How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel (2 page)

Chapter 3

Tonight, the village of Carlisle lived up to its heathen reputation. Plenty of women-for-hire lined the narrow streets where scores of inns were filled to capacity. They’d chosen the smallest of the stone taverns to meet—the one nearest the stench of the moat, yet with the most free drinks.

Nicholas’s best friend, Eaton, stood and banged a knife upon a cup. This caught the eye of the serving wench who picked her way through the crowd with an armful of pitchers. The knight further wooed her by joining the minstrel’s bawdy refrain. Truly, it was the worst voice Nicholas had ever heard, and he let it be known by belching long and low.

Sitting back down on the rough bench, Eaton turned to him with a smirk and shouted over the horde, “You might as well enjoy your last days on earth. The rest of us are.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to die.” Nicholas could think of no reason to be cheerful as he stared morosely into his ale. His grandfather always sucked him dry, like a spider toying with a fly.

His friend continued grinning. “Didn’t you hear? I’m going with you. ’Tis my bloody reward for taking up with the likes of you.”

“To the Isle of Man? Why in Hades didn’t you say so?” Maybe the winds of fortune were finally blowing in his favor? He laughed, slapped Eaton on the back, and sent him sprawling.

Rising from the floor, his drunken friend turned toward the arriving tavern maid and said, “Fill another, luv, and set it here. We’ll be staying a bit longer.” He pinched her bountiful arse.

She shrieked, raised her kirtle’s hem, and winked at Nicholas who responded with a negative shake. Ever since meeting the Lady Fay last summer, he’d lost his healthy appetite for women.

“Who else is coming with us to Man?” he asked.

“Let’s see . . .” Eaton slid the lass onto his lap and pointed at the hearth. “Those two are indentured. Poor sods have no choice. And at last count, your grandsire hired ten mercenaries. They’re scattered across the room somewhere. What’s this all about?”

Nicholas lowered his voice, leaned in, and rasped a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Honestly? I believe he’s after the throne.”

“Och, is that all? Why would anyone want to be king? All that brings is an untimely death.” His friend let go of the serving girl and rested back against the bricks. Lacing his hands behind his head, Eaton tried to remain nonchalant, but Nicholas knew better. They spoke of treason.

He gave his friend a pointed stare. “’Tis no jest. The old maggot’s reach is vast.”

“Careful. We swear loyalty to that old maggot.” Eaton raised a wary eyebrow.

“Humph. I’m only worthy for unseemly endeavors. A whore, if you will.” Nicholas fumed. “I should’ve been knighted over five seasons ago, certainly after fighting in Wales. But nay, there’s always one more unchivalrous deed held over my head.”

“Let it be. This should be an easy enough quest. Since when has a lass not opened her legs for you?” His friend leaned forward with pursed lips, as if about to give him a kiss.

“Horse’s arse. If Edward or Alexander gets wind of this plot . . . we’ll all end up thus.” Nicholas sliced a finger across his throat, then shoved Eaton off the bench. Sometimes the man’s lightheartedness was too much to bear.

Hugging the wood in order to stand, he lifted his head and said, “I begin to see the light. Your seed, even though bastard, is de Bruce seed.”

Nicholas favored him with a small snicker and raised his mug. “Aye.
Now
you ken. He’ll blame me for the deed, yet keep my offspring. Claim he has a true heir to the throne of Man.”

“Why didn’t Alexander just kill her off with the rest of her kin?” He wobbled.

“I’ve no idea, but we’ll soon find out. God’s blood, sit. You’re making me dizzy.”

Using Nicholas’s shoulder for support, Eaton stepped onto the bench to get atop the table. He stomped his foot until all paid him heed. “Men. Gather your attention here. To Nicholas de Bruce. May his prowess with Lady Fay of Man reap him great rewards and a knighthood.”

The many men in the room grinned, clapped, and banged on anything nearby. “Fook her. Fook her.”

The noise eventually subsided. Truly, it was bad enough to do the unchivalrous act. Did it need to be announced to the whole of Scotland? Nicholas rose with arms raised and palms lowered. “Enough. Enough. Bring longbow and sword tomorrow. We’ll meet as the sun rises in the east courtyard.”

