Lady Fortune (16 page)

“Are you certain, my lord?” Indeed, Nicholas was wise enough to know that Hugh might be enacting a very effective show for his borrowed fool. Hugh didn’t make the mistake that most men did when it came to Nicholas, and he might be wise enough to pretend shock over the loss of the chalice when at that very moment it might be residing in a place of his own choosing.

“It’ll be gone,” Hugh said, so grimly that Nicholas was inclined to believe him. “But it won’t have gone far. No one will leave the place until it is recovered. The first man who tries will be tortured until he tells the truth.”

Hugh of Fortham seemed the last man to endorse torture, even as a means to a most precious end. “I doubt your lady wife will approve,” Nicholas murmured.

Love-sick indeed, like a veritable moonling. When faced with the loss of a holy relic and family treasure, the thought of his wife’s disapproval had the power to distract him. He was going to be dead easy to play.

“I’ll find out the truth,” Hugh said in a harsh voice after a few moment’s hesitation. “And I’ll pay the cost”

“And if the cost is your bride?”

“It won’t be. What need would she have for the blessed chalice? She is of this household now—it is hers already.”

“Perhaps someone else wants it.”

“A great many people want it,” Hugh said grimly. “Are you one of them, Master Fool?”

“Your master wants it,” Hugh said.

“You are my master, my lord.”

Hugh shook his head, unconvinced. “You were sent by the king, and for but a short time, thank Christ’s mercy. I assumed he was merely sick of your prattling, but perhaps he knows you have more wisdom and talent than you pretend. Perhaps he sent you for the sacred vessel. Do you have it, Good Fool?”

Nicholas smiled sweetly. “I have it not. Feel free to set my shoes on fire if you wish to verify it.”

Hugh looked down at his mismatched leathern slippers with derision. “I’ll burn more than that if you’ve betrayed me.”

He found that possibility unlikely. Fair and just punishment for misdeeds was one thing, torture and burning was another, and if Nicholas was adept at anything, it was reading his enemies. Hugh of Fortham was an enemy, by decree of the king. Though if truth be told, Nicholas would have liked the Earl of Fortham far better than his chosen sovereign had he been given the choice.

But few were given any choice in this day and age. “If I may be so bold, my lord, you might make certain the chalice is truly gone from its niche. And then you might speak to your lady wife to make certain she has no knowledge of it.” It was an obvious suggestion. And any time spent with his new bride would manage to distract Hugh for a disproportionate time, allowing Nicholas the opportunity to do his own searching.

“You are always bold, Master Nicholas.” Hugh moved closer to him, a huge man, and Nicholas remained slouched in his chair. He was as tall as the earl, though not nearly as broad, and he found that when people began to suspect he might not be all he said he was, it was best to stay seated. “And full of surprisingly wise advice for a fool. I only wonder one thing.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“How did you know the chalice resided in a niche in the chapel, if you were unaware of its existence?”

Nicholas blinked. He was usually quicker-witted than that—the wine must have addled his brains. Or he’d spent too much time mooning after Lord Hugh’s stepdaughter. In faith, the two of them were a fine pair of moonstruck simpletons, longing for the mother and daughter.

“You said so, my lord,” he said meekly.

“Did I?” Hugh’s gruff voice was not convinced. “I will do as you suggest, fool, and you will accompany me. Since Gilbert is still abed and my men seem disinclined to stir themselves, you will stay by my side while I investigate the missing chalice. And you will keep me company while I question my lady wife.”

“Wouldn’t you rather see her alone, my lord?” He tried not to show his alarm. This wasn’t working out the way he had planned at all. And what if he were wrong in his reading of Hugh’s character? What if he decided to beat the truth out of his delicate bride?

“I’m counting on you to protect me, good fool.”

“From your wife, my lord?”

“From myself,” he said harshly.

“You’re afraid you might hurt her, my lord?”

“No, fool. I’m afraid I might love her.”

The Blessed Chalice of the Martyred Saint Hugelina the Dragon proved to be an uncomfortable bed partner after all, Julianna thought wearily some long hours later. It did seem to radiate a supernal warmth, but it was also hard metal, studded with uncomfortable gems that were, when it came right down to it, simply valuable rocks, and since it was round, it rolled against her any time she set it away from her on the bed. She finally gave up and tucked it underneath the bed, only to have Hugelina the kitten attack her feet through the covers when she moved, chew on her hair, and purr so loudly in her ear that Julianna despaired of ever sleeping.

When she finally drifted off, the sky was growing light beyond the closed wooden shutters, and she knew her hours of rest would be limited indeed. Sooner or later someone was going to come in and wake her, someone she didn’t want to see. Perhaps her mother, weeping and battered from a night as a man’s plaything. Perhaps the mad fool, who seemed to have no trouble whatsoever in sneaking up on her when she least wanted to see him.

