Chained to the Barbarian. Carol Townend
gazed at the closed door to the bedchamber. Lady Anna was apparently utterly without malice, she had yet to show him anything other than compassion, but it would not be wise for him to make a saint of her. She might be unreliable. After all, she had her reasons for persuading the Princess to buy him. She might never free him.
He must leave at the first opportunity.
It was a pity he was not going to stay long enough to discover Lady Anna’s reasons for buying him—he had to admit he was curious. His lips twitched. The way she had scurried into that bedchamber, shocked out of her calm by the Princess’s behaviour … Strangely, there was comfort in that.
The bedchamber door rattled and Lady Anna stood on the threshold.
Her huge grey eyes went straight to him. ‘You’re awake!’ Face lighting, she closed the door and came across, skirts sweeping the marble tiles.
William nodded. Truth to tell, he had only dozed earlier, much of the time he had feigned sleep to ward off questions.
‘Are you hungry?’ She glanced through the window at a darkening sky, evening was almost on them. ‘They will be bringing food shortly, but if you cannot wait, I can order more for you.’
‘I can wait,’ William said, as that light fragrance reached him. Spring, I can smell spring. Jasmine, spices …
Her smile was so open, it was in danger of dazzling. Lady Anna wasn’t to know that William was wise to smiles like that. Lady Felisa had smiled at him in just such a way when she had led him to believe that, despite his lack of lands, she was prepared to consider his suit. William no longer believed in such smiles. It had only been a few months since Lady Felisa had smiled at him, then a few days later she had rejected him. Lady Felisa had betrothed herself to a lord with lands that William could only dream of, and this lord, naturally, was a far more attractive proposition than William could ever be.
‘I am so glad your mind was not damaged,’ Lady Anna said.
‘Damaged?’
As Lady Anna talked, artlessly confessing that the Princess had suggested he might have suffered lasting injury as a result of the beatings inflicted upon him, William found himself re-examining her intentions towards him.
Harmless. The woman appeared to be harmless. She had seen that the children were clean and fed, and she had assured him that she intended to free him.
However, how likely was it that she would spend good money on a slave only to free him after performing a simple task? They were not short of servants here, the Palace was bursting with them. Had she bought him out of charity? Why? Why had she bought him?
Thus far, William had to concede that Lady Anna gave every appearance of having both his interests and those of the children at heart.
‘Does your arm pain you?’ she was asking. Her huge grey eyes were cloudy with anxiety, an anxiety that appeared genuine. William might be turning into a cynic, but some doubt remained. Can I trust her?
Chapter Three
The strapping on his shoulder wasn’t tight, William flexed his arm for her and opened and closed his fingers. She followed the movement. With a jolt, William saw bright colour flood her cheeks as she observed the play of the muscles in his biceps. He repeated the movement, conscious of a pleasant tightening in his belly as she jerked her gaze away.
Keeping his face straight, for this prim lady-in-waiting amused him, he cleared his throat. ‘I do feel a little weak yet, I shall have to follow an exercise regime to build up my muscles.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her voice was faint. Crimson-cheeked, she stared fixedly at a brazier at the other end of the room. ‘Strengthening exercises.’
To draw her gaze, he touched her sleeve and instantly her eyes locked with his—the contact had startled her. I may not touch her, I am yet a slave in her mind. Carefully, William removed his fingers from her sleeve, but the urge to tease remained.
‘My lady, I have …’ he ran his hand over his cheeks and grimaced ‘… a favour to ask.’ With effort, he kept his face straight, fully aware that what he was about to ask bordered on insolence. She was so prim, though, he simply could not help himself.
‘Yes?’
‘I need to shave. I must look like a wild man.’
Her eyes widened, she examined him closely and, Lord, now it was he whose cheeks were burning. Not that she would be able to see, his beard would hide it. Thankfully.
‘You want to shave?’
‘If you do not …’ William groped for the right word ‘… trust me with a knife you could shave me.’
She drew her head back, the movement expressed outrage.
William waited. Laughter was a breath away, he could see, he could actually see her struggle to decide whether to chastise him for being deliberately insolent or whether to let it pass because he might really want to shave. In her eyes his motives would likely be mysterious, he was a Frank, a barbarian from beyond the boundaries of the Empire.
It was when she nibbled her bottom lip, that full bottom lip, and William could not take his eyes off it, that he realised that somehow the boot had got on to the wrong foot. Suddenly, most inappropriately, he was aching to feel those gentle fingers on his cheeks, he wanted them caressing him under the guise of rubbing soap into his skin.
In a heartbeat, the idea of being shaved by Lady Anna had transformed. It was no longer a suggestion designed to wring an interesting reaction from her, it was a suggestion that had sent the hot blood rushing to his loins. Lord. Shifting on his pallet, William watched and waited to see whether she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She swallowed. ‘It is customary for Frankish men to shave off their beards?’
For a second time, William was forced to clear his throat. ‘It is customary. I feel unkempt.’
‘How long have you been in our Empire, William?’
‘Not long.’ In truth, William could not give her a full answer. What with the drugs the slavers had given him and the subsequent beatings, he had no clear idea how long it had been since he had been taken from Apulia.
‘Here in our Empire, men …’ careful emphasis was placed on the last word, those tantalising lips pursed ‘… wear beards. You will look like a eunuch.’
‘A eunuch!’ God have mercy! William had forgotten that here in the Imperial Palace eunuchs were commonplace. They were chosen for high office because it was thought that men who were unable to found a dynasty were more likely to be loyal. ‘Do I look like a eunuch?’
And then he saw it. A tiny smile trembled at the corners of her mouth. Little witch! She had realised he was teasing her and was repaying him in kind.
Repressing an impulse to take her hand, William ran his fingers round several days of stubble. ‘My lady, local customs notwithstanding, I feel unkempt.’
Nodding, she gestured for one of the girls. ‘Juliana?’
‘My lady?’
‘We require a bowl of hot water, some soap and a razor.’
The maidservant gave William a dark glance. ‘A razor, my lady? Are you certain?’
‘Please.’
Curtsying, Juliana went to find water.
William rubbed his chin. ‘Thank you, my lady. I feel like a brigand with a beard.’ He lay back and fixed her with a look. ‘Mind that when it is done, there are to be no remarks about eunuchs.’
A carefully plucked brow arched. ‘You are not yet free—you are in no position to make such