Suzanne Robinson (7 page)

“Apologize,” Christian snapped.

“I have. She liked me not one whit more for it.”

“Then you must pursue one of the other girls of marriageable age.”

“No one would believe my suit.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know Mistress Jane or Mistress Joan. Cheese-witted little hedgehogs, both of them. I’m surprised
their tutors were able to stuff enough learning in their heads to enable them to write letters.”

“Dissemble. Pretend to be enamored of one of them.”

“God’s blood, Christian, even I cannot play a part so contrary to my nature. They’re stupid, man. I hate stupid women. I hate stupid men, for that. And there’s no use chastising me. You must trust my experience.”

Christian took Blade’s place in the chair. Blade clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth beside him. After long moments of consideration, he threw up his hands.

“We must find someone else to go to Richmond Hall.”

“No, marchpane. This knowledge must go no further than we two. Curse you, Blade. Why did you pick this one girl to insult? You’ve plied your charms on many less likable.”

“I was with my father, and I lost my temper.”

“Ah, no wonder.” Christian was silent for a moment. “I have always regretted sending you back to your father once we discovered who you were all those years ago. Why did you not tell me what he was like, instead of pretending everything was well?”

Blade turned his back to his friend. “Think you I’d speak of what he really was? Have you ever told your father the whole of your experiences with Jack Midnight?”

“God forbid.”

“One learns to dissemble before the world, as one learns to be what one’s oppressor wishes. You know that. It’s what makes us useful as spies. We change colors, wear mask upon mask, hoping no one will ever think to look beneath and find only another mask.” He faced Christian. “I don’t wish to speak of this. As I said, I’ve insulted Oriel Richmond and she detests me. There’s naught to be done about it.”

Christian slapped the table with his palm. “There’s
no help for it. You must return all remorseful and beg to be forgiven. You’re enslaved by her charms. You’ve suffered every moment since you left.”

“I didn’t say Oriel Richmond was stupid; only her cousins.”

Christian rose and poured himself a goblet of wine. “You will think of a way to convince her.”

“She’ll think I’m after her wealth, or that I’m a fool.”

“If you’re diligent, she’ll be so smitten she won’t have the wits to be suspicious.”

“The thing’s impossible,” Blade said. “She’ll toss me out like a false beggar.”

Christian grinned at him. “Take heart, comfit, for ‘the easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.’ ”

“Christian de Rivers, you’re a pig.”

A fortnight later, on a day in mid-February, Blade rode through a quiet, snowbound forest on his way to Richmond Hall. René and four of his liveried retainers rode behind him. He was cold, cold and disgusted with himself, for he’d yet to conceive of a plan that would assure him the welcome of Oriel Richmond. He’d written to Lord George and received permission to renew his suit. George was anxious to rid himself of his cousin, it seemed. She tested his patience. No doubt the man shrank from the eternal skirmishing between his mother and Oriel he’d spoken of in his letter.

Strange how agitated he’d grown at the thought of encountering Oriel again. She had appeared in his dreams, a phantasm surrounded by the dark auburn fire of her own hair. It was a preoccupation he’d forborne from mentioning to Christian. To confess himself haunted by memories of a girl he’d insulted with thoughtless barbs would amuse Christian and inspire unending mockery. The thought of being at Christian’s mercy was as lowering as the idea of facing Oriel.

If it weren’t for the danger to kingdom and queen, he wouldn’t have ventured north in winter. Blade huddled deeper into his cloak and rubbed his nose on the fox fur of its hood. Snow and freezing rain had turned the road into a mire. His stallion, a roan, danced with impatience under his restraining hand. He had to go slowly or risk riding into a hole.

The road to Richmond Hall had received a new coat of snow last night, and much of it lay concealed. It wound through a forested dale, skirting thick stands of trees covered in white. Their trunks marched like dark columns as far as he could see. One old relic blackened by a lightning strike had fallen across the road under the weight of the snow in its branches.

Blade held up his hand, and his men halted. He dismounted and trudged over to the tree to see if it was movable. He thrust his gloved hand through the layer of snow on the trunk, then turned to shout at René. As he turned, he heard a familiar buzzing sound and ducked. An arrow smacked into the tree trunk beside him.

Shouting at René, he vaulted over the trunk. He landed on his feet, threw back his cloak, and drew his sword as a dozen howling men darted out from behind snowbanks and trees. Shoving back the hood of his cloak, he raised his sword to meet the attack of a man who leaped over the tree trunk. The man raised his sword high and brought it down. Blade countered; their weapons clashed. Blade jabbed his foot into the man’s stomach and shoved him backward. He hit the tree trunk, but bounced back, aiming at Blade’s chest. Blade knocked the sword down with his own, then stomped on his attacker’s foot.

A second man jumped on him from behind. Blade fell to his knees, jabbed the man with his elbow, and thrust the point of his sword up just in time to impale the first man as he raced in with his own weapon aimed at Blade’s neck. Blade leaped to his feet. The second man scrambled out of his reach.

Past the fallen tree René and his men were fighting off as practiced a band of highwaymen as Blade had seen. Though clad in rough wool and scraps of richer clothing taken from past raids, they worked together, each man taking on an assigned victim. He saw one of his men fall, hit by an arrow from the bowman who had aimed at Blade from his perch in a nearby tree.

Blade ran for the tree trunk, placed his hands on it, and gathered his strength for another spring across it. He heard footsteps and turned. Something hit his shoulder. His whole body arched, and he felt a sting. He looked down at his left shoulder and saw blood. Shoving his back against the tree trunk, he faced his assailant, his left arm hanging limp and useless.

