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“And you have repaid him by becoming his mistress? Oh, please forgive me. I cannot believe I asked you that impertinent question. How rude of me!”
Ianthe patted her hand. “Friends can talk of intimate things, and I am hoping that you and I are becoming friends. The answer is that I went to Sidroc’s bed willingly a year after we first met. He is a man of many passions. In truth, we share the same ... um, tastes in lovemaking.”
Drifa had no idea what she meant and wasn’t about to ask. She did ask another question, though. “Do you love him?”
Ianthe thought a moment. “I do love him, but only as a good friend and an equally good lover.”
“How about Sidroc? Is he in love with you?” Drifa really was being intrusive, but her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Pfff! I doubt he thinks of me once he leaves my bed. Forget I said that. Of course he cares about me, but I do not think he is capable of the softer sentiments.”
His crass marriage proposal to Drifa had been proof of that.
“I make the distinction between loving someone and being in love,” Ianthe went on, “because I know what being in love is like. I was in love with my husband, who died four years ago. I doubt I will ever love another in the same way. Do not look with pity on me, though. I live a satisfactory life.” She laughed then. “Well, satisfactory up ’til now. Since Sidroc has ended our relationship, I will have to find my satisfaction in other ways.”
Again, Drifa wasn’t about to ask her what she meant by “other ways,” but that was interesting ... that Sidroc had ended his relationship with her. “Is this something new?”
“As of last night. Well, truth to tell, this morning.” Ianthe blushed.
Drifa did, too, suspecting what she meant by “this morning.” The randy goat had stayed all night, and not to eat grass, either. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Why end your relationship now?”
“He is leaving Byzantium.”
“He is? When?” So much for the forty-two nights of bedsport threats he’d made to her!
“As soon as he is able to gain a release from his Varangian duties. It could be within days, or months, I would imagine.”
Oh. So forty-two nights might not be out of the question. Good gods! What am I thinking? Of course it is out of the question.
As if reading her mind, Ianthe said, “Sidroc is a good man. He told me last night that you were betrothed at one time.”
Drifa made a decidedly unfeminine snort of derision. “A betrothal of about three hours! Did he happen to mention that?”
Ianthe shook her head, clearly puzzled by the vehemence of Drifa’s response. “Perchance you could resume your betrothal? Mayhap God brought you here to Constantinople at the same time Sidroc was here because he wants you to be together.”
Drifa was fairly certain God had no plans involving forty-two nights of sex, which was all Sidroc had planned for her. “We are at cross wills every time we meet. I daresay we would kill each other if forced to be in each other’s company for more than a day.” Or forty-two days!
Ianthe glanced at her skeptically, then turned when she noticed a young woman, the assistant who had been helping in her shop, standing in the doorway. “There is a Saxon seaman who wants to buy a spiderweb necklace, but he wants to know if you can make one up with pearls for a bride-gift when he returns to Britain.”
Ianthe turned to Drifa. “Would you mind waiting until I return? I will have Irene bring you another cup of wine.”
Drifa sat, relaxing in the shade of the roofed balcony, enjoying the chirping of birds and the sound of running water from the fountain. It was so tranquil, just what she hoped to accomplish when she got home to Stoneheim ... or in her own home, wherever that might be, eventually.
She thought of all she had accomplished so far, and it was not yet noon. She’d seen the perfume stalls and would buy some scents on her way back to the palace. She’d bought jewelry for her sisters. She’d made a new friend. She’d found hardy plants that she could easily transport back to the Norselands.
Her visit to Byzantium could only get better.
Chapter Nine
He’d like to pluck her petals ...
Sidroc stood in the doorway watching Drifa relax in the world she clearly loved best. A garden.
For the moment, she wasn’t aware of him, her head tilted up toward the sun, the only sounds those of birds, the fountain, and, if you listened closely, the Sea of Marmosa, which was not so far away.
She truly was a lovely woman, even lovelier than she had been five years past. With her eyes closed, she did not have that exotic Eastern cast to her features, except for her skin, which had a slight olive tone. Her black hair when unbound would be like silk waves down to her waist. Her figure was delicate but voluptuous due to her full breasts contrasted with her slim waist and rounded hips.
Walking up to the table where she sat, he ran a fingertip along the portion of her neck exposed by her single braid and said, “How is my little flower today?”
