The Norse King's Daughter

  “I wouldna mind meeting some harem lassies,” Jamie mused in a deep Scottish brogue that seemed to come and go at will.

  “Harem lassies?” Thork scoffed.

  “I still think you should return to Stoneheim, Princess Drifa. Even with your guardsmen . . . well, I have a bad feeling.” Wulf was frowning with concern.

  “I do, too,” Ivar surprised her by concurring.

  She arched a brow at the older man, and he said, “I am confident of my abilities in a front-on fight. Even a sneak attack. But we are in a foreign city, and normal rules do not apply.”

  “Listen, I understand your concerns, and I even concede that the dangers may be greater here than if I were in Jorvik, or Birka, or Dublin, but I am not a lackwit. I will cultivate a friendship with the empress. I will never go about without a guardsman. I have all the seamen who man my longship to back us up, if need be. I am here to study gardens, and I will make that abundantly clear to one and all. In fact, I will even inform the eparch of Ianthe’s plant roots that I intend to take home.”

  All seven of the men accompanying her shook their heads hopelessly.

  “If that be so, our longships will be leaving in two days,” Wulf said.

  “Then let us all enjoy ourselves today,” she said cheerily. “Shall we go to the Hippodrome?”

  They all agreed, though some of them had already visited yesterday. Apparently there was something new to see every day.

  When she returned to her chambers later that day, Anna told her there had been a delivery for her in her absence. It was the harem garment, and there was a note.

  Drifa:

  Until I return. Miss me.

  S.

  She already did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sex in the Golden City . . .

  Drifa was sad to wave off the four hersirs two mornings later as their longships rode the waves away from the Golden City harbor. They had been her companions for months and had come to feel like brothers to her.

  But she did not remain sad for long. Today she was going to witness a truly spectacular event . . . an imperial Byzantine wedding. And Empress Theodora, whom she had spent an hour with yesterday in her separate wing of the palace, had invited her to have a special placement in the cathedral and at the wedding feast. Much to Ivar’s displeasure, by the by. If he had his way, she would stay put in her own palace quarters. He worried about her safety in the crowds that would come to witness the historic event.

  But then Ivar worried about every location or happening. For example, yesterday he and Farle had stuck to her like burrs on the hem of a gunna when the head gardener of all the palace gardens, a Greek monk named Father Sylvester, gave her a tour that lasted all afternoon, thanks to the empress’s influence. While she’d been fascinated by the monk’s vast knowledge, her men had been bored nigh to tears, if their constant yawns were any indication. When she’d asked Ivar later if he didn’t find the tour interesting, he’d stared at her as if she were daft and compared it to watching his toenails grow.

  “Not even the tamarisk grove?”

  “Pfff! Not even the lotus petal fountains, or the statue garden, and I do not care what you say, that Greek senator’s manroot was the size of a radish.”

  With a smile behind her hand, Drifa pretended affront. “Some men have no taste for the finer things in life.”

  “The finest thing I could appreciate right now is a cool horn of mead.”

  Drifa had been captivated with plants for most of her twenty-nine years and only now realized how much she did not know. The benefits of terracing and trellising. Ways to graft certain trees and cross-breed flowers. How to increase the number and quality of roses on one bush. Best times for pruning and thinning plants. Edible flower petals and roots. Even different types of manure, some very unusual, like camel dung.

  But then, Drifa was able to teach Father Sylvester a few things, too, especially about the hardy plants that were able to grow in her snowy climate and ways to improve a species for survival.

  The priest had given her permission to return and sketch in the gardens in the future, as long as she made arrangements ahead of time. They were, after all, mostly private oases in the busy palace. And he’d given her roots and cuttings and seeds to take back to Stoneheim with her. Those, on top of the iris roots Ianthe had already dug up for her, the flowers having quit blooming early, made a nice collection for Drifa, so far.

