Bride to a Brigand Read online

  BRIDE TO A BRIGAND

  The beautiful Princess Ileana is virtually ruler of Zokāla because her father, the King, has been in a coma for over six months.

  Enjoying the freedom her father’s illness allows her, she is shaken when the Prime Minister informs her that a large number of brigands under the leadership of General Vladilas have entered the country uninvited and are camping in the mountains.

  To her horror the Princess discovers that the Zokālan Army and its aged Generals have no intelligence of this potential threat and no strategy to protect their people.

  A fearless rider and experienced mountain climber, Ileana sets off to see if she can spy on the camp and find out what the brigands are doing. With only one mountain guide to protect her, she bravely determines to discover whether the peaceful land of Zokāla is under threat.

  To her dismay her worst fears are confirmed when she finds that the valley is filled with the latest and most up-to-date guns and weapons of war. Convinced that the brigands intend to invade, she desperately tries to formulate a plan.

  But before she can alert anyone to raise the alarm she is captured and taken before the General.

  How the Princess is, for the first time, confronted with a man who is stronger than she is and how she finds herself a victim and captive of a formidable and relentless enemy is told in this exciting, dramatic and passionate romance by Barbara Cartland.

  Author’s Note

  The Pallikares were a legendary tribe of mercenaries, brigands and robbers from the Albanian mountains. They fought magnificently in the Greek War of Independence and when it was over the young handsome King Otho was appointed their Chief and General Xristodolous Hadjy-Petros as his aide-de-camp.

  The Albanian Chief became the most talked of man at Court and women fawned on him. He was very tall, handsome, ferocious-looking and seductive, despite the fact that he was over sixty.

  Dressed in the Albanian costume of crimson and gold embroideries, he and his followers bristled with pistols and daggers, which they never hesitated to use.

  The General’s horses were bridled and saddled in gold and silver and his men swaggered about, wildly moustachioed and reeking of garlic. They wore great shaggy fur cloaks, which made some people think they looked like the mountain bears. But others compared them to wasps, owing to their unusual habit of tight lacing to give themselves incredibly small waists.

  Ruthless, theatrical and romantic, the ladies of Athens lost their hearts and even the Queen had a tender regard for the General.

  One of the spectacular tricks of the Pallikares was to shoot a pheasant at full gallop. Other tricks were more formidable, like swooping down from the mountains and snatching up a prize horse or a pretty woman and vanishing, leaving the owner with no idea of what had happened.

  It was a life of hardship, adventure and exploration.

  Chapter One

  1850

  “No! No! No!”

  Princess Ileana’s voice rang out in the high-ceilinged room and seemed to echo back at her.

  Standing beside her, Crown Prince Tomilav said,

  “You have to marry somebody, Ileana, and I cannot think why it should not be me!”

  He spoke in a somewhat sour voice because he was a handsome young man and accustomed to being adulated by the women in his own country.

  As a Royal Prince of Moldavia he was well aware of his own consequence and he found it infuriating and at the same time humiliating that the woman he loved should refuse every proposal of marriage he had made to her.

  “I have no intention of marrying anybody!” Princess Ileana said in reply to his last remark.

  Prince Tomilav stared at her in astonishment.

  “That is a ridiculous statement. Of course you have to be married!”

  “Why?”

  “Do I really have to put it bluntly? Your father is dying and Zokāla must have a King.”

  “I intend to be Queen and I shall rule far better than some foreigner could, who does not understand our people.”

  “If you are referring to me,” Prince Tomilav retorted angrily, “that is a most unfair comment. Your people and mine are not unalike, although I admit yours are a strange mixture.”

  Princess Ileana smiled and it made her look very beautiful.

  “Hungarians, Rumanians, Serbians,” she said softly, “all mixed together in a bowl that is Zokāla and the result is, you must admit, very attractive.”

  “You are speaking of yourself,” Prince Tomilav said, “and you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen! Marry me, Ileana, and I swear I will make you very happy!”

  Ileana looked at him and her strange green eyes had for the moment a softer expression in them as she replied,

  “Dear Tomilav, we have known each other since we were children and I know that, while you are a charming man, I should after two or three days of marriage, feel like murdering you!”

  “But why?” Prince Tomilav asked sharply.

  “Because you would bore me,” Ileana sighed. “All men bore me when I know them well. Only horses are never disappointing!”

  She walked away from him as she spoke to look out over the valley, which lay beneath the Palace.

  Zokāla was a small country consisting entirely of mountains, rivers and a few valleys fertile enough to supply its inhabitants with most of the food they required.

  Bordered by the three much larger countries Ileana had just mentioned, it had a unique position and the throne that was just about to become empty since the King was dying seemed exceedingly desirable to all the younger Princes in the Balkans.

  But it was not only the country that attracted them, but also the beauty of King Milko’s only daughter, who had all the qualities that the men of the Balkans found desirable and irresistible.