“Midnight.”

His assailant lowered his sword. “God’s arse, it’s my lost treasure.” He gave a bark of laughter. “You’ve grown into a man of a sudden. Well met, my love. Mayhap I won’t kill you after all.”

“You won’t find it any easier now than before.”

Blade lifted his sword, but Midnight did not. The highwayman put his hands on his hips and laughed in spite of the brawl taking place nearby. He whistled three times, and his men halted their attack. The two sides faced off, Blade’s men surrounded by the thieves, but neither side moved to resume the fray. Midnight took a step toward Blade, who backed away until he hit the fallen tree.

The highwayman looked much the same as he had years ago when Blade served him. His black hair had turned more silver, and he bore a scar on his jaw from a sword cut, but those eyes still flashed bright black at the anticipation of a fight and the smell of blood.

“What do you here in the north, Midnight? Your realm is far south near London.”

“Well, my novice, our good queen has made the hunt more difficult out London way. Blackheath’s no
longer a place of frolic and fun. It’s safer in the north. And I had a good offer.”

Blade kept his sword pointed at Midnight, but his head was growing lighter than the rest of his body. “Leave off, or I’ll carve you like a capon, and you know I can do it.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you best swordsmen of the first fencing house. But not with a hole in your shoulder.” Midnight took another step.

“Stay away, you whoreson piss-prophet.”

“Ah, there’s my Blade, my apprentice. You were a wondrous good thief. Come, I only want to rob you. I promise not to kill you.”

Midnight ventured another step, but Blade’s sword made a silver arc and nearly sliced his stomach open.

“Your presence here is no accident, I trow. Again I ask why you’re here.”

Shrugging, Midnight looked from Blade’s wound to his face. A slow smile formed on his lips, and he held out his hands, away from his body.

“Peace, my lodestar. I’ve no secrets from you. It’s a patron I’ve found. One who appreciates my arts and needs a ready band of men. You see, I’m collecting funds for my old age.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep his vision from blurring, Blade kept his sword aloft, though it grew heavier each time he breathed. “What patron?”

“Now, my treasure, you know I can’t tell you that.”

His sword wobbled, and Blade felt his arm tremble. “I said, what patron.”

“Look at you, you’re bleeding. Throw down your sword, my treasure.” Midnight laughed at him. “God’s arse, boy. Come now, surrender.”

He blinked hard, and tried to lift his weapon as Jack Midnight swooped down on him. His knees buckled, but his fall was stopped when Midnight caught him. He heard René shout at him, but he was too weak to answer. He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing, and when
he opened them again, he was on the ground propped up against the fallen tree. Midnight leaned over him, stuffed a rag into his shirt, and held it against his wound.

Midnight shouted to his men. “Take the rest of them into the forest and lose them in it. Leave the stallion.”

Blade felt the highwayman’s hands at his belt. He was relieved of his pouch of coins. He fumbled for his dagger, but he was too slow. Midnight plucked it from its sheath.

“For shame, love. You were always such a bloodthirsty little wolf cub. Would you deny me my reward after such travail? I am sparing your life”

“My men …”

“They’re alive, but only for the fondness I hold on your account” Midnight pulled Blade upright and began wrapping his cloak about his shoulders. “Don’t fight me, you fool. You’re bleeding, and I’m trying to get you back on your horse before you grow too weak to mount.”

“I’ll cut your tongue out for this.”

Midnight laughed and turned Blade toward the stallion. “Not for a while, I’ll wager.” He put the reins in Blade’s hands and placed his foot in a stirrup.

Blade found himself shoved into the saddle. The back of his horse had never seemed so high before, and he peered around at the tops of trees.

“God’s arse.” Midnight leaned over from his own horse and latched onto Blade’s arm before he toppled from the saddle. “Where were you bound, love?”

“Rishmon …”

“Richmond Hall?”

“Mmm.”

“Odd fortune, that. Ah, Blade, I vow I’ll rue my foolish mercy.”

The highwayman dismounted and climbed up in back of Blade.

“God’s blood, what’er you about?”

Blade tried to shove Midnight off. He cursed as his wounded arm was jolted, and dizziness nearly overwhelmed him.

“Be still,” Midnight said. “It’s your own blood you should be worried about.”

“You won’t turn me into a thief again. I’m not—”

“You think me such a fool that I’d try to keep you? I’d as soon befriend a viper as try to make you into a proper thief all over again. Now be still. If I don’t take you near the Hall, you’ll fall off your horse and bleed to death.”

Blade laughed helplessly. He felt as if he’d drunk a cask of wine. Midnight kicked the horse, and they began to move.

“You’re losing your wits along with your blood,” said the thief.

Attempting to hold his head steady, Blade tried to stop chuckling. “There’s no help for it. You don’t know what a favor you’ve done me. I couldn’t have thought of a better plan if I’d spent a month—marry, the ground seems a league off.”

“Hold!” Midnight hauled Blade up by the neck of his cloak. “You stay still or I’ll knock you senseless.”

“Just drop me in a heap at the gate,” Blade murmured. He closed his eyes and smiled. “I’ll cast myself on the mercy of a certain green-eyed fairy who dwells within.”

She would be scolded again for riding in the snow. Anticipation of Aunt Faith’s whining had slowed Oriel’s pace as she walked her mare toward the stables. She had lost track of time, and since the clouds were thick, she couldn’t guess the hour from the sun. She was hungry, so it must be past time for dinner. She’d been pondering Uncle Thomas’s strange behavior of late and thus forgotten how long she’d been gone.