The Queen's Consort (9 page)

             
Shock rooted him to the floor as, one by one, the rest of the assembled dignitaries greeted him and introduced themselves. He noticed that Goddard's expression went from surprise to amusement to appraisal before he bowed to them.

             
“My Queen. My, um, lord.” He grinned. “We've already met, of course.”

             
“Well met,” Ansel agreed.

             
“Indeed.” Goddard wriggled his brows at Clairwyn and then made room for Sayer.

             
Sayer's look was sharp-eyed and predatory. “My Queen,” he said tightly. “I wish you had taken my advice more seriously. The allegiance of the Highlands depended upon it.”

             
Clairwyn looked him straight in the eye. “I listened most carefully to your advice,” she said, nodding at Gladnys. “And I am counting on the continued loyalty of my Highland kin.”             

             
Sayer's nostrils flared but his gaze tracked Gladnys's movements. The fey ushered in a pair of servants who carried a heavy basket between them. Without asking for instructions the servants set the basket on a large table and unloaded two dozen large stones and a crossbow bolt. They assembled the stones into a loose pile and placed the bolt on top. While the room muttered in confusion the servants lifted their basket and left.

             
Sayer cocked his head. “Are you going to shoot a bolt through the stones, my Queen?” His voice, Ansel noticed angrily, was mocking. “Have your powers grown so much in the space of just one night?”

             
“I cannot shoot a bolt through stone, dear cousin.” Clairwyn strode forward and lifted one of the stones. She walked around the room, showing the brick to everyone, until she reached her cousin again. “But I can do this.”

             
She raised the brick until it was level with her lips, then blew a sigh over it.

             
“Very—” Sayer's scornful retort died on his own lips as a sudden gust of wind filled the closed and windowless room, rustling hair and clothes.

             
Clairwyn extended the stone to arm's length and a swirl of dust enveloped her hand. When the dust cleared, her hand was empty. She wiped her hands together and a trickle of dust fell to the floor.

             
Sayer's eyes bulged in his head. Ansel stopped wondering how Clairwyn had pulled off the sleight-of-hand and just enjoyed the Highlander's shell-shocked look.

             
Sayer strode forward and examined the remaining stones, lifting each and setting them back into place. “These are—these are—”

             
“Limestone,” Clairwyn supplied. “As are the walls of your mountain fortresses, dear cousin.”

             
He straightened. “A pretty trick, Clairwyn. But you need to touch the stone to make it happen.”

             
“Do I?” Clairwyn smiled, winked at Ansel, and walked as far away from the stones as the room would allow. She turned and blew a kiss toward the table.

             
Another wind swirled through the room. Men jerked back tapestries, searching for a hidden window. Women held their hair and clothing in place. Sayer stared at the limestone.

             
Ansel waited, watching Clairwyn.

             
The wind blew away as quickly as it came. And a small pile of dust was all that was left of the rocks.

             
Sayer searched under the table and all around the room. Then, straightening his jacket, he pasted a broad smile on his face. “My Queen, my kinswoman,” he said, striding forward to grasp her arms and kiss both her cheeks. “I pledge my undying loyalty and the loyalty of the Highlanders. We—and our mountain fortresses—are at your service.”

             
“I knew I could count on you,” Clairwyn said fondly.

             
Out of the corner of his eye Sayer saw Ansel's frown. The Highlander released Clairwyn and stepped back quickly. “With your permission, my Queen, I shall leave to assemble and equip my warriors.”

             
“You have my leave and my blessing,” she replied. “We shall meet at Renshaw in two months.”

             
Sayer bowed and strode out of the room. “Gentlemen, ladies,” Clairwyn said, addressing the group. “Any other questions?”

             
“No, my Queen,” they chorused.

             
“And am I assured of your continued loyalty?”

             
“Yes, my Queen,” they answered.

             
“Then you may leave.”

              They bowed low and scurried out of the room.

             
Caine stayed behind and Tristam, Captain of the Guard, approached him and spoke in a low voice.

             
Ansel captured Clairwyn's hand and turned her to face him. “I am you consort? What does that mean?”

             
She placed her free hand on his cheek. “Everything,” she said simply.

             
Everything.

Nine

             
Caine and Tristam approached and she released Ansel. “My Queen,” Caine said. “The Captain advises me that the Sheik's flotilla is but a half-hour away. Your carriage is ready.”

             
“Very good.”

             
“Of course,” Tristam said, “I've taken measures for your security.”

             
“Of course,” she echoed impatiently, striding toward the door. “I trust you implicitly.”

             
“Tell me how you will protect her,” Ansel said, falling in next to the Captain.

             
Tristam's face lit up. “You are the Queen's consort. So you, my lord, are the last line of defense.”

