Ruth Langan (12 page)
Authors: Blackthorne
In honor of the king’s visit, the dining hall had been made even more festive with ornate wall hangings hand-sewn by the women of the village, depicting the history of his royal lineage. There were images of his now-dead father, Charles I, and his mother, Frenchborn Henrietta Maria, and his sisters and brothers.
The women responsible for the wall hangings were brought before the king, who made a great show of studying their handiwork before commending them for it.
These were simple peasant women, who had never journeyed beyond their own village. Only one or two had ever visited the surrounding towns or villages. When King Charles complimented them, they blushed and stammered. Several fell into fits of weeping and had to be helped from the room.
Afterward, the king was escorted to a table set on a raised dais so that it could be viewed with ease by all those seated in the dining hall. The king’s chair was ornately carved of mahogany, with the arms and seat cushions upholstered in royal purple velvet. At the king’s insistence, Quenton was seated on his right, and Bennett on his left.
Spotting Olivia and Liat in the crowd, Charles pointed a finger. “Bring the lad and his nursemaid to join us.”
Olivia struggled to hide her shock as she and Liat were escorted to the king’s own table.
Quenton got to his feet and held the chair beside his. Olivia had no choice but to accept. She watched in stunned silence as the crowd began taking their places at the various tables set around the room. The elder of the village sat, along with the lord mayor, at the table nearest the king. The others chose their places in the order of their importance. When all were seated, the servants began filling goblets with ale, and a series of toasts were offered to the king, his family, the success of his reign and his health and long life. With each toast there was a long, and often tiresome speech. Through it all the royal guest kept a cheerful smile upon his lips, and a merry twinkle in his eyes.
During one particularly long toast by the village’s lord mayor, Charles leaned across Quenton to smile at Liat and his nursemaid.
“Are you enjoying yourself, lad?” he asked.
“Aye, Majesty.” Liat lifted the back of his hand to his mouth to wipe away his milky mustache. “But when are they bringing the food?”
Charles winked. “A good question, lad. My journey has left me famished.” He smiled at Olivia. “And how about you, Miss St. John? Are you hungry?”
She touched a hand to her stomach. “I can’t really tell, Majesty. There are still too many butterflies.”
At that he threw back his head and roared. “Another butterfly lover. Quenton.” He nudged his host. “She is absolutely delightful. I must get to know her better.”
“Aye, Majesty.” Knowing how the King loved charming women, all women, Quenion’s lighthearted mood vanished. He glowered at the lord mayor, hoping to hurry him along. But the old man, proud of his skilled oratory, and determined to use this rare chance to display it to advantage before the king, droned on.
Quenton’s agitation only seemed to heighten, while the king’s mood grew more jovial.
Once more he leaned over his host to remark, “Tell me a bit about yourself, Miss St. John. How long have you been a governess?”
“Hardly any time at all, Majesty. I fear I am learning more from Liat than I am able to teach him in return.”
“Such humility.” He turned to his host and, seeing the scowl on his face, couldn’t resist adding, “I have always been absolutely enchanted by the combination of beauty and humility. Haven’t I, Lord Stamford?”
“Aye, Majesty.” Quenton’s words were clipped.
“Something you wish to say, Lord Stamford? You have my permission to speak.”
“Nay, Majesty.” Quenton had clamped his teeth together so tightly he could barely get the words out.
Charles sat back and smiled encouragement at the pompous man who was putting half the room to sleep.
At last, when all were content that their monarch had been suitably impressed, the speeches ended. Mistress Thornton led Cook, who in turn led a procession of assistants, each holding a platter laden with their specialty, toward the head table. Each in turn bowed and presented an offering to the king. Charles nodded, smiled and praised them profusely, before accepting a portion of each food. The others around the table were served as well. But no one dared to begin eating until the king took the first bite.
He leaned over Quenton. “What do you recommend, Miss St. John?”
Olivia studied all the delicacies on her plate. “Cook’s beef is superb, Majesty. She cooks it until it falls off the bone. And the salmon, I would think. Caught fresh this morning by the men of the village.”