Not that she ever wanted to see him, she thought to herself, drifting. He’d only kiss her, and his kisses were distracting. Disturbing. Dangerous. Delightful…

It was Hugelina who woke her—the kitten, not the saint. One moment she was deep in sleep, the next she was wide awake, the black-and-white kitten perched on her chest and licking her nose, the bright sun pouring in the open shutters. Whoever had come through had taken pity on her and let her sleep, and it was clearly well gone into the day by the looks of the sun.

She caught the kitten in her hands and sat up, groaning slightly as her body protested too few hours of sleep. Her first thought was to reach under the bed, reassuring herself that the Blessed Chalice was still there. And then she lifted the kitten up level with her eyes.

“What trouble today, my wicked one?” she murmured to the squirming kitten. “Shall we trust the abbot, or shall we bide our time?”

“Never trust an abbot, my pet,” her mother replied from the room beyond. “They’re almost as treacherous as kings.”

Julianna scrambled out of bed, still holding the kitten, forgetting completely that she was angry with her mother. “Did he hurt you?” she asked urgently.

Isabeau looked startled. “I’m touched by your concern. Why would Lord Hugh hurt me? Granted, he’s a soldier, but he’s a very gentle man.”

Julianna stared at her in disbelief. The kitten in her arms squealed, and she realized belatedly that she was holding her far too tightly. She set her down to scamper across the floor. “You look none the worse for a night of debauchery,” she said finally, her voice even.

Isabeau raised an eyebrow. “It was hardly a night of debauchery, my love. The abbot has decreed we live like brother and sister. Despite my best efforts, you are without siblings, but I assure you that brothers and sisters do not indulge in debauchery.”

“You’re in a cheery mood this morning.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Isabeau replied. “It’s a beautiful day, I’m newly married to a good man who cares for me, and I have my daughter back with me, whether she wants to be or not. In truth, I’m in such a good mood, I mink I owe Saint Hugelina a debt of gratitude, and my task for today is to see to the cleaning of the Lady Chapel as a fitting showcase for the Blessed Chalice.”

“Ch-chalice?” Julianna echoed guiltily.

“A sacred relic belonging to the Fortham family for hundreds of years. They’re descended from Saint Hugelina, you know. My husband showed me the chalice when I first arrived, and it’s quite wondrous. If you wish to assist me, I’ll tell you about it while we work.”

“It’s in the Lady Chapel? That dusty, disused place in the courtyard?” She had to admire her artless tones. She’d never considered herself particularly good at lying, but she seemed to have developed a latent talent for it.

“It seems odd, does it not? Apparently Hugh’s grandmother had it placed there and decreed that no one should be allowed to clean the place but the lady of the household. I gather Hugh’s previous wives had little interest in holy relics.”

That explained its dusty state, Julianna thought. It was dark and dusty under her bed as well—the Blessed Chalice should be right at home. “Does it perform miracles?” If it indeed had miraculous powers, the first thing Julianna was going to do was request that Master Nicholas be sent hundreds of miles away, immediately. Either that or be stricken mercifully silent for the duration of his visit.

“Objects do not create miracles, God does, daughter,” Isabeau said calmly. “Did you not continue your religious training while you were at Moncrieff?”

“Victor had little use for the church and its teachings,” Julianna replied. In fact, that was putting it mildly. Victor had once beaten a priest from his door who’d dared to question his licentious ways.

As for Julianna, she had no quarrel with Victor’s lustfulness, since it had been spent in other directions. He seldom bothered with her, and since his touch was both painful and degrading, she had been more than happy to cede her marriage bed to whomever Victor might prefer.

“Normally I would say we should talk to the abbot about your schooling, but in this case I think we’d be wiser avoiding Father Paulus. Perhaps Brother Barth might have a suggestion or two. In the meantime holy works such as cleaning the Lady Chapel should help the state of your soul.”

Julianna strongly doubted it. She’d stolen the sacred relic from its resting place—all the housekeeping in the world wouldn’t blot out the sin on her conscience. For a brief, rash moment she considered telling her mother what she’d done, then thought better of it. Possessing the relic was the only power she had, and she wasn’t about to give it up lightly. Oddly enough, she had the sense that Saint Hugelina herself would have approved.

She was probably fooling herself in order to assuage her guilt; filching a holy relic was a crime against both church and state, and even worse, a crime against God, punishable by things too hideous to even contemplate.

She could always put it back. It had been disregarded for so long that there was a good chance no one even knew it was gone. She could tuck it in one sleeve and sneak it back into the abandoned Lady Chapel before anyone realized it had been taken. That would be the wisest move on her part.

But she wasn’t feeling particularly wise. If the holy relic could perform no greater miracle than rendering the troublesome fool mute, then it would be a gift beyond rubies.

It seemed like a good time to change the subject. “You are fortunate indeed that the abbot has safeguarded your virtue,” she said.

“How so? Physical love between a husband and wife is an expression of the love of God, and a glorious thing. I would be very unhappy if I thought the abbot would hold to his decree.”

