"Oh, my Hawk," she whispered, afraid to break the lovely spell that seemed to surround them, "I love you!"
Slowly he raised his head so he might look upon her beautiful face, and for a moment Zenobia thought she would drown in the dark, dark liquid pool of his eyes. His voice had an intensity that gave her the eerie feeling that he had divined her very thoughts. "And I love you, my exquisite bride. I will share all with you, my love. We have an eternity of sharing before us."
4
Marcus Britainus looked up from his inventory sheets. "Yes, Severus, what is it?"
"The Princess of Palmyra is here, sir."
"Here?" His heart leapt within his chest. Then he realized that she probably did not remember him.
"She wishes to purchase furniture and see our fabrics and accessories, sir."
"Help her then, Severus." He lowered his head again to the scrolls.
"Marcus Britainus!" Severus's voice was severe. "You cannot avoid Princess Zenobia. If you continue to shun her, this fascination will increase until no other woman can match the woman you have created in your imagination. This is the ruler of Palmyra's wife. You must greet her."
"How old must I get before you will realize that I am no longer a green boy?" Marcus grumbled.
"There is something of the boy in every man, Marcus Britainus," came the quiet reply.
Marcus left his office and stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. She is here! Had she sought him out? Fool! His practical nature reared its head. Why in the name of all the gods would she remember him? She hated blue-eyed Romans. Besides, from all he could gather, her marriage to Odenathus was a love match. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he straightened the folds of his toga pura and entered the atrium of his warehouse with a firm step.
Zenobia rose from the bench upon which she had been seated, and watched him come toward her. The blue-eyed Roman! Of course! She vaguely remembered that he had introduced himself at their brief first meeting. Merchants were supposed to be old men, she thought irritably, but this was certainly no old man. He topped her by at least eight inches, and Zenobia knew few men to whom she must look up. It gave her a vaguely uncomfortable sensation, made her feel at a disadvantage with him. Around her, her maidens giggled and made rather pointed and suggestive remarks about the handsome merchant. Zenobia felt her cheeks flushing slightly. Newly awakened to sensuality, she could not help but look upon Marcus Alexander with a woman's eye, and somehow, she thought, that must be disloyal to her Hawk.
Reaching her, he knelt and paid her homage. "Highness."
"Rise, Marcus Alexander Britainus," she said, and before she realized it the words were out. "Why are you so tall? Are you a giant?"
"No, your Highness," he answered her in an even voice, although he was tempted to laugh. "I take my height from my mother's people, the Dobunni. My grandfather was their prince." He smiled down at her. "If I may say it, you are tall for a woman, Highness."
"I take my height from my mother's people too, Marcus Alexander Britainus. My mother was an Alexandrian Greek descended from Queen Cleopatra." Zenobia was openly proud.
"How fitting that Queen Cleopatra's beautiful young descendent should be the Princess of Palmyra, Highness," came the reply.
Zenobia looked up at the Roman, but the deep blue eyes held no trace of mockery, only the deepest respect. "This is a better beginning, Marcus Alexander Britainus," she answered him.
That, he was amused to note to himself, was the only reference she made to their first meeting.
"Severus tells me that you seek to purchase furniture, Highness; yet I have heard Palmyra's palace is most beautifully decorated."
"Palmyra's palace is, but the house that my husband and I share within the palace gardens is but newly built."
"My warehouses are full, your Highness, and I, myself, will escort you."
"Remain here," Zenobia commanded her half-dozen maidens. For the first time he noticed the women who accompanied her; fluttering butterflies, all of whom admired him openly.
"Please follow me, your Highness," he said, leading her from the bright atrium, through a corridor, and finally into a huge room filled with furnishings of every description; great bolts of multicolored silks, linens, and wools; and decorations of every type.
Stunned, Zenobia stood looking at it all. This gave him a moment to feast his eyes upon her perfect beauty. She was even fairer than he remembered. Her skin glowed with a radiance that told him she was well loved. His envy of Odenathus was tinged with sadness. She was wearing a sleeveless, low-necked pale-lavender-colored stola that had been belted at the waist with three narrow strips of gilded leather. Her long dark hair was no longer loose and flowing as he remembered it. Instead, it was parted in the middle and drawn into a heavy coil at the nape of her neck, affixed with amethyst-studded gold combs and long matching pins.
"It is so much," her awed voice brought him out of his daydream.
"The shipment arrived but yesterday," he answered.
"I have visited several other warehouses, Marcus Alexander Britainus, but I have seen nothing to compare with your merchandise." She paused a moment, and then looked up at him. "Marcus Alexander Britainus, I need your help."
"My help?" He felt his heartbeat accelerate.
"Can you keep a secret? You must, for I should die of embarrassment if anyone knew. For some reason I trust you although you are a Roman; a blue-eyed Roman at that. Yet my instinct tells me to trust you. Will you keep my secret?"
He nodded.
"Thank you." She drew a deep breath. "I know nothing about furnishing a home, Marcus Alexander Britainus. Nothing at all! All my life has been spent either in a tent trekking the desert, or in my mother's house here in Palmyra. Mother's house was a part of her dowry, and she furnished it before I was born. She never had any need to purchase things, and she died before she might teach me that which a good wife should know.
"Can you help me; tell me what I will need?"
He knew what that speech had cost her, for she was very proud; and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and take her into his arms to soothe her. Instead he mastered himself, and said quietly, "I am honored, my Princess, that you have entrusted me with your confidence. I will endeavour not to fail you."
"You are a diplomat as well as a businessman, Marcus Alexander Britainus." Her gray eyes regarded him carefully. "The empire has lost a valuable servant in you."
"Part of being a businessman is being a diplomat, Highness," he replied smoothly. "Shall we begin with the couches?"
Zenobia laughed, and nodded. "By all means let us begin with the couches," she agreed.
He led her into a section of the warehouse that was completely filled with couches, carefully lined up side by side, row upon row. They were extremely ornamental, made of finely grained and finished woods, the arms and legs carved ornately or inlaid with tortoiseshell, ivory, even precious metals. Several couches had frames of solid silver and legs inlaid with jewels, or carved in high relief to depict scenes of the gods in various attitudes of play. There was a couch with a rather graphic scene of Jupiter as the swan seducing the maiden, Leda. Zenobia, Marcus noted, quickly turned away from that particular piece of furniture. For some reason her modesty pleased him.
"There are no cushions or coverings for the couches?" she asked.
"Most merchants have such items already made and on the couches, Highness. I, however, prefer to allow my customer a choice of fabric, for I should hate to lose a sale because you disliked the color of the cushions."