Suzanne Robinson (25 page)

The next morning Honor was in the outer ward checking her mare’s saddle girth. Sir Walter stood by, surveying the coach and wagons strung out behind the mare. His impassive expression broke into a resentful one each time he glanced at the de Marlowes, who had decided to escort Honor as far as the cutoff that led to Argent. Honor knew hard words had passed between him and Simon de Marlowe, but her father wouldn’t speak of it.

“You should ride in the coach, my dear. Ladies ride in coaches.”

Honor tugged on a stirrup and said, “Ladies who
ride in coaches get bounced about like dried peas in a shaken bottle.”

She turned to her father and saw his grief-stricken expression. She managed a smile and blinked back tears. Last night had been filled with bad dreams, and this leave-taking had been in one of them. She kissed his cheek and whispered to him, “I’ll be well, Father. I promise. I’ve got Sir Renard and his men to protect me, and once I’m in France Lorenzo de Medici will send an escort. I’ve already sent ahead with a message.”

“I know, my dear, but I did so wish to see you happy. I was certain that de Marlowe loved—Well.” He sighed. “It’s God’s will, I’m sure.”

Honor looked away. “Yes. Although it’s obviously Galen’s will as well.”

“He’s a fool,” Sir Walter said with a doting look. “You’re the finest, prettiest woman a man could pray for.”

Honor bit her lip and forced back more tears. “Dear Father, I shall miss you so.”

Sir Walter threw his arms around her and squeezed so hard she gasped. Then he kissed her forehead. Somehow that kiss made Honor’s world a tiny bit brighter.

She gave him a faint smile, and he helped her mount. Sir Renard gave the signal, and the outriders rode under the portcullis. The little caravan began to move. Sir Walter walked with her to the drawbridge, kissed her hand and let it go.

“I’ll bring back pomegranate trees for Perkin to plant,” she called as she rode into the shadow of the bridge.

“And olive trees too!” Sir Walter said. “I shall enjoy watching him try to keep them alive in winter.”

As she rode out of the castle, Simon de Marlowe and his brothers caught up with her, and Honor found herself surrounded. She needn’t have worried. None of them spoke to her. They seemed as mystified as everyone else at Galen’s disappearance.

“You needn’t feel obliged to accompany me the whole way,” she said after about an hour. She pointed to the looming forest they were about to enter. “We’ll part on the other side of the forest, in any case. Please feel free to ride on now.”

Simon shook his head. “We can’t leave you in the forest, my lady.”

“Although,” Macaire said with a wry look, “you seem to know it better than we do.”

“Indeed,” Honor said with a distant tone. She wanted to be rid of these men. She was sick of the whole de Marlowe family.

They rode into the forest without further exchanges, and soon they were deep in the midst of old gnarled trees whose canopy dimmed the sunlight. Tiny beams of light pierced the gloom, and as noontide approached, Sir Renard sent more men riding out at the flanks of their party as a precaution.
Honor didn’t interfere, although she doubted there was much to fear from bandits or noblemen of evil repute. The forest still kept its perilous reputation, and they were too near Durance Guarde, where few outlaws wished to lurk.

They crossed a fast-running stream, and Honor caught a glimpse of an ivy-shrouded, crumbling tower. She returned her gaze to the path and kept it there. She prevented herself from thinking miserable thoughts by planning the stops on her journey to Mainz. Then, abruptly, Fabron pulled his horse out of line and kicked it into a gallop, disappearing down the path.

Simon hauled on his reins. “I knew it.” He rode after his brother. As he vanished into the trees, his brothers also pulled out of line and rode off.

Sir Renard turned his horse around and rode back to Honor. “Is anything wrong, my lady?”

“Fabron suddenly bolted, and the rest chased after him. I suspect they couldn’t endure the embarrassment any longer. After all, their honor has been touched by their brother’s disgrace.”

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

Pain jabbed at her chest, and she said hastily, “Please. Don’t speak of it.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Sir Renard rode back to the head of the caravan, and Honor was left to herself. She was fighting against a wall of anguish that threatened to collapse upon her. She couldn’t let it bury her.
Without warning the memory of Galen’s gentle, dark eyes came to her. She felt his touch on her skin. She bathed in the heat of his body, felt the titillation his wicked smile evoked.