“Two of my favorites.” He nudged a sharp elbow to Quenton’s ribs and was rewarded with another frown. “The lass and I are of a like mind.”
He turned to Bennett and took note of the little serving wench seated slightly behind him, helping to serve his plate. “What’s this? Is there someone here at Blackthorne who has not yet been presented to me?”
Minerva’s face turned several shades of red while Bennett dropped his fork with a clatter.
“Majesty.” Quenton hurriedly handled the introduction. “This is Minerva, a village lass who sees to my brother’s needs.”
“Sees to his needs?” There was a long pause. “How generous.” The king glanced from the girl to Bennett and back again. “I’ve always thought red hair was a sign of a very warm heart.”
The poor servant’s face grew even redder.
“Aye, Majesty.” Quenton was determined to spare her further humiliation. “Minerva has a very warm and generous heart.”
“Then you are indeed fortunate, Bennett.” He cast a sideways glance at Quenton. “Perhaps I will have to insist on my right to share the good fortune of my loyal subjects.”
Quenton grew silent. Olivia noted that he barely tasted his food. And such food. The meat and fish course was followed by roasted fowl, followed by bowls of summer vegetables and a clear broth. Servants passed among the tables with enormous platters of bread and rolls, while other servants continued filling goblets with mead or ale. By the time the servants offered fruit tarts and brandy-soaked currant cakes, most of the revelers had no appetite left.
Little Liat struggled bravely to stay still. He knew it was most important that he sit quietly and behave like those around him. But the excitement pulsing through his little body had him twitching with nervous energy. When the juice from the meat trickled down his new shirtfront, he mopped at it with his hand, spreading the stain around until it looked as though he were bleeding.
At the moment Olivia was engaged in a lively conversation with the king. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to try to compare Oxford with London, Majesty. You see, I spent little time in London. But I...”
“Then we must rectify that situation, Miss St. John. Perhaps when I return to London, I shall order you to accompany me. That way you will have a basis for comparison.”
Beside her, she felt Quenton stiffen. He shot a dark glance at the king, then his head turned in her direction and their faces were almost touching. She felt the hot sting of his breath on her cheek and started to smile at him. Catching sight of his deepening frown, she was puzzled. Though she didn’t understand why, she could sense a tension simmering just below the surface. Apparently, she mused, she was not the only one to be suffering a case of nerves over their royal houseguest.
“I’m not overly fond of London, Majes...”
She paused at Quenton’s little hiss of disgust. Following the direction of his gaze, she realized what he was looking at.
“Oh dear. Forgive me, Majesty. I’ve been neglecting my duties.”
Liat had spilled his milk, and it was now dripping all over his lap.
She leaped to her feet and began to mop at the spill, which only made it worse. Soon it ran in sodden rivers across the table, threatening to overflow even onto the king’s lap.
Annoyed, Quenton signaled for a servant, who hurried over with an armload of linen to clean up the mess.
“Please forgive me, Majesty. He’s just a little boy and...”
Seeing her distress, the king reached in front of Quenton and laid a hand over hers. “There is no harm done, Miss St. John. It has been a long evening for the lad. Perhaps you should take him up to his room.”
“But it wouldn’t be right to leave before you, Majesty.”
“Forget protocol, Miss St. John.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Then I shall make it simple. I order you, Miss St. John, to take the lad and leave us now.”
“Aye, Majesty.” She shot him a grateful smile before lifting the soiled little boy from his place at the table.
He wrapped his chubby arms around her neck and bestowed a cherubic smile on the others.
“Good night, Liat,” the King called.
“G’night, Majesty. I’m sorry about the milk.”
“It’s fine, lad. No harm was done.” Charles was laughing as he added, “Good night, Miss St. John.”
She turned, managed a half curtsy and walked from the dining hall.
The king watched until she was out of sight, aware that the man beside him was also watching.
