Lady Gallant (20 page)

Bonner signaled to a guard at the door, and the door was thrown open. A man was hurled into the chamber to land on his stomach beside Christian. Whirling toward the man, Christian turned him over. It was Inigo. Eyes swollen shut and bloodied, lips distorted and cut, he coughed blood. Christian held his friend while the battered body spasmed. When Inigo was quiet, Christian raised his eyes to Bonner's and silently promised the bishop death.

Bonner smiled.

"Oh, Your Majesty," Nora said, "this is one of the creatures Lord Montfort was teaching." She was still kneeling beside the Queen, and her face was white. "Inigo Culpepper."

"How do you know this?" the Queen asked.

"Lord Montfort asked me to recommend a priest who could help him, Your Majesty, and—and he asked me to help him pick out rosary beads to give to Inigo."

"Falseness again," Bonner said. "A thief teaching a thief. The boy hasn't the virtue to instruct."

Christian removed his cloak and covered Inigo with it. Standing, he confronted Bonner. "You're right, my lord bishop, but I don't rely on my soiled virtue. I rely upon this."

Catching hold of the gold chain at his neck, Christian pulled it over his head. A heavy gold cross set with diamonds hung from the chain. He turned the cross over, laid it flat on his palm, and held it out to the Queen. Etched on its surface was an inscription.
To Christian. Henry R
.

Mary rose, slowly, her gaze fixed to the cross. She reached out to touch the inscription, and a single tear leaked from one eye.

"He gave it to me a few months after I sang for him," Christian said. "To show me that God rewarded his servants better than the devil, he said. Now I am trying to save my thieves' souls by teaching them of the true church. They're a hard lot, Your Majesty, and I couldn't convince them until one day I showed them King Harry's gift. I'll admit at first they were lured by the gold and diamonds, but at least they're listening to me."

He held his breath while the Queen studied the cross. She muttered something about her father and God; then, covering his hand with hers, she closed his fingers around the cross.

"I believe you," she said.

Inclining his head to one side, Christian smiled at the Queen.

"Such an angel's smile, my lord," she said, "when we know for ourselves that your nature leans more toward that of an imp." She took the chain from Christian and replaced it around his neck, then rested her hand on the top of his head. "God has spoken to you through our father and through Mistress Becket, we trow. Hie you hence, and take our Nora and your ruffian with you. We have had enough of misunderstandings for one day." Mary held up a finger. "But mark you, we like not this cavorting with a betrothed maid. Decorum, my lord, practice decorum."

With this last warning, Mary retired to her bedchamber. Christian lifted Inigo onto his shoulder, and Nora led him to the royal antechamber. The bishop followed them spewing apologies for the misunderstanding until the door to the Queen's chamber shut. He let Nora pass out of the antechamber but lifted his arm to bar Christian's way.

"De Ateca said you were as supple of mind as you are of body," the bishop said.

"What has the
conde
to do with me?"

"Naught, Christian de Rivers. But mark you. You're tainted with corruption and heresy, lie you ever so well to our good Queen. If I were you, I would study to become a martyr, for if ever there was a soul that needed purging by fire, it is yours."

"A pox on you, Bonner. And God protect me from men who dare set themselves in His place as judges."

Christian strode into the antechamber, and not until he heard Nora call for a stretcher and serving men did he allow himself to believe he wasn't going to one of Bloody Bonner's cells. He blinked rapidly and stared at Nora's back as she spoke to a royal guard. She had saved him. Not that he couldn't have saved himself. But she had risked her own life for his. The idea brought on odd feelings—anger, incredulity, and a desire to assuage his fears and rage with her body.

"I'm going mad," he said.

Turning his thoughts from the vexing Nora, he looked down at the senseless Inigo. Someone had constructed this monstrous trap and handed it to Bonner. He didn't think the man clever enough to have thought of it alone. And his little mouse turned dragon had sprung the trap before it gobbled him up.

How curious, he mused. She was jealous, and she defended him at her own peril. And he wanted her. Still. Ever. Marry, it was a curious thing, this lust that would not ebb, his fascination with this mouse-dragon. He left Inigo to join Nora. The guard saluted and vanished as Christian leaned down to murmur in her ear.

