Valentine (13 page)

She paused for a moment outside the gate and drew a deep breath to calm herself and get her bearings. The cathedral sat upon a hill, and so she could clearly see the river and bridge she’d crossed below. It would be easy enough to get to the other side, and once there, she would hope that something seemed familiar.

Mary found she was quite thirsty, and wished she had thought enough to grab her purse from the room before she left. She had no coin, nothing in her possession at all.

She began walking in the direction of the bridge, the buildings lining either side of the street seeming to close over her head. She had not gone very far when she heard a high, warbling voice calling over the bustle of the crowd. At first she did not stop.

“Mary!”

What an odd coincidence, she thought.

“Mary! Lady Mary Beckham!”

Mary’s movements froze—indeed, even her heart seemed to still in her chest. She didn’t have time to turn of her own volition, for in the next instant her arm was seized and she was swung around.

Before her stood the Lady Elmsbeth.

“Mary!” the old woman gasped, happy tears in her eyes. She pulled Mary to her ample bosom. “Thanks be to God, we’ve found you at last!”

 

“I never thought to see you again,” Teresa said, pressing one palm to her chest for a moment. “There has been no word from you in almost three years—not even to Brennie. I feared you were dead.”

Valentine’s face ached from the wide smile he couldn’t help. It was so good to see her, to hear her voice speaking their shared language. “No, not dead. It was far too dangerous to send a message to you, this last year especially.”

Teresa’s face lost a little of its glow. “It can’t be true, what they are saying you did.”

“It is and it isn’t,” Valentine hedged. “I did not aide the betrayal of Chastellet, and neither did the men with whom I was forced to join forces.”

Concern filled her eyes. “The prisoners?”

Valentine nodded. He told her briefly how he had come to be imprisoned alongside Adrian Hailsworth and Constantine Gerard, and how Roman had freed them. “We are in hiding until our innocence can be proven.” He stayed her question before she could even ask it. “I cannot tell you where.”

Teresa’s smile returned. “Very well. I shan’t yet press you further only because I am so happy to see you at last, no matter the circumstances. But then you must tell me, why are you here in Prague now? Are your . . . friends with you?”

“They are my friends now, yes, but they are not with me.” He paused, smiled, gave a little shrug. “I am with a woman.”

Teresa threw back her head and laughed out loud, and Valentine’s heart expanded at the sound. “Of course, it is a woman! Who is she, and what sort of trouble is she in?”

“Do you remember the tales of the English ship wrecking on our beach when I was but a boy?” At her nod, he continued. “The noble captain and his wife were aboard, and she bore their child at our villa. It happens that the infant girl and I were joined to each other.”

Teresa’s eyes widened. “I had forgotten! The woman you are with then—it is she?”

It was Valentine’s turn to nod. “Maria—Mary,” he corrected himself.

Teresa clapped her hands together. “She found you and wishes the contract to be honored!”

“What woman in possession of good sense would wish to be joined with me?” Valentine chose to ignore Teresa’s chastising frown. “She needs me to disavow my claim so that she might marry another. She and I are on our way to England now.”

“Are you glad for the escape?”

Valentine shrugged again. “We would not have made a good match.”

“I meant from your hiding place,” Teresa said with a sly grin. “But do tell me about her—I long to hear your voice.”

Valentine sighed and pursed his lips for a moment. “She is innocent but curious. She’s not been from her home the whole of her life. Very English, with skin like cream, and her hair is the color of the sand on our beach after a rain.”

“She is not ugly, then.”

“No, no—far from it. She loves the mornings—annoyingly cheerful. Her mind is very determined, and has a definite sense of what she wants, what she does not. She is trusting, perhaps overly.”

“It is good that she is with you, then, yes?”

Valentine shrugged. “I do not know.”

“Valentine?” Teresa tilted her head until he met her eyes again. “What is it?”

“Nothing. This taste of freedom only has me thinking mad thoughts.”

“You wonder what would have been?” At his shrug, Teresa nodded and then thought a moment before speaking. “Perhaps it
is
the freedom—going where you wish after so long in hiding.”

“I think so,” Valentine agreed. “It must be.”

“Does she love you?”

He chuckled, scoffed, “No. Of course not. She loves this other man, her betrothed.
Her lord
.” His smile fell away. “She has a grand manor for a home, a place of honor in her king’s eyes. She would not give that up for a criminal with no family.”

“You are not without family,” Teresa reminded him.