“They make a beautiful picture, don’t they, Lord Stamford? Like a Madonna and Child that once hung in our royal chapel.” He turned, and seeing the deepening scowl on Quenton’s face, burst into a rumble of laughter. “Oh, I am so delighted to be here at Blackthorne. I do believe it is going to be a most... entertaining visit.”
Chapter Eleven
“I
didn’t mean to spill my milk, ma’am.” Liat danced up the stairs beside her, still twitching with an excess of nerves.
didn’t mean to spill my milk, ma’am.” Liat danced up the stairs beside her, still twitching with an excess of nerves.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I ate with the king of England, didn’t I?”
She smiled. “Indeed you did.”
“Was he ever a little boy?”
“He most certainly was.” Though she couldn’t possibly imagine such a thing.
“Do you think he spilled his milk?”
“It is quite possible.” She opened the door to their chambers and followed him inside.
He raced to the window and climbed up on his trunk to stare at the gathering darkness below. The glow from candles flickered here and there as villagers, far from their homes, made ready to sleep in carts and wagons before beginning the long trek back. “Yesterday, while you had tea with the servants in the refectory, Thor and I explored the cowshed.”
“It’s fun to explore, isn’t it?”
“Aye, ma’am.” He turned to watch as she laid out his nightshirt. “I’ve been exploring the rooms of Blackthorne. Did you know that Lord Stamford has a big room just filled with dusty books?”
She nodded and beckoned him over. While she helped him out of his wet shirt she said, “That would be the library. It’s a very important room. It’s where he spends most of his time, going over his ledgers.”
“What are ledgers?” He was racing across the room again, leaping onto the trunk, staring out the window.
“Books in which he keeps the accounts of all his holdings.” She turned away and poured water into a basin, then rummaged through a stack of linens, selecting a soft one for the lad’s soft skin. “Now, Liat, let’s get you washed and make you ready for bed.”
“What holdings?”
While she washed and dried his face and arms and milk-stained chest she explained, “There are farms, homes, entire villages and shires that are part of the Stamford family estate. He must see that a fair portion of everything grown or raised is given in payment for use of the land.”
“He must be very rich.” Too excited to settle down, he climbed into the bed and began jumping up and down.
She shrugged. “I suppose. But there is an obligation on his part as well. Lord Stamford is responsible for the safety and well-being of everyone on his lands. If their crops fail, he must see that they and their stock are fed. When he hunts, he must see that a portion of the kill is given to the people. And when they are ill, they look to him for care.”
The boy’s eyes rounded. He climbed off the bed and began twirling. “Is he like a king?”
“I suppose he is.” She picked up his nightshirt, turned and found him gone. “Liat?”
She glanced around the empty room, then made her way to the sitting chamber. It, too, was empty. Puzzled, she made her way to her own suite of rooms, thinking perhaps the boy had gone in there for something. But he was nowhere to be found.
The door leading to the hallway was standing open. She hurried out. “Liat, if you’re hiding, this isn’t amusing.”
The hallway was empty. She raced to the top of the stairs and could just see him disappearing below. Still clutching his little nightshirt, she raced down the stairs and saw him dart into the library. She gritted her teeth as she followed.
And to think that when she’d first arrived she had actually despaired of ever getting this boy to leave his room.
Inside she found him with his arms around Thor’s neck. The dog’s whole body wiggled with joy at having company after his long exile.
“Thor and I are friends,” Liat said with a laugh.
“It’s good to have a friend.” She scratched the dog’s ears, then held up the nightshirt. “Now, young man, it’s time to put this on and say good-night to your friend.”
She pulled it over his head and slipped his arms through, then looked up at the sound of someone approaching. “Oh, sweet heaven. We shouldn’t be here.”
“Come with me, ma’am.” Liat caught her hand and dragged her toward a wardrobe. “We’ll just hide in here until they leave.”
Before she could argue he had the door open. She bad no time to think or to reason over the foolishness of her actions. And though she had never done anything like that before in her life, she found herself crouching down and gathering him onto her lap, then pulling the door closed.
