Love's Labyrinth (24 page)

With a brief bow, and a sardonic gesture of blessing, the Spaniard disappeared into the church. Nicholas and Olivia waited until the sound of his booted feet had faded out of hearing. There was another long pause, and then Nicholas held out his hand. “Will you come, wife?”

She raised her eyes to his as she rose to her feet. His expression was unreadable. By unspoken agreement, they exchanged no words until they were safely inside their locked room at the inn. He drew her close the minute he slid the bolt home, and he buried his lips in her hair. “By our blessed Lady and all the saints.”

She drew back and smiled up at him, feeling as giddy as if she’d drunk a bottle of champagne. “I did well, I think.”

“Well?” He shook his head, amazement plain on his face. “In truth, not one of the players in Lord Leicester’s Men is likely to ever give so great a show. How—how is it possible you could know so much?”

“It was luck, Nicholas, believe me. The one way my father and I were absolutely alike is that when something takes our interest, it consumes it utterly, wholly, and completely. I remember the first time I heard the name. Mary, Queen of Scots—it had such a wild, romantic ring. I thought you could smell the moors and the heather in it. I was fourteen.” She shook her head a little, remembering. “My father noticed me for the first time. I think it was then he decided having a built-in assistant might not be such a bad thing after all. And he helped me, even. Showed me how to do real historical research—let me use his name and his connections to delve into things even most graduate students never have access to. It was an incredible experience. It brought us closer than we’d ever been before.”

“You must miss him.”

The statement startled her, and suddenly, she felt not so much giddy as drained. “I do, you know.” She gave him a sad little smile. “I don’t like to think how much.” She backed away and settled down in one of the two straight-backed chairs. This time there had been no question of a second room. She stared into the empty tile hearth. “But he could be so difficult, so exacting. If you didn’t find just what he wanted—if you left one stone unturned, or one page unread, somehow he always knew it. And the closer he got to the solution of his mystery, the more obsessive he became. Do you know he had me check every register in England for every Talcott?”

“Were there that many?”

“Talcotts? No. But there’re plenty of church registers, believe me.” She shook her head. “But it sure came in handy today, hmm?”

“Handy.” He repeated the word and smiled. “Very handy, indeed.” He walked over to her chair and extended his hand. “Would you allow this humble gentleman to express his gratitude for such great learning on the part of so lovely a woman?”

She giggled. “Feel free.”

He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. ‘Then come. I’m sure the landlord’s pretty daughter will be more than happy to bring us the very best of her father’s kitchen, along with the very best of his cellar.”

“And then?”

“I promise to bring you the very best of pleasures.” With another giggle, and the briefest of kisses, she allowed him to lead her out of the room.

The late afternoon sun had disappeared behind the hedges, leaving the paths of the maze bathed in shadow. Alison wiped her sleeve across her forehead. She was hot and sticky, and her shift clung to her back. She straightened with a sigh.

Geoffrey made a few more notes on the parchment and glanced up. “I suppose that’s as much as we can do for today.”

“Do you think any of it will help?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “I wish I could say for a certainty that it will. I wish I knew what triggered the mechanism of the maze to work. It never worked for me.”

Alison picked up the compass. The needle swung crazily for a moment, and then settled. “It sure worked for us.” She stared moodily at the compass face. The slim needle shivered like a living thing.

“We’ll make it work again, I promise.”

She nodded slowly. “I just wish Olivia would come back.” The air was hot and still within the confines of the maze, but Alison felt cold all over. She shook herself, trying to shake away the feeling.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess maybe I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and the more I think about it, the more I just wish they’d come back.”

He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know.” She sighed. “You know, one of my grandmothers was supposed to have something they called ‘the sight.’ Know what I mean?”

Geoffrey nodded slowly. “It’s a dangerous thing to admit, mistress.”

Alison shrugged. “In my time they just think you’re crazy.”

“And do you have this—this sight?”

“I don’t think so. But sometimes, I do get these feelings about people. And right now—I just have a really bad feeling about Olivia.” She raised her head and met his eyes. In the golden brown depths, she read his shared concern.

“Let’s go give these to Dr. Dee. It’s nearly time for supper.”

“Okay.”

What else was there to say, thought Alison, as she helped Geoffrey gather the equipment in silence. What else was there to do?

What else was there to do, thought Sir John, as he peered around the corner of the inn. He’d seen nothing of the monk all morning. Warren must have been wrong. A pox on this whole business. He should have followed his conscience and refused to involve himself with such underhanded doings. Let the Lord punish Talcott for his transgressions—he should’ve left it none of his concern. But the thought of the Talcott acres intruded, tantalizing as that tempting wench of Talcott’s. Unbidden, the shape of her legs in the tight-fitting hose replaced all thoughts of land. Faugh, he thought in disgust. What was he coming to?

