Lady Gallant (21 page)

Blade tossed the dagger from one hand to the other while slowly shaking his head. In the middle of a toss, Kit dropped to his haunches. One leg shot out and swept Blade's feet out from under him. Blade crashed to the bar, furious and red-faced, as Kit easily caught the falling dagger and stood back up without ever losing his balance.

"God rot your soul," Blade said to him.

"I love you as well." Kit held out his hand. When Blade refused to take it, he chuckled and sat down beside his ward on the bar. Casually, he got rid of the dagger by burying its tip in a slice of bread on a table on the other side of the room. Blade's face froze. He stared at the dagger, then jerked his attention back to Kit when the older man began to sing into his ear.

She breweth nappy ale,

And maketh thereof fast sale.

To travelers, to tinkers,

To sweaters, to swinkers

And all good ale-drinkers.

"Mag will have my head if we disturb her house any more tonight," Kit added. "Shall we retire?"

Hopping off the bar, he once more offered his hand. Blade jumped off on his own power, and Kit sighed as if wounded.

"By my troth, comfit," he said, "I begin to think I have spoiled some escape plan of yours by sending old Spry to look after you."

Blade threw his cloak over one shoulder. "I gave my word, damn you. You said going among the nobility might prod my memory. Well, it hasn't."

Kit swiped a cup from a passing pot boy and thrust it at Blade. "De Ateca's company has spoiled your disposition. Come."

In the sickchamber, Kit pointed to a stool and waited for Blade to sit. Standing over the youth, he folded his arms over his chest.

"What have you learned?"

"That de Ateca isn't a fool," Blade said. "He spent the whole time complimenting me, entertaining me, and encouraging my anger toward you. And I preened and pranced as you instructed, but he doesn't trust me." Blade snatched off his cap and tossed it on a sideboard. "It would help if I knew what you want."

Kit left Blade to straighten the sheets that covered Inigo. "I don't trust you yet either, so you'll have to labor in ignorance. He asked you to attend the hunt tomorrow, didn't he?"

"Yes, and my stomach roils at the idea of spending a whole day in the company of Spaniards. This treatment isn't going to work. I haven't remembered anything, no matter how many bows I make or pretty speeches I hear." Blade got up and sent Kit a disgusted look. Turning his back, Blade headed for the door.

"My lord," Kit said softly.

"Yes?" Blade stopped as he said the word, then pivoted slowly to face Kit. His jaw worked, and he lifted his fingers to his temple. "Did you hear?"

"I took a chance and was rewarded. Don't look so frightened. Father is writing to all the families he knows who don't like court. Don't you see? If your people had been seekers of power, or greedy, or close to the royal family, we would have heard of a missing boy."

Blade took a few hesitant steps back into the room. "You don't fool me. You're after Jack Midnight, and you think I'll help you if you winnow your way into my affections by giving me back my memory."

"Clever Blade. Spiteful, vexatious, and bloodthirsty, but clever. Leave off your hostility for the night and join me in a drink." Kit gestured around the room. "After all, we're in our accustomed burrow, you and I. So cry truce, and we'll do some drinking and wenching. It won't improve our tempers, but it will pass the time. For tomorrow I must to court again."

"To see Nora Becket."

"Aye, to see Nora Becket, and mayhap to kill a certain jackanapes with a mad laugh and the humors of a fiend."

By the next day Nora had resorted to hiding. She peeped through the barely open door in her cipher garden, looking for her father and Percivale Flegge. Arthur shoved aside her skirts and stuck his face to the crack as well.

"They're gone, mistress," he said.

Nora shut the door. "Help me pull the bench over here. It should hold if someone tries to open the door."

Heaving and grunting, the two managed to haul the bench to the door. They collapsed on it and gulped in air.

"I vow that awful Flegge must have set spies upon me," Nora said, "for he accused me of deceiving him with Lord Montfort. Lord Montfort indeed."

"But mistress, you said Lord Montfort was the bravest, most handsome man in the kingdom."

She shook a finger in Arthur's face. "You're never to repeat that. May your tongue rot if you do."

Arthur stuck out his tongue and tried to look at it until his eyes crossed.

Sinking back against the door, Nora struggled not to wallow in despair. The day before she had saved Christian de Rivers's life, and after Bonner had left them, she'd hoped Christian would finally look at her with admiration and love. Instead, he'd pulled her into an alcove while Inigo Culpepper was being lifted onto a litter and kissed her, delving his tongue into her mouth and rubbing his hands all over her body.

