Suzanne Robinson (26 page)

“You, sirrah, may trust murdering highwaymen, but I do not.” She planted her fists on her hips “I have no time to assuage your bruised pride, or have you forgotten that every moment sends Leslie farther and farther away.”

She almost smiled when he cursed and stalked to his waiting stallion. Now she must fix her determination on preventing him from leaving her behind when he chased after Leslie. No doubt he would object to her accompanying him, but after all, Leslie was dangerous, and she wasn’t going to let him go alone He’d killed four men just now, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t need her later.

Blade stalked up and down in front of the fireplace in Uncle Thomas’s study at the old lodge. He stopped as he passed Oriel, who was sitting in a chair, rolling her shoulders and wincing.

“You’re not coming,” he said.

“I am”

Muttering, he busied himself retying the strap to his scabbard. “I just killed four men. Don’t you understand that? I’ll not expose you to greater peril. It’s well after noon, and I’ll be riding at night. I’m losing light by arguing with you, and if I’m wrong and he’s not gone to London, my losing him will be your fault.”

“He’s gone to London. Leslie always goes to London,
and you said he would most likely take the confession to the French ambassador.”

He lost patience. Bending over her, he grasped her by the shoulders and growled at her. “God’s blood, woman. You’re not coming. You’re going back to Richmond Hall where you’ll be safe.”

“I will not, and if you try to leave me behind, remember that I know all the byways and short paths. I’ll catch up.”

She glared at him, and her chin went up. Even as he felt his anger grow, he couldn’t help admiring her courage. He released her and walked to the windows to look out at the forest in the distance. She knew little of the world beyond her books and Richmond Hall, but she was prepared to risk her life in a misguided attempt to protect him. He couldn’t let her. He had never known such fear as when he’d seen her break from her captor and hurtle down that steep hillside. His fear had bestowed upon him the swiftness of a merlin, and he’d dispatched Samuel with his own blade.

After skewering the second man, he’d raced after Oriel. He’d had to kill the third man to get to the man called Johnny in time to stop him from ramming his fist into Oriel’s face, a blow that could have killed her. When he thought of her death, his body went cold. No matter the cost, he would prevent her from casting herself into further danger. It was time for the truth.

He would tell her the truth, and she would hate him, but she would be safe.

He put his forehead to a cold pane and raised his voice.
“Chère
, I’ve a thing to tell you.”

“Make haste, for we must go to the Hall for fresh horses for our journey.”

The bitterness of his laughter was apparent even to himself. “You’re not going,
chère
, and to assure myself that you won’t, I’m going to tell you the truth.” He turned, but kept well away from her, for she was looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes the color of
new spring leaves. “Do you remember the proverb that says the bread of deceit is sweet to a man, but afterward his mouth is filled with gravel?”

“Say you that you’ve deceived me?”

He nodded and summoned all his skill at pretense to disguise his pain. He drew his gloves from his belt, slapped them against his palm, and allowed a mocking smile to grace his lips.

“Forgive me,
chère
, but I came to Richmond Hall this second time for a secret purpose. You see, you were right to suspect me when you found me drugging your cousin. I came in the service of the queen, to search out your uncle’s secret knowledge about Her Majesty’s legitimacy.”

“You came in the service of the queen.” She said it as if learning a lesson from a tutor and then stared at him

“I was best suited for the task, as I could justify my presence by courting you. I beg pardon,
chère
, but it is my calling, you might say.”

She rose, then sat down again and twisted her hands in her lap. “Mean you that you never . . You’re an intelligencer, a spy. You pretended to—to woo me so that you might find Uncle’s journal and expose Leslie.”

When she lapsed into silence, he found that he couldn’t go on. Perchance what he’d said would be enough. She sat in that chair looking small and broken, and he closed his eyes to stop himself from going to her.

“I don’t believe you.”

She rose and came toward him. She looked up into his eyes.

“The way you touched me, the words you spoke to me. That can’t be a lie.”

“Marry, a man says many things to the woman he wants. Your innocence has deceived you.” He held up a hand when she would have spoken. “Don’t,
chère
. You don’t know me.”

Her lips trembled and she clasped her hands in front of her body. “You must say it You must say you don’t
love me. That all your words and the proof of your body, all these were lies. Perhaps then I might believe you.”

“Sacré Dieu
,” Blade said, raking a hand through his hair. “Very well. Even if I loved you I wouldn’t marry you, for I will never marry at all. You see,
chère
, my past lives within me, and with it a rage so boundless that it would destroy the woman I love. My father is a monster, and I am his son. His blood taints mine. It flows through my body, and with it flows a ravening desire to destroy, to hurt, to kill. My only salvation is to avoid being with my father, and never, never to take a wife. I’ve done many a deceitful and foul thing, but that I will not do.”

“Even if you loved me.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Do you know how many young and foolish girls have yielded to me? Please, I do not wish to shame you with the telling of it.”

At last she released him from that wide-eyed stare. Turning her back on him, she said, “It is good of you to spare me. I release you from your vows. No doubt you’re well versed in wriggling free of such encumbrances. I do not wish to see you again in this life, Sieur de Racine.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. Walking to the door, he spoke without looking at her.

