Chapter Five

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 seen the way he looked - looks - at you."

"What do you mean?"

"Forget I said anything. This whole situation is not of your making and my nephew is trying to put it right."

"Oh, I didn't realise you were related?"

"Not by blood, though I could not wish for a finer man to fight alongside." He looked rueful, stroking his thinning hair, as he added, "The Princess Royal could teach you a thing or two about insults and she never apologises. It's not in her nature."

"I called him a foreigner," she said, hanging her head. "It's Daphne who hates the people of other lands, not me."

"This is more serious than I thought," Magnus mused. "Ketil is fiercely proud of his origins, even though his birth family did not do right by him."

"How can I put it right?" she asked her companion of countless chess-playing afternoons.

"I am sure you will find a way," the older man said with a wink.

"Not you, too," she reproached him. Taking advantage of his abashed look she continued, “Can you smuggle me into the palace? I’d really like to submerge myself in hot water. And I missed my nightly ritual yesterday.”

“You have no maid,” Magnus pointed out.

“How hard can it be to carry a few jugs of water to a hip bath?”

He sighed. “Ketil will have my hide for this.”

Her lips curved. “Only if I escape.”

“Can you really not go a day without bathing in luxury?”

Miriam shook her head. “I am a poor excuse for a slave,” she said. “But shouldn’t I always be fresh and perfumed?”

Magnus grinned indulgently, just like when she captured his king in the game until he saw there was no way out, and she knew she had him wrapped around her finger.

It was a strange feeling, and she wasn’t sure defying Ketil was all that sensible, but she loathed being dirty, even if there was no outward sign.

“Follow me,” the greybeard said. “And you might want to bring a change of attire.”

After bundling up the thickest shift – though she didn’t like the statement the colour made – and best-fitting pair of drawers, Miriam shoved her feet into her shoes and prepared for an adventure. She took the cameo as well. After what had happened she didn’t care to let it out of her sight again.

Eyeing her up and down, Magnus loaned her his cloak which at least had a hood and made her feel like she was in disguise.

“Oh, the porridge,” she said, remembering it belatedly.

The greybeard peered into the iron pot. “It will keep.”

Her spirits soared as they made their way to the palace. She had not counted on running into her sister who was out for a stroll in the gardens with Ruth. That was suspicious in itself. Daphne usually balked at having a chaperone and Miriam was beginning to understand why.

“Has he tired of you already, dear sister? Virgins are so boring, aren’t they, Ruthie?”

“Yes, Princess Royal,” the auburn-haired girl answered, though the glance she shot at Miriam held guilt and sympathy as well as sorrow.

It dawned on her that while Ruth might still be untouched her sister was no better than she ought to be.

“I would never have believed it of you, Magnus, taking another’s leavings.”

Miriam gasped, but his strong arm on her shoulder made her bite back her intended retort.

“Things, like people, are not always how they seem. Good day, Princess Daphne,” he said.

The twenty-one-year-old bridled at that, but there was little she could do. Contenting herself with shoving Ruth in front of her, she marched past them as if they had ceased to exist, though could not resist an unflattering reference to a ‘scarlet’ woman.

“That poor girl,” Miriam said.

“Be grateful Miss High and Mighty did not think to enquire where you were going. Come on, I will obtain the key to the servants’ bathroom."

Fetching the water took more effort than she had imagined but it was worth it, even though the hot stone took an age to warm up. As Miriam lay back in the wooden tub, a cloth wrapped around her hair which she planned to wash after her long soak, she tried to forget about her unfortunate situation. Magnus was standing watch outside so she wouldn’t be disturbed.

Closing her eyes, she started to hum, keeping her voice low. It was something aimless, yet cheery, and the lemon-scented water was delightful for a change even though she had needed to improvise. Time slipped away from her and she drifted into a pleasant reverie in which she was playing fetch with Saffron.

“What are you doing?”

Miriam froze, sliding beneath the water at the unexpected sound of a familiar male voice.

“Bathing,” she murmured, drawing up her knees and feeling vulnerable once more. “Is Magnus – ?”

“The Princess Royal summoned him out of the blue and he came to find me. You are lucky I had concluded my business, Mia, or you might have been left here all alone.”

“He locked me in, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and anyone could have spied on you through the keyhole.”

The thought of that elicited a gasp of outrage. “Now I know how your mind works."

“Trust me, Mia, you don’t,” he said. “I came to check on you as I was worried for your safety and well-being.”

“Can you not fret on the other side of the door?”

“You’re forgetting who’s in charge, Mia. Stand up.”

“What? No! Please don’t ask that of me, Ketil.”

“You’re my slave, remember? I won’t ask again.”

She glared at him where he stood regarding her beside the door jamb, his thumbs hooked in his belt.

“Is this some kind of test?”

“I just don’t want to bed a wrinkled prune tonight.”

As usual around him, her face burned.

“Am I allowed a linen?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t moved.

Ketil did so now, taking one from a rack and stalking across to her. The heels of his old boots rang out very loudly on the uneven flagstones. He unfolded it and stood waiting, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Must I haul you out by force?” he demanded, his grey eyes flashing. “Trust me, I don’t have time for this.”

“Am I really in danger?” she breathed.

“Only from me, if you don’t get out now,” he growled.

“Please go away,” she begged. “I won’t dally, I promise.”

“What if I want to dally?” Ketil whispered, changing the meaning of the repeated word, his voice husky with desire.

“Against my will?”

She was trembling now and they both knew it.

“Hurry,” he said, with a scowl. “I will wait for you outside.”

Miriam’s heart was pounding. She rose from the tub in one fluid movement and cast about for the linen. It proved to be on a low stool which she assumed some of the older women used to assist them.

As she dried herself between the legs she really hoped he wasn’t watching through the keyhole.