By Arrangement (15 page)

He twisted and placed the kitten on the floor behind him. The action made his muscles stretch with sinuous elegance. “Go find your mother,” he told the cat. The little black face closed its eyes and rubbed against his back before scampering off.

He looked at her again and smiled. “I am not so busy. I am glad that you came.”

He rose and stepped down toward her. “I will help you back down.” He squeezed past and aided her as her feet blindly sought each step. Halfway down he jumped to the floor and plucked her off by her waist, setting her beside him.

“Go downstairs and wait for me.”

There had been no greeting. No courtly pleasantries. He had not asked why she had come, and simply acted as if he knew. She scurried down to the invisibility of the lower passageway.

David watched her hurry away. She had surprised him by coming here. He had underestimated her.

Andrew hopped down the steps, carrying both of their shirts. He glanced at Christiana's disappearing skirt. “She's going to bolt,” he observed casually.

David took his shirt.

Andrew gestured to the stairs. “By the time you are washed and dressed, she'll be gone.”

“Are you giving me advice on women now?”

Andrew laughed. “Women? Hell, no, I wouldn't think of it. But then, she's not a woman, is she? She's just a girl.

I wager I've had more experience with them than you have recently.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “One moment they are brave, the next they are shy. First it's aye, then nay. Remember? She used all of her courage to come, and now she is telling herself to leave. Unless, of course, your warm welcome reassured her. Smooth, that.”

David looked at the empty stairs. Andrew's sarcasm was justified. He hadn't greeted her well and it
had
taken a lot of courage for her to come.

He went into the counting room and grabbed Andrew's pourpoint and threw it at him. “Then get yourself down there, boy, and stall her until I come,” he said. “Block the damn door with a sword if you have to.”

Andrew grinned and pulled the garment on. “Aye. And I'll tell Sieg that we'll take a break with the last carpets. He and I can get it done before dinner without you.” He sidled to the doorway. “I assume this means that we will forget about that last nightwalking fine.”

“Go!”

He followed Andrew down the stairs and watched him head in search of Christiana. He slipped out the back to the well and began washing off the dust in the crisp air.

She had heard about Percy's betrothal, of course. Almost a week ago probably. How bad had it been for her? He didn't like to think of her hurt, but he didn't want her making excuses for the man either. A woman could fill a lifetime with excuses to avoid the truth.

His head had been full of her since he had left her last Thursday. He rarely second-guessed himself, but during the days and long into the nights as he thought about her, he had considered how he had handled this girl and whether he hadn't made some miscalculations. He wasn't
used to them so young, of course. He forgot sometimes that there was still something of the child in her. Even his greeting today …an Alicia would have welcomed his frank acceptance of her arrival. But Christiana was not like Alicia.

He had visited Westminster on Monday and almost gone to that apartment. He felt pulled there, and only a long inner debate had kept him away.
Let her come to me
, he had decided.
Either on her own or for the wedding
. He had stuck to that resolve until last night, when Oliver had appeared late at the house with some news. And then he had known that he couldn't wait for her to come any longer.

He dried himself as he went back upstairs to dress. But for the early arrival of that ship from Spain and its cargo of carpets, he would have spared her this cost to her pride. He had planned to fetch her from Westminster this morning, and only this work had delayed him. She had come to him first, however. A small gift to him from Lady Fortune. It was better for Christiana this way, too.

He went back downstairs. He could see a bit of red near the entrance of the shoproom. She had already reclaimed her cloak. Andrew's body stretched casually against the threshold, his foot resting across the space on the opposite jamb. He hadn't blocked the way with a sword exactly, but the red cloak could not pass.

He walked toward them and Andrew looked up in a meaningful way. Dropping his leg, he let the cloak ease into the passageway, right into David's arms.

“You are ready to go then?” David asked.

“Go?” she asked, flustered by his sudden presence.

“We will go to the house. John Constantyn is coming
for dinner but first we need to get some salve for the cat scratches. They might make you ill if you aren't careful.”