“Oh, no,” she said to herself. “You’re not going to pine, Honor Jennings. I forbid you to pine after a dishonorable wretch.” She sped up, passing Sir Renard at a trot. “I’ll ride ahead a little and come back directly.”

“Not too far, my lady.”

She waved, and cantered past the outriders. The faster she rode the faster she wanted to go, and soon she was galloping recklessly down the winding path. It seemed that if she could go fast enough, she could outrun her unhappiness. Her lungs worked harder and harder, and her mare began to foam at the mouth from exertion. Finally she reached the edge of the forest, glimpsed an expanse of light, and burst out of the shadows.

The first thing she saw was a line of men ranged across the road in front of her. She pulled hard on the reins. The mare slowed sharply, then rose on her hind legs and pawed the air.

Honor brought her under control, pulling firmly on the reins and speaking softly. The animal danced back and forth, then settled. Honor kept her eyes on the men, squinting against the harsh sunlight. One of them separated himself from the rest and rode toward her. Honor shaded her eyes, looked harder.

“By the Trinity. Galen.” She hauled on the reins again, spinning her horse around, and plunged back toward the forest.

“Honor, stop!”

She slapped the mare with the reins and the animal surged forward. Only a few yards to go, and she could lose herself in the forest. Dirt sprayed in her face as the mare’s hooves dug into the soil. She could see the shadows clearly now. Almost there.

She was so fixed on gaining the shelter of the trees that she didn’t see Galen’s nearness until he was beside her. His giant stallion loomed over her mare. Galen leaned sideways, trying to grasp the smaller horse’s bridle. He missed, swore and grabbed Honor around the waist instead.

Honor felt herself plucked from the saddle and deposited in Galen’s lap. She slipped, cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Out of breath, she couldn’t even protest until Galen had slowed his horse and walked him into the shadows at the edge of the forest.

Once the stallion stopped, Honor writhed in Galen’s grasp and slid to the ground. She landed in a heap, with her skirt over her head. She heard him chuckle as she fought her way out of the tangle and rounded on him. Red-faced and speechless with wrath, she ran at him and punched him in the stomach.

“Ugh.”

Honor ignored him while he bent over and
clutched his stomach. Her fury was so great she feared she would expire from it. She walked swiftly around in circles, muttering curses and kicking dead branches and stones. She ended up back in front of Galen, still breathless.

“I swear you’re the most God-cursed foul-hearted spawn of the devil ever born to woman. You’re more callous and cruel than Aymer ever was.”

“Honor, listen, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut your mouth,” Honor said. She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her gown. Her chest heaving, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Galen’s brothers were still waiting where she’d first seen them. “The king will hear of your evil deeds, my lord. I care not that he calls you friend. Mayhap after this, he will not.”

She would have gone on, but Galen lunged at her and clamped his hand over her mouth. Honor bit it. He yelped and withdrew his hand, shaking it.

“Damn it, you little wretch. That hurt.”

“Good. I hope I broke the skin. I hope the wound festers and rots and makes your hand fall off. If I’m favored by fortune, the rot will spread up your arm and to your head. Not that you aren’t rotten already. May all the devils in hell draw your soul to Satan.”

She stopped when Galen suddenly turned his back and walked to his horse. Was he going to leave her here?

“Stop this moment, you pestilence of a man.”

Galen ignored her. He reached his horse, and Honor charged after him. When she reached him he was untying a bag attached to his saddle.

“You left me to face everyone at the chapel, you black-hearted knave!”

Turning around, Galen thrust the bag at Honor so that she was forced to grasp it. She stumbled backward, then looked down at the leather satchel, scowling.

“Open it.”

She held it out to him. “I want nothing of yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s yours.”

The bag was growing heavy so she dropped it, and regarded him with contempt. “Aymer used to give me gifts after he’d done something mean. It always meant he wanted me to do something, like play hostess to some king’s man whose favor he was courting.” She walked around Galen, studying him as if he were an ill-favored stallion for sale. “What do you want this time, my lord?”

“Honor, I beg you to listen.”

