God Commander Ashfirth has found us. He believes her to be the Princess and he has the sense to be discreet …
Anna listened with half an ear while the Commander tried to dissuade Katerina from buying the slaves.
‘Those children are far too young to be freed,’ Commander Ashfirth was saying. ‘You will have to look after them until they are grown. And if you have a mind to train them as servants, it will be years before they are of use …’
Anna’s throat tightened as she looked at the children huddled on the auction block. Poor souls. Poor little souls. Their clothes are in tatters, their faces are filthy and, what is worse, they look as though they haven’t eaten in a week. If Katerina does buy them, she will have done a good deed. It will have been worth coming to this terrible place.
And then there was him. The young man with hair like a Viking. The moment Anna had seen him the most ridiculous idea had jumped into her head—a most ridiculous, yet dangerously compelling idea …
That man is desperate. A man like that would surely do anything to regain his freedom. Marry him.
Marry a slave?
Yes! Marriage with a man such as this, a desperate man, will be your means of escaping marriage with Lord Romanos. Once it is done, you can give the slave his freedom. You will never have to see him again and Lord Romanos will not touch you when he learns you have married a slave.
I cannot marry a complete stranger!
Better that than marry Lord Romanos …
Holy Virgin, I cannot do this! And yet …
The idea would not leave her.
Commander Ashfirth was frowning at the young man. ‘And as for that male slave,’ he said, ‘he looks to be in a very bad way. I doubt that he will take instruction.’
Tipping back her head, pulse racing, Anna studied the young man who, despite his chains, stood so protectively over the children. The resemblance to Erling was uncanny. The slave was unusually large, with long, strong thighs and wide shoulders. So would Erling have been, had he lived. Locks of tangled blond hair were falling into his eyes, he had vivid green eyes that had, for one unsettling moment, tugged at her heartstrings. Those green eyes had reminded Anna of Erling. They had taken her back to another time and another place.
It was an ugly memory, she shoved it to the back of her mind. Not my fault, what happened to Erling was not my fault. In any case, this man is not Erling. Erling is dead. There is no way I can know whether this man can be relied upon.
The slave will obey you, he does not look as biddable as Erling, but he will surely obey you. Look into his eyes—that man wants freedom more than he wants his next breath. Offer him that and he will surely obey you.
And Father? What will he do if I delay our meeting until I have married the slave? How would Father react?
As Anna stared up at the dais, her guts knotted. The slave had been beaten. His cheekbones were bruised and there was a rust-coloured stain on the ripped fabric of his tunic. When he shifted, his chains clanked.
Are those chains necessary? He looks half-conscious. Might Commander Ashfirth be right, though? Might he be a troublemaker?
No matter if he is. He looks perfect for my purposes, just perfect. He should be more than capable of keeping my father at bay. This man will make him realise that marrying me to Lord Romanos is no longer possible.
Anna shot Commander Ashfirth a sideways glance, the Commander was scowling. Anna received the impression that he was weakening over Katerina buying the two children, but he certainly did not want her to buy the male slave.
But she must buy him, he needs our help! I may have failed Erling, but I will not fail this man.
Provided he does exactly as I wish. Provided he marries me.
As a means of evading an unwanted marriage it was sheer madness, Anna knew that. Marrying one man to avoid another was not something she had considered before today. But the moment she had looked at the blond slave, the instant she had seen the resemblance to Erling, the idea had jumped fully formed into her head.
Madness. I wonder who is the more desperate, me or that slave?
Anna needed time to think this through, but first they had to buy the man. Conscious that the auctioneer was looking at Katerina and an expectant silence had fallen, Anna nudged her. ‘Bid again, or you will lose them!’
Commander Ashfirth’s scowl deepened, but since he believed Katerina to be the Princess, he would not gainsay her. When Katerina’s chin came up, Anna saw that she would have her way.
‘Sir, I will make my purchase,’ Katerina said. She raised her hand, nodded at the auctioneer and the bidding resumed.
The merchant across the other side of the platform looked as though he had a roomy purse. Have we brought enough money? Will we be outbid? Tension tightening every muscle, Anna’s nails gouged into her palms.
There was more bidding but, finally, Katerina raised her hand, and a gong rang.
‘Sold!’
Anna released her breath in a rush. Blessed Virgin, we have done it, the slaves are ours!
William came back to himself as he was prodded off the dais and into a pen at the side. A black headache had descended on him, and since he could barely see through it, let alone stand, he slumped against a pillar and watched bemused as the auction house floor began to float towards him.
And then she was there, the woman with misty grey eyes. A burly young man with a martial look to him stood at her side, but William was not interested in the burly young man. Those grey eyes held his and a feminine hand reached towards him. Spring flowers—he could smell spring flowers.
‘Let us help you.’
Her voice was soft and smoky, like her eyes. Between them, she and the burly young man lowered William to the ground.
‘The children … Daphne … Paula?’ William forced the words through his teeth with difficulty. His Greek was somewhat rusty. Of course, he understood more than any other Apulian knight of his acquaintance, but today it was a battle to express himself clearly.
‘They are safe, they will be cared for,’ the girl said softly. ‘As will you.’
‘Where … where …?’ And then, before William could marshal the strength to ask where they were being taken, the grey mist came for him, swirling through his sight, stealing his voice. As his head lolled, the only answer he received was the clatter of chains.
Back in the Boukoleon Palace, in the reception chamber in Princess Theodora’s apartments, Anna knelt on the marble floor by the slave’s pallet. She studied his unconscious features—just before they had found him a litter, the slave master had revealed that he was a Frank, one of many Normans who had found their way into the Empire.
He is Frank, he is not all Viking, not like Erling. He is a Frank who has likely inherited his colouring from some distant Viking forebear. But, had Erling lived, he would certainly have resembled this man. The flaxen hair and green eyes—now closed—were the most obvious similarities, the general resemblance was undeniable. Erling was there in the large build, in the protective way the young man had stood over the children. Despite his chains and his injuries, he had been ready to fight the world on their behalf. Erling had been just as protective. Of her.
Anna had failed Erling and guilt had haunted her for years. I will not fail this man. I may not have decided whether I have a use for him or not, but whatever happens, he will be freed.
The Frankish slave groaned, the fair head shifted on the pillow, but his eyelids barely fluttered.
Anna clapped her hands to summon one of the