Suzanne Robinson (30 page)

“God’s blood!”

“Silence, s’il vous plaît.”
Le Brun motioned to his men, who imprisoned Blade between them while another grabbed Oriel. “And now,
mon seigneur
, if you wish to preserve the life of this foolish demoiselle, you will obey me.”

“How do I know you won’t hurt her?”

“You don’t know anything except this: I will most certainly hurt her if you do not do as I say.”

Le Brun produced a bottle from beneath his cloak. No larger than a perfume vessel, it was of dark green Venetian glass. He withdrew a cork from it, then handed it to one of his men. Blade watched as the man came toward him. The arms holding him tightened, and his head was pulled back by his hair. He struggled, but Le Brun’s voice came to him as the man holding the bottle loomed over him.

“Drink, my boy, drink, or watch her die.”

He couldn’t help fighting them as the bottle was pressed to his lips. Someone pinched his nose, and his mouth opened. Bitter liquid flooded his throat. He
choked, swallowed, and choked again. Finally he tore his head free and sputtered obscenities at Le Brun.

“Poison is a coward’s device.”

“What foolishness.” Le Brun’s skull-like face swam before him and his voice seemed to come echoing from a long tunnel. “Don’t struggle so. You will but sleep.”

Blade felt his legs turn to water, and he was caught and supported by the men holding his arms A cold hand touched his face, and Le Brun looked closely into his eyes.

“Calm yourself. Fighting the potion only makes the experience unpleasant.”

“Oriel.”

He heard her scream, and began to thrash at his captors.

Le Brun shook his head. “Unfortunately, it is necessary to kill both your lady and your friend with the golden hair.”

From a great distance he heard the shout of the watch. He smiled as he heard Le Brun curse.

“Leave them. There’s no time.”

Somehow he was sailing through the air, upended so that he floated with his head pointed at the floor. A door slammed. He heard Oriel shouting and pounding on it. He watched as stairs rippled by. The world skimmed to a halt as he was propped upright before a door below the staircase. It opened, and he was dragged into a dark cavern, then carried down into a hole. A torch flared, but all he could see were billowing flames. He closed his eyes against the brightness.

He was hauled upright and forced against a rock wall. He struggled uselessly until someone placed hands on either side of his head to still him. He swore and blinked, trying to clear his vision. Le Brun’s face swam before him, and he felt another bottle press at his lips. He tried to turn away, but he was trapped. The burning liquid rushed into his mouth. A hand rubbed his throat, and he swallowed.

He heard the bottle smash on rock. A great black cloud enveloped him, and he began to smother in it. No longer able to move his body, he held to that thread of consciousness remaining. But with the swiftness of a merlin, it flew from him and at last, with a flicker of wrath at his own helplessness, he let it go.

Oriel threw herself at the door, clawing at it, but that terrible Frenchman had shoved something against it when he had fled. Frantic, she whirled around and ran to the windows, which faced the street. No one left the house, but she could see five members of the watch running down the street toward the house.

Behind her, Derry groaned. Oriel ran to him. He was lying facedown, and she helped him turn over. As she did so, another groan issued from the heap of bodies tangled in chains and manacles nearby. She helped Derry lift his head, but he moaned and sank into her lap She shook him, her voice growing louder with each word.

“Derry, wake up. Derry, they’ve taken him and we have to go after them. Derry!”

As she called to him, she caught sight of Leslie’s body spread out in a pool of blood. For a moment she felt a stab of pain. Once Leslie had been good to her. Once they had been friends. Or had they? Had he ever cared about anyone other than himself? He’d tried to kill her, and Blade. For trying to hurt Blade, she would have killed him herself.

A movement from Derry distracted her from the body. He tried to rise, but fell back again, gasping a name.

“Inigo.”

The man called Inigo levered himself to a sitting position and clutched his bleeding nose. The shouting and pounding began again downstairs.

Propping Derry up, Oriel shook his shoulder. “Derry, please, they’ve taken Blade.”

“They didn’t kill him?”

“They made him drink some potion and he collapsed. They were going to kill me, but they heard the watch and dragged Blade away with them.”

Derry sat up and touched the back of his head. Oriel tore a piece of her petticoat and dabbed at the bloodied wound there.

“Jesu Maria,” he said, “why did they take him? Who were they?”

“I know not. Their leader was a horrible man who looked like a cadaver.”

Derry lifted his head and stared at her. “A tall man with a head like a skull and grayish skin?”

“Yes.”

“Le Brun. God’s blood, it was Le Brun.”

Derry rose to his knees, and Oriel helped him get to his feet. He went to Inigo, who was still nursing his nose.

“You’re of no use,” he said.

Oriel was back at the door, trying to shove it open. “Make haste, Derry. We must follow Blade.”

“Wait,” Derry said. “Let me think. Le Brun is the cardinal’s man.”

“The Cardinal of Lorraine?”

“Yes, and it seems the cardinal wants Blade.”

“Then Le Brun will take ship for France.”

Derry nodded, then winced. “If we can’t prevent him.”

Something scraped against the door, and it was thrown open. A man with a pike stuck his head into the chamber cautiously. His gaze fell on Derry.

“Lord Derry, isn’t it?” He came into the room. “My lord, there’s a heap of bodies downstairs. Frenchmen mostly.” His tone suggested that since they were foreigners he needn’t trouble himself.

