Miriam was astonished to see Jenna and even more overwhelmed to see the array of shifts and drawers. At least none of them were transparent, unlike some of Daphne's. No stays, but perhaps that was for the best. She had never liked being confined anyway.
Choosing a white one as if to make a point, she wondered what had happened to her gowns, though was relieved to see her choker. She touched the pale green ribbon beneath the single plait she had managed to fashion herself and felt a sense of achievement. Had she been transformed into a new person - Mia - overnight?
Cautiously, she ventured outside to see about breakfast. Cooking wasn't hard, it was the preparation which could be time-consuming. She had used a cauldron before, when she took a donation of food to a poor family only to find that their mother had fallen ill. It was mortifying to discover that a seven year old knew more than she about the chopping of vegetables and the girl had glowed under her praise, earning a special hug from her mother.
It was all a far cry from roast pheasant and she was thankful for that.
This was quite different. She hoped she wouldn't be in trouble for using her initiative. How hard could it be to make a porridge? Having found a sack of meal stashed at the back of the hut, she was determined to try.
Jenna helped her start a small fire and then it was a question of filling the cauldron with water. Between them they unhooked it from the suspending chain and lugged it to the river. Once full it was much heavier.
Sigurd was just emerging from his hut, looking fresher than he deserved. Seeing them struggling he came to assist.
Miriam avoided his pale green eyes after the initial glance, feeling self-conscious.
"Did Ketil order you to do this?" he asked. She shook her head. "You are going to be in so much trouble, Princess."
"Why? I'm not just cooking for myself."
The redbeard held up his hands and backed away, grinning. It irritated her no end.
Once the water was boiling they added some of the oatmeal and she realised she needed a stirrer. Raiding Ketil's weapons chest would only infuriate him further but she went to have a look anyway and that was when she discovered the lock. In the meantime, it seemed the ever-resourceful Jenna had gotten Sigurd to locate a wooden spoon. She took her leave soon after, signing her meaning in the simple way she had of pointing to her chest and then towards the palace.
Leaving the pot bubbling away, Miriam went back inside the hut. She didn't want to think about Ketil but she couldn't help it. He seemed to enjoy making her uncomfortable and she definitely didn't need any rouge.
Holding up a pair of drawers, she was mortified to see the Norseman regarding her from the doorway. He seemed to have a knack of turning up at precisely the wrong moment. His pose was relaxed, the folded arms probably a prelude to yet more mockery. Leaning there like that he seemed to be an extension of the wood, almost as if he had been carved. Immobility training; she supposed it went with stealth and had formed part of his military routine from birth.
Well, he couldn't disguise his scent. Or could he? Today he smelled faintly of an all-too familiar unguent. This was so unfair.
Thrusting the rather stiff linen aside she went on the attack.
"Been using the palace facilities, have we?" she accused.
"A guard's privilege."
"But not always a slave's, unless her master desires it."
"Did Jenna bring you more ribbons?"
"Why are you so interested in my accessories?" she demanded, hoping it was a word he wouldn't know.
"Who says I am? I was merely being practical, Mia. The pedlar is due to call again soon by all accounts."
"Then maybe you can purchase a comb for me, unless you want me to earn it first?"
"Curb your tongue, woman. Or I might just be tempted to take you up on that."
So saying, he uncrossed his arms and came all the way inside, closing the door.
She was extremely conscious that her drawers were of the over-large kind and were threatening to slide down her hips. That hadn't been a problem when she'd been able - no, allowed! - to tie them. Another discomfort to lay at his door. And yet, she couldn't remember him forbidding it. The smaller sized ones were likely to wrinkle and chafe if past experience was anything to go by.
Whatever happened, she wasn't going to venture outside without wearing any, even though Daphne had often boasted of doing just that.
"Am I in trouble?" she asked, taking a step backwards and almost tripping over the silver chest which contained his weapons.
"What makes you think you are not, Mia? Apart from disobedience and defiance, there is the not so small matter of your escape attempt."
Miriam knew she was in a predicament now. As a child, King Gregory was always punishing her for minor misdemeanours, unlike her frequent partner-in-crime Daphne. This time, she only had herself to blame.
"I did no such thing," she declared.
"Come to me, Mia."
Two spots of colour burned in her cheeks. She knew one side would be redder than the other. Never had she needed concealing white powder so much.
"Do you want me to crawl?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.
"Why would I desire that of you?
She could sense his barely held impatience.