A deep groan echoed throughout the room from the mercenaries.
Good
. Mayhap that would put an end to the falderal.

Tottering, Eaton put an arm around Nicholas and whispered in his ear, “An island princess marries a Bruce bastard? God himself shakes with amusement.”

“You haven’t heard the whole of it. Once she’s back in England, belly wide with my child, I’m to divorce her and denounce her for . . .” His ears burned. Annoyed at his unmanly embarrassment, he pushed Eaton off the tabletop.

“God’s blood. Spit it out.” His friend waited, arms across his chest.

There would be no off-putting the man. Even drunk, he would stick to a subject like pine pitch. The words stuck as he whispered, “Having sex . . . with . . . other maidens.”

Brows furrowed, Eaton’s mouth dropped open. “She’ll be stoned. I’ll have no part in that, even if ’tis true.”

“You said so yourself. What
we
want has no worth.”

Afraid that Eaton might try to squirm out of the plot, he tried to distract him. “Did I tell you I met her briefly in Scarborough?”

“Nay. You did not.” Eyebrows wiggled and eyelashes fluttered like a maiden.

For the love of all things holy, Eaton was beyond endurance tonight. To make things worse, the minstrels started up again with a love ballad. A vision of Fay’s bright green eyes, fair skin, and red hair floated in the liquid of his mug.

“I sent her away.” He groaned, remembering the hurt look in her eyes as she lay upon his pallet, eager and shy. He had fallen for her almost instantly, but the walls in his chambers had eyes and ears. Should he have spoken a word of his affection, the danger for her would’ve increased tenfold.

Eaton attempted to read his mind. “You mean she wouldn’t bed you?”

“I didn’t try.” It had taken all his strength not to lay with her. She was lovely and royal, truly above his station. And God help him, even though knowing her only briefly, he loved her enough to save her. Castle Scarborough was full of rats, hiding in secret passages and making plans to kidnap her. There was no way he could’ve protected her. Not with everything else going on at the time.

“Ha! If you didn’t even attempt to place your sword in her sheath, then she was uglier than sin.”

Nicholas’s cock swelled and he shifted in his seat. She was beauty personified, but there was no point in discussing it further.

Suddenly his friend’s eyes widened, he guffawed, and spurted out ale. “God’s Blood! You’re smitten.”

“Bloody boar.” Scowling, Nicholas wiped the liquid off his tunic and remembered why he swore off drinking with Eaton.

Outside, a fight started over the pretty tavern wench and shouting ensued. Eaton shook his head and said, “Women are naught but trouble. Best you remember that.”

Would that he could. The queen, he sensed, would be his undoing.

“Anon. We should go. ’Tis late.” He stood and the room spun wildly. Another reason not to drink with Eaton.

He called to the innkeeper. “Stephen? Stephen, you old fart. Get yer arse over here.”

A maid exited the kitchen and made a big show of putting a silver coin into the top of her kirtle. On her heels, the innkeeper followed, adjusting his belt, with face flushed.

“What needs have you, good sir?”

“It appears my needs are not as well-serviced as yours.” The room’s laughter died down, allowing Nicholas to continue. “Annandale is paying for our drinking tonight and all nights. Wait until we are long gone, however, to present him your ledger.”

The innkeeper nodded enthusiastically. “That can be arranged. When are you off?”

“A fortnight, mayhap two.” Nicholas chuckled, imagining the look on his grandsire’s face when he got the grand bill. It almost made up for the role he was about to play.

Stephen’s eyes glittered with greed. “If you need someone to see to your provisions, my brother-in-law is available. Don’t trust that miserable sod Annandale or your meat will have maggots.”

Nicholas raised his glass. “Again, I’m in your debt.” He turned to his men. “Get off your benches, you lazy sods. A purse in the morning to the man who bests all. The worst shall lick our boots.”

The men sang yet another dreadful tune as they staggered through the narrow streets, up the steep hill, and to the barracks. Several were carried between the arms of others. A few of the married men disappeared under thatched roofs in the village.

A vision of Lady Fay, naked, danced in Nicholas’s mind. What would bedding her be like? Would she be fierce or take his commands? Would her breasts with hardened nipples fill the cups of his hands? Would her folds be wet? Would she clamp him tight?

God’s blood.

