Suzanne Robinson (13 page)

The maid threw a cover over both of them, for which Blade was grateful. Oriel had her face buried in his neck, and he’d grown cold and cramped from supporting her. Once, when she quieted for a moment, he tried to release her. She clutched at him as if she were a babe in fear of abandonment by its mother, and he gathered her in his arms once more. It was light before she’d exhausted herself with weeping.

He whispered to Nell as Oriel lay in his arms staring at nothing. “Go to my man and have him bring hot wine. He’ll know what to put in it.”

Nell returned with René, who carried a cup of steaming wine. Blade released his hold on Oriel and took the cup. Oriel shook her head.

“Chère
, drink this at once. You may not refuse me.”

She took a sip when he held the cup to her lips. He
tilted it, and she drained the vessel. He sat with her until her eyes closed, then placed her beneath the covers and stood looking down at her. A teardrop worked its way from beneath her eyelid and trailed down her cheek. Cursing, he sat beside her again and took her hand. In moments the laced wine had done its work, and she slept.

He left Oriel in Nell’s care and returned to his own chamber. He washed and dressed, and was belting his dagger in place when he spoke at last.

“I don’t believe in such convenient accidents.”

“He was an old man,
mon seigneur.”

“And spry. But in any case, he fell over the banister, which is high. Either he climbed over it and jumped, which seems unlike him, or he was shoved.”

“The family thinks he tumbled down from the landing,” René pointed out.

“If he had, he would have stopped at the first turn, and mayhap he would have lived. No, he plunged down the well of the stairs like a sack of grain dropped from a loft.”

He tugged on the sleeve of his doublet and allowed René to fasten a short cloak over his shoulders.
“Mon ami
, you will go among the servants and ask questions. Did anyone hear or see Thomas Richmond after everyone went to bed? Who was stirring that late? You know to be careful in how you go about it.”

“Oui
, my lord.”

Several days passed during which he didn’t see Oriel, except briefly at her great-uncle’s funeral. She appeared then, pale and silent, only to retreat to her chambers once the old man was laid in the crypt below the chapel. He said nothing of his suspicions to Lord George or anyone else. If someone had killed Thomas Richmond, he had no way of knowing his purpose in doing so. Until he knew the reason behind the old man’s death, he preferred to continue as he was.

René found that none of the servants had heard anything
that night until the accident. The family had been asleep, except for Leslie, who returned near dawn to find the household disrupted by the tragedy. It was thought that Thomas had either heard a noise or couldn’t sleep and had left his chamber for such a reason, only to slip and fall.

Eight days after Thomas’s death, in the first week of March, the household routine had been restored except for the black trappings of mourning. Blade noted that Faith and her daughters seemed the least disturbed by the death of the old man. Moreover, Faith could hardly conceal her satisfaction that Thomas’s will had provided for considerable increases in her daughters’ dowries. In Blade’s opinion, Thomas had correctly assessed the girls’ chances of obtaining husbands based on their negligible virtues, and, being a practical man, had compensated for this considerable deficiency. He had also left most of his possessions to Oriel, thus enabling the aunts to add to their rich store of resentment.

In truth, no one seemed to miss Thomas Richmond except Oriel. George returned to his routine as lord of the estate, assisted by his mother, the interfering Livia. Robert had responsibilities as a second son, and conducted furtive expeditions in the company of several Catholic neighbors. It took Blade little effort to discover his secret masses and support of an outlawed priest. Leslie too seemed unaffected by the death, for he continued his gaming and carousing.

What changed was Blade’s position in the household. Now that her daughters had better dowries, Faith took it into her head to steal him from Oriel for her oldest daughter, Joan. To his chagrin, Blade found himself thrust into the girl’s company with little chance to escape, since Oriel rarely left her room.

Another week passed, and by its end, Blade was ready to curse Christian de Rivers for sending him into the bowels of hell. Every minute in the company of Joan and her sister and mother seemed a millennium.
They haunted him so thoroughly he’d had no opportunity to search Thomas Richmond’s chambers for any evidence regarding Anne Boleyn’s betrothal to Henry Percy.

Finally, he decided to risk searching at night. He endured another evening of boredom during which, despite the onset of Lent, he’d been wheedled into singing for the family. To his surprise, Joan had been able to accompany him on the virginals. If only she had wits to match the talent of her fingers. As it was, he had been forced to undergo the torture of making conversation.

“You play well, Mistress Joan.”

“I like playing the virginals. I like music.”

“Indeed.”

“I play almost every day.”

He hid a yawn behind his hand.

“I play the lute as well, but I like playing the virginals better. I like music.”

“Really? You like playing the virginals?”

“Yes, I like it.”

His sarcasm missed her completely, and by the time the family retired, he was ready to strangle Joan with a lute string. To his dismay, Faith trapped him before he could sneak away and inundated him with a list of Joan’s virtues.

“And, of course, she’s an heiress now that Uncle Thomas is gone.” Faith put a clawlike hand on his arm and leaned close. “Uncle was quite frail, you know. By my faith, I don’t know how he lived as long as he did.”

Only years of training in courtliness enabled him to escape the woman without insult and retire to his own chamber. He waited until past midnight before he stole out of his chamber through the withdrawing room, leaving René on watch in the passage that led to Thomas’s library.

