Double the Love Read online

  Dressed entirely in black and his dark hair loosened from its thong, his bearing was distant and unyielding.

  When he spoke, his voice was calm but cold.

  “It is clear to me that you have played the innocent long enough,” he said. “Your willingness to embrace the lifestyle here was feigned in order to blunt my resolve and effect your release without ransom.”

  Ariana hung her head, far too miserable to protest. Besides, what good would it do?

  If he had passed the night in Bonnie’s arms, Bonnie would have lost no chance to blacken her Mistress’s name in order to further win Lorenc’s trust.

  “Well,” Lorenc went on. “I am now releasing you without ransom. Your presence here is insupportable to me. Besides that, I have no desire to negotiate with Stefan of Dukka, who I consider a serpent, a traitor to Albania – ”

  He was silenced for a short moment by Ariana’s genuinely astounded glance.

  “I know of him too well,” he nodded grimly. “You will discover his nature before long, but that is no concern of mine. You will leave today. I will furnish you with a horse and one of my men will accompany you for part of the way. He will leave you on the road to Dukka and you can make your own way from there.”

  He paused again. Ariana waited, not daring to look at him.

  “And – and Bonnie?” she ventured to ask at last.

  “Bonnie will stay here,” said Lorenc coolly. “And should you reveal the story of your abduction or attempt to lead a party against us here, you must consider that you would then place your maid’s life in jeopardy.”

  Ariana could not believe his callousness. Last night he took Bonnie to his bed – and now this morning he was hinting that he would kill the maid if necessary.

  Little as Ariana now esteemed Bonnie, she would never put the girl’s life in danger and proudly said so.

  Lorenc gave an approving nod.

  “Good. You are free to go.”

  Ariana rose in a daze and would have moved to the door, only that Lorenc raised a hand to halt her.

  “There is something else. When you first encounter this Stefan, something about him will astonish you. But I strongly counsel you to make no comment nor in any way reveal your surprise. If you do, the repercussions will be grave for me – my men – and Bonnie.”

  Ariana was puzzled as he waved her away.

  Only an hour later she was astride a dun-coloured horse, its rein attached to another horse, upon which sat her guide for the journey.

  As the guide loaded some provisions into his pack saddle, Ariana saw Lorenc and Lulé approach. Bonnie was with them and gave a disheartened wave to her Mistress.

  Ariana did not respond. As the horse ahead set off, tugging her in its wake, she cast only one look back.

  How she wished she had not, for the sight that met her was of Lorenc with his arm consolingly and it seemed possessively around Bonnie shoulders.

  *

  Reaching the bottom of the mountain took the day.

  Ariana’s guide, who had expressly not said a word to her all this time, left her to spend the night at a rough inn situated on the road that she should take on the morrow.

  He also left her with a small pouch of money to pay for the lodgings and for food.

  She slept poorly, her mind running round and round on the subjects of Lorenc and Bonnie and Prince Stefan.

  Why had Lorenc called the Prince ‘a serpent’ and ‘a traitor’?

  She set off next day at dawn.

  The road ahead led directly to where she wanted to go, but it did not run straight. It wound its way through dark woods and often seeming to double back upon itself.

  Ariana was not used to being on horseback for so long and was nervous at travelling alone.

  Nevertheless as dusk fell she was growing more and more apprehensive as she urged her weary mare on.

  At last she saw the name of Castle Dukka carved on a rock with an arrow pointing to the left. She followed the trail and after an hour The Castle appeared ahead of her.

  It was no Fairytale Palace!

  Built on an escarpment over a deep valley, it soared grimly into the night sky. Narrow windows lit within by flickering candlelight punctuated walls of grey stone.

  The Castle looked rather friendlier closer to. Ivy clung to those walls that had looked grey from afar and two elegant flights of steps swept up to a baronial front door.

  It opened as Ariana drew up at the steps and then a woman with gaunt features appeared.

