Lady Gallant (18 page)

"This is my cousin, Lord Richard Fitzwalter."

The young man lifted his brows at the sound of his name and bowed to Nora and de Ateca. As he bent, his cloak, which he wore slung over one shoulder, swung out to reveal an ornate silver dagger at his side. It glinted in a beam of sunlight, hurting Nora's eyes, and she gasped.

"Blade," she said.

"God's teeth, you remembered," Christian said. He snatched her basket from her, took both of her hands, and planted a kiss on her cheek. While his face was close to hers, he whispered, "Please, sweeting, quiet."

Only interested in distancing herself from Blade, Nora skittered around to Christian's other side while de Ateca moved between her and the young highwayman. Christian grasped her arm and squeezed. Nora clamped her lips together.

Christian was eyeing de Ateca. "We call my cousin Blade for a good reason," he told the Spaniard. "Come, my friends, and we'll have Blade show us how he earned the name."

Holding Nora's hand, Christian led the group out of the palace to an old oak tree on the grounds. Selecting a golden thread from Nora's basket and a red rosebud from a nearby bush, he secured the bloom to the oak tree. He, Nora, and de Ateca stood to one side, and Blade walked back toward the palace, going so far that Nora thought he was leaving them. Finally he stopped and turned around, dagger in hand.

"Would you make a wager?" Christian asked de Ateca.

De Ateca shrugged. "He'll never hit the rosebud at that distance. I wouldn't shrink from taking advantage of you, my lord, but not in this manner."

"My lady?" Christian asked. "A wager. If Blade hits the rose, I claim a kiss."

Nora had been a victim of Blade's skill. Christian knew this, and she could see that knowledge in his eyes. He watched her, hawklike, awaiting her reply.

"I'll accept the wager," she said in a faint voice. Aghast at her own temerity, Nora could no longer look at Christian.

"Come now, de Ateca," he said. "Are you of a weaker stomach than the lady?"

Nora watched de Ateca's body tense. A message passed between the two men, one she didn't understand. All she knew was that there was an undercurrent of fierce tension in the air. Both men were aware of it, and every word they spoke in superficial jocularity covered a menace that unnerved Nora.

Christian and de Ateca were caught in a battle with their eyes. Nora lifted her hand to touch Christian's arm, but the tension was broken when Blade called out to them. Christian turned from de Ateca and waved at the boy. Blade trotted back to them.

"Fair cousin," Christian said, "the
conde
disbelieves your skill so much that he won't wager."

Blade pulled his soft toque from his head, revealing straight, dark hair that gleamed in the sunlight. Tossing the cap to the ground, Blade drew his dagger and trailed the blade across his open palm, back and forth, while he studied de Ateca. For the first time the Spaniard turned his full attention to the youth, watching the path of the silver blade as it slid over the boy's flesh. Then de Ateca lifted his gaze to Blade's face, and a catlike smile crept across the Spaniard's lips.

"If you hit the rose, fair Blade, I'll give you an evening in the best taverns of the city. I imagine you haven't seen their like if you've spent most of your time in the North country."

"No," Christian said.

De Ateca's gaze never left Blade's face. "I didn't know you English had male duennas."

"I haven't had a nurse since I was four," Blade said. He touched his lips with the tip of his dagger and glanced at Christian. "I'll take the wager, cousin."

"Vexatious young cockerel, I weary of protecting your virtue," Christian said. "Guard yourself if you can."

"I need no help," Blade said, his voice rising.

"Please," Nora said. The men turned to her. "Please, my lords, This is a friendly contest, is it not?"

Christian had been glaring at Blade, but when Nora spoke, his mood lightened. "Carry on, cousin. Mistress Becket will forgive us our lapse if you entertain her. And I have a kiss at stake."

Blade turned to go.

"Wait," Christian said. "To win, you must hit the stem, not the bud."

"Unfair," de Ateca said.

"Fear not, my lord. It's an easy task." Blade smiled lazily at de Ateca.

