Her King's Command Page 3

  "How many times have you been caned for this same misdeed, Shannon? Twice? Thrice a month? And those were only the times that you were caught. Bend over now and let us finish this so that you may resume your chores."

  Shannon trembled as she reluctantly obeyed. The skin of her bottom and thighs quivered as the wooden staff was again lined up to take aim. The searing bite was met with a loud squeal, followed by a milk bucket exploding. The goats, unbothered by her gift, scampered out of the way, bleating plaintively as though they understood the pain of their companion. The Grand Dame said nothing as she wiped the foamy white liquid from her face and aimed for stroke number three.

  Shannon cried out as the lash left a long, red welt across the backs of her thighs. The second pail of milk shattered as well, soaking them both. The fourth stroke left another angry mark on her thighs, but this time, no milk pail was made an additional victim. The final two strokes landed briskly on the underside of her tender cheeks, and Shannon crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her burning backside.

  "When you have composed yourself, I expect you to complete your tasks and clean up this yard. You are then to join me in your chambers for lessons. Stop your wailing, girl. Did you hear me?"

  Shannon nodded as she cried into her hands, her bottom feeling raw, and stinging painfully. She had never realized how much protection her contraband smallclothes had provided in the past! After the Grand Dame had left, she carefully stepped back into the garments, wincing as the scratchy material touched her raw skin.

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and began to tidy the mess she had made, pausing to hug the goats and sigh as they cuddled up to her. Overhead, the sound of thunder rumbling sent chills to her spirit. Was that the work of her power, or of nature as it brought spring to the lands? Despair fell over her heart and, without thinking, she lifted her face to the sky and released a plaintive wail. Cold, sweet drops of rain struck her face and mixed with the hot, salty tears on her cheeks. She prayed that she would not be leaving one prison only to be placed in another.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Your Grace?"

  Newly crowned King Domitri d'Gavril raised his head from the table. "What it is, Mikel?"

  The steward bowed his head. "You have not eaten today. Please, allow me to have something prepared."

  "I have no appetite," Dom said, rubbing his neck. "I must finish these accounts and then look over the collections."

  "Sir, if I may," Mikel placed his hand over the young lord's books. "You have barely slept since your father passed on. I hear you coughing in the evening as the dampness sets in, and I fear for your health. The only thing I have seen you consume in excess is wine. You cannot continue like this."

  "And why not? What have I to look forward to in this life? Endless work at a table? Never being allowed to go outside, for fear my enemies will put an arrow in my back? Marrying a woman I have not met, simply because my father pitied the wench?"

  "So that is what ails you! His Majesty told me that she was very fair."

  "Appearances can be deceiving, my friend. One would not think that to look into my eyes would mean the loss of thought and life."

  "The responsibly of a king is great, Sire. Much more when the king holds a gift such as yours. If you would allow me to assist you—"

  "My father did these accounts on his own and so shall I."

  "I handled all the affairs for your father while he was gone. I can do this for you. Please, allow me."

  "If he had spent less time whoring and more time at home, he would not have needed assistance."

  "Sire! That was uncalled for," Mikel scolded. "Your father had two true loves in his life. Your mother and the druid. There were no others."

  "The druid was not my mother. His carnal desire is what killed him," Dom said bitterly.

  "Your father faced the Black Death. He had no control over his health. You do."

  Dom looked up at the old steward with bloodshot eyes. "Yet, the people call me Moarte. Death. Was his passing painful?"

  "The girl has the power to take away pain. He was with her."

  "Of course he was," Dom said bitterly. "He would rather be with that whelp on his last days than his own son."

  "He went to her for her birthday, and to give her the gift you had made for her."

  "I did no such thing," Dom said, avoiding the steward's eyes.

  "Why do you lie to yourself? You commissioned the weaving of the shawl as a gift for her coming of age. Is it that difficult for you to have people know of your kindness?"

  "It was an obligation, not a gift. Father paid for it."

  "Sire, I must protest your—"

  "Did you have the halls swept?" Dom abruptly changed the subject.

  Mikel sighed, bowing his head in acquiescence. "Twice a day, Your Grace. The dogs clean what falls upon it, and we have found another litter of kittens behind the wall."

  "Good. That means that the cats are feasting well. They will keep the rats down. Make certain all the peasants have the felines in their homes, and around their livestock. The people must also be educated on sanitation. Try to get them to bathe. Please."

  "They still hold fast to the conviction that bathing is a pagan ritual, and thus refuse."

  "Why do people hold to such ludicrous beliefs? Some simple soap, water, and a handful of sage would cleanse them of fleas and lice, and help them prevent illness."

  "The words of the church have been beaten into them over these last few decades. It will take time to teach the people how to think for themselves, now that the overly zealous clergy has been removed. Patience is required, as they are gently coaxed into trusting that their king has eliminated those who hurt them."

  "Father has been battling the invaders for years," Dom sighed, rubbing his head. "You and I are left rebuilding what the Ottoman Empire destroyed. If that was not enough, he fought against the monarchy's insistence of separating the classes, and maintaining ignorance among the less fortunate. It is utterly ridiculous," Dom grumbled, pouring more wine for himself. "The truth is that insecure rulers are fearful that their people are being given knowledge equal to their own."

