Aurelia became aware as she walked that many eyes were on them. Behind lacy curtains and in shadowed doorways, people had paused to watch their arrival and discussion. Even now, heads were bending together and Aurelia heard the whispers begin.
She wondered whether they were calling her the king’s new whore and felt her cheeks heat.
Stones crunched as Bard strode up behind Aurelia and he caught up her elbow with a proprietary gesture. “I thought we had that all straightened out,” he growled. “No more playing dumb.”
Aurelia lifted her chin proudly. She tried desperately to think of something to say and failed.
Bard, apparently undeterred by her silence, steered her into an adjacent building. Bells tinkled as he opened the door—obviously a crude copy of Julian’s alarm—and she knew they would be caught as intruders.
“You cannot simply barge into peoples’ homes!” she hissed and tried to step back into the street.
Bard determinedly pushed her forward. A slender older woman inside the home watched the transaction with interest and Aurelia’s cheeks burned even more hotly. Bard smiled for the woman with all his usual charm.
“It’s a store,” he muttered through his teeth. “Anyone can come in here.”
“A store?”
“A shop. Where a merchant does business.” His voice was gritty with impatience. “Where they sell their merchandise.”
Understanding dawned. “Oh! There was once a merchant who brought his wares to Dunhelm on his back,” Aurelia whispered, her gaze dancing over the goods displayed. “But my sire oft told of the merchant’s stalls in Micklegarth.”
Baird breathed a sigh of relief. “Right. Just like that.”
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
Bard loosened his grip on Aurelia. “You must be Marge. I’m Baird Beauforte, from Dunhelm.” Aurelia hated how the woman’s manner became coy once she knew who had crossed her threshold.
The vain cur had to have every woman groveling at his feet!
Bard gestured easily to Aurelia. “This is Aurelia—perhaps you’ve met?”
“We have not met,” Aurelia said stiffly and the woman shook her head in turn.
Bard looked disappointed, though how he imagined Aurelia would know a merchant from his kingdom, Aurelia did not know.
“Well, Aurelia needs a few things.”
“I see. Lost luggage?”
Aurelia did not know what that meant, but Bard quickly agreed. The woman erupted from behind the table with purpose in her step. She scanned Aurelia, then fixed Bard with a bright eye.
“Anything, in particular, we have in mind?”
“I’m sure that your advice will be invaluable to the lady,” Baird said smoothly. He dropped into a chair by the door and scooped up a wad of colorful vellum. “You do take American Express, don’t you?”
The woman smiled.
And Aurelia wondered what in the name of Odin had just been transacted.
It quickly became clear the merchant woman had been hired by Bard to assist Aurelia in choosing more garb. Though she could have found the intimation that she did not know her own mind insulting, Aurelia was soon glad of advice. The array of colors, the choice of fabrics, the variety of cut of the garb in even this one shop was completely overwhelming and Aurelia was grateful for the woman’s patient guidance.
She argued briefly with Bard about his buying her garb, but he was adamant she was his ‘responsibility,’ at least until her father was found. He was obviously trying to win her approval, but the prospect of shedding his whore’s chemise was simply too tempting to be refused.
Aurelia settled on the familiar, or at least the closest thing to it she could find. Their leggings were made of a wondrous stretchy matter and were wrought in the most delightful array of bright colors. These were no herbal dies that Aurelia knew! And if the cloth was woven of wool, then even the spinners had been bewitched by Julian’s spells. Aurelia had never felt fabric so smooth.
This merchant, too, insisted on the same “undies” the whore had tried to foist on Aurelia. She finally conceded to the briefs, but would not have anything to do with the harness for her breasts.
They had tunics and shirts of gossamer fabrics, though none had the embroidered hems Aurelia so favored. She imagined another merchant sold lengths of embroidery, or perhaps one was expected to do that oneself. The merchant had a great creamy sweater, not unlike Bard’s own, and Bard insisted on a burgundy cloak of the same strange fabric as his.
Aurelia liked the pockets and the strange manner of fastenings, though she was skeptical of the merchant’s claim it would repel the rain.
She found but one dress—and that at Bard’s insistence—that she could bring herself to wear in public and its texture was well familiar. ‘Wool challis’ the merchant called the fabric, though the design wrought upon it was as marvelous as that on Marissa’s sheet.
