Suzanne Robinson (21 page)

She didn’t move. He stared at her for a moment, then took the goblet and sipped from it.

“Now,” he said. “Serve the ale.”

She took another goblet for herself, went to Leslie, and handed him the one with the powder in it. Leslie thrust the lute into Blade’s hands and pleaded for a song. As that unequaled voice surrounded them with magic, Oriel considered her discovery.

In her obsession with this beautiful creature, she had failed to discern his complexity. In faith, she knew little about him, though she had his body committed to memory. He moved from France to England easily. He frequented the company of great lords and ladies. His clever mind perceived mysteries where others did not, and he drugged people’s ale. For the first time she realized how much he hadn’t confided in her. She knew nothing of his beliefs, his aspirations, his feelings, his principles. Curse her inexperience. Dear God, she’d been so enamored she’d promised herself to a stranger, all because his touch aroused her to mindless passion and his voice charmed her as if he possessed the magic of a sorcerer.

Blade’s song ended, and the silence brought her back to the present. She looked at him, but he was studying Leslie as if he were examining a bull at market. Leslie had lain back on his pillows. His head had dropped to the side, and he snored. Blade rose, set the lute aside, and offered his hand to her. He pulled her erect and guided her out of the withdrawing chamber into the library. He shut the door to the passage between the two chambers.

“Well,
chère
, where shall we begin looking for the journal?”

“I’m not looking for anything until you explain.”

He lifted his brows, but said nothing

“What are you that you are so experienced at poisoning people’s wine? How do I know I can trust you?”

“Marry, you trusted me last night.”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

“I yield,” he said with a mocking smile. “If you would know the truth, I must tell it. Mayhap you’ve heard how violent a man my father is. To be honest, when I was a child, he was more than violent, he was a monster.”

He dropped her hand, folded his arms over his chest, and stared at the floor. “I seldom speak of it, but he used to beat me unmercifully when I angered him. Once I knocked over a bowl of soup and ruined a Turkey carpet. He backhanded me so hard I sailed over the table. Then he took his riding crop to me. I couldn’t leave my bed for most of a month.” There was such bitterness in Blade’s eyes that Oriel put out a hand to touch his arm.

“To this day I dream of those attacks, and of avenging myself on him. I dream of beating him as he beat me, only I don’t stop until he’s dead and can no longer hurt me. Sometimes I wake up sweating and—” He stopped and looked down at her hand on his arm.
“Chère
, I know about the powder because I use it myself when nightmares rob me of sleep and peace.”

She couldn’t help the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Flinging herself into his arms, she hugged him hard.

Laughing softly, he held her at arm’s length. “It was long ago,
chère
, and he can’t hurt me now. Don’t cry. It was long ago.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I keep seeing you as a little boy, so sweet and beautiful, and the thought of that man hurting you, well, it makes me want to kill him.”

She wiped her cheeks and smiled at him, then gasped. “The journal! We must hurry.”

They searched among the piles of books for over a quarter of an hour before Blade found the journal beneath a treatise on geometry. Fortunately, her family seldom came to the library, for none of them cared for learning as had Uncle Thomas.

Thus when Blade opened the journal, they were able to examine it in peace. Most of the journal concerned Uncle Thomas’s private musings and memories, but near the end he began to write of his experiences as a page in the household of Cardinal Wolsey.

“Here,” Oriel said, pointing to the top of a page. She began to read. “When I was a youth my family placed me in the household of Cardinal Wolsey, the king’s chief councilor and friend. While there I became friends with Henry Percy, who became enamored of one of the queen’s maids, Mistress Anne Boleyn. We ofttimes accompanied the cardinal when he took counsel with the king, and thus Percy had many opportunities to woo the girl. They even swore
de futuro
vows of betrothal to which I was a witness. But the cardinal heard of it, and chastised Percy most woefully, saying that his station was too high, and the alliance unsanctioned by Percy’s father and the king. Percy, being a weak sort, succumbed to the pressure of the cardinal and his father, and broke with Anne Boleyn, who was banished to the country for several years. Later, of course, she caught the king’s eye, and was wed to him.”

The narrative ended here, and beneath it Thomas had drawn his device, an oak leaf, within a rectangular frame. Oriel turned the last page in the journal, but it was blank on the reverse side.

“There is no more,” she said.

“De futuro
vows,” Blade said. “Such vows may be set aside, and they were.” He took the book from her and examined the passage. “It is well Naught can be made of this for evil purposes, for now that we have it, no one can alter its meaning to suit their designs. Shall I guard this?”

“Yes. I’ve no doubt you’re used to keeping things secret.”

He didn’t answer.

“So,” she said as she watched him slip the book inside his doublet. “That was your fear? That someone
might use Uncle Thomas’s journal to destroy the claim of our queen to the throne?”

“A frightening thought, is it not?”

“There would be war, civil war,” she said. She was sitting in Uncle Thomas’s chair again, and rested her chin on her hand. “Were I Uncle Thomas, I would have destroyed the journal.”

“Perchance he meant to, but was killed before he could do so.”

She rose from the chair and went to the withdrawing room door. She opened it and listened to Leslie’s snoring.

