Princess In A Strange New Land. Linda Skye

      “The king will not be pleased that we were late for the presentation,” Albert worried aloud, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously.

      Sir John barked a short, humourless laugh.

      “The presentation of a handful of savages from the colonies? Don’t be daft.”

      “Daft? This is a hand-picked delegation from the Inuit peoples of Labrador!”

      “Delegation?” John snorted. “I’m sure it’s not as important as you think it is.”

      His face darkened. Sir John Frederick was not only a nobleman, he was also a captain in the Royal Navy. He’d seen nothing but brutality and bloodshed over the past few years during the Iroquois-Algonquin wars…on all sides. Europeans and natives were alike in war. And despite his grudging respect for the noble warrior – on both sides, he had nothing but disdain for the way they traded for alcohol. He’d seen villages decimated by its terrible influence. Trading had become nasty, and men of all heritage became beasts. In only a few years, he’d grown tired of the New World. So when he had been invited to the king’s country estate, he had gladly accepted, revelling in the beauty of the English countryside.

      “Oh, why did I let you talk me into that afternoon ride?” Albert moaned. “Now we are late!”

      “You shame yourself, old friend,” John said dryly as he marched on. “This is a silly court event like all the others, and no one will have missed us.”

      So saying, he pushed open the great wooden doors.

      “Fourth Baronet and Captain of the Royal Navy, Sir John Frederick,” a stuffy herald announced as they stumbled into the hall. “And Sir Albert Waite.”

      As expected, no one really turned to look at them—except for a few of John’s female admirers. After all, John was a well-known bachelor—and a prime specimen of English nobility. With thick, sandy-brown hair that fell over warm, honey-brown eyes and his square, masculine jaw, Sir John Frederick never wanted for attention. As a tall, broad-shouldered man, he confidently towered over most of the other snivelling aristocrats who thought of nothing but currying favour for their families. Of course, it didn’t hurt that rumours of his sensual prowess sent hearts racing across the English court. Women often flocked to him, pressing their ample bosoms against his arm and fluttering their eyelashes in the hopes of a tumble in his bed. And John welcomed the occasional tryst; after all, a hardened man such as himself needed a pleasurable diversion now and then. But none of these court women kept him interested for long; they thought of nothing but hair and clothes and royal favour, and engaged in nothing but witless, fanciful conversation. More often than not, John found himself craving biting banter or trading political ideas—something which no one cared to do while dabbling in luxury.

      He strode confidently through the hall—until he felt the king’s eyes on him. He looked up, and the imposing monarch beckoned to him with an open hand. King George’s face revealed nothing, but that did not necessarily bode well for John. His fickle companion, Albert, had already disappeared into the crowd. His lips thinning ever so slightly, John made his way to the royal dais, where the king sat waiting.

      “You are late, Sir John,” King George intoned, his tone deceptively light.

      “My most sincere apologies, Your Majesty,” John said with a low bow. “I was so caught up in the beauty of your realm that I lost track of time and returned late from my afternoon ride.”

      “After your years of faithful service in the colonies, you are of course entitled to some relaxation in your native land,” the king hummed thoughtfully. “But that does not excuse you for being late. Your service to me is far from over, Captain.”

      John bowed again. “I will do whatever is in my power to be of service to you, Majesty.”

      “A wise answer,” the king rejoined, “for I already have a task in mind.” He pointed a bejewelled finger to a group of visiting savages. “Do you know who they are?”

      “Yes,” John replied stiffly. “That explorer, Mr. Cartwright, brought back that group of Inuit with him from the Northern colonies, did he not?”

      “Indeed,” said the king. “They are here on a diplomatic visit.”

      “Diplomatic?” John scoffed. “You give them too much credit, Your Majesty. They are only travellers, and the court considers them nothing more than a passing circus.”

      “You would be wise not to underestimate the power of goodwill,” the king said. “These Inuit envoys may help us gain favour in the North. Or is battle all you know?”

      John pursed his lips, his brows lowering as he studied the group of Inuit. There were five of them: an old chief decked in lush furs and necklaces, three elders and one young woman. His eyes lingered on the woman’s shapely form. Her back was to them, but he could not help but notice the taut beauty of her arms, the elegant curve of her waist and the gentle arcs of her long legs.

      “What would you have me do?” he asked, turning back to his king.

      King George eyed him speculatively, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair.

      “Of all the nobles here, you know the most about the New World,” he said authoritatively. “So I am appointing you to be their guide and host during their visit.”

      John bit his lip, knowing better than to argue. But this was not what he had wanted upon returning to England. He had hoped to escape all reminders of the New World, not be an ambassador between the natives and his own people!

      “Well?” the king prodded. “Go and make their acquaintances.”

      “Yes, Your Majesty,” John said through gritted teeth as he bowed and then spun away.

      He made his way to where the Inuit elders were still clustered together; apparently the young woman had already wandered off. They turned as he approached, their wizened eyes locking on to his regal form.

      “The king has appointed me to act as your host for the duration of your stay,” John announced abruptly, executing a stiff bow.

      “Many thanks,” the chief said in his stuttering English. “But please see daughter. Akna. She is our voice.”

      The old man nodded in the direction of the youngest member of their delegation. With a strained smile, John bowed again and headed to where the chief’s daughter had engaged in a conversation with a small group of women. As he grew closer, it became apparent that the noblewomen were not simply curious about their foreign visitor; rather, it seemed that they were intent on bullying her in the most polite manner possible. John’s brow arched; he was curious to see how the Inuit girl would handle this type of civilised warfare.

      One noblewoman, ornately decked in jewels and fine clothes, sniffed delicately and plucked a tiny cube of white from a passing server’s tray. She held out the cube for the visiting Inuit woman.

      “Try this, my dear,” she said haughtily. “I’m sure you savages have never had this delicacy before.”

      John watched as the woman took the cube between her thumb and forefinger, turning it slightly before easing it into her mouth.

      “What is this?” he heard her muse aloud in perfect English as she tapped her chin. “Ah yes. What do you English call it? Cheese? But this is so bland compared to the cheese we make in Labrador.”

      The noblewoman turned three shades of red, her fingers tight around her fan. She took a step forward.

      “Why you little—”

      “My, ladies,” John interjected quickly. “Aren’t you all looking particularly lovely tonight?”

      He quickly took the offended woman’s hands in his, drawing her away. He caught her in his most suave smile, smirking as she blinked in pleasant surprise.

      “Lady,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, “why don’t you fetch our visitor a glass of…spirits?”