“You didn’t answer me.” She stopped in front of him and gave him a cool stare. “What is it you want this time?”

“If you would but listen a moment, my love.”

“Don’t call me your love. I was never your love, and I’m through listening to you.”

She turned her back on him and walked three steps before he caught her hand. She yanked it free and rounded on him.

“By God’s mercy, if you touch me again I shall scratch your eyes out.”

Galen backed up, opening his arms and shaking his head. “I yield. I yield, but in return you must promise to hear what I have to say.”

“Be quick. I’m weary of your presence, my lord.”

“Do you know why I was at Durance Guarde?”

Honor frowned. “I care not.”

“I was hiding, and enduring a most malevolent vision. One that involves the royal family. There, now you can destroy me with few words.”

Honor could think of nothing to say. Galen took a cautious step toward her and continued.

“I felt drawn to Durance Guarde, and I was sure it was because I needed solitude in which to make sense of the vision.”

Quietly he described the vision, and when he finished she still had no words for him. He had trusted her with this dangerous confidence, but she’d been hurt too badly to return his trust.

“Good. At least you haven’t run away yet,” he said. “Because I was wrong about why I was drawn to Durance Guarde.”

“Indeed,” she said, grateful that her voice was steady and cool.

“It had nothing to do with the Tower vision.” He took another step toward her and said, “I was confusing two visions, Honor. One of evil, and one of good—most marvelous, wondrous good. Don’t you see? I was drawn to Durance Guarde because of you.”

“What?” She regarded him with bewilderment.

“I could have taken refuge at Argent, but I was drawn to that overgrown ruin of a place. And always when I thought of it I experienced this pleasurable excitement and anticipation. I thought I was seeking refuge, my love, when all the time, I was seeking you. I thank God I listened to that particular vision without realizing what I was doing.” He reached her at last and knelt, holding her eyes with his. “I thank God for it.”

Honor stared at him, then she absently shoved a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Lovely words, my lord, but you have a gift for fine words.”

“Then judge me by my actions.” He nodded at the discarded leather satchel.

Honor hesitated, then went to it, knelt and unlaced the ties that held it shut. Inside was a parcel wrapped in thick cloth and twine. She unwrapped it to find a box made of mahogany with gilded fittings and a lock. Galen came over to kneel beside her. She eyed him warily, but he was only holding out a key.

“This isn’t mine,” she said. “You’ve made a mistake.” Her eyes narrowed. “No doubt you’ve confused me with one of your other ladyloves.”

Galen shook his head and smiled. “I told you, I’m not confused any longer, my little sunset. Open it.”

“You’re not going away until I do, are you?”

“No.”

Honor snatched the key. Giving him another
mistrustful look, she inserted it in the lock and opened the box. The lid swung back to reveal dozens of compartments of varying sizes. In each compartment lay piles of small, narrow metal bars. Honor’s breath caught. She picked up one of the little bars and held it between her thumb and forefinger. She breathed in uneven little gusts.

Looking up at Galen, she said, “This is a type case.”

“Yes.”

“Full of type. A complete set of type. For a printer’s press.”

“Yes.”

She pulled out a lower drawer in the box to reveal a different set of type.

“That’s a set called Italic,” he said. “It’s much easier to read than the type Master Caxton uses.”

Speechless, Honor looked from the type case to Galen. He was smiling at her still, but her thoughts seemed to have vanished, and she just knelt there staring at him. When she didn’t move, he reached past her and pulled another object from the bag. It looked like a giant mushroom with a handle on top.

“This is the printer’s ball. I couldn’t carry the rest. It’s still in the wagon on its way from London.”

Honor wet her lips. “What’s still on its way?”

“Your printer’s press, of course.”

“Press,” she repeated mindlessly. “My printer’s press sank.”

“And I got you another,” he replied.

“But, but …” Confusion had replaced every thought in her head now.

“I had a friend in London pay a rival of Master Caxton’s ten times its worth. He can buy another, if he doesn’t decide to retire before he even starts printing.”

Honor replaced the type and closed the box. “
My
press?”

“Certainly. What would I want with it?”

“You left to fetch the type case.”

“Forgive me, love. I had to ride much farther than I thought to meet the wagon that’s transporting the cursed thing.”