“No,” he agreed quietly, grasping her hands again. “I am not. Speaking of, let me show you what I have brought you.” He pulled his satchel onto the bench between them and dug inside, pulling out a weighty sack and placing it in her hands.

“Valentine!” she gasped.

“I have been away for a long time, yes?” he said.

From above their heads, a bell began to toll with deep, melodious gongs, vibrating in Valentine’s ears. Teresa pushed the bag toward him.

“You keep it for now,” she said, and gained her feet. “I must go. You will come back tomorrow, won’t you? Please say yes, for I, too, have some things to tell you.”

Valentine stood, the bells still tolling through the garden, his brows drawing together. “Yes, I will come, but Teresa, what is it? Are you in danger?”

“No. Not yet, any matter,” she said with her brown eyes sparkling above a mischievous smile and began to back away. “Come tomorrow and I will tell you. After morning prayers I can be away for an hour.”

“Teresa!” He held out a hand as if he thought it would prevent her from going, but he knew it wasn’t so.

“Tomorrow,” she promised. “Go find your Maria. I love you, Valentine.”

And then she turned and disappeared into the dark shadows of the abbey.

Valentine sighed and replaced the heavy bag of coin in his satchel before slinging it over his shoulder. He shouldn’t be surprised that their time was so short today—Teresa had not expected him, and she would not risk drawing attention to his presence by neglecting her obligations. Tomorrow was not so long to wait.

He turned with a smile of his own and began walking from the garden, to find his Maria.

“L
ady Elmsbeth.” Mary gasped. The old woman’s claws pinched the tender flesh of Mary’s upper arms. “I—you . . . What are you doing here?”

“What am
I
doing here?” the dowager countess demanded in her warbling voice. “What are
you
doing here, young woman? When you disappeared from Melk, we turned the village over, searching for you!”

“But your pilgrimage,” Mary stammered. “You were to go on to Vienna, and then—”

“I am familiar with the itinerary we had planned,” Lady Elmsbeth chastised. “But do you think I would simply abandon you to whatever fate had befallen you in Melk? I promised Father Braund—”

Just then a wheezing old man came trotting up to the dowager’s side, dropping his hands to his knobby knees and panting. The fullness of his cap had drooped sideways, and Mary could see half of his shining pate.

“Lord Roscoe, are you all right?” Mary asked, fearing for the old man, who had once lorded over a small but politically important estate in England.

“By God . . . you were . . . right . . . Beth,” the old man wheezed, glancing up at Mary with his rheumy blue eyes. His cheeks bore startling magenta patches on their sunken middles. “Good day . . . Lady . . . Mary.”

Mary’s eyes went back to the dowager as the old woman continued. “I knew we would find her in Prague. Whoever absconded with her would certainly not have been so brave as we to draw nearer to the Holy Land. Which is simply full of
authentic
criminals.”

Mary frowned and glanced toward the steeple of the church. She must escape the pair before any more of their party caught up with them and Mary was overwhelmed.

“What are you talking about?” Mary demanded. “Who—?”

“The man you left with,” Lady Elmsbeth said, a knowing look on her jowly, wrinkled face.

“No. Man? I don’t—”

Lord Roscoe had caught his breath enough to stand erect and address her. “There is no use in denying it. One of the monks at Melk saw you. And I’m certain he wouldn’t lie.”

Lady Elmsbeth nodded. “He was an albino, you see,” she confided. “They are touched by God.”

“So who is he, young woman?” Lord Roscoe demanded.

“And
where
is he?” the dowager added. “He will answer for this depravity—to us and to the authorities of this city!”

Mary’s head was spinning as her eyes flicked between the two elderly nobles. She couldn’t very well tell them the truth. She thought about turning on her heel and dashing over the bridge—she was confident she could outrun them. But as soon as she did, the authorities of Prague would be searching for her as she wandered the streets seeking the Snowy Owl. Even if by some miracle she managed to locate the brothel on her own, there was no way to alert Valentine that she had been discovered and that they were both now wanted as he made his way back through the city.

It could mean his death if he were discovered.

Mary flung herself suddenly into Lady Elmsbeth’s arms with a dramatic cry. “Thank God you found me!”

“Oh, there, there, dear,” the dowager said happily. “All is well now. You are safe.”

Mary’s eyes searched the slow trickle of visitors emerging through the garden gate as she clutched at Lady Elmsbeth’s rounded shoulders. “We must be away!” she wailed.

The old woman pulled back from Mary and looked keenly into her eyes. “Have you escaped? Is that why you are alone in the city?”

