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  Eduart! Ariana mouthed the name wonderingly to herself as he continued,

  “Stefan proved himself increasingly unpopular with his subjects and many of them fled to us in the mountains. We were not so much brigands as rebels, although it’s true that in order to survive we often had to resort to robbing unwary travellers. We had eyes and ears in the town where there are many who are sympathetic to our cause.”

  Ariana was certain that he meant the gypsies.

  “I grew to like the life. Whenever we intervened to help those who were crushed by Ottoman laws, I felt that I was performing a vital duty for my country. I think I even ceased to mind about being restored to my rightful place. Then all at once my complacency was shattered. And all because Stefan wanted a wife.”

  Ariana heard a movement behind her and knew that the Prince would soon come charging out of the shadows.

  She then reached through the bars to grasp Eduart’s hand. Their fingers entwined and in the dark their mutual breaths quickened.

  “You know the rest,” Eduart said in a low unhappy voice. “Stefan was so hated that he could not find a local woman willing to marry him. So he then sent to the émigré community in London. And, miracle beyond miracles, you arrived in Albania.”

  Ariana quickly plucked her hand from behind the bars, as Prince Stefan with a cold laugh stepped out from his hiding place.

  Catching Ariana by the elbow he drew her clumsily to her feet.

  The candelabrum he still held threw her trembling figure into such stark relief that Eduart rose as well and, gripping the bars tight, drank in this ethereal vision.

  Ariana remembered that he had never seen her in such splendid clothes.

  “You approve of my fiancée?” sneered the Prince.

  “I am indeed touched that she should dress in such finery to visit me,” replied Eduart sardonically.

  “She donned this gown at my behest,” crowed the Prince. “But it is as nothing to the gown she will wear tomorrow on the occasion of our marriage.”

  “Tomorrow?” Eduart’s eyes burned into Ariana’s. “This is what you wish?”

  Ariana needed no reminder that if she said anything to displease the Prince he would have his brother executed.

  Quelling the despair in her heart, she slowly nodded her head.

  “It is what I wish – Eduart.”

  Like a stricken animal Eduart let go of the bars, turned his face away and moved back into the darkness.

  The Prince gave a grunt of triumph before steering Ariana away from the cell back towards the upper regions of The Castle that were set to be her earthly prison.

  *

  For most of the night a desolate wind blew.

  In Ariana’s room the shutters at the window rattled until Bujar rose with an exclamation from her chair before the hearth and slammed the bolt tighter between them.

  Ariana watched through half-opened eyes from her pillow as Bujar returned to her chair.

  Ariana did not sleep that night. One name was on her lips through all the lonely hours.

  Eduart!

  She must grow used to this name, although it was a name she would surely never have a chance to utter aloud.

  Towards dawn the wind abated.

  In the silence then prevailing Ariana heard a sudden scream ring out from somewhere in or beyond The Castle.

  She sat up quickly and looked over at Bujar. The housekeeper was asleep, her head fallen onto her breast.

  Ariana listened intently, but there was not another sound. At last she fell back on her pillow. Perhaps it had been a vixen or a vixen’s prey. The mere thought of a swift bloody death out in the woods made her shiver.

  At least it had not come from the dungeons, for no sound could possibly penetrate from that place.

  At long last the clock struck seven. Bujar stretched and rose. She unbolted the shutters, then turned to the bed.

  “Time to prepare,” she intoned.

  After bathing Ariana stood there numbly as Bujar dressed her in her wedding gown.

  From beyond the window came the sound of hoofs and wheels. The Priest had arrived.

  Bujar held up her veil as she descended the stairs. A servant waiting below thrust a bunch of fresh roses into Ariana’s hands. She stared down at them wanly as she had not thought of flowers or cared that she had them now.

  She and Bujar made their sombre way to the Dukka family Chapel where the Priest and Stefan awaited them.

  Tears filled Ariana’s eyes as she advanced towards the figure of the Prince at the altar. How like the man she loved looked this man who she loathed.

  She drew alongside, glancing at him through damp lashes. He turned and the intensity of his look shocked her. His pupils fairly blazed with passion and it seemed that he controlled some seething emotion with great effort for his jaw was clenched tight.

  Her lips fell open beneath his fiery scrutiny. The flash of desire that crossed the Prince’s features made her writhe with disgust.

  She was certain that had it not been for the presence of the Priest and the two witnesses, he would have ravished her there at the altar.

  The dreaded ceremony began. The Priest hurried it through, apparently more nervous than the couple. He did not refer to the Prince by his Christian name, which Ariana supposed was a custom here in Albania.

  It seemed a mere matter of minutes before she was the wife of the Prince of Dukka.

  Then the newly-weds left the Chapel in silence.

  Ariana was surprised to see a carriage waiting for them as she had supposed that they would return on foot to The Castle and Bujar seemed to have disappeared.

  The Prince handed his wife into her seat and the carriage set off. It did not take the road back to The Castle, but turned before the Chapel and set off down the hill.

  “Where are we – going?” asked Ariana coldly.

  “To a surprise banquet,” replied the Prince shortly.