He paused to allow his vision to adjust to the blackness of the passage, then slipped into the library. The door clicked shut behind him.

“Who’s there?”

His dagger was in his hand before he realized it was a woman who spoke. Oriel. She was staring at him in alarm from her perch on the window seat. He quickly sheathed his dagger before he caused her further alarm. The room was dark, so he found and lit a candle on one of the tables.

“What do you here at this hour?” he asked.

She sighed and resumed her perusal of the dark court below the window. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He almost touched her, but they hadn’t spoken since he’d left her the day Thomas was killed, and he didn’t know if she remembered clinging to him as if he was her only hold on reason.

“You mustn’t continue to brood this way. Your uncle wouldn’t want you to.”

She shivered, and he reached up to draw the curtains that hung over the window to keep out the chill. He was going to order her to bed when she spoke again.

“He was the only one who—” She choked on her words and made a small sound of impatience. Dashing tears from her cheeks, she continued. “After my parents died, he came to fetch me, and he was the only one who cared about me. The others—to the others, I was a nuisance. Aunt Livia and Aunt Faith resented having to look after me. I had no one.”

“He was a kind man.”

She smiled at him. “I was only twelve when I was orphaned, and somehow I decided that I would have to take care of myself, only I had no idea how I was going to do that. My parents were good to me, even if I only saw them at prayer time and after dinner. I was so frightened. But then he came and took the time to explain to me that I would live with him, and that he would always look after me, and then I wasn’t so frightened anymore.”

“And now you’re alone again.”

He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He swore at himself
when she hid her face in her hands and sobbed. Snatching her from the window seat, he sat with her in his arms and stroked her curls.

“Forgive me,
chère
. Don’t cry. Please, you’ll make yourself ill.”

She cried anyway, and he had to content himself with stroking her hair. After a while the sobs ebbed, and she lifted her head from his shoulder.

“Your wound!”

“Almost healed.”

He put his fingers under her chin and looked into her eyes. They were watery pools of darkness made barely visible by the light of the one candle. His lips were almost upon hers when she turned her face away.

“I—I must begin to order Uncle Thomas’s things tomorrow.”

Blade’s gaze was fastened on her profile, but even in his lust, he took advantage of the opportunity she presented to him. “You shouldn’t undertake so sorrowful a task alone. I will help if you like.”

“You would?” She faced him, her lips trembling. “I am most grateful, my lord. The others, George and Robert and Leslie, haven’t the learning to manage the work. My aunts would only throw everything into chests and sell it.”

“We can’t allow that,” he said, his gaze transfixed on her lips. He cleared his throat.

“Are you certain?” she asked. She glanced around the library. “The work will be tedious, for many of the books are in Greek and Latin. Some are in Italian.”

“Chère
, are you suggesting that I haven’t the learning to keep up with you?”

“Well, do you?”

“Mock me at your peril, Mistress Oriel.”

She smiled, and he paused to look at her inquiringly.

“Did you know,” she said, “that you pronounce my name with an accent?”

“Nonsense.”

“You do. You say
Ori-elle.”

“Mais oui, c’est vrai, demoiselle, Orielle.”

She smiled again, and suddenly Blade felt as if he’d accomplished a great feat. Then he remembered his purpose.

“Chère
, I will help you with your sad task beginning upon the morrow. I am much grieved that I won’t be able to talk with Sir Thomas now, but perhaps we could speak of him as we work.”

“Why?”

“You aren’t the only one in this kingdom interested in learning. I would have you know I’ve a library of my own in France—one much larger than this. Mayhap you will allow me to buy some of Sir Thomas’s collection.”

“Mayhap.”

She stood abruptly, as if only now she’d become aware that they were alone. He got up, and caught her arm as she moved away from him.

“You’re afraid again.”

She shook her head, but tried to pull free. He smiled as the cloak she’d thrown over her gown fell open. He couldn’t resist slipping his arm around her, and felt her warmth through the gown.

“My lord, you are too familiar.”

He pulled her close, but she kept struggling in his arms.

“Stop, stop wriggling. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to free myself.”

All at once he remembered his real task. Clamping his teeth together, he grasped her arms and set her away from his body.

“I beg pardon,
chère
. I trespass upon your grief. Sometimes I think I lose every bit of my sense when I touch you.”

She was wrapping her cloak about her body. “In faith, my lord, I agree. No doubt your years at the licentious
French court have made you so, so … You must stop.”

“Marry, it isn’t a thing one can make up one’s mind to stop. You must trust my knowledge of the matter.”

“Since we’re not even betrothed, it’s a thing you must somehow accomplish.”

“Mayhap we shouldn’t speak of it. You’re only arousing my interest further.”

He took a step toward her, and she fled. As she vanished, he tried hard not to chuckle, so precipitous had been her retreat. Well satisfied that he would be allowed free access to Thomas Richmond’s possessions, he could take pride in his night’s work. He had taken her mind from her grief, and would continue to do so, and in the practice, give himself much pleasure as well.

Oriel stole a glance at Blade from behind a tall book she’d propped up in front of her face. He was lifting a heavy volume from the top shelf, one Uncle Thomas hadn’t touched in years because of its weight. He’d stripped off his cloak and doublet for this dusty work, and through his shirt she could see his arm muscles bunch as he grasped the book. As he turned, she ducked behind her shield.