Suzanne Robinson (16 page)

“God’s truth,” said the peddler, “my feet are cold.”

The peddler dropped his pack, searched inside, and drew out a pair of leather boots no itinerant should have. Sitting on a log, he drew them on. They fit perfectly. He sighed, stuck his legs out in front of him, and wriggled his feet.

“Are you comfortable?” Blade asked.

“Yes.”

“Then give me your message, damn you. I swear I don’t know where Christian finds such allies. You’d think you were out for a springtime stroll.”

Without warning the peddler’s hand flashed to his pack. A dagger jumped into his hand, but Blade leaped at him, his own weapon already aimed at the man’s heart. They halted, facing each other, each waiting for the other to move.

The peddler suddenly grinned and lowered his dagger. “He said you were the best, but I had to find out for myself.”

“Piss-brained lout, I could have killed you.”

“Not before hearing my message.”

“Out with it, then.”

“Christian’s off to Scotland. He said to tell you the Cardinal of Lorraine went to the funeral of the woman named Claude.”

Blade sheathed his dagger and said in a whisper, “Claude, poor Claude.”

“You must needs make haste, for he said he wasn’t the only one going to Scotland.”

“Stewart’s son.”

“Yes. What news shall I bring to him?”

“The old man has been killed, but I may find what we’re searching for without him.”

The peddler rose from the log and came near. “Killing already? Foul news.” He lowered his voice. “When
the stakes are kingdoms, many die. Have a care. Mayhap I should remain in the village.”

“My thanks, but tell Christian I need no nursemaid.”

“A pox take you. It was an offer from my fine and generous heart.”

Blade laughed. “You’re not one of Christian’s vagabond minions from the stews or you’d spout far more lurid curses.”

“I’m a familiar of Nora’s. She befriended me because I once saved a mongrel pup of hers from drowning. She thinks I’m Parcival reborn.”

“That’s Nora,” Blade said. “Shall I give you a ride to the village?”

The peddler shook his head. “My horse and man aren’t far off.”

“Then fare you well, peddler.”

“I am called Derry by some,” the peddler said as he swept a bow and chanted. “Sweep chimney sweep, master, with a hey derry sweep, from the bottom to the top, hey derry sweep.”

With a final bow and a laugh, Deny swept up his pack and sauntered off into the trees. Blade watched him go, and noticed his light step and how easily he carried the voluminous and heavy pack. Derry was far younger than his disguising allowed one to see. If Christian trusted him to cavort in so flagrant a manner in the midst of a household infested with at least one traitor, Derry was far more than a simple messenger. Needless as Blade thought it was, his friend had sent someone he trusted to warn him, and mayhap save his life.

That evening Blade conversed in the great chamber with Robert and Leslie as they awaited the performance of a masque by Faith, her daughters, and Oriel. He had almost completed his search of Thomas Richmond’s library, and found nothing. He was beginning to think
there was nothing to be found, but if this was so, why had Thomas been killed?

“I tell you I can bear this cursed country life no longer,” Leslie was saying. “There are no plays, and no bear baitings, nor any good hunting either. Only such as George and Robert could enjoy this place, for they find watching corn grow a tax on their wits. Someday I’m going to build my own house in London.”

Robert sneered at his brother. “With whose coin, you arse?”

“Go tup a stable lad.”

Robert almost flung himself at Leslie, but Blade thrust an arm in front of him. “Gentlemen, remember where you are.”

“Robert.” Livia trumpeted at them from her chair by the fire. “Leave dear Leslie alone. God knows why you can’t be more like him. Make yourself pleasant company for once.”

Flushing from his scalp to his neck, Robert muttered to himself and cast a murderous look at his younger brother. Blade thought he might be forced to come between them again, but two musicians blew a note on their pipes, and everyone turned their attention to the screen set in front of the chamber doors. The musicians stationed beside it struck up a stately tune on viol, pipe, lute, and drum. Faith emerged from behind the screen dressed in a flowing gown and carrying a scroll. She curtsied to the audience, unrolled the scroll, and read.

“Now hear ye, good gentles, one and all, of my tale so dire and doleful. A tale of maidens fair, three in all, and of a terrible witch. The maidens were Beauty, Grace, and Amity; the witch was called Envy.”

