Princess in a Strange New Land (2 page)

“The king has appointed me to act as your host for the duration of your stay,” John announced abruptly, executing a stiff bow.

“Many thanks,” the chief said in his stuttering English. “But please see daughter. Akna. She is our voice.”

The old man nodded in the direction of the youngest member of their delegation. With a strained smile, John bowed again and headed to where the chief’s daughter had engaged in a conversation with a small group of women. As he grew closer, it became apparent that the noblewomen were not simply curious about their foreign visitor; rather, it seemed that they were intent on bullying her in the most polite manner possible. John’s brow arched; he was curious to see how the Inuit girl would handle this type of civilised warfare.

One noblewoman, ornately decked in jewels and fine clothes, sniffed delicately and plucked a tiny cube of white from a passing server’s tray. She held out the cube for the visiting Inuit woman.

“Try this, my dear,” she said haughtily. “I’m sure you savages have never had this delicacy before.”

John watched as the woman took the cube between her thumb and forefinger, turning it slightly before easing it into her mouth.

“What is this?” he heard her muse aloud in perfect English as she tapped her chin. “Ah yes. What do you English call it? Cheese? But this is so bland compared to the cheese we make in Labrador.”

The noblewoman turned three shades of red, her fingers tight around her fan. She took a step forward.

“Why you little—”

“My, ladies,” John interjected quickly. “Aren’t you all looking particularly lovely tonight?”

He quickly took the offended woman’s hands in his, drawing her away. He caught her in his most suave smile, smirking as she blinked in pleasant surprise.

“Lady,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, “why don’t you fetch our visitor a glass of…spirits?”

The ridiculously dressed noblewoman tittered at this supposed alliance and scuttled away with her skirts swishing. He resisted the urge to sigh, his mind turning, desperately searching for a way to salvage the diplomatic nightmare he’d stepped into.

“My lady Akna,” John continued as he turned, his voice velvety smooth, “your mastery of English is astounding.”

“Why of course,” she replied dryly. “It is a far simpler language than my own tongue.”

And then finally Sir John Frederick laid eyes on Akna, daughter of Tulok of the Inuit. And for once, he was struck speechless. This was not just a Northern princess; no, this was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. She was tall and willowy as a young sapling, and her long, dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. Her wide, hazel eyes were lit with bright flecks of green and gold and were set above high, refined cheekbones. Small, plump lips were stretched into a sly smirk, and her small, delicate hands rested on the generous swell of her hips. Oh, and that dress…that sealskin dress did absolutely nothing to hide her sweet curves. The edge just grazed her knees, scandalously revealing her perfect calves. John was suddenly very aware of the heat spreading from his loins, and his fingers twitched as they ached to test out the creaminess of that beautiful skin. He inhaled as he imagined sliding his palms up the curve of her legs, past the hem of her dress and up the length of her thighs. What would he find there? he wondered longingly. How he wanted to cup her bottom in his hands, squeeze her tender flesh and push his fingers—

“And it appears I speak English even better than you do,” she commented, interrupting his reverie.

“Apologies, my lady,” John said, flourishing a bow as he recovered. “I am Sir John Frederick, appointed to be your host during your stay.”

“Ah,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head. “The fearless captain. Tell me, Sir Frederick, did you enjoy subjugating our neighbours in the South?”

The other women, who had been completely forgotten up till that point, stifled gasps of horror. But John only smiled, his handsome lips curving appreciatively. He had misjudged this woman, for she was savage indeed—but in wit and beauty.

“You give me too much credit, Lady Akna,” John countered, “I, alone, was not capable of subduing the native warriors. It was the power of the English empire.”

“An empire that can’t seem to produce decent cheese,” sniffed Akna with a raised brow. “What good is an empire that can’t even provide the most basic pleasures?”

His smirk widened, revealing pearl-white teeth. Stepping forward, he boldly took her hand and kissed her knuckles before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“My lady,” he said as he leaned over her, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “please believe me when I say that I would be delighted to introduce you to all the pleasures of this realm.”