             
“I am.” Ansel patted the short swords on his belt. “But let us hope that the situation does not become so desperate.”

             
“No indeed, sir. I have positioned men along the streets. Guards on the road, soldiers and archers on the roofs. Traffic is being rerouted.”

             
“Very good.” Ahead of them Caine's head bent toward Clairwyn's. He gestured as he spoke.

             
“Do you expect trouble?” Ansel asked Tristam.

             
“Not from the citizens. They love her. But we must always be prepared.” He gave Ansel an uncomfortable look. “Enemies come in many guises.”

             
“True. And sometimes they become consorts.”

             
“And allies. One hopes.”

             
“As unlikely as it seemed yesterday, my friend, we are allies in this today.” Ansel sighed, trying to relieve the near-unbearable tightness in his chest. “Today, we both live and die to protect the Queen.”

             
Tristam studied his face as they walked.

             
“What is it?” The other man's scrutiny irritated Ansel. They reached the main doors of the castle and paused at the top of the steps.

             
“You love her, don't you?”

             
Ansel swiveled to face him. “What?”

             
“You do.” Tristam nodded. “You can't help it lad, believe me. We all love her.”

             
Ansel scowled.

             
Tristam smiled and held out his broad, sword-hardened hand. “Unlikely allies we are, then.”

             
Slowly, Ansel extended his own hand and gripped the captain's.

             
“I'm rather glad I didn't run you through on our first meeting,” Tristam said.

             
“As am I.”

             
“'Tis a trying time, lad. I understand the dilemma you face, choosing between your father and our Queen.” Tristam's face creased. He clapped his hand on Ansel's shoulder. “Follow your heart.” He nodded towards the carriage where Clairwyn was waiting.

             
Stunned speechless, Ansel walked down the steps, handed Clairwyn into the carriage, and followed her inside. He settled in next to her. “So. This consort gig. What do I have to do?”

             
She turned and kissed him sweetly.

             
“I can do that.” His arms swept around her and he pulled her into his lap. Turning her into his shoulder, he kissed her back.

             
All too soon the carriage stopped. Flushed and breathless, Clairwyn scrambled off his lap. She patted her hair and adjusted her clothes.

             
“Do I look all right?” she asked him.

             
Ansel studied her kiss-swollen lips, pinkened cheeks, and bright eyes. “You look stunning,” he said truthfully.

             
She rolled her eyes but was composed when the carriage door opened. Tristam helped her out and Ansel followed.

             
They were at the harbor. Haverton was situated on a rocky outcrop where the Winding and Bright rivers joined to form the Central River. Sea-going craft could sail no farther; flat-bottomed river boats plied the more northerly reaches of the country.

             
Ansel had known that Haverton was a busy port city, but he hadn't truly comprehended just
how
busy it was. Towering, tall-masted ships lined the river on both sides. Sky-scraping cranes, similar to siege engines, lifted cargo into the ships or out of them and into the wagons that lined the docks.

             
Courchevel had ports, too, but none did such a thriving trade. And Ansel had never seen the cheerful industry in Courchevel that he saw everywhere here. Free people, working for fair wages, seemed to work a great deal harder than half-starved and hard-beaten serfs. Go figure.

             
Feeling like a traitor, Ansel wondered if maybe, just maybe, Clairwyn was on to something here.

             
A handsome man with the dark skin and loose garb of the southern climes strode toward them. “My Queen,” he murmured, grasping her hand and kissing it. “An ill wind and a fight with Beaumont's pirates delayed me.”

             
He didn't release Clairwyn's hand.

             
“Well met, my prince, and 'tis a fair wind that blows you safely here.” Clairwyn gestured with her free hand toward Ansel. “May I introduce Prince Ansel of Courchevel, my consort. Ansel, this is Sheik Omar, Prince of Urmai.”

             
Ansel bowed stiffly as Sheik Omar released Clairwyn's hand. Omar pressed his own hands over his heart. “To my everlasting regret, my Queen, I am too late to present myself for your choosing.”

             
“Your absence was noted, my prince,” she replied, “but my fate was already decided.”

             
“Ahh.” The prince's blue eyes sparkled. “You merely wish to ease my disappointment. But come and see—I have not arrived too late for your birthday. I have a gift for you.”

             
He gestured with a sweeping flourish and trumpets sounded. Huge doors in the side of the ship swung open and a massive gray shape filled the space. Swaying rhythmically it stepped onto the dock. Another beast followed it.

             
All work on the dock came to a halt as people stopped and stared. Horses caught the strange scent and shied away. Tristam barked an order and archers notched their bows.

             
“Wait,” Clairwyn exclaimed. “I have seen pictures of these creatures.”

             
“They are gentle creatures,” Omar promised hastily. He put a restraining hand on Tristam's arm. “See how they are handled by mere boys?”