Blade kept his face expressionless as the three oldest of Faith’s daughters appeared as Beauty, Grace, and Amity. Dressed in gossamer robes and floating cloth of silver, they shuffled into the chamber. He supposed they were to have danced, but he could recognize no pacing or steps or gestures.

Joan seemed to have forgotten the dance altogether. She stopped and looked around, and Jane bumped into her. Agnes tripped on the hem of her own gown, then righted herself and followed her sisters to a pile of pillows covered with satin. Plumping themselves down, they struck poses that reminded Blade of sheep settling down for the night.

“The evil witch, Envy, heard of the three beautiful sisters and sought them out to do them harm.” Faith turned to the screen behind her. “And sought to do them
harm.”

The screen rattled, and Oriel stomped into view. Blade couldn’t stop himself from blinking. She wore a black robe streaked with ashes and black gloves, and held a long black wand. Her hair had been tousled so that it looked as if she’d been in a tempest, and it too was sprinkled with ashes. She wore a black mask with a long, pointed, and hooked nose. She marched into the chamber, sneezed, and tore the mask off her face. Wriggling her nose, she surveyed the audience with a glare.

“I am Envy, mean and evil, jealous and vile. To defeat Beauty, Amity, and Grace is my purpose. I shall not rest, uh, I shall not rest … Oh, a plague take it. Where are they?” She sighed and walked over to her cousins to address them in a funereal tone. “Oh what marvelous luck I have found you and no one can save you I shall kill you and reign as Beauty myself take that.” She lifted the wand in a desultory manner and poked Joan with it.

Blade clamped a hand over his mouth and disguised a guffaw as a cough. Tears came to his eyes, so great was his effort not to chortle.

Faith was reading again. She paced away from the screen and stopped in front of Blade. Casting a look of unsubtle encouragement at him, she spoke. “Oh, who will save Beauty? Oh who, oh who?”

Blade looked at Robert and then at Leslie. They snickered at him. He glanced about the chamber to find
the rest of the family waiting. He stood and bowed to Faith, smiling wickedly.

“I’ll save Beauty.”

Racing around Faith, he headed for the girls on the mountain of pillows. As he ran, he swerved at the last moment and dived for Oriel. She shrieked as he swirled her up in his arms.

“Fear not, Beauty. I’ll save you from vile Envy ” Oriel poked him in the ribs with her wand. “Ah-ha! Envy is strong.”

He whirled around in a circle, causing Oriel to drop the wand and flail at him and kick her legs. He stopped abruptly, dropped her legs, and threw her over his shoulder. Shoving aside dusty black skirts, he addressed the audience.

“Vile Envy must be imprisoned.” He turned to Joan. “Fear not, fair Beauty. I shall take Envy far away and lock her up and guard her so that no peril will threaten you.”

Grinning at Joan, he turned and ran behind the screen and out of the great chamber.

“Put me down, sirrah!”

“I never listen to witches.” He hurried past amazed ushers and serving men and down to the kitchens. Servants were busy washing dishes and scrubbing floors. He stopped by one kneeling on the floor.

“The cellar?”

The lad blinked at him.

“Don’t tell him,” Oriel cried.

“The cellar, boy.”

The lad pointed to a door, and Blade went through it and found stairs angling steeply down into a black tunnel. He turned back and shouted for a light and a key. The Richmond steward came forward with both, and he ducked down the stairs with Oriel shouting threats in his ear. She jabbed him in the ribs.

“Be still or I might drop you down this hole.”

“Put me down!”

He didn’t answer. Reaching the foot of the stairs, he encountered another door. It was half open since its stores were providing wine for the company in the great chamber. He went inside, placed the torch in a wall holder, and set Oriel on her feet. She stumbled backwards, out of breath and sputtering. He slipped the key in his belt and shut the door.

“What mean you by this hideous prank?” she asked as she rubbed her stomach and shoved fly-away curls from her face.

He held up his hands to ward her off, chuckling all the while. “Marry, lady, I could see you had no liking for your role, so I decided to rescue you from it. They won’t look for us here.”

“Everyone will laugh at me.” She scowled at him. “You’re laughing.”

“Yes,” Blade said, “I’m laughing. Faith,
chère
, in my life there has been little to give me cheer, and I thank you from my heart for giving me such enchanting merriment.”

Her scowl faded, and she took a step toward him. “I make you laugh, but not in mockery?”