  Seeing that Ariana could scarcely hold up her head, this woman clicked her fingers to summon a servant, who ran down the steps and helped her from the saddle.

  Ariana mounted the steps on the servant’s arm as the woman surveyed her from head to foot taking in her worn clothing and dusty face.

  “You are lost, young woman?”

  “N-no. I am where I should be. That is, I – am Ariana Dancer. I think you are expecting me?”

  The woman drew back in astonishment.

  “Ariana, from England? Why are you so delayed? And why do you arrive alone with no maid, no baggage?”

  Ariana on her journey had devised a complicated story she thought might answer all such questions without implicating the brigands and thereby endangering Bonnie.

  But she found it was beyond her present strength to try to explain now.

  “For pity’s sake, madam,” she said. “I must rest.”

  Frowning, the woman signalled to the servant, who swept Ariana into his arms and carried her in. She took hold of a candlestick and led the way up stone staircases and along passageways until she threw open a door.

  “The Prince has assigned you these rooms. I will tell him that you have arrived but need time to recover. I will send someone to light your fire. I, by the way, am Bujar, the Prince’s housekeeper.”

  Ariana managed to thank Bujar and then felt herself deposited onto a bed and a cover drawn over her.

  She fell into a deep and blessed sleep.

  *

  What hour it was when she finally awoke she could not tell. Someone had lit a fire for the shadow of its flames now danced across the ceiling.

  In a corner a stand of candles burned and had been burning long enough to drip hot wax onto the stone floor. On a polished table there was a bowl of fruit, some meat, bread and what looked like goat’s cheese.

  Ariana fell hungrily upon the refreshment.

  Only when she was sated did she examine the rest of her room. It was pleasing enough with rich tapestries decorating the walls and hand-woven rugs on the floor.

  On one side the door to a large mahogany wardrobe stood invitingly open.

  Ariana went close to peer in and an array of gowns met her eye, gowns of satin and silk, fashionable enough to be worn at the best London houses.

  Ariana fingered them wonderingly. If only Lorenc could have seen her in such dresses as these just once!

  “They are for you,” came the voice of Bujar and Ariana swung round guiltily.

  “F-for me?”

  “The Prince ordered them once he knew that you had accepted his proposal. He wishes you to have the best of everything,” replied Bujar.

  Ariana hung her head. To think that she had been summoning up images of Lorenc, when it was the Prince who desired to so provide for her.

  “W-when shall I meet – the Prince?” she asked.

  “Once you have changed into a dress more suitable than those rags you are in. He is anxious to set eyes on you and hear the reasons for your delay in arriving. But he has waited so long, another hour will not matter.”

  “How long was I asleep?” asked Ariana, glancing at the night outside. It could be midnight for all she knew.

  “A whole night and day,” replied Bujar.

  Ariana gasped.

  “You mean – this is my second night here?”

  “Yes. It’s past eight o’clock and the Prince has just dined. It seems that you have too,” she added, throwing a glance at the somewhat denu
ded platters on the table.

  “I have. Thank you,” replied Ariana.

  She was distracted by the entrance of a skinny sour-featured girl whom Bujar introduced as Gezim.

  “Gezim will attend to all your needs.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Ariana, casting a dubious glance at Gezim.

  Bujar drew herself up.

  “We hope you know your duty to be that of making the Prince happy.”

  “I will very certainly endeavour to do so,” promised Ariana, surprised. “I have, of course, much to learn about the customs of your country.”

  “You will not learn much here at Dukka,” returned Bujar quickly. “The Prince is something of a recluse. We rarely entertain except in the hunting season.”

  With that Bujar departed, leaving Ariana to prepare for her first meeting with her future husband.

  She tried to dispel from her mind the description of Stefan that Lorenc had planted, but had to wonder what did a ‘serpent’ or ‘traitor’ look like.

  Had Lorenc used those words merely in anger that she had not disclosed her engagement to the Prince?