             
Ansel, recovering himself, saw the small brown boys walking next to the beasts.

             
“They are called elephants,” Sheik Omar continued as the first set foot on the dock.

             
The carriage horses shifted in their harnesses, rolling their eyes and snorting fearfully.

             
“Perhaps we should move the carriage,” Clairwyn said, apparently entranced by the
elephants
.

             
Tristam looked as if he'd been given an acid enema but waved at the coachman. The carriage lurched away. The Guard tightened in a knot around Clairwyn but the crowd pressed in, too.

             
The elephants, obeying the shrill orders of their young handlers, stopped in front of Clairwyn.

             
“They are enormous,” she whispered. She was, Ansel noticed angrily, clutching the sheik's arm tightly.

             
“You can touch them,” the sheik told her. He pried her fingers loose and wrapped his arm around her, easing her forward.

             
“Are you giving thanks for ill winds and pirates, Prince Ansel?” Caine spoke in his ear. “This is truly a queenly gift.”

             
Ansel scowled as Clairwyn reached out a tentative hand and touched the elephant's long trunk. “It feels so strange,” she marveled.

             
Sheik Omar made a sharp gesture behind her back and a servant trotted up with a large bag. “They like fruit, my Queen.” He handed her a round, red fruit.

             
She accepted the fruit and offered it to the elephant. The huge beast used its trunk to delicately lift the fruit from her palm. It curled its trunk, carefully placed the fruit in its mouth, and chewed.

             
Clairwyn seemed delighted. Omar seemed delighted that she was delighted.

Ansel
was not delighted. He wanted to hit somebody, preferably that damn sheik, repeatedly.

             
The sheik bowed gallantly. “And, of course, I have three hundred archers at your disposal.”

             
Ansel's ears perked up. Three hundred Urmain archers? That was an army all by itself.

             
“And the instructors I asked you for?” Clairwyn was as flushed as she'd been in the carriage.

             
“All here, my Queen, and ready to go to work.”

             
“Excellent.” She actually clapped her hands with delight. “Tristam,” she called.

             
Her Guard was already at her side. “I have already notified General Perry,” he said. “All of the arrangements are complete.”

             
Clairwyn beamed at him. “I can always count on you.”

             
Tristam nodded. “Now, my Queen,” he said tightly, “let's get you back in the carriage and safe behind your castle walls.”

             
And in her—
their—
chamber. And their bed. Ansel agreed heartily.

             
“I cannot return yet,” she replied, “and certainly not by carriage. It is my birthday, and there are traditions to respect.”

             
Tristam looked as if the acid enema was still hard at work.

             
Caine edged forward. “My Queen,” he said, gesturing to a group of men behind him. Each man was loaded with several large, heavy-looking sacks.

             
“Good job, Caine. Are we ready?”

             
“My Queen.” The sheik nodded as servants scrambled with scaffolding and something that looked like a fabric-covered gazebo. “I know it is your tradition to walk through the city on your birthday.” He gestured to the elephants. “But, as a boon to me, perhaps today you can ride.”

             
Tristam looked torn. Was one of these unknown creatures safer for the Queen than the street?

             
The decision was taken out of his hands. “That would be splendid!” Clairwyn cried, nearly jumping up and down with excitement.

             
The little square room was strapped onto the unprotesting animal's back. Grasping her skirts, Clairwyn climbed the scaffolding.

             
Ansel expected to see a flash of shapely ankle—or worse, because a large number of men were watching her—a glimpse of creamy calf. Instead he discovered that Clairwyn was wearing riding boots under her dress.

             
The sight made him grin. He loved Highland girls. So unexpected.

             
Ansel climbed up the scaffolding at the elephant's side. The gazebo had several large, comfy cushions scattered about. Clairwyn carefully folded her skirts around her and sank down on one. Ansel grabbed a couple of cushions and arranged them so he could wrap his arms around her.

             
She leaned against him as the elephant started to move with its peculiar, swaying gait. Ansel knew that the anxious Guard were all around them, fretting. It made him smile. The Queen was safe in his arms.

             
“You smell so good.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair.

             
“It's lilac. My favorite.”

             
Ansel suspected that it wasn't the flower, that the scent just rose from her skin. His tongue found that sensitive spot behind her ear and she wriggled delightfully.

             
“There's an awful lot of fastenings to your clothes,” he complained. “Laces and buttons and a lot of stuff you don't need.”

             
She swatted at his roving hands. “My staff tells me that every bit of it is absolutely necessary.”

             
He grabbed a big handful of her skirt and raked it up, revealing high-topped riding boots and a measure of her creamy thighs. She leaned forward and tugged the hem down. She pushed herself to her knees and leaned out the front of the gazebo.