The Privilege of the Sword (54 page)

Y
OUR UNCLE’S BEING A PIG,”
M
ARCUS SAID.
W
E’D BEEN
playing shesh in his room all morning because we were not allowed to leave the house. Marcus wasn’t really concentrating on his game, so for once I was winning. “He’s not speaking to me, and he won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Because of Glinley’s? You didn’t—you didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Are you joking? He’d have to torture it out of me, and he doesn’t have time. But he knows we did something. He just won’t say.”

“Is he drunk?”

“No, then he’d talk. He just glares at me and says not to bother him. No one in the kitchen knows anything, either—all he’s eating is bread and cheese. And meeting with secretaries and lawyers and shady characters, and writing letters.”

“It’s Perry,” I said wisely. “He’s probably planning revenge on whoever did it. Do we know who yet?”

“How should I know? He won’t talk to me.”

“He’s got to know. That man in the cellar…”

“He’s gone; I’ve already checked.”

“Check.”

“I did.”

“No, I’m
checking
you. Look to your other wizard.”

Marcus took one of my peons. “I knew you’d do that.” I ignored the gibe. “We’re definitely still locked in,” he said. “I think he thinks someone’s after us, like Perry. After
you,
I should say.”

“And you’re just locked in with me to keep me company?” He took my queen. “Oh, dammit, Marcus, I didn’t even
see
that!”

“I know.” My hand was on the board; he put his own hand over it. His skin was warm, and a little damp.

“Marcus?” I asked. “Are you sorry you kissed me?”

“Not really. Unless you are.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’d do it again.” His hand tightened on mine, but he didn’t do anything. “It’s men that make you sick, right? Not me?”

“You don’t at all.”

“Just because I dress like one sometimes…If that puts you off, I can—well—”

“Take your clothes off?”

“Because I’m really not a man. I’ve got—well, developments.”

“I’d noticed.”

“So do you want to?”

“If you do.”

I touched his mouth with my free hand. “I do.”

This kissing was very different: more like eating, really, satisfying an appetite you hadn’t even known was in you until you found yourself with a big mouthful of pleasure. It was as if the minds that had been playing shesh suddenly flew out through the roof. All I knew was what things felt good, and that I wanted more of them. I had never even imagined Marcus with his clothes off, and now here I was ripping them away to get at more of his skin. I didn’t mind when his hands found my breasts—in fact, I encouraged him, and I pushed his head down so I could feel his face and his mouth on them.

We ended up on the rug because we were too embarrassed to get on the bed, and we rolled around on it and stroked each other and knocked over the shesh board (we never could find the black peon, after) and rolled all over each other. Marcus started groaning and saying, “Katie, stop,” but I didn’t see any reason to, and then he clutched me and cried out hard, and went very still. When he started to weep, I held him, and didn’t even mind the mess he’d made all over us.

“Who cares about going out?” I whispered into his hair, and he laughed, then, and I licked his salty ear.

I
N A COZY ARMCHAIR IN HIS STUDY, WHERE HE WAS
reading a history of the rise of the Council of Lords after the fall of the decadent kings, Lord Ferris received word that David Alexander Tielman Campion, Duke Tremontaine, had arrived at his front door desiring to speak with him.

Lord Ferris smiled. “I am busy at the moment. He is welcome to wait, if he likes.”

“Shall I offer him refreshment, my lord?”

“Of course. Nothing too sweet; I believe His Grace likes salty foods. And plenty of wine. He might want some diversion, as well. Why don’t you give him this?” He handed the man his book,
The Triumph of the Crescent
. “It might prove instructive.”

chapter
VIII

T
HE HOUSEHOLD WAS SO TOPSY-TURVY, THERE WAS
a chance no one would notice if we lay on the rug all day. But it was a chance we were not quite willing to take. And so we hunted down all our clothes and put them back on. There would be other mornings, when the duke did not rise early to torture prisoners. He never noticed anything in the morning.

Marcus went out to investigate, while I put my hair back into some kind of order. “He’s gone out,” he said when he came back. “And we’re still not allowed to.” He’d brought apple tart; we sat on the window seat feeding it to each other.

We wished we could be sure that what had happened to Lucius Perry had nothing to do with us, but we had to consider the possibility that it did. Maybe we’d led those bullies right to him. Maybe they’d been after us to begin with. One of them had recognized me—though, as Marcus pointed out, I was getting to be pretty well known. But why were we locked in the house now, if not for our own protection? If we hadn’t followed Lucius Perry, maybe he never would have been attacked. Unless what happened to Perry had just scared the duke into worrying about us.

Then there was the question of those Tremontaine guards. They had been remarkably on the spot, coming to the rescue like that. Possibly the duke had set them to keep a protective eye on Lucius, or on Glinley’s, which was part his, after all. He did have people watching all over Riverside…but maybe—horrible thought!—they’d been there to keep an eye on us. Maybe they’d been following us all along. In which case, the duke knew perfectly well where we’d been. When he got back from wherever he was, there would be ructions.

To take our minds off it, and because the last thing we wanted was for him to return and find us naked on the rug, we went to check on Perry’s progress.

For reasons no one could entirely remember, Lucius Perry’s nurse was named Gobber Slighcarp, or if they knew, they wouldn’t tell us—I mean about his name. Gobber was a very competent nurse. It was perfectly reasonable for him to take care of Perry. He used to surgeon hurt swordsmen, having been thrown out of the College of Physic for unmentionable crimes that no one remembered either.