The ‘paisley print’ was all blues and greens with a touch of purple, the very colors of the sea and the sky around Dunhelm. Though it had no embroidery, the hem and cuffs were bordered in the same magical way as the overall pattern.
And no man could see through it. Its hem, though a far cry from the floor, hung just below Aurelia’s knees. The merchant matched the dress with a short jacket of boiled wool with the most wonderful silver buttons Aurelia had ever seen.
Bard’s eyes glowed when she came out of the little chamber to which she had been dispatched to change. Aurelia felt a perverse tingle of pleasure that he found her pleasing.
She knew it was only because he had finally acknowledged her beauty, not because his approval in itself mattered in the least.
“Shoes,” Bard said simply when she thought he might say more, his gaze dancing to her bare feet as though he could not help himself from gaping at them.
Aurelia wiggled her toes playfully and marveled at the way he caught his breath.
Was it possible she had some effect on him?
The merchant summoned another merchant who evidently made shoes, for he brought a variety of awesome footwear for Aurelia’s perusal. She flatly refused the whore’s shoes they all encouraged her to try—obviously her role in Bard’s life had been mistaken! They were of fine enough leather, but the spikes under the heels made it nearly impossible to walk.
She liked instead a marvelously wrought pair of purple leather shoes. They had virtually no heel but were delicate and feminine. And they matched the hue of her dress perfectly.
Bard had considerable opinion about the matter of sensible boots and she let him argue with the shoe merchant. He got down on his hands and knees, to Aurelia’s amazement, to check the fit of what he called ‘hiking boots.’
They were comfortable indeed, but Aurelia could not help but catch her own breath when Bard closed his hand around her ankle. He checked the solidity of her stance, then fired a glance through his lashes so hot that it nearly stopped her heart.
She stared back at him and her mouth went dry. A snippet of the dream trotted through her head and she wondered whether it had been Bard’s dream she witnessed.
The prophecy nudged at Aurelia’s memory but she would not heed its foolishness.
Nonsense! There was nothing that said it had been his dream she shared! Why, it could have been the priest’s—indeed it would have been far more reasonable for the priest to be meddling with her dream power.
Or trying to steal it.
But there was a knowing in Bard’s gaze that set a heat simmering deep within Aurelia. She broke free of his grip and fled to the ‘change room.’
Aurelia dressed hastily in the boots, the burgundy tights, a teal shirt and the sweater like Bard’s. She returned to the shop to find her ‘Gore-Tex’ on the counter, everything else folded and packed away in great bags. Bard was handing a gold card to the merchant, a card not unlike Julian’s talisman.
To her relief, he did not as much as glance her way and she took the opportunity to gather her wits about her.
The woman toyed with the card, something beeped, then she smiled at Bard. “Thank you so much for your patronage, Mr. Beauforte.”
Bard scrawled on the paper she gave him, then handed it back to her. The woman smiled again and handed back Bard’s card. She beamed at Aurelia and handed over their packages. “Have a lovely day, dear.”
They left the shop without any coin or fancy vellum changing hands.
Aurelia snorted under her breath, Bard’s lie obviously exposed. “And you say you do not go a-Viking.”
“What do you mean?”
“You did not pay for those wares!”
“Of course, I did!” Bard had the grace to look sheepish. “Or, at least, I will once the bill comes.”
But Aurelia had not been born the day before. “That is the import of your note? That you will pay later?” Bard nodded, but Aurelia laughed. “That merchant was well fooled by your charm, but I know a-Viking when I see it!”
She poked the new king solidly in the chest with her finger. “You are a rogue, sir, and people will learn soon enough the manner of your dealings. Even Vikings do not pillage in their own towns.”
Bard’s lips thinned. “Look, just because you don’t have a credit card doesn’t make one a bad thing. They’re handy and as long as the debt doesn’t get out of hand, are useful.”
That meant just about nothing to Aurelia.
“And now,” Bard said firmly. “We’ll ask about your father.”
Aurelia though had more immediate concerns on her mind. They had been in the shop a good while and such decision-making was always a tiring business. She scanned the square as her stomach grumbled loudly.
“Have you charmed anyone in this village with a good kitchen?”
Bard looked confused.
“I am hungry,” Aurelia clarified. “Where can we eat?”
Hungry?
Baird couldn’t believe it. After the breakfast she had put away?
But Aurelia was serious.
He sighed with resignation and steered to the pub, where she consumed a fish-and-chips lunch in short order. Baird barely ate half a dozen bites of his, because his cell phone kept screaming for attention.