Despite herself, Akna’s heart skipped a beat. He was so tall, so broad and so…close. She could sense the heat radiating from his chest and feel his warm breath as he spoke. Her lashes fluttered of their own accord, and she cursed the man half-heartedly. For here was a man who had started with condescension and yet proceeded to banter with her as an equal, trading insult for insult without true malice. And by the gods of earth, was he ever handsome! Akna had never seen such a man, neither in Labrador nor in England. Though she was tall, he was taller. He had a wide, strong chest and a trim waist, and she could see the bulges of his muscles as he moved. This was no English dandy; no, here was a man’s man, a rough-and-tumble warrior disguised as a courtier. And when he lifted her hand for a kiss, his hooded eyes spoke volumes of sensuality and dark passion. She prayed that he had not noticed the flush that rose from her breast to her chin.

“Shall I give you the grand tour of this civilised mass of people, Lady Akna?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“By all means.”

As he began to lead her to another part of the hall, Akna steeled her heart. She would have to tread carefully with this man, she told herself sternly. For it was obvious that he was not only skilled in the battles of men—he was also adept at waging the war of hearts.

Chapter Two

The hall was swathed in warm candlelight, and the golden light sparkled and danced in the prisms of the hundreds of jewels and crystals that swung from towering candelabras. The king had ordered an impressive display of pomp: a royal dinner party. The servants had decked the hall with the richest decorations, and the cooks had prepared the most decadent displays of food. Only the most important aristocrats had been invited to the special dinner, and they were seated along a line of rich mahogany tables adorned with innumerable platters of richly presented delicacies. A few places down from the king and his most important retainers sat the Inuit delegation. The elders, along with Akna, sat stiffly in their regal seats, their eyes roving disbelievingly over the mountains of exotic dishes. Sir John Frederick sat at Akna’s right, his eyes carefully gauging her reaction to the lavish celebration.

The nobles began to heap food onto their gilded plates, and the Inuit elders politely picked at a few dishes and began to nibble—but Akna remained stiff and unmoving, her eyes still wide. There was just
so much
. And so oddly prepared, as well. Her eyes darted from a silver pedestal so filled with fruit that it cascaded down like a waterfall to a platter filled with fowl that had been roasted and arranged into a sculpture of some mythical creature. Her stomach gurgled in response to the tantalising smells, but her eyes told her that food should not be treated in such a way.

“My lady,” John said, interrupting her thoughts, “are you not hungry?”

“To be sure,” she answered, blinking slowly. “But I cannot discern what is to be eaten and what is to be looked at.”

“Do you not have feasts in your village?”

“Indeed,” Akna said, turning to meet his eyes. “We celebrate with food—but we do not eat to such excess. And I have never seen such…amazing arrangements.”

John pulled a dish of roasted chicken pie closer to them. He broke into the flaky crust with his heavy silver spoon and lifted out a small portion, depositing it on her plate. He gestured to the creamy chicken filling and the beautifully browned pastry that topped it.

“And what, may I ask, dear lady,” he said, “displeases you about this beautiful dish?”

Akna delicately speared a chunk of chicken with her fork and placed it in her mouth, her lips caressing the tines of the silver utensil as she savoured the delectable morsel. Then she carefully set her fork down and once again met John’s eyes.

“Well, my lady?” John asked.

“Sir Frederick,” Akna replied, her melodic voice unwavering. “I find the taste very pleasing, indeed. However, it is not the ingredients that I find unnatural. It is the presentation.” She gestured to the strange meat sculptures. “Why is it important to make ducks look like dragons?”

“It is interesting to the eye, and it shows the skill of the cooks who made it,” John said, shrugging.

“Perhaps,” Akna said. “But can you honestly tell me that all this food is necessary?

“The king wants to show his generosity.”

“But,” Akna said, wrinkling her nose at the sight of nobles pushing mouthful after mouthful of juicy meat past their lips, “will we be able to consume all this food?”

“Well,” John said, slightly taken aback, “no.”

