The Iron Princess (5 page)

He clasped her face between both of his large hands and pressed harder onto her mouth, prying apart her lips and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Her startled cry was swallowed up by his powerful mouth, which was devouring hers in a fierce, primal motion. He groaned, sending a shiver to her toes and her knees went to water. His kiss became more eager, twisting her head to partake from the other side of her mouth. She pulled herself into him more, wanting more, feeling more of everything but not feeling enough of something . . . something was missing. She pressed her hips into his thigh.

Katia thought her body would burst into flames with the growing sensation of excitement. A throb in her belly had started, spreading lower, making her feel strange, urging her to wiggle her hips more. His lips never stopped devouring hers, tasting her with insatiable hunger.

Without warning, he jerked her head up, shoving her face away, and bumping her head into the wall.

Her mouth hung open, instantly cold and throbbing. He was staring at her, his chest rising and falling as if he were fresh from the sparring ring. He looked fierce with his brows pinched together in pain and frustration. Something had gone terribly wrong. Tosha had told her she should practice kissing on some stable lad before trying it with a boy that mattered. Perhaps Tosha had been right, and Katia had just spoiled her chance with Lothair by not knowing how to kiss properly.

“You are too young,” Lothair said in a low, raspy tone. “You are the jarl’s daughter. I do not want a wife.”

“Who said anything about a wife?” She blinked rapidly, trying to catch her breath and figure out what she had done wrong.

“You’re no more than a child.” He jammed his fingers into his hair, looking up to the rafters of the stable. He looked like he wanted to pull his own hair out by the roots.

“I am not a child! And you want me. You like me. I can tell you do by the way you look at me.” Her fingers tingled. They were cold and longed to reach out and touch the radiating heat of his chest.

“What would you know? You’re naught but an innocent,” he said with mounting anger. Katia was defenseless to this blow. He was saying something that was actually considered an honorable truth by all, so why did it pierce her heart so keenly? Her eyes stung and the embarrassing urge to cry swept over her.

Lothair must have seen this because he quietly said, “
Flickas
like you believe in love. It is a stupid notion, love. It is not real. Only lust is real. This”—he pointed his finger back and forth between them—“this is lust. This is not lasting. It soon fades. Trust me.” His face softened, and he appeared somewhat regretful for his harsh tone. He kept the distance between them, but reached out to her, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “I say this not to be cruel. You should learn this lesson while you are still young. It will save you a lot of wasted time later. Especially when your father takes you back to the king’s court to put you on the market. Beware and heed my words, Katia.”

Katia was dizzy from his rapidly changing demeanor, but she understood he was confused and probably a bit nervous. Boys tended to act angry when it was truly fear they were feeling.

“You’re just a little scared, is all,” she said. “I completely understand. I used to be repelled by the thought of wanting a beau. You’ll change your mind. I did.”

His fingertip rubbed gently behind her ear as he carefully secured her hair in place. She was breathless from his small touch, but continued. “I once swore I would never wed, but I now confess, I am warming to the idea. Being a wife isn’t as bad of a notion as I once thought it to be.”

Shaking his head, he took a step back. “Go then. Go wed some Norwegian prince and bear him lots of little princes and princesses.”

“I don’t want to wed a prince.” She frowned with at the revolting notion. “I don’t want to wed just anyone.” Being a wife had never appealed to her but . . . she wanted him, and she wanted him to want her. She wanted him to look at her and change his mind and want a wife. A heavy rock landed in the pit of her stomach. She knew that if he were to wed any other maid, Katia would hate that lucky girl with a violent passion.

The truth of her feelings for Lothair wanted to rush out of her like steam from the kettle. She may not get another chance to be alone with him. She loved him, or at least she thought she did. This must be what love felt like. She summoned all her courage and looked up. “But if I have to wed, if I must one day be attached to a man, I want to wed someone that matters. Someone that wants to make a difference.”

