Suzanne Robinson (35 page)

George grunted unhappily. “Nor am I”

“You won’t have to. I will.”

The hour was near sunset, but they found the Bald Pelican before dark. It lay in a road congested with the traffic of pack animals, porters, apprentices, and merchants, squeezed between two old timbered buildings whose use couldn’t have been any more savory than the tavern’s. Inigo led her inside, and she was blinded for a moment by the darkness.

None of the windows had been opened in this century, and the stink of tallow candles nearly made her gag. She had worn an old cloak and pulled the hood close to her face, but their arrival gave the inhabitants pause, for George and Robert wore clothing seldom
seen in the Bald Pelican except when stolen. She surveyed the patrons, and her jaw fell as she encountered a bare-breasted woman being fondled by a tattered gallant.

George rumbled under his breath. “Leslie would have loved this place.”

She was tempted to speak upon the subject of Leslie and his habits, but restrained herself. No good would come of such an indulgence, and George would be hurt

Inigo tugged at her cloak. “Come, lady. Don’t linger here.”

He took her upstairs, but paused on the landing when a plump blond woman turned a corner and confronted them. She looked at Inigo, then at Oriel and her escort, then at Inigo again.

“You’re daft if you think you can bring a strange bawd into my house, Inigo Culpepper.”

“Mag,” Inigo said, “this is no bawd.”

Oriel threw her hood back. “She knows that.”

Mag sauntered over to her, taking care that her breasts jiggled. “Yes, I know it right well. He doesn’t want company, especially not yours”

“You know who I am.”

“I know. He’s described that wild hair and those puke green eyes so many times I nearly screamed. Course, he does that, does Blade, makes a woman scream.”

Oriel unclasped her cloak and handed it to Robert. She smoothed her hands over blue and silver brocade and studied Mag. “Indeed.”

Mag strolled to the banister and leaned on it. She leered at George, who squirmed and muttered to himself.

“In—deed,” Mag said. “So you might as well take yourself off. He doesn’t want to see you. He won’t see any woman but me.”

“George, show Mag the color of your coin.”

George produced a pouch fat with money, but Mag
tossed her head. “His door’s locked, and I got the key, which I ain’t giving to you.”

“Then, since you’ve no fear of my getting into his chamber, you may entertain my cousins.”

George tossed the pouch in the air and caught it. Mag heard the clink of the coins and smiled at him.

“There’s been five girls tried to get into his room; the likes of you won’t do it.” Mag took George and Robert each by the arm. “Come on, gentlemen. Let Mag show you what a fat purse like that can buy.”

“She doesn’t like you,” Inigo said as he led the way to Blade’s chamber.

“It’s only fair, since I detest her.”

He stopped at a closed door in the middle of a dark corridor. She immediately pounded on it with her fist.

“Go away, Mag.”

“Blade Fitzstephen, you show your cowardly face at once.”

There was a pause, then a stream of fluent gutter language followed. Inigo shivered and started to tiptoe back down the corridor. Oriel caught him by the neck of his jerkin while pounding on the door again.

A familiar, musical voice answered. “Go away.”

“I will not.”

“Stay there all night then.”

She kicked the door, but there was no response. Giving the portal a scowl, she pulled Inigo down and whispered something to him. He gaped at her.

“He’ll kill me.”

“Die now, or later.”

He groaned, but cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in a rasping voice. “Here’s a pretty maid, my lads, ha!”

Oriel screamed and cried out Blade’s name. The latch on the door rattled, and Inigo sprinted for the stairs.

Blade burst through the door calling for her, and as
he ran by, she darted into the chamber. He veered around to stare at her, then hurried back inside.

“You tricked me.”

“A small device when measured against your beguilements, but I haven’t had as much practice.”

She looked around the chamber, which was littered with his clothing and the remains of meals, and at least twelve casks and flagons.

“You will leave,” he said.

She faced him and shook her head. He blinked at her slowly, and she realized that he was drunk, though his hands and walk were steady. Hair tousled, face shadowed with several days’ beard, he nevertheless presented a delectable sight, all glowering male fury and tense muscles. Distracted by the sensuality he seemed to emanate without intent, she floated over to him and caught his hands. He shook her off with a curse and retreated behind a table littered with scraps of bread and cheese. Undaunted, she kicked the door shut and turned the key.

“There is always the window,” he said.

“And leave me alone in this place unprotected?”

“René will escort you home.”

Oriel approached the table, planted her hands on it, and stared into his silver-grey eyes. “Who would have thought the infamous Blade a coward.”

“Me? I,” he said carefully, “am not a coward.”

“You’re afraid to love me.”

He looked away. “That is another matter.”

“Blade,” she said in a low, breathy voice.

He glanced at her, wary.

“God’s toes,” she said. “You’ll fight traitors and French demons for the queen, but shrink at the challenge of fighting for yourself and for me.”

“I am fighting for you, for what’s best for you.”

“Have you ever hit a woman?”

He shook his head.

“Ever killed one?”

He shook his head again.

“Do you know why?”

“My father—”

“Ah-ha. Your father.” Oriel grasped the table and shoved it aside. “I ran your father out of the city the day you left me on the docks.” She took a step toward Blade, who took a step back.

“You?”

“Yes.” She walked toward him, and he backed away. “He wanted to beat me, but I told him I’d put a price on his head if he so much as disturbed one of my curls.”

“You don’t know me,” Blade said. “All you see is, is this body. Inside there’s a fiend, a mindless ravening monster.”