"Father did. That's why my knees are ... "
Tailing off, Miriam realised she ought to move. Four paces later and she was staring at the middle of his chest. The aroma of sandalwood oil, one of her favourites, was much stronger now.
Ketil raised her chin so swiftly she let out a surprised gasp. Her drawers were on the brink of falling so she clamped her thighs together.
"I saw you in the night, peering out through the door. Tell me, would you have bolted had it not been raining?"
Those eyes. She couldn't bear to look into them much longer. Her legs were trembling and she wondered if pretending to faint would postpone her punishment. Unlikely, she decided. This man, this mercenary, was so knowing, so - indecipherable - that honesty was better than any of the wiles her sister would not have scrupled to use.
Miriam shook her head. "I have nowhere to go."
"Good answer," Ketil said. "So, why?"
"Why did I get out of bed and open the door? Isn't it obvious?"
"Maybe," he replied, starting to toy with her plait. "But I want to hear you say it."
"I wanted to - relieve myself," she whispered, lowering her lashes.
"But you waited until morning. Commendable. Mia, I would not have been able to protect you if you had gone outside without my knowledge."
"I'm not your responsibility."
"You are now, whether you like it or not. Look at me." His fingers brushed her cheek and she felt a tremor all the way to her toes. "Magnus says he saw you heading towards the palace before you appeared to think better of it."
"Magnus?"
"I asked him to keep an eye on you while I fulfilled my early morning duties."
"Had a bath, you mean?"
"Mia."
"Sorry, I - I wasn't thinking straight. I was going to confront my father, but I changed my mind."
"Do you always act so impulsively, so foolishly?"
"Have you never done anything rash?" she asked, and was gratified to see him flinch. "Is Magnus one of your mercenaries? Why haven't I met him yet?"
"You have, several times, as the bodyguard to the Princess Royal."
"The greybeard? I used to like him," she said.
"Explain."
"He's fallen out of favour now I know he's a spy."
"Be reasonable, Mia."
"Reason flew out of the window when my father sold me to a foreigner," she said.
That ice she'd been skating on was starting to reveal the freezing waters beneath if the expression on his face was anything to go by.
Fortunately, Magnus himself arrived at that point. The sight of a familiar face was bittersweet, given the circumstances. It only became worse when they exchanged a few guttural comments in their own language, and she began to regret her unguarded words. Miriam hadn't meant to insult Ketil, though she'd seen a flash of something akin to pain before he pulled up his emotional drawbridge once more. "I have to be somewhere. Magnus will stay here with you, seeing as you cannot be trusted." "Do you trust him with me?" she asked, and began to wish she hadn't. She was doing it again, turning into the Princess Royal. Ketil went out without saying another word. Miriam twisted her fingers in the single garment which was all that stood between her and her underwear. The greybeard spoke first. "This is a sorry state of affairs." "I did not mean it, what I said," she told him. "I know." "He's angry with me and I keep saying the wrong thing." "Princess, he's not mad at you. Trust me. I've
Emerging in the red shift, which was unlikely to be of much use if the customary April snow shower materialised, Miriam dared to make a request. She reckoned she had him at a disadvantage now and two wool dresses would make all the difference to her severely depleted wardrobe.Ketil was of a mind to grant her wish, though he seemed moody, so she decided not to push her luck and ask if anything could be done about Ruth as well as Jenna. As far as she knew, the latter was still in danger of being sent to the mines, though she hadn’t seemed unduly upset when she brought her the clothing. It was difficult to tell, given her own circumstances.Were they both making the best of things?The trip to her former chamber brought its own despair. She looked out of the diamond-paned window, a lump in her throat, and remembered her lady mother. It would be her birthday next month. At least, it would have been.Choking back her grief, she hoped Queen Eleanor would guide her in this difficult choice.