Village minstrels had been invited to play for the king. During their overlong performance, Charles smiled and applauded politely. When at last he waved a hand, signaling an end to his interest in them, Quenton gave a sigh of relief. Now perhaps this interminable evening would come to an end.
“Would you like to retire to your chambers, Majesty?”
Charles grinned. “You would like that, wouldn’t you, Lord Stamford?”
Aware that the servants could overhear, Quenton kept his tone low. “I desire only your comfort, Majesty .”
“I’m gratified to hear that. Bring your brother along.” Charles stood, and at once everyone in the dining hall shuffled to their feet.
Inclining his head slightly, the king graced the throng with the benediction of his smile, then turned and made his way to the door.
As he passed each row of guests, the men bowed, the ladies curtsied. Trailing behind, Quenton pushed Bennett’s wheeled chair, and signaled for Pembroke to follow, all the while wondering what mischief his guest was up to now.
When they were alone in the hallway, Charles started forward at a quickened pace. “As I recall, your grandfather’s library is this way.”
“The library?”
“Aye. All day I have been looking forward to a private room, a comfortable chaise and a glass of ale without a score of eyes watching me.”
When they reached the room they were seeking, Quenton pushed his brother’s chair forward, leading the way inside. Thor, pacing beside the wardrobe, bounded over, slathering a welcome on his master. At the king’s coaxing, he allowed himself to be petted.
Charles glanced around. “Have you something to drink?”
At a signal from Quenton, Pembroke scurried away and returned carrying a tray on which rested a brimming decanter and several crystal goblets. He poured, then discreetly disappeared, to stand guard outside.
Once the three were alone, all pretense of formality fell away.
“Well, old friend, this is what I’ve been thinking about all day.” The king clapped Quenton on the back. Laughing delightedly, he turned to Bennett and embraced him. Then he tossed his brocaded jacket aside and rolled the billowing sleeves of his shirt. Quenton did the same and handed around the filled goblets.
Charles took several long swallows of ale and gave an exaggerated sigh. “You have no idea how relieved I am to finally be here at Blackthorne. During this damnable journey we could hardly move, what with the throngs of people slowing the carriage to a crawl.”
“The people love you, Majesty.” Quenton perched on the edge of the desk.
“Aye. So you are fond of saying. I hope ’tis true. But sometimes I think back to our lives when we were boys. It all seemed so much simpler then.”
“Indeed it was.” Quenton laughed. “As I recall, our biggest worry was how to outsmart those who were charged with our care. Now we have grown up. We’re the ones charged with the care of others. We’re the ones with the grown-up problems to deal with.”
Charles lounged in a chaise and unfastened the buttons at his throat “Aye. Man-sized problems. Or in my case, king-sized problems. Do you have any idea how vexing it is to have to put up with all this pomp and pageantry every minute of my life?”
Quenton shot a glance at his brother, and the two grinned.
Charles frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“You forget that we’ve known you for a lifetime. You may complain about it now, but when you were a boy, you once said you’d kill anyone who tried to keep you from your rightful place on the throne.”
“A figure of speech. Besides, I am the rightful heir. And the throne is rightfully mine, even if I did have to wait a lifetime to ascend.”
“Exactly. Now, would you like us to feel sorry for you because you must bear a little pomp and pageantry?”
Charles started to chuckle, that deep, rich laugh for which he was famous. “If you were true friends you would have permitted me to wallow in self-pity for at least a little while longer.”
“If you want to shed some tears, shed them for the poor villagers, who will probably go without warm cloaks this winter in order to fill that cask with gold.”
“You said yourself they love me. And I love my people.”
“Aye.” Quenton couldn’t help laughing. “And the fact that they present you with gold makes it a little easier to love them.”
“I think, Bennett, your brother has become jaded.”
Bennett drained his glass and grinned from ear to ear as his brother lifted the decanter to refill it.