“Yes!”
Mary said, clinging to the excuse. “I left with nothing—not even a single coin. I was . . .” Her eyes flicked to the gates again as bells began tolling. “I was going to seek help at the church.”

“And dressed as a peasant, no less,” the old woman said with a sniff, eyeing Mary’s beautiful veil. “But do not fear, my dear, we shall provide for you, shan’t we, Roscoe?”

“Indubitably,” the old man agreed with a solemn frown. “But, Lady Mary, when Beth saw you, you were coming
from
the church. Did they refuse you?”

“No,” Mary hedged, raising her voice over the echoing gongs that flooded between the buildings lining the narrow streets and seemed to wash away her words. “I . . . I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind?” Lord Roscoe challenged. “Without a farthing to your name, and a mad man in pursuit of you?”

“Roscoe,” Lady Elmsbeth said sharply, “don’t press the girl. She was clearly ashamed of her situation.”

Mary quickly dropped her face, mimicking the emotion. “Yes. So ashamed.”

“Oh,” the old man said. “I see.”

Mary frowned at the street. What did he see? Mary didn’t even see.

“We shall simply not speak of it, dear,” Lady Elmsbeth said in a low, quick voice. “No one ever need know, especially your betrothed. He may not even notice on your wedding night. Most men don’t.”

Mary’s head snapped up so fast she heard the little bones in her neck pop. “What?”

Lord Roscoe appeared mortified and had turned slightly away. “As far as anyone is concerned, we made our journey as planned.”

“Precisely,” Lady Elmsbeth agreed. “It is very common to have last-minute fears before your wedding, Lady Mary. I certainly do not fault you for that. You suffered a terrible, childish, dangerous lapse of judgment, though. And I certainly hope that you won’t pay for it any more than you already may have.” The old woman looked pointedly at Mary’s midsection. “It might be rather . . . difficult to explain.”

Oh, my God,
Mary thought to herself.
They think I ran away from Melk with a man to avoid my wedding. And that I’ve spent the past fortnight in his bed!

Most of which was actually true, she realized.

The bells of the church were fading away now, and the rush of people at the gates had increased.

“I can’t talk about this now,” Mary said, hearing the desperation in her voice, which was there for an entirely different reason than the elderly nobles before her believed. She looked at them squarely, mustering all the anxiety she truly felt. “Can we please just go? Please?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Elmsbeth said kindly, linking her arm with Mary’s. They turned back toward the church. “Our inn is just on the other side of the cathedral.”

Lord Roscoe graciously took her other elbow and the pair began leading Mary back toward the garden gates.

The old man patted her arm reassuringly. “There is a corridor through the vineyard that leads to the other street,” he said. “We shall be there in a thrice.”

There was nothing Mary could do but let herself be dragged up the cobbled street by her elderly captors.
I should have stayed in the room,
she berated herself.
I should have listened to Valentine.

And then, as if her thoughts had conjured him, he appeared at the gate, drawing his hood up over his head, his satchel slung across his body. He was smiling and appeared occupied by his thoughts, and Mary feared he would walk right past them.

“Vamanos,”
Mary said suddenly in a loud voice.

The monk glanced up briefly, and then Valentine looked again, his head turning over his shoulder to follow Mary as she passed.

“What on earth, Lady Mary?” Lady Elmsbeth said with a frown.

“I believe it means ‘thank you’ in the language of Prague,” Mary hedged.

Lord Roscoe was nodding. “She’s quite right, Beth.”

“Well, of course you are welcome, my dear,” Lady Elmsbeth said. “And have no fear—we shan’t let you out of our sights again, shall we, Roscoe?”

Lord Roscoe harrumphed. “Indubitably.”

 

Valentine stopped in the street, closed his eyes, and turned his face up toward the sky with a sigh. Then he spun on his heel and began following the pair of old people who held Maria captive back through the cathedral’s gate. If any of the good citizens of Prague had been able to translate the forceful and colorful curses muttered by the man in the habit, they certainly would have been shocked.

What was Maria doing on the other side of the city? Had she followed him? Valentine hadn’t seen her inside the garden, but he admittedly had been distracted. Perhaps she had become lost. The old people laying such bold claim to Maria could be none other than those from the pilgrims’ party she had abandoned in Melk, and Valentine could not believe their exceptional good fortune in happening upon her in Prague.

Never mind that now. There would be time aplenty for lectures and chastisement as soon as Valentine figured out where the old pilgrims were taking Maria and how he was to get her back.