By the time Aurelia began making his lunch disappear as well, Baird knew reality couldn’t be avoided any longer. The plumbers couldn’t go any further without the placement of the fourth septic tank being solved and it wasn’t going to happen without him being there.
Baird didn’t want to even think about how much it was costing him to have all those plumbers sitting around, doing nothing more productive than twiddling their thumbs.
Baird watched Aurelia eat and wondered how she would take to this change of plans. After all, he had promised to help her find her father today.
But Dunhelm was calling. And the huge financial obligation of this resort could not be ignored. Baird leaned forward and watched Aurelia carefully for her response, hoping this would be easier than he thought it might be.
If she panicked, he would just have to find another solution.
“Look, princess, I’ve got to get back to Dunhelm,” he said gently. “There are all sorts of people who need decisions made. Do you mind if I don’t help you look for your father today?”
“No.” Aurelia shook her head readily, returning her attention to consuming the last of his chips with gusto.
Baird blinked. She agreed so easily he was almost insulted. He eyed her carefully but her expression was blank.
Well, Baird certainly wasn’t going to force his company on her!
“Fine. Do you want to stay in town or go back to Dunhelm?”
Aurelia barely considered the question. “Back to Dunhelm, please.” Then, her lips set with such purposefulness Baird had the feeling his decision perfectly dovetailed with Aurelia’s plans.
Whatever they were.
Aurelia was delighted by this turn of events. The last thing she wanted was Bard hot on her heels while she looked for her father.
Bard kept looking at her on the way back to Dunhelm and once or twice started to ask her a question, but the small ringing box he carried kept interrupting. Aurelia was well pleased with its timing, though the way he talked into it confused her utterly.
Though that was not the only thing about Bard, son of Erc, that did not match expectation. Aurelia slanted a glance to her companion as they passed through the gates of Dunhelm. His strong fingers drummed on his thigh, he frowned as he listened to the little box.
Dunhelm Castle rose in silhouette before them against the silver-gray of the sea. Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her home, changed yet still familiar, and resolve grew within her.
She had this one afternoon to search for the truth of what had transpired. What had happened to all the men who lined the walls and the women who waited anxiously below?
Aurelia meant to find out. Once she knew the fate of her father’s faithful, she might learn more of her father.
And who knew when she might have such a golden opportunity again?
In the Hampstead Heath offices of the National Heritage Preservation Society, Colin Russell was drumming his meaty fingers on his desk. He hated the feeling that he was waiting on a very junior member of his staff—it was against every hierarchical belief he held about the world—but that was precisely the situation.
How could he have let this ingrate win such power over him? It was unnatural, it was against the normal order of things, it was wrong.
But Colin hadn’t had the nerve to call a stop to it all.
And he hated the recognition of his own weakness even more.
There was a rap on his door and his secretary, the wraithlike Miss Patterson, ushered Darian Mulvaney into the office.
“Mr. Russell? You wanted to see me?” Darian smiled a guileless smile and Colin’s hackles rose. He really did not like this young man, and he particularly did not like the means Darian had chosen to get ahead.
But he would be damned if he let his animosity show.
He was British, after all.
Darian Mulvaney had looked like a promising candidate for the Society, an attractive young man with fixed goals and a doctorate from a prestigious American university fresh under his arm. Darian had impressed the entire Society committee during the interview process with his fervor for the Picts, his dedication to his career and his boyish enthusiasm.
Giddy with the prospect of acquiring from the ‘first crop’ of graduates—instead of picking over everyone else’s leavings—the meagerly funded Society had acted with uncharacteristic haste.
And made a tragic mistake.
By the time Colin knew the doctorate was faked, Darian Mulvaney already had his ace in the hole. Ousting the young man would bring scandal on the fledgling Society, in more ways than one, and havoc into Colin’s personal life.
“Yes, I did, Mr. Mulvaney,” Colin agreed as sternly as he could manage. He smoothed the facsimile that had arrived that morning against the broad oak expanse of his desk. “We have word today of a discovery at Dunhelm Castle in the Orkney Islands, an ancient site that might have Pictish origins.”
“Yes?” Darian’s excitement was tangible and he looked almost innocent in his enthusiasm. There was a hard glitter in his eyes evident to anyone who looked.
Or anyone who had learned to look.