“I’ll have some of that.” Charles held out his goblet. He tasted, smiled. “Blackthorne still has some of the finest ales, my friends. Do you recall the time we hid ourselves in that wardrobe?” He pointed a finger at the closet along the far wall where Thor was once more pacing and whining.
“Aye.” Quenton settled himself in a chaise across from the king. “We waited until Grandfather went below stairs, then we helped ourselves to his whiskey.”
“It was either very strong whiskey, or we had very weak constitutions. I had to help the two of you to your beds.” Charles belched into his handkerchief.
“Your memory is a bit faulty.” Quenton shot him a knowing smile. “Perhaps a sign of your doddering age. It was I who helped you to bed.”
“Well, perhaps,” he conceded. “But only after I’d carried poor old Bennett down a flight of stairs and held his head while he christened Cook’s garden.”
At the memory, Bennett grinned foolishly.
“Do you remember what we called each other?” Charles emptied his glass and reached for the decanter. “I was Chills.”
“Because you were always cold.” Quenton said with a trace of sarcasm.
“Nay. Because I had already perfected a cool look that would wither grown men. Don’t deny it. You know that for a fact.”
“Perhaps. I still say it was because you were always cold.” Quenton glanced at his brother. “Bennett, you were Baby, though you hated the name. That’s probably why you became such a fighter in your youth. I’ve never known a tougher lad.”
Bennett seemed inordinately pleased at that description.
The King turned to Quenton. “And in all our games you were always Q, a spy for the crown.” The two shared a conspiratorial laugh before the king said to Bennett, “Did you know your brother had a chance to live out his fantasy?”
At Bennett’s arched brow Charles said, “When Q went to sea, he went with my blessing. And he performed a great service for his country. He made a name for himself as a fearless privateer, waging war on foreign vessels, keeping the waters safe for English ships. But what the rest of England didn’t know is that he was also sending coded messages to me so that our warships always knew where the enemy was sailing.”
At Bennett’s stunned look he gave a delighted laugh. “You didn’t know? Why, Q, you sly fox. You never even confided in your own brother?”
Quenton stared down into his glass. “Old habits die hard. I became so accustomed to working alone, in secret, I forgot how to share things with anyone. Even my brother.”
“Then it’s a good thing I came to visit. We’re going to share everything, just as we did when we were lads. Hunting, riding, wenching, games of chance. I want to do it all before I leave Blackthorne. And when we’re alone, I don’t want to be called Your Majesty. I want to be called Chills. And you shall once more be Baby and Q.”
The three men grinned at one another, feeling as warm, as comfortable with one another as though they’d never been apart. And for a little while, as the ale flowed freely and they talked of boyhood escapades, they were no longer a king and his subjects, but boyhood friends who had shared a common history.
Olivia was stunned at what she had overheard. It shamed her to be eavesdropping on such an intimate conversation. But she could see no way out of it. To reveal herself would be to incur the wrath of the king. She would be immediately dismissed as governess, and she would be sent back to London in disgrace.
Liat’s nervous energy had faded, leaving him exhausted. He had fallen asleep in her arms. In the cramped, stuffy confines of the wardrobe, she was forced to sit with her knees bent, her back stiff. She had long ago lost all feeling in her arms.
Worst of all, each time she started to relax and convince herself that they would go undetected, Thor would begin sniffing around the wardrobe, scratching and whining, until his master would summon him to his side.
Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She had begun to believe she would rather be caught than have to stay here another minute, heart pounding, palms sweating, while in the room beyond this closet, three old friends caught up on the years that had separated them.
Other books
The Times Are Never So Bad by Andre Dubus
A-Rod: The Many Lives of Alex Rodriguez by Selena Roberts
Forbidden by Kimberley Griffiths Little
Pure Lust: The Complete Series Box Set by Parker, M. S., Wild, Cassie
Moribund Tales by Erik Hofstatter
New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance by Carella, C.J.
Hellworld (Deathstalker Prelude) by Green, Simon R.
Redemption by Lillian Duncan
The Vampiric Housewife by Kristen Marquette
A Heart to Rescue by Sinclair, Ivy