  But now Drifa must ready herself for the wedding events. Ianthe had accompanied her to the harbor, along with her new guard, a burly Nubian eunuch named Joseph Samuel hired by Sidroc. Ianthe was coming back to the palace with her to help Drifa dress in her best finery. Ianthe herself had chosen not to attend. Having no special invitation, she would be crushed in the crowds.

  “I noticed you spending some time with Alrek this morning before they set sail,” Drifa remarked as they walked along.

  Ianthe blushed. “He is too young for me.”

  That is a revealing answer if I ever heard one. “Oh? And if he were thirty and two, and you were twenty and two, then it would be all right?”

  Ianthe shrugged. “It is the way of the world.”

  “Pfff! I admire the way you live so independently, Ianthe. I’ve told you that before. You defy conventions in so many other ways.”

  “That is different. The heart is not involved in a business. Well, not in the same way. I fear making a fool of myself.”

  Don’t we all? “My friend, it is obvious that Alrek has developed an attachment for you. I’ve known him since he was only ten and single-handedly raising his two younger sisters and a brother. He was old for his years even then. And I can tell you this, I have ne’er seen him fall in love the way he appears to be with you.”

  “So he says.” Ianthe was pleased, despite herself.

  “It is to Alrek’s credit that he raised three fine siblings. His brother serves honorably in my father’s hird of soldiers, and his two sisters are of marrying age and free to choose, thanks to the dowries Alrek has amassed for them.”

  “His honor was never in question. Nor his fine form,” Ianthe added mischievously.

  “He is clumsy,” Drifa had to point out. After all, Ianthe lived in a confined space and worked with sharp objects in her jewelry making.

  Ianthe appeared insulted by Drifa’s observation. “I think Alrek’s awkwardness is adorable.”

  An adorable Viking? Every Norseman in Valhalla must be laughing in his ale. “You are considering his suit,” Drifa guessed, smiling at Alrek’s good fortune. Ianthe’s, too.

  “We shall see. Alrek says he will return after his mission against the Saxon king.”

  “And?”

  “I will say this, when Sidroc asked if I wanted to leave Byzantium with him, I did not hesitate to decline. But with Alrek, the temptation is great.”

  Sidroc asked her to go with him? To marry him or as his mistress? It must be why their relationship ended. Ianthe must have been the one who severed it, not Sidroc. Drifa wasn’t sure why it mattered to her, but it did.

  But then another idea came to her unbidden. If Sidroc married, whether it be to Ianthe or some other woman, he would almost surely take Runa from her.

  She did not want to think of that now. Later. She would think on it later, knowing that when he returned, she must tell him her secret, as promised, regardless of the consequences.

  “Now let us decide on your garments,” Ianthe said.

  They were in her chambers back at the palace where Anna had balked but finally heeded her request that she leave them to prepare for the festivities without her help. Not for the first time, Drifa wondered if the sly-eyed Anna reported her doings to someone higher up, like the emperor, or the general, or—shudder—the eparch. For what reason, she would have had no idea . . . until the recent meeting with the eparch. Now she suspected everyone around her.

  Ianthe was examining the various gunnas she had laid out over her bed, then held up a white silk one.

  Drifa s
hook her head. “We will be walking to the cathedral. The hem would be black afore we returned to the palace.”

  “You are right.” Ianthe chose a crimson one then, also in silk, with a stiff-pleated train and gold braiding about the tight sleeves and round neckline. It matched the crimson, open-sided apron she pulled over it, except there was gold-threaded embroidery in a writhing wolf design along its edges, instead of braiding. She clipped gold wolf brooches at either shoulder. Placing a gold filigree fillet on her head, Ianthe then experimented with a hairstyle that involved twisting strands of Drifa’s black hair over and under the band so the crown appeared part of her hair, the gold peeping out from the ebony. A wide swath of hair hung down her back.