Ketil could not take his eyes off his ‘slave’ as they shared a communal feast later in the empty hut which had once been occupied by Ulf. It had become something of a tradition to toast the absent warrior, who must be drinking with the gods in Valhalla now. He doubted he would be waited on by as lovely a Valkyrie as this one. His thoughts turned to Astrid. Sigurd’s little sister was always sobbing over something and agreeing she felt better afterwards. What had she been, fourteen, when they left? Ketil hoped she was safe wherever she was. It was odd how they hadn’t been able to find her, and perhaps just as well given the secret he had kept for so long. Still, he couldn’t save everyone. As he watched, Miriam smiled at Magnus and poured him more beer. She seemed to be struggling with the heavy jug. Those hands were meant to stitch tapestries, pluck harps, or arrange flowers not to do heavy peasant work. He wondered how they would feel around his cock and had to check himself. That wa
Miriam was panting as well as soaking wet when she reached the hut. It was a haven, though not, she suspected, for long. She searched frantically for something to wear before subsiding in a kind of daze. More than likely, in this mood, Ketil would only rip it off.Why was he being like this with her? Belatedly, she realised he had been naked. She must have been in a kind of brain fog when she entered the water. That had soon woken her up.Common sense prevailed. She needed to dry herself, perhaps on an old chemise, and maybe wear the peach dress which was currently lying on the floor. It could well be covered in insects by now.On hearing the creak of the door, she snatched it to her for the minimum of covering, only to see Magnus.“Are you all right, lass?” he asked, adopting the local vernacular.She managed a nod before she found her voice. “I fear I have killed a robin unknowingly,” she said. “All this bad luck.”“Speaking of which,” he began, and sighed. “I am the bearer of furth
The table in one of the lesser Halls was already set for supper. Shocked gasps greeted their entrance. Miriam held her head high, her carriage royal as she made her way to the seats reserved for the guards and their wives or women.“Touting for business?” Daphne hissed, her voice carrying a long way.“I leave that to you, dear sister,” Miriam replied, placing a napkin on her lap.“We are here to negotiate,” Ketil said, helping himself from a platter of cold meats.“Seeing as you have my choker now, Daphne, I feel it only right you return those jewels which were – no, are – mine.”“What is she talking about, Dee?” Lady Rutherford asked.“I know not. Something trumped up between the pair of them, no doubt.”Miriam waited to be served with wild mushroom soup, before continuing, “And I will have my gowns.”“What need have you of those now?”The scorn almost had him reaching for his dagger.“They are hers by right.”“You cannot deny it, my lady,” Magnus said. He had arrived early, and no S
Ketil could hear the others going about their morning tasks – the clink of weapons, the filling of the cauldron with water – and still he made no move to stir. The smell from the cooking fire was both comforting and tempting, though not as wholly satisfying as the woman sleeping beside him. Miriam. He wanted to be there when she woke, not to taunt her or force his attentions on her, but to reassure her in case she felt shame for behaving the way she did, something which had not been wholly her fault given his encouragement. He did not regret a single thing about last night. She had been so receptive, so responsive and not, he judged, from either fear or compulsion. Was she really so set against the idea of him finding her a noble husband? If Jenna was unable to vocalise her feelings – and Orm had hinted she may not be wholly dumb given their nightly activities – Miriam was a whole other matter. The breathy gasps had been followed by shrieks which turned to screams as she jerked and
Miriam screamed when she saw the armed intruder. Unbelievably, King Gregory himself was not far behind. She was only thankful she had snuck out for a quick wash after Ketil had gone. It would not do for her sovereign lord to suspect what had happened to his youngest daughter last night. As if he cared. Of one thing she was certain: Prince Renaud would not have measured up. Ketil had certainly stretched her, even after she relaxed and began to enjoy her first time. The kissing had been her favourite part. This man was no groper. She felt like she had been worshipped – everywhere. Why she had ever feared him was a mystery. Maybe it was because of his overt masculinity. She had a bad feeling now. Why was her father just standing there, his mouth opening and closing? There had been a horrible smell emanating from the direction of the palace and the village was strangely quiet. Were they keeping indoors, just as birds stopped singing when there was a sparrowhawk about? Miriam sank into
Miriam would never forget the look on her father’s face, the agony he endured before his head lolled forward and his crown slipped. “Training?” she queried, beginning to quiver. “As a sex slave,” Renaud told her, roughly fondling her backside. Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? “Do I get a choice of instructor?” she queried, and was unprepared for the reply. “No, but it’s someone you know very well,” the Masked King sneered. Miriam wondered how he knew, seeing as he had only been in the territory for a very short time. Or had he? Maybe he’d camped a few leagues distant and had been plotting this for weeks? The same applied to Renaud. Had someone betrayed her? She wouldn’t put it past Daphne, or maybe even the late King Gregory. Numbness was all she could summon when she thought of her father and the horrible way he’d died. Perhaps she was still in shock. She ought to be upset, enraged, and worried about her own circumstances, too, but it felt like all those emotions