Chapter Four

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.