  As she bathed in a large porcelain bath secreted behind a screen, for which Gezim brought pitchers of hot water, Ariana tried to focus all her thoughts on her fiancé.

  From the moment that she had agreed to marry him, Prince Stefan had dominated her heart until that fateful encounter with Lorenc, the King of the Brigands!

  When Gezim sat her down to arrange her hair and Ariana drew out from her bag the one memento of her time in the mountains, the comb that Lorenc had given her, she felt that her heart would break.

  She must not think of him, she must not!

  With a sudden surge of despair, she threw the comb into the far corners of the room.

  “Use the brush alone,” she ordered Gezim.

  At last Ariana was ready. She wore a blue satin gown with a lace shawl with her hair in a decorous plait.

  Gezim took a candle and led her downstairs.

  Although her own room was pleasant, Ariana found the rest of The Castle somewhat gloomy. Walls were lined with paintings depicting scenes of hunting and the furniture was heavy with the legs of chairs ending in claws or hoofs.

  Hurrying along behind Gezim, she heard the patter of her own slippers on the flagstones and thought dismally that it was a lonely sound.

  Gezim finally paused at nail-studded double doors on the ground floor. She knocked and the door was opened by a lackey of some sort in curled-up shoes and a turban.

  He indicated that Ariana should enter. She hesitated a moment and then advanced into the room.

  It was a long narrow room like a gallery and dimly lit. Stuffed animal heads leered from the walls and bear pelts were scattered over a floor tiled in arabesque patterns.

  Across the windows were wooden latticed screens through which spilled beams of moonlight.

  She started at the sudden sound of a high-pitched wail from outside. It was the wind and its moan found an echo in her trembling heart.

  Ariana greeted Bujar, who stood by the door, hands folded across her stomach and lips drawn tight.

  Bujar gave her a short nod and then escorted her forward, while at the end of the gallery a fire roared in a wide stone chimney.

  Ariana’s heart gave a sudden lurch as she glimpsed in the shadows beside the fire, the outline of a tall figure, one elbow resting on the mantel.

  Surely this was the Prince? As she advanced her eyes eagerly sought to see his features, but these remained hidden in the gloom.

  The Prince suddenly spoke from his corner.

  “So you took your time to reach me. What is your reason?”

  Stopped short she could think of nothing other than to curtsey. Although disappointed that the Prince should greet her so brusquely, she had nevertheless anticipated his question.

  In her answer she must hide the truth with as much skill and conviction as she could muster.

  Eyes on the floor, she began,

  “I cannot tell you my relief, sir, in having reached your Castle at all. We – that is my maid and the coachman you kindly sent to fetch us from the border – had reached the town of Shkodar w-when the weather turned rough – and it was decided that we put up there at an inn.”

  “Which inn?”

  The question was flung at her so unexpectedly that Ariana was flustered.

  “I-I cannot remember.” Looking up she passed a hand over her brow before a thought inspired her. “I speak Albanian, but I am not well acquainted with your alphabet, which is so different to ours. I could not read the inn sign.”

  “That disadvantage was not apparent in the letters you wrote to me,” observed the Prince coolly.

  “M-my uncle helped me compose them,” countered Ariana quickly.

  “Well, I would hope to improve your skills under my tutelage,” said the Prince in a tone that Ariana could not decipher. “But go on with your tale.”

  Ariana was beginning to find it most disconcerting to be addressed in this manner by someone whose face she could not see.

  “There is not much more – to relate, sir,” she said carefully. “When I awoke – in the morning, I discovered that my maid and the coachman had departed together – taking all my possessions with them.”

  “What?” exploded the Prince, snatching his elbow from the mantel.

  Ariana hurried on,

  “All I was left with was this old dress of my maid’s to wear and the money I had secreted in my reticule. That money I used for food while I – walked or begged rides. Then I managed to buy a horse from someone I met – on the road. It has taken all this time for me to reach Dukka.”

  The Prince seemed not to have been listening.