Derry stumbled as he brushed past the man. Oriel caught hold of his arm and helped him downstairs, over several dead men littering the steps. In the entryway lay more bodies. Derry called to the sergeant of the watch.

“Did you see anyone quit the house?”

“No, my lord.”

Derry drew the sergeant away from Oriel and spoke to him quietly. When he was finished, the man saluted Derry and went upstairs. Derry returned to her.

“If Le Brun is going to France, we but need to find the right ship,” she said

“Not ‘we,’ ” Derry said.

Oriel wanted to smack him on the head. “The last time you went without me you lost Blade. I’m going.”

“There is too much danger. I’ll not allow it.”

She lifted her skirts and stepped over a dead Frenchman still clutching a sword. “Argument is futile, and you waste time. I’m going to the docks. Will you accompany me, or shall we conduct a double search?”

Almost a fortnight later Oriel rode through a French forest with René, Derry, and five of his men. They had
failed to find Le Brun and Blade at the docks, and so had sailed to Calais. Derry had arranged for a tale to be put out that Leslie had been killed in a quarrel over a dice game with foreigners. He’d sent word to Richmond Hall as well, but none of these arrangements mattered to Oriel.

Each moment that passed tightened the knot of fear in her chest. She imagined Blade being tortured or killed, and she could hardly govern her desire to rush out and search every inch of French soil until she found him. Instead, she waited while Derry and his men skulked from one unsavory tavern to another until they traced Le Brun’s path.

After days of inquiry, Derry paid a purse full of coins for the news that Le Brun was headed for his manor near the royal chateau of Amboise, on the Loire. The Cardinal of Lorraine was in residence at Amboise. Now she fixed her will on remaining in the saddle as they picked their way through the forest. They had avoided the main roads, resting seldom, and had been riding for so long that she’d lost track of the days. Her bones ached and her eyes burned, and she still wanted to rush to the manor house and tear it to the ground in search of Blade.

Her fury at his deception had receded. He had lied to her. As deceitful as he was beautiful, that’s what he was, but no more. They had both discovered something in his house in London. Blade no longer had the art or the will to deceive her. Even in her fear, a quiver of excitement ran through her. He loved her, and she wasn’t going to allow some rabid cardinal to have him now that she knew it.

They were stopping. Derry turned his horse back and joined her.

“The manor is still over a league away, but we dare go no farther until dark. We’ll find a place of concealment and make camp.”

By late afternoon they had burrowed deep into the
tree cover of the forest and camped around the base of an oak so large that its trunk resembled a gnarled keep. Though it was almost Easter, winter had been stubborn, and France was still wrapped in its chill. Derry made her promise to try to sleep while he left to inspect the manor house, and left René behind to see that she did. She closed her eyes for an hour or so. She didn’t sleep, but she didn’t try to follow Derry. She knew when to trust to the expertise of another.

In any case, she would be hampered by having to thwart René. Since Blade had been taken, his French servant had appointed himself her guardian and had become her shadow. She was sure he hadn’t forgiven her for tricking him into releasing her from her prison in Blade’s house. Now he watched her, catlike, vowing that Blade would carve him for stew meat if she were harmed. So she waited.

When Derry returned, her guts twisted as she beheld his expression. She ran to his side as he handed the reins of his horse to one of his men.

“What news?” she asked.

She dogged his steps as he walked to the giant oak. René lurked nearby.

“I mislike what I’ve seen,” he said, “and like even less what I found out. I spoke to one of the maids from a village at the edge of the forest. It lies a league or so from the manor, but they know Le Brun well. I do so love wheedling news from dairy maids.”

“Stop babbling and tell me,” she said.

“Le Brun arrived two days past and brought with him a young nobleman who was quite ill.”

“Blade.”

Derry sank down to a blanket spread beneath the oak and rested with his back against the trunk. “The manor was shut up for the winter. Now Le Brun has returned suddenly with this unknown young man. Most likely Blade is kept in a tower room, for that would be the most secure. Le Brun has sent for no servants, and
his men warn away any villagers who seek to sell goods at the manor.”

“It is as you guessed, then,” she said. “Le Brun holds Blade for some fell purpose. They must be feeding him that potion to keep him quiet, or …” She twisted the hem of her gown in her fingers. “Or they have so hurt him that he is indeed sick unto death.”

“Don’t think upon it,” Derry said. “Le Brun has some reason for keeping Blade rather than killing him.”

Oriel got to her knees in front of Derry. “Yes, and while you’ve been lurking about taverns, I have been pondering. If, as you say, Blade has destroyed the plans of the Cardinal of Lorraine, mayhap the cardinal wants revenge.”

“My reasoning has taken the same course,” Derry said.

“But I had another thought today. If I were the cardinal, and I had discovered one of the English queen’s chief spies, I would want to know what he’d been about.”

“Which means.…”

“Which means we’d best pluck Blade from that nest of shrikes before the Cardinal of Lorraine puts Blade to the rack to prize his secrets from him.”

The room had turned gold with the fading of sunlight. Blade kept his eyes half-closed and watched Alain Le Brun storm into his prison chamber and over to the bed. The old woman they’d hired to nurse him rose and shoved her stool out of the way.

“How does he?” Le Brun asked. “Well?”