To make up for what had happened, we tried to make ourselves useful to Gobber Slighcarp. Marcus fetched things from the kitchens. I gave Betty money to go out and buy flowers and scented candles, which are nice when you’re ill.

We weren’t really eager to see Perry himself. But Gobber came out of the sickroom to say the nobleman wanted to speak to me, and before I could think of an excuse, I was by the hurt man’s bedside.

After what I’d observed through the peephole at Glinley’s, I couldn’t imagine having a conversation with Lord Lucius. But that fled my mind as soon as I saw him now. He didn’t look like the same man at all. His face was purple and green. One eye was swollen shut, and his nose was crooked and large and bandaged. And his mouth, his sensual, elegant mouth—

I said, “Oh! I’m so sorry—”

“Not to,” Lucius Perry rasped. “You saved me.”

“It’s better than it looks,” Gobber explained to both of us. “It won’t heal pretty, but it’ll heal all right. Ribs, too—I’ve seen worse. And if we’re careful with that leg, it won’t stiffen up too much.”

“Come,” said Lucius, gesturing with a scraped-up hand. I realized he couldn’t see me unless I was near his good eye. “Cousin Artemi’a friend. You know. Mus’ marry her.”

“Why?”

“Family.”

“The family want you to marry Artemisia?” This was awful. He was all wrong for her. And what about Teresa Grey? “But—does she want to? Have you asked her?”

“Ready now,” he sighed. “Safe. All m’fault, w’happened. You write her. Ask her to. I’ll sign.”

Gobber looked at me and shrugged. He had no idea what this was about. But I did. And I wasn’t having it.

“I’ll write her,” I said, and went to find Marcus. He didn’t argue, much. And he liked showing how well he could sneak out of the Riverside house without being caught.

Once he left, I went and wrote a letter to Artemisia telling her she was on no account to agree to marriage with Lucius, whatever her family said. I didn’t tell her that he was riddled with vice, or that he already loved someone else; I just reminded her that where there was no love there could be no lasting joy. I added that my heart was with her, and I hoped she’d find someone really nice to marry, but if she didn’t, she should not marry at all.

Then I did what I should have done ages ago: I went to the duke’s chief personal secretary, Arthur Ghent, and explained that Artemisia’s family didn’t want me writing to her, and might even be reading her letters, so could he please see to it that she got this one safely? Arthur smiled just short of a grin, and said he’d see to it.

Then, in utter penance, and to keep myself distracted, I went and offered to read aloud to Lucius Perry. He let me choose, and I was well into
The King’s Hunt
when Marcus returned with the woman from the Hill, the one Lucius Perry truly loved.

She didn’t handle it well. Marcus swore to me he really had told her just how bad Perry looked, and that he would get better, but it didn’t seem to matter. When Teresa Grey saw Lucius Perry, she made an unhappy sound and clutched at the wall, and Gobber had to make her sit and put her head down. “Oh, no,” she moaned; “oh, no….”

I ran and got lavender water to chafe her wrists with. She had very strong and flexible hands; she could have learned to hold a sword if she’d wanted. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, Lucius…”

I held her hands tightly, and got her to look into my eyes. “It wasn’t you,” I told her. “Truly, it wasn’t. I don’t know if you know, but Lord Lucius has been working for Tremontaine.”

“I know, all right, you curious child,” she said to me, which at least was better than moaning.

“Well, then. It was all because of that. He has a lot of enemies, the duke.”

“Does he?” she said in that annoying way adults have of humoring children who are telling them things they already know.

“Yes, well, if you know that already, you’ll know this has nothing to do with you. It was someone trying to get at our house.”

Teresa Grey stood up. Even with her hair all wild and her dress disordered, she managed to look astonishingly beautiful. “Where is the duke?” she said. “Let him see me, and tell me so himself.”

Marcus said, “He doesn’t know about you yet. We’re the only ones who do.”

She looked closely at him. “Is that so? And what do you know about me, pray?”

I said, “You are Lucius Perry’s one true love. The rest mean nothing to him—especially not the duke. You are a painter, and a writer, and—well, a Lady of Quality.”

She stared at me as though I’d lost my mind. “Oh, this is too much!” she cried. “You! You’re a girl! Are you some kind of actress, some protégé of his? Am I supposed to be writing a vehicle for you, is that what this is about? Because I’ll tell you right now, I’m not doing a thing for him or for anyone until I find out who’s responsible for this. Right now, I—I wouldn’t piss on the duke if he were on fire.”

“Watch it,” Marcus said with surprising heat. “Katie’s a lady.”

She swirled back to Marcus, and then to me, and back to him again. “You. You were the one who delivered those pigments.”

He ducked his head.

“Marcus, you rat!” I said. “You did that without me!”

“Were you in on it, too?” she demanded.

There was a strangled noise from the bed. We all jumped and turned to attend to the hurt man. But there was no need. Lucius Perry was laughing.

“Go away,” Teresa told us all, even Gobber Slighcarp.

We went. We left them alone together, and it did not even occur to us to try and look in through the keyhole until much later. They were both asleep, his head on her soft breast, and
The King’s Hunt
lying open on the floor beside them.