She smiled weakly. “Your house …aye, I would like to see it.”

There had been the possibility, small but real, that she had come to ask for the annulment. He allowed himself one breath of relief that the request would not come and that he would not have to refuse it.

“How did you get here?”

“My horse is in the alley, I think. Morvan brought me. He comes back in three hours or so.”

Interesting. “We will walk. Let me tell the boys to bring the horse.”

He went back into the shop and gave the apprentices instructions, then returned to her. He guided her up the lane with his arm about her shoulders, enjoying her warmth beside him and the feel of her arm beneath his hand.

Nothing could hide in this sunlight and he studied her face. She looked as exquisitely beautiful as ever, but subtle changes were apparent. He knew her face well, had memorized its details and nuances, and could read the anguish of the last days in it.

She turned her head and her sparkling eyes regarded him. He saw a change in those dark diamonds as well. Their glitter had dimmed very slightly, as if one facet of trust and innocence had dulled.

I will obliterate your memory of him.

She kept glancing at him and parting her lips as if she planned to speak. Finally the words poured out.

“You were right. About Stephen. He is betrothed as well. An old match. But you knew that, didn't you? You knew on Thursday that I would hear of it soon.”

How long before she could read him as clearly as he
did her? She was by nature intelligent and perceptive. The girl often misunderstood what she saw, but the woman would not.

“I knew.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It was not for me to do so.”

“You knew before the court. Even his uncle only heard that morning.”

“Merchants and pilgrims arrive every day from the north. They bring gossip and news.”

“You were asking them?”

“Aye.”

“I feel like an idiot,” she said forcefully. “You must think women are fools and that I am one of the worst.”

“I do not think that. And if it makes you feel like an idiot, let us not speak of it.”

They turned onto the lane with his house. She stopped and turned to him. Her brow puckered as she looked in his eyes.

“Will you tell me now? Why you marry me?”

He glanced away from her confused curiosity. Sore and wounded, she thought she had nothing to lose from blunt questions and frank answers. How would she react if he told her the truth?

What was the truth?

It had been weeks since he had thought about the bizarre bargain that had given her to him. In his mind, Edward's story had become real, and the license and its payment the deception. He had indeed seen her and wanted her and offered a fortune for her. The money had been for her and the license had become the gift and not the other way around. If the King tomorrow demanded another thousand pounds to let him keep her, he would pay it without a second thought.

He wanted her. Not for one night or a few months. He did not think of her that way and never had. Perhaps the inevitable permanence of marriage had woken this deeper desire in him. He wanted her body and her soul and her loyalty and her joy. He did not question why he wanted her. It just
was
.

“I marry you because I want to,” he said.

CHAPTER 9

T
HE GATE
TO the courtyard stood open. She paused in the passageway and then walked bravely into the sunny yard full of laughing women and fluttering cloth. Two large tubs stood side by side, one over a low fire.

Laundry day.

David strolled into the melee. A thin old woman with a kerchief on her hair hustled in their direction. He embraced the crone and kissed her cheek.

“They said you was out for a shipment, and I didn't expect to see you,” the woman said, smiling.

“Slow down so you can have dinner with us, Meg,” he said. “John is coming.” He turned and pulled Christiana forward. “This is Christiana, Meg. My wife.”

Meg peered at her with filmy eyes. Her toothless mouth gaped in a grin. “A beauty, David.” She winked at Christiana. “Watch yourself. He's been nothing but trouble and mischief since he could walk.”

David led Christiana away. “You and the women will stay, Meg. I will tell Vittorio.”

Christiana followed him into the hall. “The laundress Meg has known you a long time,” she said as she took in the large chamber's furnishings. Nice chairs. A handsome tapestry. Beautiful copper sconces to hold the wall torches.

“My mother worked for her when I was a child.”