“Exactly, Sir Frederick,” Akna said with a nod. “In our village, we frown upon such waste.”

Despite his misgivings about the Inuit delegation, John could not deny the sense in her speech. It was true that he also viewed the excesses of court with disdain after he had lived a life of meagre rations in the navy. It was no doubt wasteful and perhaps foolish, but still, it showed off creativity and talent.

“True, the waste is a shameful practice,” John conceded. “But can you not appreciate the skill involved?”

“Perhaps other outlets for creativity would be more appropriate?” Akna quipped, taking another bite. “We frown upon the wasting of precious resources.”

“Such harsh criticism!” John exclaimed, bending as if wounded, but with a wry smile on his face. “However, you cannot deny the skill of the English! Waste has made us experiment. We have built castles and great ships and armies. We have explored the world and brought technology across the oceans. What has your tribe accomplished that can compare?”

Akna smiled, a baring of teeth that promised a verbal battle.
Finally
, she thought, she had found someone willing to trade honest information.

“We live at peace with our land,” she countered. “You exploit it until there is nothing left.”

“We make the most out of every situation,” John said, shrugging. “How else would we achieve greatness?”

“That depends on your definition of
greatness
,” Akna was quick to reply. “Is it a sign of greatness to impose your ways on other cultures?”

“Why not?”

“Then why have we been invited here? Surely your king would not have invited us if he did not see our value.”

“As entertainment, perhaps?”

John said the words without menace, but the instant they left his mouth he wished he could take them back. He had meant to pique and tease, but he could see that he had struck the wrong chord with his guest.

Akna had paled, her eyes sparking in fury. She’d warned her father about this when trying to dissuade him from visiting Britain. She’d feared they’d see her people as nothing more than entertainment, an amusement to fill their time. But they were so much more than that. She clenched her fists as she gritted her teeth, then forced her voice to remain low and controlled as she replied.

“You assume too much, Sir Frederick,” she hissed. “And do you think that I don’t know that we are here as entertainment to satisfy your king’s curiosity for the exotic? Do you think such a status pleases us? Do you think we even had a choice?” Angry tears shone in her eyes, and she stood suddenly. “Please excuse me.”

John reached out, catching her by the wrist. He tugged gently, and Akna glared down, only to see the chagrin written plainly on his face.

“My apologies, my lady Akna,” John said, his tone contrite. “I spoke out of turn and without thought to your personal circumstances. Please sit, my lady.”

Akna slowly sank back into her seat, her eyes wary. John’s fingers lingered on her wrist, his eyes searching her face. Confusion clouded his expression as he struggled to come to terms with his understanding of the young woman.

“Why do you all hate my people so?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

“I am a man of war,” John explained, his large hand covering hers under the table. “I am not a man of polite words. And besides, I have never had the chance to properly converse with one of yours, much less with a woman like yourself.”

“But all warriors can be this way,” Akna countered. “Why do you disdain us in particular?”

John glanced away, his features darkening in remembrance.

“Bloody battle is one thing,” he murmured in a haunted whisper. “But I watched a native warrior take a blade to a fallen man’s head to peel away his scalp like the skin of ripe fruit. Would you not see this as barbaric?”

“It is,” Akna conceded, her fingers unconsciously squeezing his. “But this is not the way we all behave. And also, you must understand how much suffering has been wrought upon our continent because of your diseases and your obsession with wealth.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “How would you feel if I told you all Englishmen and women are stuffy, preening fools?”

“I would tell you that you do not know us all,” John admitted.

“It is the same with us,” Akna said with a curt nod. “We are not all thirsty for revenge and violence, just as you are not all wasteful peacocks.”

“Your words humble me, my lady,” John said with a rueful smile.

He lifted Akna’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Akna flushed and pulled her hand away, cradling it gingerly. John grinned devilishly. For all her proud words and keen observations, the Inuit princess was still as shy as an innocent debutante. He decided to press his one advantage.

“So,” he began slyly, “how
did
you come to understand our language so well? An English lover, perhaps?”