“What shall we do with the journal?” she asked.

Blade was busy clearing books to make a path to the gallery door. “I must take it to London.”

“Why? I think we should burn it.”

Kneeling on the floor by the paneled wall, Blade glanced up at her. “There is someone who will want to see it.”

“Who?”

“The queen.”

Oriel shut the door quickly and put her back to it. “You’re going to take it to Her Majesty? You’re mad. You’ll never gain an audience.”

“I have friends who will help.” Blade hefted a stack of books and shoved them against the wall.

“Listen to me, Blade. It’s too dangerous for you to keep the journal. We must destroy it.

He shook his head. “You must trust me in this,
chère
. Her Majesty will want to see the journal for herself.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if I were king, I would want the same thing. It’s a dangerous thing to wear a crown. Think of the three queens King Henry got rid of. Think of the unbounded ambition of the Queen of Scots.”

“When will you leave?”

“Soon. But I must prepare your cousin George for
my leave-taking, or he will challenge me to a duel again.”

“Not if I come with you.”

“You can’t!” Blade lowered his voice. “Think you your family will allow you to travel with me? God’s blood, who taught you modesty and behavior?”

She lifted her chin and scowled at him. “Are you questioning my virtue?” She heard a chuckle that ignited a rage she didn’t know she could feel.

“Marry,
chère
, you have none now.”

Oriel felt as if her head would explode from fury. She made a fist and rammed it into Blade’s stomach. He doubled over and gasped, and she stomped on his foot. He yelped, and she darted away from him as he made a grab for her. She raced to a table and picked up a heavy book, turned, and dropped it on Blade’s head as he rushed at her. He swore and staggered backwards while she ran around him and made for the door. She was almost there when he caught her from behind and lifted her off her feet. She kicked and scratched at his hands, but couldn’t free herself.

Blade turned her, fastened his arms around her, and dragged her back to the table. He shoved her against it, trapping her between it and his body. He buried a hand in her hair and made her look at him.

“I beg pardon,” he said, and she stopped fighting him.

“You do?”

“I, to whom you gave the gift of your self, who took that gift and gloried in it, have no right to question your honor.” He smiled at her, and his eyes glittered. “I was but teasing,
chère
. You are the most estimable and worthy of women.”

“You make me sound like a fat old widow.”

He tightened his grip on her hair and rubbed his body against hers. “Neither fat nor old,
chère
, and most entirely savory.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, and she felt his lips
begin to suck. In little more than a moment she was lost in the feel of those warm lips. He bent over her, and she sank back on the table. His hands slid to her thighs, nudged them apart. As she wrapped her arms around his chest, he began to press his hips back and forth. She was running her fingers through his dark, soft hair when she heard a voice.

“Well, coz, I chose the right moment to wake.”

Blade groaned and lifted his body from hers. She rose, blushing hotly, and jumped off the table.

“Leslie,” she said, “you’re as welcome as the pox.”

“Alas, such is the price of duty.”

She glared at him. “I shall go to my chamber. I must bathe after all the riding we did.”

“Allow me to bear you company,” Blade said. As Leslie began to sputter, he raised his hand. “Only to the door, Richmond, only to the door.”

In the entryway Blade kissed her hand. As he bent over it, he whispered, “I’ll come to your chamber tonight.”

She smiled, kissed his cheek, and whispered back, “You can’t. Nell sleeps there, but I know a place where we won’t be disturbed.”

Offering her cheek to him, she went on. “Come to the old hunting lodge at midnight. One of the servants will tell you where it is.”

Blade drew back from kissing her cheek, grinned at her, and spoke aloud “Fare you well,
chère
. It seems we must resign ourselves to waiting.”

His body was aflame, unsatisfied in a way he’d never experienced. His skin felt as raw as if a hive of bees had stung him, and he admitted to himself that no other woman had ever driven him to this pass. He’d behaved like a randy youth in a brothel. He couldn’t allow it. Blade pounded his fist into the door of the library.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

When they first met he had thought her even-tempered and malleable, but he’d been fooled by her air of distraction brought on by her intellectual curiosity. Now he knew better. Still, he hadn’t expected her to turn into a spitting viper. He also hadn’t expected her temper to ignite his and then hurl him into a maelstrom of desire that vanquished his resolution not to touch her
again. The more he saw her, the more he wanted her. Blade looked at his reddened knuckles. They throbbed, and he cursed himself again.

At least he was rid of Leslie now that Oriel had gone to her chamber. The man knew when to give his victims respite from his company. Blade quit the library, shaking his throbbing hand, and returned to the withdrawing chamber. There lay the small comfit box given to Oriel by Derry. He had secreted it beneath a cushion.

“Sodding doxy’s brat,” he muttered to himself as he carried the box to his chamber and examined it. “Handing messages to Oriel.”

Oriel and Leslie had finished the candied fruits, and the box was empty. Blade turned it over, knocked on the wood, then pushed on the bottom. A panel slid back to reveal a small scrap of paper. Blade shut the panel and put the box on the table beside his bed. He lifted his head and listened, but could hear no one. He returned to the paper and studied the images upon it. Beautifully drawn, they were of a red bird and a falcon.