“How could I mock such a whimsical little fairy maid?”

“Oh.”

He watched as she considered his words. She scuffed her slippers on the flagstones. A puff of ashes billowed up from her skirts and she sneezed. Blade produced a kerchief from his sleeve and handed it to her. She rubbed her nose with it, then began dusting her face and shoulders. “Let me help you.”

He took the kerchief from her and dabbed at a sprinkle of ashes on her nose. She went still and caught her breath. He smiled at her, remembering her lugubrious speeches in the masque. His gaze traveled from her smudged brow to the bright rose of her lips, and stayed there. As he looked at her, the blood in his veins turned to molten silver and rushed to his head and groin. How
could merriment ruin his designs, banish his intention to coldly seduce? He could feel his will turning to water and trickling away. He felt it vanish, and for once, let it go. There was no other choice but surrender.

He took the ends of the kerchief in his fingers, dropped the silk over her head, and pulled her to him with it. Her lips brushed his, and he opened his mouth. Pulling harder on the kerchief, he sucked on her lips and tongue.

To his surprise, she slipped her hands beneath his cloak and around his waist. She drew him against her body, and as his chest touched hers, he dropped the kerchief. Holding her close, he lowered her to the floor. He cradled her head in one hand, still kissing her, and fitted his body between her legs. Her hands slipped beneath his doublet and worked the flesh at his waist.

Pulling his mouth free of hers, he nipped the flesh of her throat, then tugged at the neck of her gown. His hand slipped inside and closed around her breast. She gasped, then began to wriggle. He lowered his head to her breast, nuzzling the black cloth aside as he searched for her nipple. His hips thrust against hers She planted her feet flat on the floor and arched her back. At last he realized she was trying to buck him off

“Don’t” He pushed her down to the floor again and arched his own back so that his groin pressed to hers.

“Wait.”

He shook his head, too engulfed in the flood of arousal that carried him. His body burned as if he’d been put to the stake. He covered her mouth again, but she pounded his back. He felt the blows vaguely, but it was her cry that stopped him at last. It was a cry of fear muffled by his own lips

He lifted his head and gazed down at her “Oriel?”

“Please.”

“Have I frightened you?”

She made no reply, but turned her head away and bit
her lip. He closed his eyes and cursed himself and his too-ready body. She mustn’t know how near to forcing her he’d come. He didn’t want to think of it himself. Pausing to master his body and summon his control, he raised himself so that most of his weight was on his arms. He ducked his head so that their eyes met.

“I beg pardon,
chère.
I forgot all courtesy.”

“Will you let me up?”

He got to his knees and pulled her upright, but kept her hands in his. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Um, mayhap, if—”

“God’s blood, I’ve frightened you speechless.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I but meant to say that—” She took in a sharp breath “Next time I won’t be so frightened.”

“Ah. Next time. You wouldn’t run away if there was a next time?”

She lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head.

“God is merciful.”

She looked up at him in confusion, which made him laugh again

“Come,
chère
. We must quit the secret cave of Envy the witch before your aunts find us.”

“Saints, no doubt they’re growling and lashing their tails by now.” Oriel picked up his kerchief. “Oh, I had a thing to tell you about Uncle Thomas, but I forgot when I saw you kissing Joan.”

“She kissed me!”

“I know. Don’t interrupt. I was going to tell you that Uncle Thomas made a great point of instructing me to read his tomb inscription if I was ever troubled. He was most odd about it, so I went down to the crypt again, but I could make nothing of the inscription.”

“Mon Dieu
, why did you not say so? What does the inscription say? Quickly,
chère.”

“It’s only a prayer,” she said.

“Will you show me?”

“Now?”

Blade took her hand and led her out of the chamber. “After everyone is asleep. I’ll come to your rooms.” He glanced at her and whispered. “What luck. I’ll find you in your bed.”

“You won’t, sirrah, or if you do, you’ll find Nell there as well.”

“Faith, I’ve serviced two wenches before, but I hadn’t thought to receive such an offer from my virginal hostess.”

Oriel flicked the kerchief in his face. Dust billowed at him and he sneezed, and sneezed again. When he recovered, Oriel was nowhere in sight. He heard her laugh and rushed out of the cellar to see her black skirts disappearing into the kitchen above. He ran up the stairs in her wake.