At Sword's Point (16 page)

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Drummond next tried the boots that were neatly lined up in front of the wardrobe. The boots came in three sizes: too small, way too small and about a half size too big. He opted for a second pair of socks and comfort, and buttoned the stirrup strap under the instep of each boot before standing up. It took a few minutes to get used to the small spurs attached to the heels of the boots, and he twice caught them on the carpet as he walked over to the shirts on the dresser.

Wrapping one of the stiff military collars around his neck, Drummond found that it was exactly a quarter-inch larger than his normal shirt size—which meant that he might not choke to death. Joachim had thoughtfully placed a stud in the back of the shirt's collar band, and Drummond carefully buttoned this through the center of the starched collar. Pulling on the shirt, he did up the front buttons and then fixed both ends of the collar over another small golden stud.

It was actually comfortable. Encouraged, he tucked the shirt tails into the tops of the overalls and buttoned up the fly, then began adjusting the small waist belt at the back. Stepping back to consult the full-length mirror, he caught his spurs again and toppled back onto the bed. "Damn," he muttered to himself, as he stood up again to survey himself. "These things could be lethal."

But he was already looking like some dashing extra from a period film—though the bulge revealed by the nearly skin-tight fit of the overalls made him somewhat self-conscious. Eyeing the tunic, however, he decided that it was probably long enough to provide a decent amount of cover. After trying several tunics for size and sleeve length, he fixed the insignia of the Order of the Sword to the one he had chosen, then eased it on and fiddled with the hooks that closed the standing collar before buttoning up the front. The rakish figure who looked back at him from the mirror was an elegant fellow, indeed. In the black uniform, with the blue and gold cross of the Order of the Sword at his throat, Drummond cut quite a dash.

"Well," he said to his reflection, "let's hope the baroness thinks you're as handsome."

The great hall of the castle reminded Drummond of one of the ballroom scenes from
The Prisoner of Zenda
, and any doubts he had about being overdressed were instantly banished. The room was awash with women in ball gowns and glittering tiaras, their escorts dressed in uniforms or tailcoats covered with medals. There was even a cardinal, unmistakable in his crimson robes, attended by several self-effacing younger clerics in suitably ambiguous black.

As Drummond surveyed the room, trying to identify some of the decorations being worn by the men, Joachim approached with a silver tray laden with champagne flutes. He wore formal livery of dark green, with a row of military decorations on his chest and the ribbon of the Iron Cross folded neatly through a buttonhole of his jacket.

"The
Ritter
would care for champagne?" Joachim punctuated the request with a slight bow.

"
Ja, danke
," Drummond replied as he took one of the tall crystal glasses from the tray.

"
Bitte schön, mein Herr
. The baroness has asked me to tell you that she is sorry her attentions this evening will be occupied with the other guests. She hopes you will understand."

Bowing slightly, Joachim retreated back into the ballroom, his silver tray at the ready.

So much for being a handsome devil in uniform
, Drummond thought.

Sipping his champagne, he moved slowly along the edge of the room, bowing to the ladies who smiled at him and returning the bows of other gentlemen who nodded in his direction. He was standing next to a suit of armor, listening to the sextet in the gallery, when he sensed the presence of someone standing beside him.

"A pleasant change from Mozart, isn't it?" The voice was as soft as the rustle of the crimson silk cassock its owner was wearing, but the accent was pure American.

"Your Eminence," Drummond said, bowing formally to the cardinal.

"Tell me," the cardinal said, "do you enjoy baroque music?"

"Like champagne, Your Eminence, it is delightful, but too much—well, too much of anything delightful can lead to unfortunate consequences," Drummond replied.

"I see," said the cardinal. "Do you suppose that our friends here are too delightful?"

"I would say they're interesting, perhaps even provocative." Drummond nodded to von Liebenfalz across the room. "But delightful is an adjective I would reserve only for our hostess."

"Well, Chevalier Drummond, you surprise me. Diplomacy is an art form that I would not expect to find in a policeman." The cardinal crinkled his face into what would pass for an innocent smile. "We must talk again. Now, if you will excuse me?"