“No. Don’t look to me,” he said flatly, pointing his angry finger at her. “Go find someone else to set your scheming smiles upon. I’m never taking a wife. Wives are for politicians. I want none of it. No responsibilities, no one to hold me back, no one depending on me.”

“I do not wish to hold anyone back. I don’t need looking after by any man and especially not by a husband.” He had kissed her with his tongue—he may have said he didn’t want a wife, but that did not erase the fact that his tongue had been inside her mouth, proof that he did want her, or at the very least, his body wanted her, in a wifely kind of way. “Don’t you see, Lothair? This is exactly why you would be perfect for me.”

***

Lothair glared down at the troublesome, beautiful girl. “Not perfect. Nowhere even close to perfect. I’m a bastard, Kat. My life is a lie.” He blurted out the truth with the intention of scaring her away. It was dangerous to spill the duke’s secrets but he had no other choice. Katia was the most stubborn and determined girl he had ever met. He took in a sharp breath and prepared to do battle with her. He would need to wound her if necessary, though he already knew he would hate himself for it the moment it was done. He had let this . . . attachment go too far. “I need no other burdens to weigh me down.” There, he’d said it. She’d shrink away and find someone else to smile at now.

“So you are the duke’s son instead of his nephew. Who cares?” She shrugged.

“Who told you?” he shouted. Thunder snorted and neighed, agitated by the aggression directed at his mistress.

She shushed the beast and said softly, “’Tis obvious to anyone that observes the duke looking at you. His pride and love for you can be seen across a crowded room.”

“Hmph,” he snorted. That couldn’t be true. His father only ever looked at him to find fault. Someone must have said something.

“Did you know that some of my favorite people are bastards?” Katia continued. “The jarl’s brother, my favorite uncle Hök, is a bastard. Five different guardsmen claim Tosha as their daughter, so strictly speaking, that makes her a bastard and she is my dearest friend. I have a half brother in Korski, whom I’m very fond of. He’s also a bastard,
and
for the first half of my life, some people in Turku called me a bastard, so . . .” She smiled again. This was a new smile, one he had not yet recorded to memory. The corner of her lip twisted up and her eyes sparked with a new flame. “I think I was destined to kiss one. Don’t you think?”

“No.” He wiped any emotion off his face and worked to hold on to his resolve. “I think you need to go up to the fortress.”

“
Pff
 . . . fine,” she said, her temper slipping through her flirtatious grin. “Be that way . . . for now.” Her lips curled into one of her consolation smiles. “I’ll just wait for you to change your mind. I hope you don’t keep me waiting too long, though. I would like to get going and have some adventures of my own—see the world, do important things. But that’s fine. I will wait for you to be ready and change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind. Do not wait for me. I won’t be back.”

“All right, Lothair. No need to shout and upset Thunder. I heard you.” She tried to grin but the expression washed away too quickly. “Perhaps you want to be the one to woo me? I know some boys are like that. Want to be the hunter instead of the hunted.” She flipped her manner again and winked at him. “No worries. We shall play the game by your rules and see who wins out in the end. We both know who landed the first point in this round.”

Popping up high on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck.

She kissed him with bruising force, pulling away with a gasp, “That would be my second. You are shockingly slow with your defense, Lothair.” She giggled softly and tugged a hair ribbon from her sleeve. “Throw it away or keep it. I really don’t care.” Bouncing away with a skip in her step, she froze mid-step. Turning back around with a warning glare, she added, “Just don’t give it to another girl.”

She winked at him and Lothair groaned, fully aware of his lack of defense. She was slaying him with her soft smiles, her sweet scent and fluttering eyelashes. If she kissed him again, he would be wed before the farewell feast.

He looked down at the rose-colored silk ribbon. She’d worn it in her hair yesterday. He had no clue how to respond. Thunder snorted with impatience and Lothair looked up to discover Katia was gone. She had disappeared as furtively as she had appeared.

He twirled the ribbon through his fingers. It felt as soft as the skin behind her ear.

Four years later . . .