Then the Queen had sent Mistress Clarencieaux. The old woman had marched up while Nora and Christian were thus engaged and whacked Christian on the head with her fan. As he jumped and rubbed his head, Mistress Clarencieaux had snatched Nora from him. Spouting threats against his manhood, she had dragged Nora away, and Nora hadn't seen him since.

This morning her father had arrived early to inform her that the ceremony of betrothal and the signing of the contracts would take place at once. She was to dress richly and come to the Queen's chapel. Nora had dressed and gone to the chapel, but upon seeing Percivale Flegge, her antipathy had risen to choke her. She'd fled, and now here she was, hiding.

"What am I going to do?"

"Hide until he goes away," Arthur said. He had given up trying to see his tongue and was drawing a picture of a bow in the dirt with a stick.

"But there are too many people in the palace looking for me."

Arthur dropped his stick and looked at her with eager relish. "We should steal out of the palace and hide at that inn where we saw the Robin Hood play." Holding his cap in place, Arthur jumped up to stand on the bench. "We can do it, mistress."

"But for how long? No, I must stop hiding now, before my father finds me for himself."

They both cringed as someone bellowed her name. It was Flegge, and he was on the opposite side of the northern garden wall. The bellowing stopped abruptly, and Nora and Arthur exchanged curious glances. Arthur got up and trotted over to the fig tree near the wail. Nora followed, watching him climb up into the branches and disappear behind a curtain of leaves.

She waited, but the boy didn't return. He was silent and still for so long, she finally tucked her skirts into her girdle and climbed up after him. Arthur was lying along a branch with his head sticking out over the garden wall, his gaze transfixed on something below. She clambored to a perch beside him and looked down.

Flegge was standing on a shrub-lined path, slowly turning in place and looking in all directions. He shouted Nora's name again, and both she and Arthur winced. Flegge would have the Queen's guard on him if he didn't stop making so much noise, Nora thought. His voice rose an octave to become the screech of a dying chicken, then was cut off. Nora's eyes widened as she watched the man hold his breath until his face was swollen and raw-meat red. At last he let out a long howl of frustration that rivaled the roar of a baited bear. As he howled he pounded his thighs over and over again with his fists.

Nora and Arthur put their arms around each other, too surprised to move. The spectacle continued as the man flounced to his knees and smote the dirt as if it were a mortal enemy. Face dripping sweat, mouth wet with spittle, he collapsed on his back in exhaustion, only to beat the defenseless earth with his heels and his fists.

Nora inched back on the branch, pulling Arthur with her. Together they climbed down while listening to the subsiding tantrum of Percivale Flegge. By the time they reached the ground, the man had resorted to obscenities periodically emphasized with more pounding. Nora and Arthur fled to the bench, covering their ears with their hands. After a while, they uncovered their ears. Hearing Flegge tramp off in another direction, they settled on the lawn beneath the fig tree.

"I don't like that man," Arthur said.

"I don't either."

Nora twisted a lock of her hair in her fingers, winding and unwinding the curl in an effort to keep from screaming. She didn't want to frighten Arthur, but if he hadn't been frightened by that scene at the wall, he was braver than she.

"Arthur, it seems as if we're going to have to keep hiding."

"Good."

"I can't marry that animal."

"No, we don't like him, and he might beat us instead of the ground."

"He might." She shivered. "He must be possessed by the Devil, but Father will make me marry him."

"And then we couldn't marry Lord Montfort."

"What?"

Nora looked at Arthur, but the boy was intent on his own thoughts, solemnly tearing hunks of grass from the lawn.

"But if we hide and find Lord Montfort," the boy went on, "he'll marry us and protect us from Sir Percivale."

Nora couldn't help smiling. " 'We' ?"

Arthur nodded. "We have to marry Lord Montfort. He likes us, so we should marry him instead."

"Yes, I suppose we should."

Christian de Rivers's plans to kill Percivale Flegge had been thwarted by his heretical guests. Their ship had arrived, and he was put to the trouble of escorting them to it. All that day he busied himself with preparations, summoning his disreputable band for escort and conceiving of a plan to get the old men out of his father's house and to the docks.

To Christian's annoyance, it began to rain as he and his father entered their private chapel that night. They were holding a special service in thanksgiving for Christian being found innocent of heresy by the Queen. Several clergymen had already entered the chapel, and the Mass began as soon as Christian and his father were seated.

At the end of the service, the household departed, leaving the two noblemen behind. The Earl's chaplain—a successful thief Dominby day—retired, and Christian left his pew to join four Franciscan brothers who hovered in a shadowed corner of the chapel.