  "What the nobility fears is that it will lose control over the subordinates. Education gives people the ability to detect when they are being cheated and lied to, which, as you are aware, is a frequent state of affairs when it comes to lordships. The nobles fear rebellion, and the enforcement of ignorance is the strongest means to preserve power."

  "I have absolutely no desire for power, and I loathe ignorance. I wish to open a school and teach my subjects to read and write. I want to reward those who pay their taxes on time. I want people not to fear the coming of winter, or losing their loved ones to disease. These are the things I want and will see through, regardless of the cost. What I don't desire," he slammed his palm to the table as he stood, "is to marry a dog-faced empty headed dolt of a woman whom I cannot stand to look at, and whose endless prattle makes me grind my teeth. I would be too tempted to persuade her to leave. Perhaps off the side of a cliff."

  "This upcoming marriage is clearly disturbing you greatly. I must say, however, that despite the rumors and your own doubts about this girl, your nature lacks the type of cruelty to truly make you do her harm."

  "Give me some time and I'll find a way to develop it," Dom grumbled.

  "I remind you, Highness, that your father would not have chosen her for you if he did not feel she was worthy of your attention or had concerns about her place in your kingdom."

  "Ah, the faith you had in my father. Perhaps one day I shall be honored to have acquired such loyalty and trust as he."

  "Your elite soldiers and I are loyal, and trust you with our lives."

  "Yes, but the elite are connected to me through parallel bloodlines. You are my steward. None of you have much choice," Dom said.

  "We all have choices, Sire. While I still do not understand the unnatural connection of the elite to you, I can say that those me
n hold a personal affection and respect for you that has nothing to do with the bond. You saved their lives during the invasion, and they hold true to you in their devotion."

  "Do you believe in magic, Mikel?"

  "I believe that there are things on this earth that cannot be explained. Things that science is not yet even about to understand. These things, for a lack of a better word, can be viewed as magic."

  "The bond the elite have with me come from centuries of a blood-bond made among the people of the mountain tribes. Some call it magic, others call it intuition. Either way, they seem to be able to sense me somehow. Because of this, they have been made my personal guard. Does that explain it a little better?" Dom asked. "The loyalty and trust the people had for my father is what I long for. There was no magic that held him in the hearts of his people, nor did they fear him or his temper. Those are the things I desire, but will never obtain."

  "You are yet young, Sire. Allow your people to know you."

  "Nay, I cannot." Dom leaned against the wall to gaze out onto the busy courtyard within the castle walls. "To truly know me is to fear me. Better they fear the rumors than witness the truth. Please see that they have those cats."

  "Changing the subject does not resolve the problem. Please, Sire, eat something, and perhaps take a ride into the countryside. Spring has come very early this year, and the day is warm. You need the fresh air and sunshine. It has been too long since you were last outside."

  "I still have too many items to tally," the young king answered, as he returned to his accounts.

  "Why will you not care for yourself the way you care for your subjects? Give them the choice to know you as they did your father," Mikel pleaded.

  Dom shook his head. "No. Ignorance of what I am will be their bliss. Let them know only the one who delivers the gifts."

  "Why don't you wish your people to see that you are the one sending them wine and blankets, Sire? You have painted yourself as a demon in their minds. This name they call you. Moarte. Does it not hurt your heart to be thought of as one who brings death in the darkness of the night?"

  "Why is it that you cannot understand that these people have already suffered enough over the years? The losses they have experienced have sent them to their knees. Religion is the only thing they have had to hold on to, and I cannot take their faith from them, even though I believe much of what they are taught is false. Mikel," Dom said, inhaling patiently, "if they discover my secret, they will refuse the offerings. Fear will make them think that the items I send are tainted with witchcraft—or whatever other ridiculous folklore the vile words of the English missionaries have embedded in their minds. I will not be responsible for someone losing a child to a flea-bitten rodent, not will I accede to a child having to witness his parents freezing to death because they refuse to use the items that could save them. My secret must remain as it is, and the only way to ensure that is to stay apart from them."

  "You can still have them know that their ruler cares for them, and that it is he who pours these blessings upon them."

  "You are like a dog with a bone, Mikel." Dom leaned back in his barrel-shaped chair, and tapped his fingers on the armrest. "People are greedy. If you give them something, they will always ask for more. By distributing these goods anonymously, I ensure they receive what they need, and am able to maintain my solitude. The rumors regarding my, uh, disposition, prevent anyone from asking me for more. My reputation also protects them from me, and the temptation to use my powers to make them comply. My reasons are really quite selfish."

  "You are the least selfish man I have met," the steward sighed.

  "If I could be half the man my father was, I would be content. I ask that you now put my interests aside and regain your focus upon my people. Say you?"

  "I am honored to serve, Your Majesty," Mikel bowed his head. "Besides the distribution of the cats to the peasants, and the annoyance of constantly sweeping the dining hall, how else might I be of service?"

  "Did we receive word regarding preparations for the female's arrival?"

