“My lady Akna,” John continued as he turned, his voice velvety smooth, “your mastery of English is astounding.”
“Why of course,” she replied dryly. “It is a far simpler language than my own tongue.”
And then finally Sir John Frederick laid eyes on Akna, daughter of Tulok of the Inuit. And for once, he was struck speechless. This was not just a Northern princess; no, this was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. She was tall and willowy as a young sapling, and her long, dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. Her wide, hazel eyes were lit with bright flecks of green and gold and were set above high, refined cheekbones. Small, plump lips were stretched into a sly smirk, and her small, delicate hands rested on the generous swell of her hips. Oh, and that dress…that sealskin dress did absolutely nothing to hide her sweet curves. The edge just grazed her knees, scandalously revealing her perfect calves. John was suddenly very aware of the heat spreading from his loins, and his fingers twitched as they ached to test out the creaminess of that beautiful skin. He inhaled as he imagined sliding his palms up the curve of her legs, past the hem of her dress and up the length of her thighs. What would he find there? he wondered longingly. How he wanted to cup her bottom in his hands, squeeze her tender flesh and push his fingers—
“And it appears I speak English even better than you do,” she commented, interrupting his reverie.
“Apologies, my lady,” John said, flourishing a bow as he recovered. “I am Sir John Frederick, appointed to be your host during your stay.”
“Ah,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head. “The fearless captain. Tell me, Sir Frederick, did you enjoy subjugating our neighbours in the South?”
The other women, who had been completely forgotten up till that point, stifled gasps of horror. But John only smiled, his handsome lips curving appreciatively. He had misjudged this woman, for she was savage indeed—but in wit and beauty.
“You give me too much credit, Lady Akna,” John countered, “I, alone, was not capable of subduing the native warriors. It was the power of the English empire.”
“An empire that can’t seem to produce decent cheese,” sniffed Akna with a raised brow. “What good is an empire that can’t even provide the most basic pleasures?”
His smirk widened, revealing pearl-white teeth. Stepping forward, he boldly took her hand and kissed her knuckles before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“My lady,” he said as he leaned over her, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “please believe me when I say that I would be delighted to introduce you to all the pleasures of this realm.”
Despite herself, Akna’s heart skipped a beat. He was so tall, so broad and so…close. She could sense the heat radiating from his chest and feel his warm breath as he spoke. Her lashes fluttered of their own accord, and she cursed the man half-heartedly. For here was a man who had started with condescension and yet proceeded to banter with her as an equal, trading insult for insult without true malice. And by the gods of earth, was he ever handsome! Akna had never seen such a man, neither in Labrador nor in England. Though she was tall, he was taller. He had a wide, strong chest and a trim waist, and she could see the bulges of his muscles as he moved. This was no English dandy; no, here was a man’s man, a rough-and-tumble warrior disguised as a courtier. And when he lifted her hand for a kiss, his hooded eyes spoke volumes of sensuality and dark passion. She prayed that he had not noticed the flush that rose from her breast to her chin.
“Shall I give you the grand tour of this civilised mass of people, Lady Akna?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“By all means.”
As he began to lead her to another part of the hall, Akna steeled her heart. She would have to tread carefully with this man, she told herself sternly. For it was obvious that he was not only skilled in the battles of men—he was also adept at waging the war of hearts.
Chapter Two
The hall was swathed in warm candlelight, and the golden light sparkled and danced in the prisms of the hundreds of jewels and crystals that swung from towering candelabras. The king had ordered an impressive display of pomp: a royal dinner party. The servants had decked the hall with the richest decorations, and the cooks had prepared the most decadent displays of food. Only the most important aristocrats had been invited to the special dinner, and they were seated along a line of rich mahogany tables adorned with innumerable platters of richly presented delicacies. A few places down from the king and his most important retainers sat the Inuit delegation. The elders, along with Akna, sat stiffly in their regal seats, their eyes roving disbelievingly over the mountains of exotic dishes. Sir John Frederick sat at Akna’s right, his eyes carefully gauging her reaction to the lavish celebration.
The nobles began to heap food onto their gilded plates, and the Inuit elders politely picked at a few dishes and began to nibble—but Akna remained stiff and unmoving, her eyes still wide. There was just so much. And so oddly prepared, as well. Her eyes darted from a silver pedestal so filled with fruit that it cascaded down like a waterfall to a platter filled with fowl that had been roasted and arranged into a sculpture of some mythical creature. Her stomach gurgled in response to the tantalising smells, but her eyes told her that food should not be treated in such a way.
“My lady,” John said, interrupting her thoughts, “are you not hungry?”
“To be sure,” she answered, blinking slowly. “But I cannot discern what is to be eaten and what is to be looked at.”
“Do you not have feasts in your village?”
“Indeed,” Akna said, turning to meet his eyes. “We celebrate with food—but we do not eat to such excess. And I have never seen such…amazing arrangements.”
John pulled a dish of roasted chicken pie closer to them. He broke into the flaky crust with his heavy silver spoon and lifted out a small portion, depositing it on her plate. He gestured to the creamy chicken filling and the beautifully browned pastry that topped it.
“And what, may I ask, dear lady,” he said, “displeases you about this beautiful dish?”
Akna delicately speared a chunk of chicken with her fork and placed it in her mouth, her lips caressing the tines of the silver utensil as she savoured the delectable morsel. Then she carefully set her fork down and once again met John’s eyes.
“Well, my lady?” John asked.
“Sir Frederick,” Akna replied, her melodic voice unwavering. “I find the taste very pleasing, indeed. However, it is not the ingredients that I find unnatural. It is the presentation.” She gestured to the strange meat sculptures. “Why is it important to make ducks look like dragons?”
“It is interesting to the eye, and it shows the skill of the cooks who made it,” John said, shrugging.
“Perhaps,” Akna said. “But can you honestly tell me that all this food is necessary?
“The king wants to show his generosity.”
“But,” Akna said, wrinkling her nose at the sight of nobles pushing mouthful after mouthful of juicy meat past their lips, “will we be able to consume all this food?”
“Well,” John said, slightly taken aback, “no.”
“Exactly, Sir Frederick,” Akna said with a nod. “In our village, we frown upon such waste.”
Despite his misgivings about the Inuit delegation, John could not deny the sense in her speech. It was true that he also viewed the excesses of court with disdain after he had lived a life of meagre rations in the navy. It was no doubt wasteful and perhaps foolish, but still, it showed off creativity and talent.
“True, the waste is a shameful practice,” John conceded. “But can you not appreciate the skill involved?”
“Perhaps