Bogolyubovo Palace, Kievan Rus Territory

Markov’s hand shot out and his nails sank into her right bottom cheek. Katia reached for her hidden dagger up her sleeve; she thought better of it and retreated. She meekly slapped the hand of her attacker instead. The pox-marked worm released her with a spank to her bottom, chuckling along with his foul-breathed soldiers, who had all taken their turn trying to grab her backside.

You are a mouse
, Katia told herself.
Mice don’t stab men in the throat, no matter how much they desire it.
She had to have this particular conversation with herself several times throughout the dinner service. Being a spy, pretending to be a submissive servant—was a lot harder than she had imagined only a short time ago. Not to mention the ache and exhaustion of being run off her feet.

Katia hurried down the long corridor toward the kitchen, her wool skirt chafing against her legs. Serving wenches in Bogolyubovo were not given the luxury of an under-tunic or a linen shift. The heedless, unmannered, swine-faced Prince Andrei treated his horseflesh better than his serfs.

There were ten paces between each wall sconce, which created deep, cavernous shadows that crept in around her. Her arms were loaded with empty platters and she did not want to miss a step, so she walked close to the whitewashed stone walls. Black, greasy finger marks were smeared on the surface. She flinched her shoulder away.
Disgusting!
In her years spent traveling throughout the Swedish empire, she had come to realize that not all castles or palaces could be as carefully designed and cared for as her father’s.

The kitchen smoke funneled through the side passageways that led directly into the main hall. It created a layer of soot that settled on all available surfaces within a few hours of cleaning them. After several meal services, Katia’s eyes had become accustomed to the smoke and stench of the kitchen and hall. However, she had not yet become accustomed to the molesting hands of the servicemen. Never in her life had she thought men-at–arms so ill-mannered. Norrland had a reputation for the most savage warriors in any realm, but she had never seen one serving wench mauled and harassed in her father’s keeps. Not one female would ever be treated as degradingly as she and Tosha had been since arriving in Rus territory a week ago.

On the outside, the pristine white palace of Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky had appeared to be a civilized, holy structure. The domelike construction had been built in opulent Byzantine style. Prince Andrei, who professed to be God’s earthly arm of righteous justice, clearly had his heart set on competing with King Frederick of Germany to be the seat of the Holy Roman Empire. Yet the interior of the palace, or more specifically, the occupants inside, reduced the palace to nothing more than a hunting lodge full of unwashed, foul-breathed men.

The kitchens served stew days past its prime—tasteless the first few days, sour by the end of the week. The buttery maids were ordered to water down the ale, sending the men to seek out more potent drink earlier on in the evening. The more intoxicating grain wine would then quickly send the men into loud, violent revelry. The fact that this was tolerated behavior by a monarch was telling of Prince Andrei’s character. He must feel at home among the undisciplined crowd of infrequently bathed men.

“Stay away from the fat ogre on the end.” Tosha had appeared out of a dark hallway and now whispered into her ear, “He is already drunk and clawing more than usual.” A strong note of fear carried in her tone.

Katia nodded.

As the feasting progressed, Katia stuck closer to Tosha’s side. For the last few days, Katia had seriously questioned the merits of her plan. Her original intentions had been good, but she was beginning to feel that the execution of her plan may be lacking.

While summering in Finland with her grandmother, Katia had received a terrifying report from Otso, a trusted family friend. Prince Andrei was amassing a great army to invade Sweden while the country was divided over the two rival houses that were once again hurdling Sweden into chaos.

Overnight, she had formed a plan with Tosha to seek passage aboard a fishing boat destined for Rus lands in order to spy on Sweden’s threat, gather vital information, and seize the opportunity to truly make something of her life. With great luck and fair weather, they had arrived in Kiev territory less than a month later.

Spies had been delivering reports to her father over the evening meal for years and Katia had always paid the utmost attention. However, the amount of labor that a serving wench was required to perform each day, on top of having little sleep and shattered nerves, had not been the conditions Katia had imagined when she decided to set out on this adventure. Serious doubts had begun to undermine her confidence. Tosha was a smart girl, familiar with the discreet dance needed to keep out of grubby hands, but if one time she couldn’t, if someone hurt her . . . Katia would never forgive herself if something happened to Tosh.