  Ariana wondered where on earth this banquet was to take place and guessed that it must be at Glinica. No doubt the guests would be those hunting companions of the Prince with their wives in tow.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the plush velvet seat and for at least a mile silence reigned.

  Then the Prince spoke,

  “You don’t seem that overjoyed to find yourself my wife, Ariana.”

  Ariana opened her eyes.

  “You of all men should know what is in my heart this morning,” she replied bitterly.

  “Ah, but do you know what is in mine?” asked the Prince softly.

  “I neither know nor care,” said Ariana curtly.

  “In that case I shall demand my rights as I see fit. Come to my arms, Ariana.”

  Ariana drew in her breath.

  Now it would begin, this daily submission to the Prince’s will. Yet what course had she but to obey?

  With a sigh she allowed him to take her in his arms.

  “My Princess, give me your lips,” commanded the Prince.

  Numbly Ariana raised her face to his. The Prince bent down and his mouth met hers with a gentleness that disturbed her.

  This kiss was different to any other he had given. She loathed this man with all her heart and yet – and yet her body now began to melt at his touch.

  As his arm crept about her back to press her close, she felt herself swoon. A yearning arose in her that she had not experienced with him before.

  Blood rushed to her cheeks and she heard herself emit a soft despairing moan of pleasure.

  The Prince released her so suddenly that she fell back breathless against the velvet seat.

  “How passionately you respond to me,” he said in such disappointed tones that she was bewildered.

  “It is only your resemblance to another that evokes such – feeling in me,” she countered truthfully.

  The Prince regarded her strangely.

  “You mean my brother, Eduart, I suppose?”

  “Who else?” she cried defiantly.

&n
bsp; The Prince said no more, but turned and stared out of the window. Ariana’s gaze followed his and with a start she saw that the carriage was not on the road for Glinica.

  Since the Prince was still turned away from her, she hesitated to question him again. It seemed better to remain silent, as she would soon discover where they were going.

  She recalled that there were two pairs of carriage horses and it struck her that it seemed an excessive number for a short journey.

  The rhythmic drumming of hoofs and wheels on the road soon conspired to make her drowsy. Her eyes slowly closed and her head slipped sideways to settle against the shoulder of the Prince.

  For all the world she would not have left it there, but, before she could move away, his arm was about her.

  He exuded an unaccustomed warmth and strength and within a moment she was asleep.

  *

  A jolt of the carriage woke her. She sat up, forcing the Prince to release his grip.

  The position of the sun showed that it was long past midday. She had slept for several hours, but then they had travelled a great distance.

  Looking out of the carriage window, she gave a cry of amazement. To one side the road dropped away into scrub and pine, while ahead it rose into mist.

  They were in the mountains!

  She swung round to the Prince, who was watching her with an amused air. Her exclamation died on her lips and she understood in a flash what new torture the Prince had planned.

  He was taking her into the brigands’ territory and the ‘banquet’ would take place among the same rocks and soaring peaks where she had roamed in company with the brigands’ lost King!

  “I – hate – you,” she muttered. “Forever.”

  Swiftly the Prince reached and grasped her wrist.

  “Who do you hate, who? Say my name.”

  “Stefan!” she cried in response. “Stefan of Dukka.”

  The Prince uttered a sigh, almost it seemed of relief and loosened his grip.

  “If you feel the same way at the end of the day, I shall release you from your oaths,” he said before turning once again to stare out of the window.

  Release her from her oaths? Ariana was so amazed that she could make no response and said no more.

  The sun was sinking towards late afternoon when the carriage drew up at the head of a plateau extending into the shadow of two large peaks.

  The Prince helped Ariana from the carriage and she stared round her in wonder.

  A fire burned before a cavern entrance. A lamb was roasting on a spit. Flagons of wine were set out on a rough table.

  It was the very replica of a brigands’ hide-away, but there was not a soul in sight.

  Ariana turned and turned again, unable to speak.

  She looked to the Prince.

  He was watching her gravely. Then all of a sudden he put his fingers to his lips and gave a whistle.

  From behind the rocks, from inside the cavern and from the shadows of the pines, they came.

  Gorci and Ilir, Bonnie and Gezim, and with them all the brigands Ariana had thought never to see again.

  They glided forward, hands outstretched, their faces wreathed in smiles of welcome.

  Ariana turned from the advancing party towards the Prince.

  And then suddenly she was seized with a dawning comprehension.

  She had not married Stefan that morning. She had married Eduart!

  All her prayers had been answered and by some miracle she was now the wife of the man she worshiped.

  Seeing that at last she understood, he reached out his hand.

  Half in a swoon she fell against his chest.

  Then the brigands surged about them clapping their King on the back and murmuring words of congratulation to Ariana.

  Eventually Ariana drew back from him.

  Still dizzy with all that had happened she accepted the kisses of Bonnie and Gezim. Bonnie, she noted was in a very happy state indeed, due to be a mother and looking rosy and relaxed.

  At last Eduart explained how it came about that it was he who stood at the altar that morning and not Stefan.

  Lulé had not departed Dukka when dismissed, but had let herself back in through the cellar door.