A middle-aged woman opened a door at the far end, and tumultuous sounds of pots banging and male cursing poured out at them. The plump woman carried a stack of silver plates in her arms. She looked Christiana up and down. David introduced her as Geva, the housekeeper. Geva smiled, but Christiana saw criticism in her sharp gray eyes.

David pushed open the door to the kitchen attached to the side of the hall. “And this is Vittorio.” He gestured to a rotund, round-eyed man barking accented orders to a girl and man who assisted him. Worktables laden with knives and chopped food lined the room, and copper pots hung in the immense hearth. Vittorio bent his head to one of the pots, sniffed, and raised his thick black eyebrows in an expression of reluctant approval.

“Vittorio,” David called.

The fat man straightened and looked over. “Ah!
La ragazza! La sposa!”
he announced to the assistants. They stopped their chores and smiled greetings.

He clasped his hands effusively.
“Finalmente!
Signorina Christiana, eh? Beautiful name.
Bellissima
, David.” He made a comical look of approval.

“Lady Christiana will dine with us, Vittorio. And Meg and her women as well.”

Vittorio nodded.
“Si, si.”
He turned back to the kitchen and gestured for the assistants.

David took her into the building across from the gate. She knew from her last visit that the solar was upstairs, but
he led her past the steps to a simple bedchamber. “I will have Geva get the salves,” he explained before leaving.

She removed her cloak. This chamber held some items of a personal nature. A simple cloak hung on a wall peg. A silver comb lay on a table. She sat on the bed and waited for Geva.

It was David who returned, however, and not the housekeeper. He carried a bowl of water and a rag and a small jar. He placed them on the table.

His long fingers pushed aside the shoulder of her surcoat. She glanced down at that hand and the scratches it uncovered. He moved to her other side and began unlacing the back neckline of the sleeveless outer garment. She glanced up at him in surprise.

“The salve will stain it,” he explained, gesturing for her to stand and helping her to step out of it. The intimacy of the simple, practical action unsettled her.

“Is this Geva's chamber?”

The neck of her cotehardie was cut low and broad and exposed the scratches. He dipped a rag in the water and began wiping the little streaks of blood from her skin. “Geva lives in the city with her family and comes by day. This was my mother's chamber. She was David Constantyn's housekeeper for ten years before her death. He met her through Meg. She did laundry here with the others, and when his housekeeper died he gave her the position.”

“And later made you his apprentice?”

“Aye.”

He carefully cleaned the scratches on the back of her shoulder. She tried to ignore his closeness and the attention he gave his ministrations. She noticed again the objects on the table. They seemed to still hold something of the dead woman's presence.

He picked up the jar. “Don't worry. You are not intruding on a shrine. This chamber is used by visitors.”

He soothed some of the salve over the scratches, and she sat very still with the warmth of his fingertips on her skin and the slight sting of the medicine in the sores. She lifted her gaze and saw him looking down at her. She thought that she knew that look.

She had better explain why she had come. Soon. They needed a place to talk alone, but not here in this room.

“Is there a garden?” she asked, rising.

He lifted her cloak to her shoulders. “This way.”

The garden stretched behind the building and the kitchen. A high wall enclosed it. It was barren now except for some hedges and ivy, but she could tell that in summer it would be lush. Flower beds, crisscrossed with paths, flowed back to a little orchard of fruit trees. A larger bed near the kitchen would be planted with vegetables.

“There is a smaller garden back here,” he said, leading her to a door in the wall.

The tiny second garden charmed her. Ivy grew everywhere, covering the walls and ground and creeping up to form a roof on a small arbor set in one corner. Two tall trees filled the space. In summer this enclosure would be cool and silent. An outer stairway led from the garden to the second level of the building.

She doubted that she would find anyplace more private than this. “Can we sit down? I need to tell you something.”

They sat on a stone bench nestled deep inside the ivy covered arbor. Sunlight broke through the dense covering, mottling the shadows with little pools of yellow light.

She bent over and plucked a sprig of ivy from the carpet at her feet. She nervously pulled the little points off the leaves. Probably best to just plunge in.