“I think we should speed up the plan,” Katia whispered to Tosh as they returned to the kitchen, arms full of empty pitchers. “I will take a tray of refreshments up to Andrei’s chamber tonight. His guard will think I am coming up to . . . you know.” She gestured, sticking her finger down her throat, and made a vomiting expression. “And then I will get the chart and map I saw a few days ago. I will have all the proof I need.” Katia had memorized long lists of names and troop positions, as well as inventories of weaponry and supplies that Andrei was compiling for his invasion. Yet to truly have a report that would be taken seriously at the Swedish court, she needed hard evidence. Prince Andrei held too much power with the Holy Church in Rome. His false claims of peace had to be exposed.

“Kat.” Tosha refilled her pitcher with ale and then handed the jug to her. “I’m scared. What if—”

“We have come too far to turn back now. I’ll get the charts and tonight we can hide in the wagons that are to return to Tallinn tomorrow. We will be in Tronscar by next month, I promise. This will all work.” Katia smiled at her friend and instantly felt sick to her stomach. She had really done it this time. Deciding to come here to spy on “Andrei the God-Loving” was the right decision, but bringing Tosha had been a big, big mistake. She could get her best friend in serious trouble, or worse: violated and killed. Until this very moment, Katia had been in denial of the truth, but now it hit her hard in the center of her gut.

Katia was in over her head and sinking fast. Regret and fear poured into her. She was learning to recognize her limits at last, but the realization had come too late.

A fight broke out at the end of the table, and two men were beating each other into a bloody pulp. The overflowing hall of Slavic and Rus soldiers shouted with a bloodthirsty glee. Many had just returned after spending the week ransacking village after village around Kiev, and Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky seemed happy to reward his mercenaries tonight.

Katia worked close at Tosha’s side, watching her back as best she could. She turned and twisted away from each groping hand that strayed her way. Tosha had perfected the art of shrugging and smiling and then mumbling shyly in Finnish, pretending she didn’t understand the lewd remarks and offers. Katia just needed to keep Tosha safe and out of harm’s way for one more night.

As the evening dragged on, Katia found herself increasingly jumpy. The men became louder, more demanding, and more out of control. Katia watched her friend’s back as she shuffled down the long aisle of men, making her escape to the kitchen.

“Where do you think you are going, my
zaika
?” A newly arrived soldier grabbed Katia around the waist, pulling her down hard into his lap. She plastered her friendly, shy smile on her face, while at the same time digging her elbows into the table to leverage herself off the filthy dog. He was less drunk than the rest but slightly larger than the average man in the hall. Andrei clearly had a profile in selecting his mercenaries. They had to be young, large, fit, and stupid.

Katia mumbled in Finnish that she did not speak Slavic.

“I do not want you for speaking,
lapushka
,” he said, switching the endearment from bunny to darling. He dug his fingers into her ribs, bruising her to the bone, and pulled her braid, yanking her head back. He laughed into her ear, his five companions joining in.

Hell’s bells!
This was bad. Not only was he ten times her size and strength, but he apparently was their leader—officers didn’t take “no” as well as the average foot soldier, who was used to being told what to do.

“I must work,” Katia said in a broken Slavic dialect. “My mistress say I must work.” Still hoping to disarm the situation, she continued to smile while at the same time struggling to push up off the bastard’s lap. His arm locked around her tighter, overpowering her with no real effort on his part.

“You will work,” he said, laughing harder, turning to friends. “You will work on your back and your hands and your knees.” He smacked her bottom to fully get across his point.

Swallow your fear. Fear will kill you quicker than any blade.

The laughter of the men scorched her ears, and the loud, encouraging pounding of fists on the table matched the beat of her heart.