The trio wound around the marble fountain and toward the corner of the garden opposite the public gate, where trellises of grapevines twisted overhead and created a cool, dark passage over the gravel path. The old man stepped ahead to push open a rounded, swinging wooden door, and then they stepped out onto the street beyond. Valentine averted his face as the old man let the door swing shut, and then he waited a moment before exiting the path himself.

He looked right, left, and caught sight of Maria’s black lace as she was led away from the river and up the street in a diagonal line toward the buildings opposite the cathedral. Valentine hung back a bit as Maria and the old pilgrims ducked through the doorway of an elegantly façaded building, and then he followed in their footsteps.

It was a lavish inn, complete with a proper tavern, Valentine saw as he ducked into the cool, dim room. Delicious smells wafted from the open doors in the rear, and Valentine could see the elaborate outdoor kitchen beneath a deep overhang across a busy alley. Valentine was distracted from the opulent appointments at the sight of Maria in a back corner of the room, being seated at a table by the old man. Her eyes were wide, her distress clear on her pale face.

Maria saw him, then, her lips parting in an O of either surprise or dread, but to her credit, she looked away, as if he were not there. The old woman sat down next to her, her mouth moving in animated conversation, which Valentine was certain he was glad he could not hear. The old man wandered away.

Valentine spied an empty table halfway through the room and weaved his way between patrons. He chose a chair that would give him a sideways view of Maria, and yet not place his back to the door. But before his arse could connect with the wooden seat, a scrawny lad skittered around his backside to confront him.

“I think not, brother,” the boy said in the language of the city. “You know him don’t give charity. He’ll toss you.”

“I can pay,” Valentine said. He pulled his satchel around and produced two small coins, which he flipped to the lad. “Be gone, and return with an ale.”

The coins twinkled in the dim light before the grubby fist snatched them from the air. “He’ll toss you,” the boy repeated resignedly but went away, Valentine hoped, to do his bidding.

While Valentine waited for his drink, he kept a watchful eye on Maria and tried to think of how he would extricate her from the old woman, whose jowls had not stopped moving since she had placed her considerable girth in the chair. This inn must be where the pilgrims were staying, and if they secreted Maria away into a room before he could make a move, it would be much more difficult to locate her. The doorway that Valentine surmised led to the upstairs apartments was open, but a man sat to one side on a tall stool, likely to keep the upper floors sacrosanct for the inn’s privileged guests.

Before he could come up with anything more, a thick, hairy palm slammed down on the tabletop before him and then lifted to reveal one of the coins Valentine had given the serving boy.

“Get out,” a voice growled near his ear, and Valentine turned his head calmly to regard a wide, florid face, with red, bushy hair ringing the entirety of it, save for what was stuffed under a pointed velvet cap.

“Good day, brother,” Valentine said. “Is there no ale to be had in your establishment? My coin is authentic, I assure you.”

“None for the likes of you,” the proprietor said through jagged teeth. “Which the boy just told you. My patrons find no ease with a man of God watching their every move, even if he be a worse sot then they. This is no church. Now get up and get out, before I have need to show you the way.”

Valentine felt one of his eyebrows quirk. He would love nothing more than to grab the plum-faced man by the back of his thick neck and introduce his nose to the tabletop. Fortunately for the proprietor, Valentine could not draw that sort of attention to himself at the moment.

Then Valentine realized the man might be of use after all.

“I would not do that if I were you,” Valentine said, and then glanced around the room pointedly. He gestured to the man to lean closer with a toss of his head, and he did so, albeit with obvious reluctance. “I am no monk, innkeeper.”

“What kind of shite is this?” the man demanded. “I care not if you call yourself a monk, brother, father, or holiday goose.”

Valentine shook his head discreetly, and then lifted up the hem of his robe to reveal his leather boot. He reached down and slid the hilt of his dagger up where the man could see it above the tooled cuff and then replaced it again. “I am no monk. See you the young lady in the back of the room? With the old woman?”

The red-haired man stood erect and turned to look boldly toward the rear of the tavern. “Yes, I see her.”

“Shh!” Valentine hissed and grabbed the man’s thick forearm, catching him off-balance and dragging him into a chair at the table. “The English party; they have just requested accommodations for her, yes?”

“Yes,” the man said slowly with a frown. “She is to share the chamber of the lady she is with now.”

Valentine let his lips press into a thin line. “Damn! Of course! I underestimated their cunning yet again.” He let his eyes go to the innkeeper’s confused face again, and Valentine leaned forward over the table. “Do you not find it odd that a lone young woman would suddenly appear with an aged group such as theirs—reportedly on a
pilgrimage
?”