But they had a bargain, as much as Colin would like to deny it. And Colin Russell was a man of his word.
“Yes,” Colin admitted with a hard glance to the newest member of the Society’s staff. “Just as you suspected it would be, oddly enough.” He pursed his lips. “One might almost think you knew in advance that the site would be found.”
Darian swallowed a coy smile. “That would be rather unlikely, wouldn’t it, sir?”
“Quite.” Colin shuffled the paperwork on his desk, sickened he had to do this. There were half a dozen researchers on his staff more experienced and, frankly, more deserving of this plum. How could he ever have guessed that a quick tumble would put him in the predicament of betraying so many dreams?
“As you may have guessed,” he said gruffly, “I need to send a staff member to Dunhelm to investigate the site so that an appropriate course can be decided.”
“Of course,” Darian said smoothly, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.
Colin cleared his throat. “As per our earlier discussion, I have chosen to send you to Dunhelm.” Darian smiled a very cold smile of satisfaction and Colin latched his nervous fingers onto a heavy glass paperweight.
The worst must be said.
This had to be stopped right here and right now. Colin tried to toy with the paperweight as though unconcerned about what he intended to say, but suspected that he failed.
“I believe, Mr. Mulvaney, that this act will fulfill the bounds of my obligation to you here at the Society.” Colin took a deep breath. “Your credentials in coming here show an impressive level of work in researching the ancient Picts—however questionable they may be, it is evident that this area has a profound interest to you. This opportunity—granted at the expense of many others, I might add—should give you the chance you desire to prove yourself.”
Darian said absolutely nothing, a fact Colin found terribly unsettling.
“Needless to say, I consider our bargain to be a matter forgotten as of this moment.”
He threw his most quelling glance at his subordinate, but Darian’s smile did not waver.
When the young man spoke, his voice was dangerously low. “Unfortunately, sir, we aren’t in agreement.”
“What?”
“I don’t consider our business to be completed.”
Colin dropped the paperweight and it rolled heavily across his desk. He ignored it and jabbed a thick finger into the solid wood. “You cannot continue to milk a single comparatively minor incident to fuel your entire career! I will not have it! It is a disgrace to the Society!”
Darian arched a fair brow. “Would Mrs. Russell consider the widow on Rosehill Road to be a single comparatively minor incident?”
The men’s gazes locked and held for a long moment. Colin sat back heavily and poked at the fax in dissatisfaction.
Mildred. The Russells’ marriage was not a love match, by any means, but it was one firmly rooted in mutual respect. They passed periodically in the house Mildred had inherited, but by and large, lived separate lives.
Mildred had her horses, her friends at Ascot, her big straw hats and social teas. Colin had his tweeds and his archeological digs.
And his society.
Established with a juicy grant from Mildred.
“You’re right, of course, sir,” Darian said cheerfully when Colin glared at his desk. “I’m certain Mrs. Russell would see no harm in this, at all.” Darian reached for the phone. “Why don’t we just give her a call and set this matter behind us, as you wish?”
Darian picked up the receiver but Colin snatched it out of his hand and dropped it back into the cradle.
He glared at the audacious young man who had invaded his life.
Darian smiled with open malice. “Mrs. Russell is an understanding woman, isn’t she?”
Mildred was not an understanding woman, never had been and never would be. If she found out about Colin’s dalliance, there would be hell to pay for the rest of his life.
Colin drew himself taller and made a bluff of having some dignity left in this exchange.
“I’m warning you, Mr. Mulvaney, I will not permit this to continue,” he declared. “It is a travesty of the code of the society and an affront to serious scholarship everywhere.”
But Darian clearly knew as well as Colin did the words were empty. The younger man laced his fingers together and looked steadily at his superior. “I only want one more thing, Mr. Russell.”
Colin’s mouth went dry. “What is that?”
Darian pushed to his feet. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to do something about it.” He sauntered across the office, pausing with one hand on the door. “I’ll call you from Dunhelm, sir.”
And then he was gone.
Colin wadded up the fax and hurled it across the room. Insolent bugger! Maybe life would be easier with him at the other end of the country!
One more thing. Did Colin dare to hope that might be the truth?
He sighed, feeling suddenly very defeated by life’s challenges, and retrieved the fax, smoothing it out on his desk. One last thing, he reminded himself, just one last thing and Darian Mulvaney would keep his mouth shut forever.
Colin could only hope it was something in his power to do.