  To begin with, she was a magnificent horsewoman – an Amazon whom nobody could beat in wild gallops over the Steppes.

  She looked superb and she had designed for herself remarkable riding clothes, which made her look even more alluring.

  To the horror and consternation of the older generation, she usually rode astride her horse, wearing a dashing coat of blue and scarlet that was belted and barred like a Cossack’s uniform with silver cartridge holders. Top boots and a fur cap of either white fox or sable completed her appearance.

  She was utterly fearless, choosing always the most challenging stallions that even her grooms were afraid of.

  She would outride the aides-de-camp who escorted her and often the troops of Cavalry streaming after her cross-country could not keep up.

  It was strange that King Milko, who was a handsome but conservative man and a stickler for tradition, should have produced a child who defied every social regulation and whose temperament in one small person appeared to challenge the world.

  Her mother, who had died when Ileana was quite young, had been a great beauty, her blood a mixture of Russian and Hungarian, which perhaps accounted for some of the wild streak in her daughter.

  Those who knew Ileana well found her unique and knew that there was nobody like her either in looks or in character.

  When her father fell ill and the doctors shook their heads and said there was no chance of saving him, Ileana through sheer force of personality had taken into her hands the reins of Government.

  The statesmen who expected easily to overrule a woman, whatever her rank, found themselves having to accept her judgements without being able to challenge them.

  It was the Prime Minister and the Cabinet who more than anyone else wanted Ileana to marry, so that they did not have to deal with a woman, whom they found devious and unpredictable, but a man who they felt would be far more amenable.

  The Prime Minister had already made it very
clear to the neighbouring countries what was required.

  The Princes had needed little encouragement to come pouring in from Bosnia, Albania, Rumania, Montenegro and Greece.

  To a younger son, who had no chance of succeeding to his father’s throne, it was a Heaven-sent opportunity to reign over one of the most attractive countries in the whole of the Balkans – in addition to marrying its most beautiful woman.

  However, Ileana had other ideas.

  She refused all suitors, laughed at them and sent them away saying she wished to sit on the throne alone.

  This was received as being quite impossible and those of the Princes who were not insulted by such a cavalier attitude returned to try and try again.

  Prince Tomilav was very persistent.

  In fact, as he said now, he was genuinely in love.

  “Why will you not listen to me, Ileana,” he asked, “and understand that, whatever you may say, we are eminently suited to each other?”

  “That is what you may think!”

  “But, I love you! You know I love you as a woman and, if you were a peasant, I should still want you.”

  “If I were a peasant,” Ileana replied scornfully, “you would ask me to occupy a very different place in your life!”

  “But I would still love you, I would still make you very happy!”

  There was a note of passion in Prince Tomilav’s voice that she did not miss and instinctively she moved a little way away from him.

  “I do not want love!”

  “You do not want love?” the Prince repeated in amazement. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean exactly what I say. Love is a maudlin emotion exaggerated and ridiculously eulogised by poets.”

  “You don’t know what you are talking about!”

  “Fortunately I do!” Ileana said. “I have listened to you and a dozen other men telling me how I affect their hearts and, how once I am in their arms, they will make me feel as they do, knowing all the time it is untrue!”

  “You know nothing of love because you are so young,” the Prince said a little uncertainly.

  Ileana laughed.

  “That is what you tell yourself. I have never been in love because neither you nor any of the other men I have ever met has had the power to make me feel anything except that they are exceedingly dreary when they become rapturous over sensations that I shall never feel.”

  “How do you know you will never feel them?”

  “Because I am differently made, if you like, from other women.”

  She paused to think before she went on,

  “What thrills me is knowing that the horse I am schooling has to obey me, that fight though he may, I shall always be his master. Nothing a man could give me could equal the excitement of riding at full gallop on an animal that is faster than any of the others that follow me.”

  The Prince drew in his breath.

  It was not what Ileana said, but the sensuous excitement in her voice that roused him and made him know that he would give everything he possessed to make her feel the same way about him.

  Instinctively he moved nearer and put out his arms towards her.

  Without turning her head and still looking out onto the valley, Ileana said firmly,

  “If you touch me, Tomilav, I will never speak to you again!”

  For a moment he hesitated.

  Then he dropped his arms to his sides.

  “Damn you, Ileana!” he exploded after a moment. “You drive a man mad!”

  “So you have told me dozens of times before! Now for goodness sake, go away, because I have the Prime Minister waiting for me and I should not be wasting time listening to you.”

  “Do you really think it is a waste of time?”

  The hurt in the Prince’s voice seemed to strike a chord in Ileana, which made her say more gently,

  “You know at times I like being with you, Tomilav, and I admit you are an excellent horseman. But you merely become insufferable when you drool on about love, which is a subject that does not interest me.”

  She saw the Prince’s lips tighten and added,

  “We will meet at dinner tonight and I have arranged that we shall dance afterwards, even though it will doubtless scandalise the old gossips because Papa is so ill.”