“I am wife.” Katia smiled innocently at the men. “No work for you, I wife.” She would first appeal to the dog’s territorial instincts, though she very well knew that wives of serfs and soldiers were frequently shared among the upper-ranking officers. Under the table, her finger traced the outline of the blade strapped to the inside of her thigh.

No need to panic. She darted her eyes around the hall, counting the paces it would take to make it to each exit point. The men were too large and strong for her to attack outright, but as drunk as they all were, she still had a chance to break free and run for it.

All eyes around the table were on her—they were well entertained by their senior commander. A greasy tongue flicked at her ear.
Oh, that is foul.
Snapping her head to her shoulder, dislodging his tongue from her ear.

“Don’t worry,
zaika
, I like wives as much as I like whores.” His hand released her waist, making aim for her chest. As he was about to claw at her breast, she twisted off his lap and backed away from the filthy beast. The soldiers jeered, their laughter growing even louder.

Katia grabbed a knife from a platter of meat and held it out in front of her. The officer who had threatened her was no longer laughing. His eyes stayed locked on hers as he slowly pushed up from the bench and stepped toward her. She leapt back, waving the blade in front of her, deflecting his pursuit. She was prevented from running for the exit by several large soldiers who had stood up to surround her, eager to see how their entertainment would play out.

The officer’s rage was rapidly sobering him up. This was not good.

“Wife!” The word came from above her, from a male with a deep, dark voice. “Why are you holding a blade to my good friend Vladimir?” Katia craned her head up to find a pair of green eyes staring down at her. She tried to smile but gulped instead.
What in the devil?

“Apologies, Vlad, my wife does not understand the Slavic tongue nor your customs. Always finding her way into trouble, this one.” Lothair smiled at the officer and then smacked Katia’s bottom hard, marking his territory. He draped his heavy arm around her shoulder.

“
Better to stick with the devil you know than the devil you don’t know
,” her grandmother had always said. Katia swallowed her pride, batted her eyelashes, and began to play the part of bewildered, stupid wife. It was not hard to play, since she did feel overwhelmingly dim at the moment.

Vladimir’s eyes squinted, questioning the validity of the statement, not quite ready to let go of his target. “No one informed me that you brought a wife to Bogolyubovo.”

Lothair pushed Katia behind him and stood toe to toe with the man that challenged his claim. “I did not bring a wife.” He stared the man down. “She is disobedient and followed me here from Turku. I will be sending her back tomorrow with the trade convoy.” He growled out his words.

“Leave her above stairs. I will not answer for what my men deem to be fair game,” Vladimir said.

“Understood,” Lothair said. For a long moment, the two men glared at each other. Lothair’s hold on her arm tightened as he backed them toward the side exit. A dozen drunk soldiers watched with interest.

The sounds of the hall began to fade behind them and the dark corridor swallowed them into the shadows. Katia tripped on an uneven stone, her eyes not yet accustomed to the dark. Her blood pulsed with a mixture of fear, relief, and annoyance. What was
he
doing here? After all these years, to find him among her family’s enemies was gutting.

Lothair pulled her down a dark, secluded passageway and shoved her up against the cold wall. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

“What am I doing here?” she repeated incredulously. “What are
you
doing here? How do those soldiers know you? Are you one of them?” She launched her counterattack. If German tribes had begun to join with the Rus and Slavic forces, betraying the peace alliance with Sweden, all hope may have been lost already.

He was breathing hard and for a moment all she could smell was the ale on his breath and the cedar scent of his skin. He was truly her Lothair, her greatest triumph and bitterest defeat. “Answer my question.” He ground out his words between his clenched teeth. “Did your father send you here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course he did not send me here. He has no idea where I am.” She peeled his fingers from her arms. He had been gripping her so tightly that she was sure to have more bruises.

“You were abducted?”

“My family believes I am summering with my grandmother and aunt in Finland at the moment, if you must know. My grandmother believes I am taking an extended visit to my half brother in Korski. I am to return home with the trade ships and not expected until after the harvest.” She shoved him off and rubbed her arms. “I answered your question, now you answer mine. What are you doing here?”