He saw the regret on her face, but no crushing blow of pain. They’d been apart far more than together these past two years.
“I knew our liaison would end eventually, but not this soon.” Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked to stop them from overflowing.
He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “Nay, dearling, not tonight. What I should have said is that I am ready to end my Varangian duties. I intend to speak to General Sclerus as soon as possible.”
“You must be careful how you approach him,” she warned, swiping at her eyes.
“I know.”
“My husband had a friend who wanted to resign after ten years of faithful duty so that he could move himself and his wife and children out of the city to the family farm. Instead of rewarding him for his service, the general sent him to a desert outpost where he still is today.” Ianthe’s husband had been a vintner with a small holding in Crete before he died suddenly of heart pains. His greedy kinfolk had pushed her out of the door right after the funeral. Sidroc had not known her then.
“I will be careful ... as diplomatic as I can be,” he promised, “but what I started to say is that ’tis time to settle on my own lands, probably the Orkneys. Would you want to come with me?” He threw the invitation out there, though he was not sure he wanted Ianthe with him for life, as fond as he was of her.
“Is it cold in the Orkneys?” she asked, pressing a forefinger to her lips, as if she actually contemplated such a move.
“Well, yea, I suppose it is, compared to Byzantium, but warmer than the Norselands where I grew up.”
She sighed deeply. “I appreciate your offer, Sidroc, but this is my home. I wish no other. Besides, you know that I am barren.”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“A man needs sons,” she insisted.
“Not me.” After failing to rescue one small baby, he had no wish for others. Even worse, he’d had time to deliberate these past five years, and he worried that he might treat a child the way his father and his brothers treated their children ... with numerous thrashings and constant belittling. Mayhap it ran in his blood.
Nay, no children for him.
What a man needed was a good woman to warm his bed furs on a winter’s night, and it mattered not that it be wife or concubine or passing fancy. He did not say that to Ianthe, though, for fear she would take offense.
“So, this will be good-bye for us then?” she asked, tears welling once again in her eyes. “I will miss you sorely, dear one.”
“I am not leaving yet,” he said, and ran a hand along her flank.
“But we must not drag it out, either. Let this be our last night together. We started as friends before we became lovers. We should end as friends as well.”
He wanted to argue with her, but she was right. Prolonging their farewells would be unwise. Oh, there were things to be arranged. Money to be settled on her. Making sure the deed to the jewelry shop was in her name. Renewing the annual trading permit with the powerful eparch, or prefect, of the city, who could make life hard for a single craftswoman, if he chose. Perchance Sidroc should hire a guard to stay with Ianthe for at least a year. That way she would not have to seek another protector, if she did not want to. But those things could wait until the morrow. For now, he had other things on his mind.
“If this is to be our last night together as lovers, I do not want to waste a moment,” he said.
She smiled seductively and slid off his lap, going over to the far wall where she opened a chest and picked out a few items. When she returned, she knelt between his thighs and handed him the scarves.
“Ah, sweetling, I am going to miss you so much,” he said, tipping her chin up to meet his kiss.
“Show me how much,” she purred.
Like a good Viking warrior, he followed orders. In fact, he more than showed her.
And showed her.
And showed her.
And once dawn light crept over the Bosphorus, he showed her again.
Chapter Eight
In the garden of good and tempting ...
Drifa was up at dawn, ready to begin a day of exploration in the Golden City, followed by her audience with the emperor.