"Certainly, Your Eminence." Drummond bowed as the rustle of scarlet silk receded across the room.

Jesus
, he thought,
how does everybody manage to know all about me
?

"Your after-shave is quite alluring," said a softly teasing female voice from behind him. "What is it?"

Smiling, Drummond turned to greet Maria, delighted that she had finally taken notice of him. She was wearing something bottle-green and clingy that, though modestly cut, made her quite the most alluring woman in the room. Diamonds glittered in her upswept hair and at her throat.

"It's called 'Old Wool and Mothballs,'" he said lightly. "You ought to get some for the man in your life."

"I would," she laughed, "if there was one."

Joachim approached with more champagne.

"Another drink?" Drummond asked.

"No, thank you, we are about to go in to dinner. I wanted to apologize for having not been able to speak to you sooner—and to ask you if you would like to go riding in the morning."

"Sure, if you can scare up some britches and boots— that fit," Drummond said.

"Well," Maria teased, "those britches you're wearing look just fine to me."

Drummond could feel his ears turn red. "I—ah—meant the boots," he stammered. "These are a trifle large."

"I'll have Joachim see what he can find." She gave Drummond a dazzling smile. "In the meantime, I must ask you to excuse me. I have to see to my other guests."

My, but she
is
lovely
, Drummond thought, as he watched her cross over to where the cardinal and the prince of Antioch stood talking.

As the baroness reached the prince and the cardinal, a gong sounded at one end of the room and the guests formed into two long lines. Setting down his glass, Drummond eased into one of the lines with the others and watched as the baroness and her two guests walked between the lines, arm in arm. As the entourage passed, formal bows and curtsies marked the passage of the threesome.

Bending from the waist in a deep bow, Drummond watched them pass from the corner of his eye, and unless it was the light playing tricks on him, he thought he saw Maria smiling at him.

In the dining room with the rest of the guests, Drummond found himself seated next to an agitated little man with bushy eyebrows from Finland and an elderly dowager weighed down with several enormous ropes of pearls.

"Look," the little man hissed between yellow teeth. "The prince is wearing his Garter."

Drummond was unable to resist the opening. "Probably holds his socks up," he said.

"No," the little man hissed again. "The wide blue ribbon across his chest. The Order of the Garter. It was given to him last year by the Stuart pretender to the throne of England."

"Really?" Drummond said, beginning to develop an appreciation for the deaf-mute qualities of the dowager to his left.

"Oh, yes," the little man said, squirming in his seat. This means that the prince has broken off negotiations with the English queen."

"Indeed?" Drummond pretended to study the pattern on the rim of his plate.

"Oh, yes." The little man tugged at one eyebrow and squirmed deeper into his seat. "Of course you know what that means?"

"Certainly," Drummond replied. "With the Prince of Antioch allied to the House of Stuart, it means that we can expect to see kilted soldiers marching in Jerusalem in the not-too-distant-future."

"Do you believe that's true?" the fidgeting midget gasped.

"Oh, yes, I do. I could tell you more, but honor demands silence." Drummond gave the bushy-browed Finn a knowing look. "Don't you agree?"

"But, of course, Chevalier," he said, wringing knots into his napkin. "We must never betray our cause."

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully, with Drummond counting the tines in his forks and the number of medals worn by the men on the opposite side of the table and casting occasional longing looks down the table at the baroness. Throughout the meal, a string quartet provided a delicate blend of Mozart and Andrew Lloyd Webber to aid the digestion, and Drummond noticed with some interest that the little man with the bushy eyebrows bobbed up and down in time to the music.

At last the meal was over, and Drummond and the other guests stood up as the prince and the cardinal left the dining room in the company of the baroness. Following along with the others, Drummond moved into the ballroom of the castle where the small ensemble struck up a waltz. The prince and the baroness led off on the first dance, soon to be joined by others moving in syncopated lock-step to the classic strains of Strauss. As Drummond watched the elegant couples swirl past in a blur of color, he was joined by von Liebenfalz.