The Spaniard looked from Christian's taut face to Blade's, and inclined his head in submission. "Perhaps God has blessed you with both skill and beauty, my lord, as He has your cousin."

Blade left them to resume his stance near the palace. Looking at the distance between him and his target, Nora doubted even Blade's ability to hit the stem of the rosebud. She saw the youth's arm draw back and flick forward. There was a whizzing sound just before the dagger buried itself in the bark of the tree.

Nora scurried along after Christian and de Ateca as they rushed to the oak. They beheld the silver dagger, its blade implanted in the stem of the rosebud about an inch below the petals. Christian folded his arms and faced de Ateca. Blade strolled over to join them, seemingly unconcerned by the animosity between his cousin and the Spaniard.

That animosity wore on Nora, though, combining with her agitation over the need to pass on her cipher. When the two older men began their gamecock hissing and spitting again, she excused herself.

As she'd expected, Christian was too busy vivisecting de Ateca with his poetic gifts to heed her disappearance. She slipped away, taking a little-traveled path that would lead to her cipher garden. Once there, she went about her usual occupations, pretending to be absorbed in gathering blooms.

The apple tree near the ancient bench was in bloom, and between the bench and the tree were two wooden bowls. A gar-dener had been gathering figs and strawberries in these containers, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Sitting on the bench, Nora pulled the cipher from her pocket, along with the hollow, cylindrical bead. Rolling the paper to its smallest size, she inserted it in the bead. Laughter floated over the wall that separated the garden from the palace grounds, and Nora cringed. Always it took every scrap of hard-won courage for her to sneak into the garden and leave her message. Any noise made her cower. Even a violent breeze could send her skittering for cover.

Fingers shaking, stomach doing the lavolta dance, she scooped up a fig from one of the bowls and pressed an end of the bead into the skin of the fruit, pushing until the cylinder disappeared inside the fig. She'd chosen one of the less ripe fruits so that the job wasn't too messy.

"I knew you'd be here."

Nora jumped, and the fig dropped like a lead pellet, rolling over and over until it collided with the velvet tip of Christian de Rivers's shoe. Her tongue wetting dry lips, Nora stared at the fig, then lifted her gaze to Christian's ankle—small for so tall a man—and up the swell of his calf muscle and the long line of his thighs. From there her gaze skipped to his face.

He was smiling at her, but his eyes held that burning fury she'd only recently learned wasn't fury at all, but something much more dangerous for her. Merciful Lord, not again. She would go mad if he tortured her with his hands while she suffered the fear of discovery. She held her breath, as he swept up the fallen fig, then released it as he dropped beside her on the bench and held it out to her.

"Not quite ripe," he said, "unlike yourself."

She snatched the fig from him and placed it in the bowl with the others. "I would like to take a walk." She tried to get up, but he put an arm across her chest.

"I wouldn't."

Leaning so close that she could smell the forest scent of the soap he used, Christian blew at the feathery curls near her ear that had escaped her French hood. His gaze caressed her cheek and lips, then paused at her temple. Frowning, he pulled the cap and veil from her head. She snatched them back from him, but was distracted by his voice.

He breathed a word, low and vibrant, and it sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. "Eleanora."

Nora shivered. She tried to face him, but he turned her profile to him with a finger beneath her chin. The finger left as he blew at the curls near her temple again. His tongue darted out and touched her earlobe, fleetingly, leaving the skin there cold. The coldness immediately receded as heat suffused her, and the heat built into a fire as Christian brushed his lips over her ear. The caress was so light, it raised goose bumps all over her body. He hadn't touched her anywhere else, and yet he had her ready to curl her hands in his shirt and rip it off him.

Her body roused to the point where sensation became pain, Nora found herself absorbed in the ruby glittering in Christian's ear. She wanted to touch her lips to the soft skin concealed by that jewel, but she couldn't. She couldn't let him remain in the cipher garden. If she did, she would end up on the ground in front of the bench with him on top of her, and beside them would be the bowl of figs. When Christian began to run the tip of his tongue along her jawline, she blurted out the first thing she could think of.

