The Lion's Daughter (25 page)

“No,
my dear. I'm taking
you
there,
as I promised. Percival is simply a necessary adjunct. I can't leave
him here.”

“You
said you would not let me go alone. I shall not be alone. I shall
have twenty-two men to escort me.”

“More
like thirty,” he said. “Ali's men, plus myself and
Percival, plus Agimi and Mati and the rest of our escort. If, that
is, they decide to accompany us. I left it up to them.”

His
calmness was not encouraging. Esme tried another tack. “Varian,
please
—”

“Don't
even think of wheedling,” he interrupted in that same
maddeningly calm voice. “I've had quite enough of the Brentmor
brand of managing for one day, thank you. Go to bed. We'll be making
an early start tomorrow.”

She
wanted to strike him. She wanted to dash his thick English skull
against the stone wall. She told herself to wheedle anyhow, but rage
and panic ruled her tongue. “You great, reckless fool! You
cannot take Percival to Tepelena!”

He
lifted one dark eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but his gray eyes
remained blank as stone.

So
had he been when she burst into the roomful of men earlier. He'd sat,
listening to Fejzi repeat Ali's invitation and relay the Vizier's
condolences upon the loss of her father, and never once had Lord
Edenmont's cool expression changed. He was every inch the English
lord, incurious, unmoved, his face a polite mask. When the others had
finally done with

their
endless speeches, he hadn't troubled to respond to their flattery, or
even express his gratitude for the honor proffered him. Instead he
appeared bored, and answered coldly that he would inform them of his
decision after supper.

His
insolence, predictably, earned their respect. He behaved like a
sultan who condescended to endure the ennui of being pestered for
favors, and they treated him accordingly. He could have bade them to
the devil, and they'd have had to accept it. He was a lord and a
British subject besides. All the same, he'd bowed to Ali's wishes in
the end. Esme still couldn't believe he could be such an idiot.

He
didn't deign to answer now, only continued to regard her in that
supercilious way. He made her feel very small, every inch a
barbarian. She lifted her chin.

“You
cannot take Percival to Tepelena,” she repeated. “I shall
not permit it.”

“Don't
be tiresome, child. Go to bed.”

“I
am not a child!” she cried, stamping her foot.

“You're
behaving like one.”

Esme
marched across the room to him. “Must I do all your thinking
for you? Do you understand where you are going? Ali's court is
dangerous, intrigue everywhere
—
corruption,
debauchery. To such a place you wish to take my young cousin?”

“If
it's all right for you, I don't see why it isn't for him. He is a
male, after all, not possessed of delicate feminine sensibilities.”
Varian unwrapped his neckcloth and threw it aside in his usual
careless, lordly way.

Esme
automatically retrieved it and began folding it while her mind worked
feverishly for the words and tone to pierce this stone wall of
indifference.

His
sharp oath startled her. He got up and tore the neckcloth from her
hands. “Drat you, Esme, don't do that! Stop picking up after
me! You're not my bloody servant!”

She
stared up at him.

He
stared back, and the air about them throbbed with tension, as though
a storm threatened in the surrounding hills. The storm was all in his
eyes, though, dark as a lowering sky.

His
hands caught in her hair and pulled her head back, and his mouth
crashed down upon hers, hard enough to make her stagger.

He
had seemed so coolly composed a moment ago, but she understood now it
was only seeming. His mouth was hot and punishing, and his hands
dragged angrily through her hair. She felt a surge of relief, then a
surge of shame for it.

Esme
tried to shut him out, but his onslaught was too sudden. His fierce
kiss was a lightning bolt that crackled through her and left her will
in ashes.

All
the suppressed longing of the last week rushed through her and heated
into need. She grabbed the lapels of his coat and held on tight, as
though she feared he'd escape.

The
kiss lasted but a moment, and when his mouth released her, she nearly
cried out in frustration. He slid his hands to her shoulders, then
down, to clasp her arms, but more gently. She didn't want gentleness.
She wanted to be crushed and conquered. She wanted to be driven
beyond conscience and reason.

“Little
liar,” he said. “You want me.”

It
was no use. Esme closed her eyes tightly, then slowly bent her head
until it touched his chest.

“You
ought to know better.” His voice had softened. “But I
don't want you to. I won't let you.”

“Everyone
wants you,” she told his coat sadly. “You cannot help it.
When Ali sees you, he will weep, and half his courtiers will weep
with him, and all the women. I shall be sick.”

He,
laughed, then tipped her head back to gaze intently into her eyes.
She wanted to look away but couldn't, and felt a blush steal up her
cheeks.

“I
think you're trying to turn me up sweet,” he said. “You
do it surprisingly well for such an obstinate little wildcat. In
other circumstances, I suspect you might do whatever you like with
me. But not this time, Esme. If you want to give yourself to me
tonight, I won't say no. I'm cad enough to take whatever you give.
But it will change nothing. Tomorrow we can go south, or we can go
west. Either way, though, we go together.”

Esme
jerked away. “Y'Allah, but you are impossible. Do you think I
am trying to bribe you with my body?”

“I
think you'd do anything to bend me to your will.”

“I?
It is you who fight unfairly. When you cannot argue sensibly, you
must try to subdue me with embraces.” She eyed him up and down,
resentfully. “You
know
you
can make me witless.”

He
smiled. 'Then at least we struggle on equal terms. You reduce me to a
babbling idiot. Am I not entitled to do the same to you? You're the
one who fights unfairly. You want to go to Tepelena, desperately, to
unite with your golden prince. Yet you don't want me and Percival
there to witness your joy. What is it you're hiding from us, Esme?
What is it you don't want us to see?”