" 'Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?' "

The Bald Pelican nestled in the odorous stews of South London, disreputable, hospitable, and notorious. This night, patrons of the ordinary abandoned their ale, cards, and dice to duck beneath tables and behind chairs at the sound of a lion's roar coming from the landing above. Bawd, cutpurse, angler, and vagabond gambler all cowered, for Kit was back, and in one of his rages.

A pottery beaker sailed out of one of the three upstairs doorways and smashed against the edge of a gaming table. A leather case followed it, hitting the floor. Knives and scalpels burst from the case, and two gamblers pounced on them, beginning a fight of their own over who was going to purloin the leach's instruments. A frightened cry set the two scurrying for cover, though. An angry Mars in a cambric shirt, hose, and boots appeared on the landing, holding what looked to be a ferret in a tradesman's gown and cap.

"Puling worms' meat!" the tall figure shouted. He grasped the neck of the ferret's gown in both hands and shoved the wriggling and shrieking creature over the banister, dangling him above the floor of the ordinary.

The leach's arms and legs flailed, and the patrons were treated to the sight of hairy white flesh, most of it blotched with dirt.

"Pandering excrement!"

The man holding the leach braced his legs far apart, banged his victim's head against the banister, and dropped him. The leach fell on a hapless pot boy. The boy yelped as the man hit his shoulders, then dodged out from beneath the missile. The leach landed bottom first and fell prone, groaning and whimpering. At a nearby table, Edward Hext sank his teeth into a meat pie and ignored the sufferer.

Marvelous Mag, proprietress of the Bald Pelican and tutor to many an aspiring London thief, sauntered out from the kitchen, hands on her hips. Blowing a blond sweat-drenched curl from her face, she shouted up at the man still standing on the landing.

"You asked for a leach, my beauty, and now you've broken him."

The man in white cambric scowled down at Mag. "You gave me a mountebank. He prodded Inigo's cuts with dirty fingers and tried to bleed him."

"As I said, Kit, he's a proper leach."

"I don't care. I've seen men die from unclean wounds and loss of blood. May God rot his testicles." Kit fingered the hilt of his dagger.

"Now, now, beauty," Mag said as she mounted the stairs. "I'll get rid of the leach for you. No need to kill him just because you're mad at someone else."

She reached Kit and touched his arm. He darted away from her and propped himself on the banister.

"They should be here by now," he said.

"Patience. It takes time to get someone out of gaol. Don't you worry. Poll's spent many a night there."

Kit whipped away from Mag, stalking back into the room where Inigo lay. "I'm not worried about Poll. I'm afraid I'll be stuck raising that grimy whelp of hers. Get me fresh water and more cloths, and send up a joint of mutton and wine for me. Soup for Inigo."

Mag cursed and stomped after Kit. He was standing at a table in the bedchamber, and she planted herself opposite him. He took a cloth from the table and held it in both hands, testing the strength of the weave.

"You've had my house in a tempest for hours now," Mag said.

He smiled nastily at her over the cloth.

Undaunted, Mag inspected his body from head to foot. "You need a good toss in the bed to drain all that choler."

The smile remained as Kit jerked at the cloth, ripping it in half. "I'm not in the mood."

"You left my school too soon to learn everything, beauty."

"You taught me enough." He ripped another cloth in half, and another.

From the open doorway came a giggle. Two of Mag's girls, Annie and Gertrude, scurried in bearing trays of food.

"Food, Kit," said Annie.

"Wine, Kit," said Gertrude.

Kit paid them no heed. He gathered his cloths and carried them to the bed where Inigo lay sleeping. With fresh water and the cloths, he finished cleaning his friend's wounds and bound those that needed it. As he was tying the last bandage, a woman's hand pulled his fingers from the cloth and finished it for him. Other hands drew him from the bed.

"He's sleeping," Gertrude said.

"You can't do anything else," Annie said.

Mag left Inigo's side to approach Kit, who was trying to avoid Gertrude and Annie. He retreated toward a side door. They followed.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he said.

Mag closed in on him from the front while Gertrude and Annie came at him from the sides.

"I know you, beauty," Mag said. "You're in a rage, and no one will be safe until you've rid yourself of it."

"Bring the leach back in here," he said. "I'll skewer him to improve my humor."