"Blade."

Christian returned his lips to her ear. "You don't want Blade," he whispered. "He's too young, and the
conde
has staked a claim."

Latching onto this mystery to save herself, Nora pulled away from Christian's devastating mouth and faced her tormentor.

"What machinations are you about? Why is that ruffian at your side, and why are you thrusting him at Luiz de Ateca?"

"I promised to break the little beast to my will, and I have," Christian said. He attempted to slide his hand around her waist, but she batted it away. "Blade isn't your concern."

"He is. He tried to kill me."

"If he had tried, he would have succeeded."

Her cap and veil in one hand, Nora put her fists on her hips. "You're flaunting him in order to attract that Jack Midnight."

"God's blood!"

Sucking in her breath, she backed away from the raw and menacing rage that came over Christian. His head thrown back, he snarled at her.

"Speak not of Jack Midnight. It unbalances the humors of my body and makes me want to kill."

Terror gave Nora wings. Dropping her French hood, she sprang to her feet and was out of the garden before Christian could move. She ran from his fury as if it could take form and pursue her without him. She heard him call to her, heard his footsteps behind her.

Blindly, with no other thought than to escape the rage that had turned a voluptuous seducer into a demon, she hurtled into the palace. She rounded a corner, skirts held high, and stumbled to a halt before Queen Mary. Behind the Queen stood several ladies-in-waiting, and at her side, Bishop Bonner, berobed and adorned with sweat. Nora sank to her knees. As she did so, Christian flew around the same corner. She heard him stop, and glanced to the side to see him drop gracefully to his knees.

The Queen had paused, hands folded in front of her swollen stomach, while her two subjects knelt. She stepped forward now. Stopping in front of Christian, she placed her fingers beneath his chin and lifted his face to inspect it.

"What signifies this unseemly haste, my lord? Nay, we have more weighty matters to discuss. We have been hearing tales of treason, Lord Montfort. Tales of spying and betrayal. You are one of our chiefest jewels, and we have decided to speak to you instead of handing you over to our lord bishop for questioning."

Nora's heart jerked inside her chest as she listened to the Queen. Treason. Dear God in heaven, treason. She knew. The Queen knew about the heretics.

Christian hadn't moved. Arms at his side, he gazed into the half-mad eyes of his Queen. Nora wanted to scream at him to run. Tightening her hands into fists, she watched as Bloody Bonner waddled forward to loom over Christian like a pale and bloated spider.

Where she got the courage to speak, Nora could not have said. She simply licked her lips, and of a sudden, the words tumbled out.

"I beg Your Majesty's leave to speak."

"Nora," the Queen said, turning to her, "we had forgotten you were here, child. Run away. We have business."

"Please, Your Majesty."

Mary scowled at her, but nodded.

"Faith, Your Majesty," Nora said, "I can't understand how Lord Montfort could think of treason when he spends most of his time trying to—to…"

"Out with it, girl."

Nora gritted her teeth and attempted to ignore her own blush. "He—he spends most of his time trying to seduce me, Your Majesty."

Frowning, the Queen cast an inquiring look at Christian.

Bishop Bonner rubbed his double chin with a damp palm. "Debauchery and treason go hand in hand, Your Majesty."

Mary came closer to Nora and peered into the younger woman's eyes, then looked back at Christian's still, tense body.

"God has given Mistress Becket innocence, honesty, and virtue," the Queen said. "When innocence speaks in defense of the accused, we must listen. We will all retire to the state chamber."

Two royal guards flanked Christian and took hold of his arms. Aghast at the role she had cast for herself, Nora could do nothing but follow the Queen and the bishop. She dared not look back at Christian. She was afraid of what she might see in his eyes, afraid she would see that he hated her for taking his life in her hands. For that was what she had done. One misspoken word, only one, and she would send this firebird, this saber-tongued giver of pleasure, to a death of such horror that its equal could not be found in Hell itself.