  "Yes. The carriage is preparing to leave for Denmark and be picked up by Captain Barton. They will make haste to arrive at the destination and then immediately return. I expect her to arrive in late summer."

  "Has an escort of the elite been arranged to ensure her safety?" Dom asked, unable to disguise the growl in his voice.

  "Yes, Sire. They plan to leave at sunrise. Four will guide her to the ship, and the other six will be waiting to guard her as they travel across the land to reach this castle."

  "Have they been made aware of what they might face?"

  "They have been warned, Sire."

  "Good. Their bloodlines should offer them protection should the rumors of this woman's gifts be true."

  "The men would be more comfortable if you were there to lead them. They have never faced druidic power before."

  "They will be fine. Each has been trained in the ways of protection."

  "She is your betrothed. Are you not curious as to what awaits you? You could use the time of travel to come to know her before the wedding."

  "Mikel, if I care not for her, I just might very well disregard Father's last wishes and send her walking off the side of the ship. Is that a risk that should be taken?"

  "You would not do either of those things. Your father's last requests are something you hold dear, despite your anger towards him. As for that young woman, I could see you flaying her backside before you cause her harm." Mikel grinned.

  "I loathe it when you are correct about me," Dom sighed. "Are they bringing the royal carriage?"

  "They are, Sire. Although, the ship's captain was displeased. He sent a raven with this comment." Mikel removed a piece of cloth with words scribbled upon it. "Please remember that I am simply delivering the message."

  "I am no stranger to the captain's bluntness. Continue."

  "Very well, Sire. He said to 'tell your king that this is a fool's mission. It is better to have leeches shoved up his arse than to try to impress a female. Especially one from the island. Only an idiot would engage one of those.' Sire, I…" Mikel looked up as Dom suddenly burst forth choking. "Sire?"

  Dom was laughing with such force that his wine was spewed across the table and onto his books. He fought desperately to contain his mirth, but fond childhood memories of the one-legged, one-eyed, barrel-chested seaman erased the man's profound statements of disrespect.

  "Old Barton never ceases his attempts to be executed, does he? He once told my father that it would be the only way he would succumb to death. But he is correct. It is a preposterous idea to bring the carriage aboard ship. It would not have hurt for the female's delicate tail to endure riding a couple hours on horseback, from the convent to the docks."

  "Why, then, is it being sent? Is she so fragile that even a simple journey would bring her discomfort?"

  "Is she is, then she will suffer greatly during her passage. As for the carriage," Dom sipped his watered wine with an exasperated sigh, "my father, in all his infinite wisdom, wanted to make certain to have the last word, and he was determined to have that word be loudly proclaimed. By being attended in this manner from the convent to the docks, the female's people will gain hope that one does not have to descend from royal lines to rule, and give them the courage to fight for what is theirs. Likewise, the future queen's travel across the land in royal escort is a declaration of our country's strength and power."

  "Your father wished to make a statement that Moldavia would not fall under the same political agenda adopted by other monarchies. He was opposed to their attitudes that divided the classes, and loathed the enslavement of the people," Mikel explained.

  "I well understand that. What Father failed to see was that this hideous wagon is a symbol promising a lifetime of misery to his son. Plus, it is an annoyance to travel with. It is like a giant target for my enemies, and one that will have to remain hidden in order to protect the bitch inside."

  "Have faith, Domitri," Mikel wh
ispered, resting his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Things are not always as they seem."

  "Nay, they are often even worse. Leave me now. I have accounts to complete."

  Dom waited until the old steward had left the room before going over to the washbasin at the far end of the hall. He poured cold water into the bowl from a pitcher and splashed it over his face. Taking a deep breath, he then submerged his head into the vessel and waited.

  As before, the image of the female remained a blur. The fact that he was unable to visualize her through his mind's eye was disturbing, and left him to wonder whether she was, indeed, a child of the dark. As he had done during the prior months, Dom focused his concentration on his attempt to see into the true nature of his future wife. His lungs began to scream for air and, just before he lifted his face from the water, the distorted creature turned. She stared directly at him with eyes that embedded into his soul, and opened her mouth in a silent scream.

  Dom took two steps backwards, breaking away from the watery mirror of the world. Had she actually seen him, or was it purely his imagination slightly skewed with wine? Dom shook his head, wiping the wetness from his face and hair. He peered back into the still water and saw only his own reflection. Dipping his finger into the liquid, he watched the ripples and wondered who and what this thing was that was coming to invade his life. Growling, he slapped the table. These were questions he needed answers to before he risked the safety of his kingdom.

  "Mikel!" he shouted across the great hall.

  "Your Grace?" Mikel ran to his king's side and made a quick bow.

  "Saddle my horse. I'm taking a trip."

  "Sire?"

  "I am going with the elite to retrieve my betrothed. I must make certain that she is taught the rules of my household before she enters my kingdom. Father told me that she is stubborn and opinionated, and has no difficulty challenging authority. That will not be permissible under my reign."

  Mikel's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Yes, I have heard the late king comment on the disposition of the druid and her daughter several times. I suspect that teaching this young Irish queen to follow your rules might pose a challenge. Are you certain you are ready for it?"