"I am honored, Chevalier, that you have chosen to wear my gift," von Liebenfalz said, tilting his champagne glass toward the decoration at Drummond's throat.

"It seemed appropriate," Drummond replied.

"Then perhaps it would seem appropriate to speak to the Order of the Sword on our behalf?" von Liebenfalz asked.

"Not until I knew exactly what was expected of us," Drummond answered.

"Were the prince to take you into his confidence, would you speak to your fellow knights?" Von Liebenfalz sipped his champagne.

"It depends on what the princes plans are. Anyway, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Drummond said.

"I think, Chevalier Drummond, that you would find it impossible to cross a bridge at any other time." Von Liebenfalz drew himself up slightly. "Shall I tell the prince that you wish to speak to him?"

"Sure, Baron. But not tonight. I need some time to think." Drummond gave von Liebenfalz a slight nod. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll be sociable for a little while before I turn in. It seems a shame to waste the uniform."

The first waltz had just ended, and another was beginning. Maria was already whirling onto the floor with another partner, and Drummond was not sure of local protocol on cutting in, so he crossed purposefully to the dowager who had been his silent companion at dinner. He had learned to waltz when his wife was making a period film, and he knew he would be safe from further questions on the ballroom floor.

"Madame," he said, clicking his heels and making her a bow. To overcome either language or hearing problems, he gestured toward the floor and gave her an inquiring look and a smile. Apparently the uniform did the trick, for she raised a silver lorgnette and eyed him up and down, then inclined her head and gave him her hand. As he led her onto the floor, she moved with unexpected grace, and when he took her in his arms, she was as light on her feet as a young girl. He enjoyed watching her enjoyment as they whirled around the floor, wondering how long it had been since anyone had waltzed with her, and was almost sorry when the dance ended. When he had been moving to the strains of Strauss, it had been difficult to stay too worried about the danger he was in.

He danced with several more of the ladies in the next hour, aware of many eyes upon him, apparently causing much speculation among the ladies about the handsome American chevalier who waltzed like a hussar. Eventually, he even got a dance with Maria, though it was impossible to really talk to her on the dance floor. He liked the feel of her in his arms, but the dance was over all too soon, and the prince claimed her for the next one.

He decided to go up to bed after that, for any other partner after her would have been anticlimactic. Besides, no telling how long the party would go on. He had just reached the door of his room when Joachim came down the hallway carrying a silver candelabrum ablaze with the light of five white candles.

"I am sorry,
Herr Ritter
, but the electricity has gone out in your room." He stepped past Drummond and opened the door.

"Permit me," he said, and then stepped aside so that Drummond could enter the room.

"It's a bit chilly in here," Drummond remarked as Joachim placed the candles on a small table near the massive carved oak bed.

"I will close the windows and light a fire," Joachim said, drawing the heavy drapes and then walking across the room to the fireplace. After a few seconds a small flame was flickering on the hearth, and Joachim carefully placed a log across the grate. Drummond was undoing the buttons on his tunic as Joachim placed a screen in front of the fireplace.

"If the
Ritter
will permit me," Joachim said, as he helped Drummond out of his jacket. "I have put your riding clothes in the wardrobe for tomorrow." He carefully placed the black tunic on a hanger and hung it on the back of the bedroom door.

"Good evening,
Herr Ritter
."

He bowed slightly to Drummond, then stepped out into the hall, quietly closing the door behind him.

Drummond was still staring into the fire, thinking about princes and cardinals and elegant dowagers with silver lorgnettes, not to mention beautiful baronesses, when he heard the soft tapping at his door.

"Yes?" he said.

The door opened, and the baroness entered carrying two champagne flutes and a bottle of vintage Tattinger. She was wearing a dark burgundy satin robe with quilted white lapels and cuffs, and her hair fell loosely around her shoulders. For just a moment, Drummond was speechless.

"Mmmm, a fire," she said. "Joachim must approve of you."

"What are you doing here?" Drummond asked awkwardly.

"I've come," she said, putting out the candles next to the bed, "to help you out of those tight trousers."