She
caught her breath. She knew he wasn't altogether brainless. She'd
never dreamed, however, his wits could be so quick. Or had Percival
told him that pack of nonsense about a conspiracy?

But
Percival couldn't have. Varian would never have consented to go to
Tepelena with a child who babbled of revolutionary plots. Perhaps
Esme should tell him herself
...
but then he'd not let her go,
either.

She
was trapped. “I've nothing to hide,” she answered
tightly. “It was my cousin I feared for. But you are right.
He's not a babe. He will not die of shock to see a den of iniquity.
More likely, he will take notes, and when you return him to his kin,
they will blame you for corrupting him. But what do you care? I tell
you of the court's depravity, and it only whets your appetite, I
suppose. Your mind is filled with the harem, and you know Ali will
give you women. I should have realized. You've been too long without
a whore. Well, it is nothing to me. I shall find my own pleasure
there as well—with my golden prince.”

She
turned and stalked out.

Chapter
14

THOUGH
THE PUNISHING RAIN CONTINUED, the entourage reached Tepelena in four
days. They might have reached it even sooner, but Fejzi insisted on
easy stages. Each day they halted well before sundown, to be
quartered with the wealthiest citizens of the area. No more camping
out in the muck. No more shaving with icy water. No more stale bread.

Each
night they feasted and afterward slept on thick bedding in warm
chambers. When Varian woke in the morning, he'd find his linen
freshly laundered, his coat and trousers well brushed, his muddy,
stained boots polished, and fresh towels and hot water awaiting his
morning ablutions.

His
slightest whim was fulfilled in an instant. He was treated with
unremitting deference. Petro, who was certain they accompanied Esme
to their doom, subsided into gloomy but generally silent servility.

Even
Percival behaved himself. He did not fall off his horse, or into a
river, or out of a window. He was a paragon of docility, showing no
interest in anything or anybody but his cousin, whom he stuck to like
a leech. And she was so quiet and obedient it made Varian'
s
flesh creep.

By
day Esme rode with Percival, closely guarded by soldiers. At night
she was shut away with the Moslem women. Being a mere boy, and an
apparently undernourished one at that, Percival was allowed to be
shut up with them, so they might dote upon him and stuff him with
sweetmeats.

Lord
Edenmont, meanwhile, had to sit for hours and burn his gullet with
raki
and
smoke rich tobacco until his head swam. Ali's representatives treated
him like visiting royalty, and he soon found royalty a wearisome
business.

He
could not sleep properly and blamed it on the rich food, drink, and
tobacco. Because he slept badly, he woke in a foul temper. By the
time they reached Tepelena, he wanted to kill somebody
—
anybody
—
and
preferably with his bare hands. He viewed the small, unprepossessing
town with disfavor and Ali's recently rebuilt palace with loathing.

He
hadn't read Hobhouse's account of his travels with Byron in Albania,
though it had been published well over a year ago. Varian had,
however, heard Byron's own account. The view he now beheld accorded
in most particulars.

The
palace enclosed two sides, and a tall wall encompassed the other two
of the court they had just entered. It was filled with heavily armed
soldiers and richly accoutred horses. At the corner farthest from the
palace, animals were being slaughtered and dressed
—
yet
another indigestible feast in the making.

The
rest of the group would lodge elsewhere, while Varian, Percival,
Esme, and Petro were to be quartered in the palace itself. They
followed Fejzi up a flight of wooden steps and down a long gallery,
thence into one of its two wings, which housed several apartments.

The
chamber Varian entered was a shock, given the general run of Albanian
habitations. It was a large room, lined with the usual perimeter of
sofas,
but
these were covered with silk. The floors were thickly strewn with
rich carpets and the walls hung with lavishly printed fabric.

“Your
sleeping quarters are above, my lord,” Fejzi explained. He
indicated a low entry way that led to a set of narrow wooden stairs.
“Please make yourself comfortable. Refreshment will be here
momentarily. Meanwhile, I must take the girl to the harem. It is not
seemly
—”

“Miss
Brentmor does not go to the harem,” Varian said frigidly.

“Certainly
not,” Percival piped up. He took Esme's hand.

She
didn't shake him off, as Varian expected, only stood quietly, her
face expressionless.

Fejzi's
posture stiffened. “Your indulgence, my lord, but it is the
rule. We do not permit the females to wander shamelessly about, as
the infidels
—”
He paused, then went on
contritely, “I beg your forgiveness, oh great one, but all must
bow to the law.”

“A
woman submits to the law of her male kin. He's standing next to her,
and he says she's to remain. Do you mean to insult Master Brentmor
the instant he reaches the palace to which Ali has invited him?”
A full five inches taller than the chubby secretary, Varian gazed
coldly down his nose at Fejzi as though the height were as many
miles.

Fejzi
hesitated, plainly torn. He appeared, in fact, scared to death, but
whether of Varian or of Ali's wrath one could not tell. Finally, he
bowed his head. “As you wish,” he said. He salaamed
himself out of the apartment.

When
the secretary's hurried footsteps had faded away, Varian looked at
Esme, who had still not uttered a sound. “Nothing to say?
Aren't you going to berate us for insulting your countryman and
affronting Moslem dignity?”

She
shrugged. “It makes no matter. I shall enter the harem soon
enough. Better as the bride of a prince than an orphaned nobody.”

“You're
welcome”
Varian
said icily.

Green
fire flashed back at him. “I beg your pardon, oh great light of
the heavens. A thousand, thousand thanks for preserving me from the
unspeakable perils of the harem: three hundred bored women and their
deadly eunuch companions.”