towards Anna ‘… and I mean no one is to enter this bedchamber.’
‘No exceptions, sir?’
‘None except Captain Sigurd. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The bedchamber door slammed and the bolts shot home.
Juliana let her breath out in a rush. ‘Holy Virgin, what is that all about? The Commander will not hurt the Princess, will he?’
Anna blinked uncertainly at the closed bedchamber door, painfully conscious of the need to guard her tongue. ‘I do not think so.’ Her mind raced. Like everyone else in the Palace, with the possible exception of Commander Ashfirth, Juliana believed Katerina to be Princess Theodora. ‘Commander Ashfirth has a strong respect for the Princess,’ she added carefully. ‘Remember, the Emperor has commanded him to protect her.’
Juliana’s eyes were round as she gaped at that closed bedchamber door. ‘But surely he should not enter the Princess’s bedchamber! What are they doing in there?’
What indeed?
‘Come, Juliana—’ Anna made her voice brisk ‘—help me shift this man to one side so we may bathe him.’
Juliana turned a disapproving face towards her. ‘You will bathe him yourself, my lady? A slave? A male slave?’
‘It is …’ Anna hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much to a woman she did not know well ‘… it is a penance I have set myself for past sins.’ For Erling’s sake.
Pointedly, Juliana raised a brow at such an unorthodox penance—a lady, bathing a slave!—but after a moment, she grudgingly bent to assist. Anna hoped that the shock of witnessing Lady Anna of Heraklea bathing a Frankish slave would distract Juliana from whatever was going on in the Princess’s bedchamber.
Chapter Two
Head thumping, William woke with a start and grabbed for his sword. Then he remembered—his sword was lost, he was a slave. Mind fogged with pain, he heaved himself into a sitting position. Out of the tangle in his head one question emerged. Are the girls safe?
He had been put on a clean pallet in an airy room that was busy with activity. He caught a brief impression of a wide tiled floor; of a line of tall windows billowing with drapery of some kind; of women rushing to and fro, long skirts swishing as they skimmed over polished marble. There was so much marble, so much light and air, he could not imagine where he might be.
He could not see the children.
A feminine hand pushed him back against the pillows, it belonged to the woman from the slave market, the one with smoky grey eyes. He wondered who she was. The brown gown and veil were so plain, she might be a servant. Yet her companion’s clothing had been equally plain, and that had not prevented her from finding money for three slaves …
‘Paula?’ His voice was creaky. He struggled back onto an elbow. ‘Daphne?’
The woman settled on a cushion at his side, a glass goblet in hand. The goblet caught William’s eye—the glass looked Venetian, it must have cost a fortune to have shipped it here. A Venetian glass goblet?
Where am I?
The woman smiled. It occurred to William that she was observing him most carefully, and had been for some time. ‘I take it that Daphne and Paula are the girls in your … party,’ she said, pointing to the other end of the chamber. ‘They are being well cared for. See?’
And there, in the centre of a circle of women, were the girls. Paula, in a fresh tunic, was holding the hand of one of the women. She was smiling. William’s throat tightened, he could not recall the last time he had seen Paula smile. Daphne, closely wrapped in what looked like silk, was safely in the lap of a motherly-looking wet-nurse on a gilded stool.
A gilded stool? Lord.
What is this place?
Daphne was being fed. The wet-nurse glanced William’s way without embarrassment and nodded at him.
‘As you see, the children are safe.’
William swallowed, but his throat was so parched it was well nigh impossible. Grimacing, he massaged his throat.
The woman leaned towards him, offering the goblet. ‘Wine?’
Clumsily, for his hand did not seem to be obeying him the way it ought to, William grasped the goblet and sipped.
‘I hope it is to your taste, it is watered,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. Beneath her veil, he caught a glimpse of wavy brown hair.