  “That rogue coachman!” Ariana heard him growl. “No doubt, Bujar, he thinks he can join the brigands, but his sanctuary will very be short-lived! God willing those lawbreakers will soon be wiped from the face of the earth!”

  The Prince stepped angrily into the light.

  Catching sight of him, a cry of absolute amazement escaped Ariana’s lips.

  There before her in a bright gold waistcoat and fur- trimmed suit stood someone whose form and features she knew and loved too well.

  It was Lorenc, the King of the Brigands!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What’s the matter with the girl?” asked the Prince.

  Bujar hurried forward and, taking Arianna’s elbow, helped her to a chair.

  “I am sure, Sire, she is in a state of confusion.”

  The Prince eyed Ariana suspiciously.

  “I should have thought that sleeping for a whole night and day would have cleared her mind completely.”

  “Oh, but Sire,” Bujar protested,” think what she has experienced on her travels.”

  “You advised me that a girl brought up in England would be of a hardy constitution,” replied the Prince.

  Ariana hardly heard this exchange. Her eyes were fixed as if in a trance on the Prince.

  The face she had tried to banish from her thoughts was resurrected before her.

  Her first thought was that Lorenc had all this time been leading a double life. He was both the King of the Brigands and Prince Stefan of Dukka.

  But, totally confused though she was, she quickly dismissed this possibility. For one thing, why would the man before her, if he was indeed Lorenc, not admit to it?

  Besides, why would Lorenc have called himself a ‘serpent’ and a ‘traitor’?

  No, the man before her was not Lorenc. But oh, so like, so very like, that Ariana’s heart trembled with desire even as she struggled to assure herself that it was not he.

  Now she recalled Lorenc’s comment that, when she first saw the Prince, ‘something about him would astonish her’. This resemblance was it.

  And it was clear why Lorenc had gone on to warn her that she should not reveal her surprise. If she remarked upon the resemblance, the Prince would demand to know just when she had ever met the King of the Brigands.


  From that would ensue all manner of explanations, ending surely in retribution for Lorenc and his men and the likely death of Bonnie.

  No, she must puzzle on her own over this likeness between the two men. But that they must be related was beyond doubt.

  The Prince caught Ariana’s gaze.

  “You are recovered, madam?” he asked in English.

  She nodded, racking her brains for an explanation of her conduct.

  “I am sorry I cried out so. It’s just that – you did not look as I imagined.”

  A thin smile appeared on the Prince’s lips.

  “You find me wanting?”

  “Oh, not at all. You are – very handsome, sir.”

  This she could add with conviction and she knew that her eyes betrayed a genuine longing as they drank in the features of the Prince.

  And the Prince read her expression well.

  “You find me pleasing, then?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  Bujar, her hand on the back of Ariana’s chair now spoke, also in English.

  “Perhaps she expected an ogre, Sire.”

  The Prince laughed, a dry cold sound.

  “Did you, madam? Did you expect an ogre?”

  Ariana thought quickly.

  “I expected you to have a – large black beard. And

  bushy eyebrows.”

  The Prince laughed again and then he snapped his fingers. As if reading his thoughts, Bujar swiftly set down by Ariana’s chair a stool on which he regally sat.

  Being tall, like Lorenc in this detail too, his face now presented itself on a level with Ariana’s. He took up one of her hands and kissed it lightly.

  These were not Lorenc’s lips on her flesh and yet Ariana trembled as the Prince took note.

  “Ah, my lips please you, madam. Or do you just tremble with relief that I have no beard? Which is it?”

  “B-both,” answered Ariana diplomatically.

  The Prince paused and then waved Bujar away.

  “Now we are alone,” said the Prince in a low voice. “Might I exercise my rights and demand a kiss?”

  Ariana studied the arch of his brow, the line of his nose and the curve of his mouth.

  That mouth and those lips! If she could not have Lorenc, would his mirror image suffice? Could the Prince’s kiss fire her blood in the same way?