  Drifa, watching in a small hand mirror, was impressed with the results. She did not dare think about how much easier it would be to prepare herself if she had a large mirror like the one at Sidroc’s Varangian quarters. It brought up too many images. Wicked images. “The hairstyle is wonderful. I never would have thought of doing that.”

  “But wait, this silver does not go with the rest.” Before Drifa could see what Ianthe was about, she undid the silver neck torque, saying, “You need something gold about your neck. This silver is beautiful, but it does not suit your . . .” A heavy pause followed, in which Drifa knew that Ianthe had discovered the red mark on her neck. To her surprise, Ianthe burst out in giggles, which soon escalated to side-splitting laughter. “Sidroc . . . You and Sidroc . . . Surely you didn’t! . . . You couldn’t possibly! . . . Oh my!” she choked out. “I cannot believe you allowed the cad within touching distance of your person.”

  I can’t, either. Drifa should have been offended, but she burst out laughing, too. It was funny, and not just the silly mark, which she had grown fond of, truth to tell, but the fact that Sidroc’s mistress, or former mistress, was the one to discover her shameful mark. “You must think me a total wanton,” she said finally as she swiped the moistness from under her eyes.

  “What? Do you jest? Am I so pure that I could cast stones?”

  “Oh, I did not mean—”

  “Please, Drifa, you must stop apologizing to me. I am not so easily offended. Surely, even in your lands, friends can say anything to each other without fear of insult.”

  “Ha! Vikings are known for their blunt tongues. You would not believe the things that come of out my father’s mouth. My sisters, too.”

  They smiled at each other, then rooted through Drifa’s jewelry chest and agreed on a gold filigreed torque with a hanging ruby in the center. There were matching rubies for her ear rings.

  “Too bad I didn’t bring one of my spiderweb necklaces for you, although I don’t think I have one with rubies at the moment.”

  “Much as I would have liked that, I do not think it wise for me to call attention to your work at the moment.” She told Ianthe of the meeting with the eparch.

  “Mylonas is definitely a cruel man,” Ianthe said, casting a glance here and there to make sure she was not overheard. “And dangerous. You are right. Best not to call attention to oneself when his rat nose is on the scent.”

  Drifa laughed.

  “But thank you for the warning. I will be extra diligent in reporting my business activities. His spies are everywhere.”

  They walked out to Drifa’s small garden, where there were cool cups of lemon water that Anne had left for them. It would be an hour or more before Ivar and her other escorts arrived.

  In the meantime, Drifa had to clear the air of one thing. “Ianthe, I am uncomfortable about Sidroc. ’Tis true we have a history, and there is more to come, I fear, though I would avoid it, but he is . . . was yours.”

  “No, no, no! I keep telling you that ours was never a love match, and whatever we have is over. If you suffer guilt, please let it not be because of me. If anyone should feel guilty, it is me. Sex without marriage . . . sex without any intention to ever wed . . . that is a sin in my religion. At least you were betrothed to the man.”

  Not anymore. I really have no more excuse than you do. In fact, my sin is probably greater to your God, compounded as it is with lies. Nay, the sex, wicked as it was, is not my greatest guilt. Although a maidenhead was prized afore marriage in the Norse culture, men and women were looser in their sexual activities. The word sin did not even exist when it came to bedsport, as far as she knew. That did not mean Vikings were without morals. Just a different kind. But she could not dwell on that at the moment.

  “Ianthe, I would ask . . .” She hesitated to speak what was on her mind. “Never mind.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk! You cannot stop now.”

  She took a deep, bracing breath before beginning. “I have four sisters who are married, all to virile men whom they love dearly. So I know that women can enjoy sexplay, but by the gods!” She rolled her eyes.

  “That good, huh?” Ianthe grinned, taking way too much pleasure in her discomfort.

  Drifa thought about lying, but what was the point? “I do not consider myself naïve, but I never imagined!”

  “I, on the other hand, can imagine. The dolt should know better than to try such nonsense on an inexperienced woman.”

  “I’m sure he just wanted to shock me.” And shock me, and shock me, and shock me.