  “They can hardly expect you to sit crying every night at his bedside when he has been in a coma for over six months!” Tomilav said as if he must speak up in her defence.

  “I agree with you,” Ileana replied. “Therefore, although it is a small party, we shall dance, and I have asked the gypsies to play for us.”

  The Prince stared at her.

  “Is that wise?”

  “What do you mean – is that wise?”

  “You know that mixing with the gypsies is not considered correct. No one should invite them into a private house and especially not the Palace!”

  Ileana laughed and again her voice seemed to echo round the high room with its painted ceiling.

  “That is what you may think in Moldavia, but here the gypsies are a part of us and of our lives.”

  Because he knew it was pointless to say any more, Tomilav shrugged his shoulders.

  He thought that Ileana was inviting unnecessary criticism and already not only the citizens of her own country but the whole of the Balkans talked of her escapades with bated breath.

  It was not only that she rode astride and that she raced against the young Noblemen of Zokāla. She also competed with jockeys and professional horse-breakers and beat them too.

  Dressed like a man, she had been known to climb to the top of the highest mountains in Zokāla.

  In the summer, defying every convention that concerned women, she would swim in the lakes which lay under the towering peaks and which, even in the hottest days of summer, were as cold as the glaciers above them.

  There were unlikely to be many spectators in that isolated part of the country, but it was known that she behaved outrageously by swimming in a tightly fitting costume that revealed the curves of her figure.

  Stories about Ileana had been multiplying ever since at fifteen her beauty had stunned everybody who saw her.

  Many of the tales told about her were true, many untrue, but, as her personality developed over the years, it was impossible to ignore her.

  Travellers moving from one Balkan country to another found almost the first question they were asked as they set foot over the border was,

  “What is the Princess Ileana of Zokāla doing now?”

  What she was actually doing was enjoying herself.

  As soon as her father became too ill to interfere with her or show his authority in any way, she had dismissed any Lady-in-Waiting who found fault with her.

  She changed the aides-de-camp for younger men who made no effort to curb her exploits and she did exactly what she pleased, making it quite clear who governed the country, as her father was unable to do.

  Now, having said goodbye to Prince Tomilav and leaving him disconsolate, though still determined to go on trying to make her marry him, Ileana walked along the corridor which led to the Council Chamber.

  With the sun coming through the windows to illumine her hair, bringing out the touches of vivid red inherited from her Hungarian ancestors, she looked like a young Diana, Goddess of the Chase.

  It was a very apt description because she was thinking that, as soon as she could rid herself of the Statesmen who had requested an audience, she would ride down into the valley.

  She would order two of her aides-de-camp to accompany her so that she could race her latest acquisition, a black stallion she had named Satan, against them.

  Satan was justly named because he was ferocious with what the grooms described as a fiendish temper and he had already injured three stable boys who attempted to saddle him.

  To Ileana he was a challenge and a delight and if she dreamed of anybody in her huge blue velvet bed with its carved headboard and canopy supported by golden angels, it was of Satan.

&nb
sp; The Palace of Zokāla was one of the most romantic in the whole world.

  Ileana’s grandmother, having fallen passionately in love with her husband after a marriage which had been arranged simply because it was politically suitable, had determined to create a background to match the romantic fervour of her heart.

  She had therefore called in the finest Zokālan craftsmen, who were traditionally very clever carvers, painters and decorators, to tell them what she required.

  As the Royal Family had previously ignored them, it was a delight for them to create a Fairy tale Palace of such beauty and with such imagination that everybody who saw it gasped in wonder.

  It had been a fitting background for Ileana’s mother, who had also been very beautiful and now for Ileana herself.

  Those who saw her against the malachite and pink marble pillars, the painted ceilings, the gold and silver walls, the exquisite beauty of domes and spires, the courtyards embellished with brilliant mosaics, thought they must have stepped into a Fairy story.

  Because Ileana was so lovely, her gown, that had been designed and made for her in Paris, made her look like a painting by Winterhalter.

  And if there had been cupids carrying garlands of roses flying ahead of her nobody would have been surprised.

  At the same time, as she entered the Council Chamber her green eyes were shrewd and wary, because her intuition told her that what she was going to hear from the Statesmen who had demanded an audience would be far from pleasant.

  She was, however, surprised when she entered the great room with a polished table down the centre of it at which thirty people could sit in comfort.

  She had expected there to be at least a dozen men waiting for her, but instead there was only the Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain.

  The Prime Minister was shorter than most Zokālans, who were a tall race and perhaps because of his office he had a permanently worried expression.

  He was, as Ileana knew, an extremely clever man and had the future prosperity of the country very much at heart.

  The Lord Chamberlain, who was growing old, was a staunch Royalist and Ileana knew she could rely on him to support her on any problem that concerned the prestige of the Monarchy.