A day’s meditation on the sins of Jezebel would soon cure such lusty intrusions. And a day’s meditation he would have, he thought, as soon as he was safely back on English soil, back in the bosom of his family where he, like all God-fearing men, belonged. He should’ve told Warren to find another to play his sneaking games. He couldn’t wait to wash off the stink of this whole trip.

A sudden movement from the stables made him draw back into the shadows once more. Young Jack, Talcott’s servant, crossed the yard and entered the inn, whistling.

He soon returned, carrying the small trunk and leather pack. So Talcott was on his way home. He was about to saunter down to the docks, when a richly clad figure on horseback clattering slowly up the crowded street drew his attention. The rider was dressed more gorgeously than any nobleman he’d seen outside of Elizabeth’s court. With a shock, as the rider drew closer, Sir John recognized the monk. Instinctively, he drew back as the man approached, straining his ears as he disappeared out of view. The man reined the horse to a stop just outside the inn and tossed the reins to Jack, who caught them with a startled sound.

“Is your master about, boy?”

There was a mumbled assent.

Sir John peeked around the wall. The bulk of the horse blocked his view of all but the man’s gartered legs as he strode into the inn. He peered into the leaded window. The smoky glass revealed only the man’s gorgeous costume. He swept his hat off his head and shifted his cloak.

Across his chest, Sir John saw a flat leather pack strapped into place. That’s it, he thought.

The Spaniard spoke to the landlord, who heaved his bulk up the steps. Behind Sir John, a church clock chimed the hour. The Spaniard looked up the steps, as if called, and followed.

Sir John waited. No more than five minutes passed, and the Spaniard was once more out the door and into his saddle. He looked neither right nor left, nor offered any word of thanks to the boy. Sir John drew back once more. He’d wait another few minutes before taking off for the docks. He’d have to persuade his captain by force of arms if necessary, though bribery would probably work, to set sail for Dover immediately. There was no longer any doubt that Warren’s word was true. His heart began to pound as his brain began to calculate the value of the Talcott estate.

From the window of the bedroom above, Olivia watched Figueroa disappear down the street. She breathed a deep sigh. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Nearly over.” Nicholas met her eyes. “I’ve but to hand these plans to Warren.”

“It’s certainly been an adventure, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” He walked over to stand beside her. “Olivia, I—I’m not sure how to thank you. Without you, I—”

“Hush,” she said. She placed one finger against his lips. “You’ll take the plans on to London?”

“Yes. We’ll have one more night in Dover, and then Jack will see you back to Talcott Forest. If you set off at first light, you should be there long before dark tomorrow.”

“And when will you come?”

“As quickly as I can. I’d hope to have an audience with the Queen, but…”

“But?”

“But I’d rather come home. After all, I—I’d—” He broke off and shifted on his feet.

“Yes?” she prompted gently.

“I’d like to spend the time with you.”

She smiled. “Oh, Nicholas.”

He opened his arms and pulled her close. “Olivia, I wish I could tell you how I feel, but in truth, I scarcely know. These past days—”

“And nights?” she teased.

“Aye, wench, and nights.” He nuzzled her hair as he tightened his arms around her. Abruptly he pulled back to look into her eyes. “I know I shall be sorry to see you leave.”

She drew a quick breath. Nothing she’d experienced before had prepared her for these feelings, a blend of discovery and certainty and—and rightness. She averted her face, blinking away tears, as unexpected emotions overwhelmed her. The thought of leaving seemed suddenly impossible.
What on earth can you be thinking,
the rational side of her mind screamed.
You’ve known this man less than a week—and he’s not even from your own century.

“Olivia?” he was saying, lifting her chin with the tip of his forefinger. “What’s wrong?”

She brushed away his hand and turned to the window. How could she begin to answer that? Everything’s wrong, she wanted to say. Everything. I’m falling in love with a man who died centuries before I was born, in a place that disappeared long before anything I’ve ever known.

“Please,” he said. “I can see that you weep. What is it?”

She wiped the tears away with her fingers. “I’m just—just being silly. Being here, in this time, and seeing all of this—I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I belong somehow, in some way I can’t begin to describe, let alone understand. And then—” she broke off, flustered, not knowing how to continue.

“And then?” he asked.

Her throat thickened. She shook her head.

“Is that all?” he asked softly. “Is it only the places we’ve seen? The time?” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“What about you?” she replied.

“Me?”

She turned around and faced him, shoulders squared, chin high. “Does any of this matter to you?”

He stared down at her, his blue eyes dark with some expression she could not read. He glanced away, and then met her eyes once more. “My lady, in the last few days. I have come to…” He hesitated, clearly searching for the word. “To appreciate you in a way I have never imagined appreciating any woman. You are so different, and yet so—so enchanting. I find you quite…” he paused once again and then continued. “Extraordinary, and I will miss you sorely when you are gone.”