“If there were such a fearsome creature, it would have gained mastery of you long ago.”

Oriel placed herself before him, her body almost touching his. She flattened her hands on his chest, ran them down his torso to his thighs, then stroked up the inside of his legs to his groin.

“Here,” she said. “Here is the only ravening beast I’ve seen, and it is indeed most ungovernable.”

Blade grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away. His eyes glittered. “If I wanted servicing, I’d pay one of the other doxies under this roof.”

Oriel gasped, her face draining of color, her eyes filling with tears.

From the tavern below came René’s voice. As René rushed into the chamber, followed by a man in Fitzstephen livery, Blade shoved Oriel away. The man bowed to Blade and handed him a letter. Blade broke the seal. After a quick glance, he folded the letter again and handed it to the messenger.

“René, find Inigo so that he may escort Mistress Oriel home. We leave at once.”

“You’re not leaving without me.”

He fixed her with a wintry stare. “He’s dead. My father is dead, and I must go home to Castle La Roche.
He’s dead, and when I die, our cursed lineage ends as well. Not even you, Oriel, will change my mind.”

When he was gone she looked at René, who regarded her sadly.

“I am afraid, my lady. A blackness of spirit has overtaken him, and he cares not what perils he undertakes. For one such as he, such negligence could cost him his life.”

René and the messenger left, and she was alone. A blackness of spirit, René had said, a sword-bright soul eaten with the acid of cruelly, the cruelty of a monstrous father.

She wasn’t giving up, which meant that she would have to follow Blade to La Roche. Now that his vicious father was dead, she must convince her tormented betrothed that his fears were but the stuff of nightmares left over from a time long gone. However, no matter how strong her resolve, she couldn’t lay siege to Blade if he was sequestered in that great pile of stone—not without an army. Therefore, she would need aid from within. René!

Rushing out of the chamber, she stopped on the landing and surveyed the tavern below. Potboys and maids were busy clearing up a wreckage caused by the battle between two patrons over a dice game. Several groups of men played backgammon and diced. From two of the upstairs rooms nearest the landing George and Robert emerged, tucking bits of clothing back into place. They joined her, but she waved them away when her attention fastened on a slender, tall figure below.

Blade stood at the front door, and Mag with him. She was talking, and he bent down to hear her, frowning. She chuckled and smiled at him, but he only stared at her. She put her arms around his neck, snuggled up to him, and took his mouth in a long, leisurely kiss. Oriel clamped her hands on the banister to keep from screaming at the two.

Finally Mag released Blade, whose frown hadn’t
lessened for all her efforts. He said something to her, and she laughed and glanced up at Oriel. Blade followed the direction of her gaze and met Oriel’s scowl. For an infinite moment he continued to stare at her, unsmiling, then turned and left without a word to Mag.

Once he was gone, Oriel was able to think clearly. There was one task that needed doing at once. Catching Mag’s eye, she marched down the stairs. The woman ambled across the tavern to meet her.

“Mag, if you ever touch him again, I’ll cut your lips off.”

Mag hooted and looked her up and down. “You? I could have a few of my friends at you right now. Break your neck and toss you in a ditch.”

“And then Blade would kill you.”

The sneer on Mag’s face disappeared.

“I see you understand. No other woman has ever been able to make such a promise, or expected it to be kept.”

Mag shoved her. “Get out of my house, you bleeding witch’s spawn.”

“Where is René?”

“He’s in the kitchen with that messenger, but you’re not going in there.”

“If you want me to leave I am.”

Mag snorted and flounced past her to mount the stairs with injured dignity. George came up to her.

“Please, Oriel. We should leave.”

“A moment longer, George.”

With him close behind, she went to the kitchen. The place was crowded with cooks, scullions, and turnspits all bustling about. At a table in a corner sat René and the messenger, who was gulping down hot stew. René saw her, lifted a brow, and rose. Bowing, he murmured a greeting in French. She responded in the same language before launching into her request. She had already decided that George would be happier not having full knowledge of her plans. As she spoke, Rene’s eyes
brightened. When she finished, he bowed to her in salute.

“Oui, demoiselle
. On the battlements, one hour past midnight.”

“Merci
, René. Until then.”

With her arrangements settled, she left the kitchen. George followed, catching her arm.

“What is this talk of battlements and midnight. What have you done? I’ll not play your fool any longer, Oriel. It’s plain you’ve failed. The time has come for me to—”

“Oh hush, George. Blade’s father has died ”

“But he just left the city.”

“He died on the way home. Died of fury, it seems. A groom annoyed him, and he whipped him, but as he was flaying the poor man he turned purple and died. God is just, it seems. Where is Robert?” She waved at her cousin, who was ogling a bawd.

“Nevertheless,” George said, “I will defend your honor.”

“No need, I thank you.” She put her hand on George’s arm. “I told you I would settle with Blade myself, and I have. I’m going to Castle La Roche, to be married.”

“Good.” George beamed at her as he led her from the tavern with Robert in their wake.

Silently Oriel prayed to God for forgiveness for her untruths. After all, she must journey north to La Roche, for which she would need George’s escort. And by the time poor George discovered her ruse, it would be too late to turn back.

The trees bore leaves of new green. May and spring had come at last to the north of England. Blade touched the knobbed branch of an apple tree. It bounced under his finger, then swayed in the breeze. He lifted his face to the sun, eyes closed. No matter how many springs came and went, he would always feel encased in a winter frost.