  When Stefan had led Ariana to visit his brother in the dungeons, Lulé had followed and noted the route.

  Later that night she had unbolted the door and then released Eduart from his cell. The two had then cornered Stefan in his room.

  Ariana was incredulous.

  “And where is Stefan now?”

  “In the dungeon,” replied Eduart cheerfully. “There he will stay until he agrees to sign a confession, which will restore the title of Prince to me. He will also stay there until he agrees to marry the woman he abandoned many years ago, a woman who still loves him despite all – Lulé!”

  Wonderingly Ariana turned to regard Lulé.

  She realised that this was indeed the very woman Stefan himself had mentioned – the woman who was ‘wild and beautiful’. When he had paused before the captive he thought of as ‘Zhenka’ and then made the comment that he seemed to recognise those features of old, he had had no idea that he was looking at the face of his old love!

  Another thought struck Ariana.

  “What of – Bujar?” she asked.

  “Lulé brought Bujar here to the hideaway,” Eduart answered her, “while you and I were being wed the two women rode on the same horse and Bujar will remain here until this business with Stefan is finished. Until then she is our prisoner as we don’t trust her. Lulé rode like the wind to get here before us and organise this banquet. I could not tell you the truth in the carriage. I needed to hear from your lips that you hated my brother – Stefan of Dukka!”

  Ariana stared at Eduart and she felt that she was caught up in some kind of dream.

  The sun was now setting and the brigands and their wives clamoured to begin the wedding banquet.

  Roast lamb was brought up along with fresh baked bread, fruit and wine.

  But Ariana could eat little. All through the meal her eyes feasted on her husband.

  Could she be certain that he was indeed Eduart?

  Suppose that this was some nefarious plot dreamed up by Stefan? Suppose the real Eduart was still in his cell while his brother played this role of King of the Brigands!

  Fiddlers struck up and Eduart held out his hand.

  “Come,” he urged. “Let’s lead the dance.”

  Ariana stiffened and her husband’s brow darkened.

  “What is the matter?”

  “How do I know,” she whispered, “that you are not Stefan after all?”

  His eyes clouded.

  “Let the others feast and dance,” he decided in a low husky voice. “I now have other business to attend to – convincing my wife that I am who I am!”

  Signalling his intention to Ilir and Lulé, he grasped Ariana by the hand and led her away. She struggled to keep pace as he strode towards a cleft in the rocks.

  She was amazed to find furs and cushions spread over the ground while silver tankards and a flagon of wine were on table. Lanterns, hung from the boughs of a thorn tree, cast a golden glow over the scene.

  Ariana trembled as she realised that this had been arranged as a true love nest, the place where she would be fully introduced to the delights of which she had so far in her life only had a brief if dizzying taste.

  He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat was so fierce she almost pulled away in alarm.

  “Keep your hand there,” he ordered. “Just feel your power over me.”

  “P-power?”

  His eyes flashed.

  “Yes, power! No soldier coming at me in the field with sword unsheathed could make my heart beat so. No shot rushing past my ear, no cannonball landing at my feet. No enemy I have ever confronted made my pulse so race with terror.”

  Ariana raised agonised eyes to his.

  “T-terror?”

  He gave an almost bitter laug
h.

  “Yes, terror, that I should not be Master of myself, that I should be tamed and fettered by a mere slip of a girl. I, who have lived a life freer than most men.”

  His voice softened as he gazed down at her.

  “My only hope is that I should so command you, body and soul, and that you and I become as one. That the expression of my passion will tame you as it will tame me. Could Stefan speak in this way to you, who only wanted to possess you as a man possesses a jewel, a purse or a title?”

  “N-no,” admitted Ariana at last, her head whirling with all that was now promised her.

  Eduart thrust his lips to hers and at the same time suppressing a groan that seemed to rise from his very soul.

  Gently he then drew her down until the two of them knelt upon the soft bear pelts, their kiss continuing.

  One hand around her waist, with his other hand he loosened her hair until it fell in a golden mass about her shoulders and down to her waist.

  “Ariana! Ariana!”

  She heard her name murmured like a song.

  Then she was drawn lower still to lie upon the furs, gazing up at Eduart. He knelt above her and beyond him stars gleamed in the sky like the eyes in a peacock’s tail.

  Then the stars were lost to her sight as her beloved husband leaned down to crush her body to his.

  In the cool air a searing heat devoured her being and a blinding light seemed to flood the cave.

  So it was to be loved and desired and carried to the highest throne of bliss by he, who, the one-time King of the Brigands, now revealed himself as the King of her very soul.

  OCR Document

  Where to buy other titles in this series

  The Barbara Cartland Pink collection is available for download at the following online bookshops :-

  www.barnesandnoble.com - epub format for the Nook eReader

  www.whsmith.co.uk - epub format for the Smiths/Kobo eReader

  www.firstyfish.com - epub format

  ebookstore.sony.com - epub format for Sony eReaders

  www.amazon.co.uk - For UK Kindle users

  www.amazon.com - For international Kindle users

  itunes.apple.com - for Apple iOS users