He needed a dark corner to fist away the ache.

Eaton was right. He was smitten.

Chapter 4

The rising sun over the practice field intensified Nicholas’s already pounding headache. A good wind blew across the ocean, smelling of salt and containing the chill of early fall morn. That was mayhap the only thing keeping last night’s over-indulgence from rising up with a vengeance.

Another of his men’s arrow missed a bale of hay and Nicholas stomped his bare feet over the damp grass. He wouldn’t take this band of jesters to rob a cradle, let alone an island fortress. With his heel, he kicked at the weak stance of Sir Gaspar DeAngelo, who toppled.

After helping the man to stand, Nicholas displayed proper form. He bent front leg at a right angle and dug his toes into the damp earth. Normally, he would’ve shouted out instructions for all to hear, but given the drink’s after-effects, he opted for a quieter voice.

“Stand up and try again. Next time take off your shoes. If you’re going to shoot straight, your base must be strong as a tree’s trunk.”

One by one, he worked with each of the knights assigned to his quest until he was satisfied. At the high hour of no shadows, he moved one of the targets twice the distance, aimed, and missed.

Of course, Eaton witnessed the error and drew near. “You’ll be the one licking boots tonight, if you don’t focus. Have you given any thought as to how we’ll gain entrance?”

“To the woman or the keep?” Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, Nicholas let a second arrow fly and smirked when the point landed in the heart of the straw man.

His friend groaned. “Well done. I have a notion. Tell me. This queen lass? Was she pious?”

“I suppose, why?” At the thought of her, Nicholas’s next arrow went wide of the mark.

Eaton snickered. “Wet your tongue. My boots are muddy.”

“Shut it. I’ve a page counting
your
missed shots and I’m far in the lead. So, tell me. What’s your idea?” He lowered his long bow and relaxed his stance. Sweat dripped down his sides. What they were about to attempt defied all reason.

“Disguise yourself as a priest.” His friend raised his eyebrows, as usual, too damn merry.

Nicholas shoved him aside, picked up his bow, and pulled back with two fingers. “Idiot. I already told you, I met her. She’ll know my face.”

“Were you bearded or shaven at the time?”

“God’s blood. How would I remember?” He closed his eyes and let the arrow fly. Dead center. “Let me think. Clean shaven, no doubt.”

“That could be changed.”

Nicholas scratched at his stubble, and considered the audacity. ’Tis not enough.”

“Eye patch?”

“Dolt.”

“Long cowl that hides your features?

“And how in blazes can I woo the woman with cloak and eye patch?” He strung the last arrow in his quiver, aimed, and shot.

His friend squinted into the sun and matched it. After a moment of blessed silence, he said, “Mayhap you can convince her that you’re another of your father’s many bastards?”

Nicholas grinned and chuckled. “Priest and half-brother? Eye patch and cowl? ’Tis almost believable.”

Eaton grinned wickedly. “We’ll all need tonsured heads. And darken your red locks to black.”

He pictured himself trying to bed her as a priest, and groaned. “How will I woo a wench with a bald head and married to Christ?”

“It will work.”

“’Tis chancy.” He shook his head.

“Do you want the girl or not?”

“What I
want
is to stay alive.” Nicholas eyed his men practicing on the green and wondered how they would all return in one piece.

Eaton guffawed. “Listen. As wandering monks, you and I will enter the keep on gentle . . . donkeys.”

“Like Mary and Joseph?”

“Precisely. In a quest of . . . solitude, looking for caves to . . . pray in.”

“Are you daft?”

“Hmm . . . The Order of the Holy Isles. A group of knights-turned-priests sworn to find the Holy Grail in complete silence until they fulfill their quest and treat the poor.”

“That is absurd.” He chuckled.

Eaton made a huge sign of the cross in the air, and sunk to his knees. “In silence, to atone for their sins.”

Nicholas snorted, not believing he was beginning to consider what Eaton offered. “And what about me? I woo her in complete silence?”

“Nay. You shall be excused. You hate your half-brother and have made it your life-long quest to see that his evil ways are undone.”

“I have no evil ways and my half-brother is nine, the seventh Earl of Annandale.” Nicholas leaned against a tree and watched the arrows of the knights fly off mark. “But, by God, it might work.”