“Unhappy? Unhappy at being saved from the discomfort and shame of the marriage bed?” Julianna demanded in disbelief The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized she’d said too much. The expression on her mother’s lovely face was both shocked and distressed.

“My poor angel,” Isabeau said softly, taking an involuntary step toward her. “What did that man do to you?”

“His husbandly duty,” Julianna replied in a curt voice. “It doesn’t matter, ‘tis in the past. With any luck I won’t be forced into marriage again, and I will live out my days in peaceful chastity.”

Isabeau had an odd expression on her face. “But what about children? You can’t have children without the other. I had hoped for grandchildren.”

Sooner or later, as the years passed, the pain would lessen, wouldn’t it? Julianna thought desperately. “There’ll be no grandchildren,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Victor got bastards on every woman in Moncrieff, but no babe for me. I regret being a disappointment to you, but it has ceased to bother me in the slightest.”

“You’re a poor liar, Julianna.”

I’m becoming a very good liar
, Julianna thought. Her mother had no notion that the pride of the Fortham family, the Blessed Chalice of the Martyred Saint Hugelina the Dragon, now lay hidden beneath her bed.

Isabeau shook her head. “You will learn, my sweet. At least, I pray it is so. Children are God’s sweetest gift, even when they hate you for something you couldn’t alter, but there are other joys of the marriage bed as well.”

“I don’t wish to hear about them.”

“It would do you no good for me to tell you. You need a husband—a tender, loving husband—to show you.”

“No, thank you,” Julianna said. “I’m quite happy as I am.”

“I’m afraid you may not have any choice in the matter.”

The words were like a death sentence, and Julianna felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Sir Richard left this morning, but before he did he gave Lord Hugh a missive from the king. You won’t like it, my love,” Isabeau said miserably.

She wouldn’t cry, Julianna promised herself. “I’m to marry again? Isn’t it rather soon? My husband is scarcely cold in the ground.”

“It won’t be until Eastertide. Long enough to ensure that you aren’t carrying your husband’s child—”

“I told you that was impossible.”

“Nevertheless, that is what King Henry has decreed. Come Easter you’ll be wed to one of his barons from the north, and I’m not sure there’s anything we can do to stop it. I doubt that he’s a bad man—apparently someone in the king’s household has grown too fond of him, and Henry wants him far away from court.”

“I’ll the first,” Julianna said grimly.

“You will not! And I’m not in any hurry to let you leave my side. I’ll have my husband tell the king I cannot bear to part with you yet.”

“And you think the king will listen?” Julianna was skeptical.

“I think we can try.”

“I am doomed,” she said in a dull voice. “There will be no escape.”

Isabeau touched her face, and for once Julianna didn’t flinch. The feel of her mother’s soft, small hands on her skin was memory imprinted in her flesh, and all the pain of the past years couldn’t erase it.

“I wish you joy, daughter,” she said softly. “More than anything else in this world I wish you could find happiness. I would slay dragons for you.”

Julianna smiled crookedly. “Saint Hugelina slew the last dragon,
ma mere
.”

“Perhaps. But there are still monsters out there, disguised as men. I won’t let you be sent to one of them.”

“But how can you tell the difference?”

It was a sobering thought, and Isabeau must have seen her reaction in her face. “There are no monsters we can’t vanquish, my sweet. I promise you, nothing will happen for a long, long time.” She pinched her daughter’s cheek lightly. “But you must be famished! You’ve slept so long you’ve missed dinner, but I can have some food brought up.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” Indeed, the very thought of food made her nauseated.

“You’re well out of the fuss downstairs,” Isabeau said wryly. “My lord husband is in a foul temper, and if the abbot doesn‘t watch his tongue, he may find himself turned out on his ear. At least you’ll be spared the wretched jester.”

“Why?” Please, God, let him be gone, Julianna prayed fervently.

“He’s been banished from the Great Hall. He’s an amusing creature, but he’s finally gone too far. His rhymes were annoying enough—this latest conceit was more than my husband could bear.”

“What has he done?”

“It’s more a question of what he refuses to do. The annoying creature is mute. Refuses to say a single word, or make a sound. Perhaps he’s been stricken dumb, or perhaps it’s just a strain of madness, who’s to know? But he won’t speak, and Lord Hugh has had him locked up until he changes his mind.”

“Oh, God,” Julianna whispered.

“There’s no need to look so distressed, my love. It isn’t your fault the stubborn creature has decided not to speak. And my husband is a fair and good man. Despite his threats, I can’t believe he’ll have Master Nicholas tortured. Most likely he’ll simply keep him locked up until he relents.”

“But why has he refused to speak?”

“Since he’s not talking, there’s no way we can know. I would have thought anything was preferable to his wretched rhyming, but it appears silence is even more unnerving. I only hope he has the sense to find his voice before my husband loses his temper completely. Then again, jesters aren’t known for their common sense.”

“What if it’s not his fault? What if something else has stolen his tongue? Surely he can’t be blamed for things beyond his control?”