Mag shook her head and stopped close to Kit. "You need exercise."

"Killing is great exercise. Don't touch me."

Running her nails up his thighs, Mag chuckled. "Too late."

Annie slipped her hands inside Kit's shirt. "Too late."

"Much too late," said Gertrude as she planted her mouth on his.

Kit jerked his head away. "I don't think so," he said, and shoved backward, pushing open the door behind him.

Mag gave a joyous whoop, lunging after him. Kit stumbled under her weight and found himself propelled back into the chamber. His legs hit something, and he fell. He landed on a bed big enough to hold five, which was fortunate, because at that moment it acquired four occupants.

Kit disappeared beneath skirts and bosoms.

He pawed at masses of brown and blond hair as fingers plucked at the lacings of his hose and codpiece. Both came loose, and his flesh sprang free. Mag grasped him in both hands and stroked him once with practiced ease. Kit swore again and tried to pull his hips away, but Mag stroked him again, rapidly. He sank back under Gertrude's weight as she sat on his chest. Annie caught his arms and held them over his head while she kissed him.

Between his legs, Mag bent her head. "You're surrounded, my beauty." She kissed him. "Give." Kit arched his back, trying to buck all three of them off, but Mag kissed him again. "Give, beauty."

Kit cursed at her, and Mag chuckled as his thighs relaxed and his hips began to thrust.

"That's it, beauty. Show us just how killing mad you are."

This time it was Gertrude and Annie who came sailing out onto the landing to the enjoyment of the patrons of the Bald Pelican. Mag was climbing the stairs with a pot of ale in her hands when Annie screamed and burst through the bedchamber door. Gertrude squawked as she bounced out of the chamber under the encouragement of a booted foot.

Kit lunged after her, his torn shirt revealing sweat-drenched and tense biceps and a heaving chest. "No more, you jades. I told you to keep your hands out of my codpiece."

Annie stuck out her tongue at him. Gertrude did, too, while the crowd below hooted and whistled. Mag grinned at Kit, who turned away from her to reenter the chamber. She smacked him on the buttocks. Rounding on her, Kit stalked her with an eye on the ale jar. Mag held up one hand, giggling all the while.

"Now beauty, don't spoil your good temper after all the work we did on it. Be a sweet boy."

" 'S blood, was I not sweet enough? This will teach me to venture forth without a goodly escort." Stomping back into Inigo's chamber, he snapped at Mag, "I'm locking the door."

The portal crashed shut to lend emphasis to his words, and the ruffians below groaned in disappointment that their entertainment was over. They were wrong, for as Kit closed the bedchamber door, the one leading to the street burst open, and a whirlwind in a green velvet cloak launched itself into the tavern. Those playing at dice and cards scrambled to protect their money from the flying cloak.

Two men clambered in after the youth, who darted between a serving woman and a pot boy. Shoving those two at his pursuers, he leaped to the bar and ran lightly down its length, hurling epithets at the two men as he went.

"Trugging house spawn. May your cocks rot. I'll use your balls for chair cushions." A silver dagger appeared in the youth's hand, then vanished.

One of the pursuers wasn't quick enough, and he yelped. Looking down, he found the dagger pinning his doublet to the wall at a point uncomfortably near his groin. Everyone had been laughing at the sight of two grown men chasing after a youth. Now the room went still, except for the impaled man, who was wriggling in an attempt to free himself, and then, to the last pot boy, everyone ducked underneath the nearest piece of furniture. All but Hext, who had planted himself in front of the fireplace in a high-backed chair and had been napping.

He opened one eye. "Everyone get up. He's just a cub."

"A cub," the impaled man wailed. "He's near took my leg off."

The youth laughed, stooped from his perch on the bar, and filched a dagger from the belt of a patron. "Next time it will be your cock, Simon Spry." The boy dodged the grasping hands of the dagger's owner and ran down the bar toward the back of the ordinary.

As he neared the end of the bar, he stopped abruptly, for a man had vaulted over the landing above the bar and landed in front of him. He glared at the man, holding his dagger at ready.

"You sent them after me like two bewhiskered wet nurses," Blade said.

Kit gave him a cool glance. "Come and meet our hostess, my fruit sucket."