  “Were you shocked?”

  “For a certainty. Do normal women enjoy such things?” I certainly did, to my shame.

  “I am not about to ask you what things you refer to, but I will say this. If two people care about each other, and no one is hurt physically . . .” She shrugged. “The things my husband and I used to do! I still blush. And we were virgins together when we wed.”

  The difference was that she and Sidroc didn’t “care” for each other.

  Or did they?

  Rather, did she?

  Even if Sidroc did have some faint feelings for her, how would that change when he found out she withheld knowledge of his daughter? She wished there were a way to find out how he would react regarding the child. Certainly, he would be happy that she was still alive, but the big question was whether he would insist on raising her himself. Without her. If only her sisters were here to help her decide the best course to follow!

  Hesitantly, she said, “Ianthe, I need your advice about something.”

  “Of course.”

  “You must promise not to repeat what I tell you.”

  “Of course.”

  Drifa explained everything, with Ianthe interrupting her with pertinent questions here and there. When she was done, Ianthe summed the situation up succinctly. “What a mess!”

  “Do you see what my problem is?”

  Ianthe nodded.

  “Will Sidroc be so joyous over Runa’s being alive that he will want what is best for her?”

  “Meaning: allow the child to live with you?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “He will kill me.”

  “He will consider it, at least at first.”

  “But it was just a misunderstanding.”

  “One you have failed to rectify since you arrived in Constantinople.”

  She had hoped that Ianthe would reassure her, not be so judgmental. Her sentiments must have shown on her face because Ianthe reached out and squeezed her hand.

  “Look at the situation from Sidroc’s perspective. Yes, he insulted you by his marriage proposal, but you struck what could have been a mortal blow to his head. Then when he very well might have been facing death, you left for what he believed was a pleasure journey. After that he discovered that his daughter was gone . . . to him, that meant dead. Now, five years later, he meets you again, and the first thing out of your mouth is not, ‘Sidroc! What good news I have for you!’ as it should have been. Now you want him to hand over his daughter to you.”

  “That is not the way—”

  Ianthe held up both hands to stop Drifa. “Wait. I have spoken of Sidroc’s possible view of the situation. Now, let us look at your view.”
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  Yea, let’s.

  “Yes, Sidroc behaved like a pig when discussing his betrothal to you. Men ofttimes act like pigs. Nothing new there. You reacted emotionally when you hit him over the head with the pitcher. I would have done the same. But you are a woman with heart, and when you heard about his daughter, you acted according to your conscience and rescued the child. It was never your intention to hide the child from Sidroc. In fact, you tried many times to locate him over those first few years. Sidroc might say you should have tried harder, but that is neither here nor there. You took care of his daughter these many years and grew to love her. To me, and I suspect to Sidroc, your biggest crime will be failing to tell him now. Each hour, each day, that has gone by while he is kept in ignorance, your innocence loses its . . . innocence.”

  “So it is hopeless?”

  “Not at all. ’Tis obvious that Sidroc has an attraction for you. Oh yes, he does. I saw the way he looked at you during the feast and while you visited my shop. You must use that attraction to your advantage.”

  She frowned in confusion.

  “You must marry the man.”

  “Whaaat?” she squealed.

  “If you are wed, Runa will live with you both.”

  “But he does not want to marry, and especially not me.”

  “Then you must seduce him.”

  Drifa groaned. “I am as far from a seductress as a rowboat is from a longship.”

  “Drifa, Drifa, Drifa. All women have the tools. I will teach you how to use them.”

  Was Drifa really about to get sex lessons? From the former mistress of the man to be seduced?

  If her sisters ever heard about this, they would be hiring a skald to write sagas about her escapades.

  If her father ever heard about this, he would have her baptized and locked in a convent for life.

  If Sidroc ever heard about this, he would probably laugh himself silly, or kill her, or both.

  “Well?” Ianthe tapped her foot impatiently.