“We will return to the Hall at once.”

“Get out, my lord. I know well enough where I belong, and it isn’t with you.”

“Very well. I will send an escort for your safety.”

In all his life he’d never done a more difficult thing than walk out of the lodge and get on his horse. Forcing his thoughts away from Oriel, he rode back to the Hall and stormed into his chamber, shouting for René.

“Send grooms to the hunting lodge to escort Mistress Oriel home,” he said as he grabbed a saddlebag
from a chest. “Leslie Richmond is the traitor, and he’s fled.”

“Then I may come with you since he’s quit the Hall?” René asked.

Blade paused as he stuffed clothing into the saddlebag. “After what has passed between us, I doubt she’d have you about her. We’ll leave two men here with her anyway. After you’ve spoken to the grooms, tell the men and get me a fresh horse.”

George burst into the chamber while he was fastening the saddlebag.

“Where have you been, Fitzstephen, and where is my cousin?”

“Oriel will be home soon. She’s been riding.”

“And where are you going?”

Blade threw the saddlebag over his shoulder and a cloak over his arm. “To London. There’s no time for chatter, Richmond. Oriel will explain.”

Outside, Blade found René and his men waiting. His roan had been unsaddled and René was leading him. Blade jumped onto a long-legged gelding and set off with René close behind. He took the road to London, raking the snow-soaked ground for traces of Leslie.

He’d been riding south for less than half an hour when a rider came toward him around a bend in the road. They both slowed to a trot and stopped several yards apart. René and the others stopped behind him. Blade inspected the stranger, noting the golden hair, heavy, mink-lined cloak, and Thoroughbred mount. It was the eyes that led him to guess the identity of the rider, for they were the color of gentians touched with frost.

“Derry.”

The golden head inclined. “Blade.”

“I’ve no time to ask why you’re still about. Have you seen Leslie Richmond?”

“Who?”

“That foul-tempered viper who tried to kick your
face in. He murdered Thomas Richmond and tried to kill Oriel and me.”

“So, it’s Leslie Richmond. Yes, I saw him galloping south not two hours ago.”

Blade nudged his mount closer to Derry and grasped his arm. “We’re well met, my friend. Since you so desire to guard someone, go you to Richmond Hall on some pretext. Guard Oriel for me. She won’t accept protection from me, but she knows about her cousin, and about me, and insists upon meddling in this business. Keep her safe.”

Releasing Derry, he kicked his horse. Derry reined in his own mount as Blade and his men galloped past.

“Wait!”

“No time,” Blade called as he raced down the road. “Take care of Oriel Richmond.”

Derry shouted after him, “It will be my delight.”

Blade rode across England as if the hound of hell nipped at his heels. He left one man behind due to a fall from his horse, and lost another to the chill from night air. By the time he rode into London, he could barely keep himself in the saddle. He went straight to the tavern on the south bank of the river called the Bald Pelican.

Leaving René and his men to tend to the horses and themselves at a stable nearby, he went into the tavern, which was known to every cutpurse and bawd in London. Close and dark, brimming with vagabonds and harlots, the Bald Pelican was owned by Marvelous Mag, and at one time Christian de Rivers had owned Mag. Blade shoved his way through gamblers and foolish young sots on his way to the stairs at the back of the tavern. He might just make it to his usual room before weariness caused him to drop to the ale-slick floor.

As he mounted the stairs, Marvelous Mag herself came out on the landing, her blond hair tousled, her bare breasts swaying. Blinking up at her, Blade smiled and brushed the hood of his cloak from his head. Mag’s
painted face lit with amusement. She put her hands on her hips and leered at him, which brought out the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

“Come home at last to Mag, lovely?”

Blade dragged himself up to the top step and kissed Mag’s hand.

“Ooooo,” she said, “aren’t we gallant this night. Come, lovely, I’ll reward you for your gallantry.”

Blade shook his head, but Mag grabbed his hand. She dragged him down the landing, turned a corner, and thrust him into a chamber. He was flat on a bed before he could open his mouth. Mag’s lips fastened on his mouth. He pushed her back.

“Please, Mag, I’ve traveled from the north country with little rest and no sleep.”

Mag took his hand and patted it. “You’re that worn, you are. And pale, too. You need rest, lovely.”

“First, I’ve a chore for you.”

“You’re not up to it.”

“Mag!” He hadn’t meant to snap, but his weariness wrought havoc with his temper. “I’m looking for a man. A young man not two and twenty. Auburn hair, tall, fond of gambling, swilling, and carousing. Fair of face and fond of murdering. His name is Leslie Richmond.”

“Never heard of him, lovely, but if you want him, I’ll give him to you.”

“My thanks, Mag. Set every bawd and cutpurse in your pay to hunting for him, and I’ll give you a purse of gold.”

“And a more pleasureful reward, as well, if you want him quick.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, only find him for me, Mag. I can’t tell you how important it is.”

“You don’t have to, lovely. He must be near to God in importance if you almost kill yourself chasing him.”

“Find him, Mag.”

He felt her hands pressing him back down on the
bed. His boots were being pulled off, and he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open.

“Rest now, lovely. Mag will find your quarry for you. Rest you well and safe.”