Lady Gallant (19 page)

Christian let stillness surround him. He'd learned to do so after months of suffering under the hand of Jack Midnight. It must serve him now, for he could smell the bloodlust exuding from Bonner. It wafted toward him with the man's peculiar odor as he was escorted after the Queen and her attendants into the state chamber. Christ's wounds, why had Nora spoken for him? He could take care of himself, but fear for her was disturbing the calm he needed to survive.

The Queen lowered herself into her canopied chair of state. Her ladies were dismissed, and Bonner positioned himself beside her. Christian breathed in the fresh scent of Nora as he dropped to his knees beside the girl. She took a step closer to him and, using her skirt as a shield, caught his arm, giving it a squeeze. Beshrew her, he thought. She couldn't stand up to her father, so what was she doing defying the Queen? "Get you gone," he whispered harshly. "Now."

She ignored him. Christian's fists doubled in frustration, and the guards, who stood behind him, clamped their hands on his shoulders and touched their sword hilts in warning. Lowering his eyes, he concealed his anger behind his lashes and stared at the carpet.

The Queen began speaking, droning on about her desire to restore England to the Catholic faith. Her eyes burned with a fire brighter than the ones that seared heretics. Christian knew he had little time to gather his wits. He was suspected, as he'd often imagined he would be. Only he'd never considered he might also endanger an innocent whose very presence scoured every emotion but lust from his soul.

Drawing in a long breath, he stuffed his worry about Nora into a corner of his mind, summoned all the skills of deception he possessed, and raised wide-open eyes to the pair who judged him. The Queen was still engaged in her tirade, but Bonner was staring at him. Across the ten paces that separated them, Christian could feel the man's desire for blood. It rushed at him in ravening waves. Bonner rubbed his chin and his upper lip. His bulk seemed to strain toward Christian as their eyes met, but the Queen finished speaking.

"Because of the love we bear you and your father," she said to Christian, "we do you the honor of informing you of the accusations against you." She nodded to Bonner.

The bishop folded his hands together over his protruding stomach. "Christian Richard Villard de Rivers, Lord Montfort, you are charged with heresy."

As he wrinkled his brow, Christian heard Nora's small "No!" and he cast a glance of angelic bewilderment at the Queen.

"Please, Your Majesty, I don't understand. Was I not shown the true faith years ago by your own priests?"

Mary bent toward him. "Our own sister was schooled in a like manner, but we are not fooled by her cozening and mouthing of blandishments and false piety. Are we, Bonner?"

"Nay, Your Majesty. If it please Your Grace, give Lord Montfort into my keeping, and I will persuade him to confess his heresy." Bonner could contain himself no longer. While the Queen appeared to consider his request, he waddled over to Christian. Bending with difficulty over the bulge between his neck and his feet, he stuck his face in Christian's. "Bethink you to fool the Queen's majesty with your wiles? Think you your pretty face will save you from God's judgment? I tell you it will not be. Only a full confession and repentance can save you now."

Christian drew back from the man's foul breath and shook his head. It was all he could do to maintain his facade of innocence and bemusement, for he wanted to sink his fingers into the flab around Bonner's neck and choke him until his weasel's eyes popped. He didn't, though. Instead, he continued to shake his head from side to side and lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"I don't understand," he said.

"You're famed for your brilliance, de Rivers," Bonner said. "Belabor us not with lies." The bishop straightened and put a hand on Christian's shoulder. "Mayhap you need reminding of the punishment for heresy. I'm sure Her Majesty would see to it that you witnessed a burning. Sometimes the wood is green and doesn't burn all at once, or the gunpowder doesn't explode as it's meant to in order to spare the heretic pain." Bonner's hand kneaded Christian's shoulder. "And when that happens, the torso is burned away while the sinner is still conscious."

Christian could feel the blood drain from his face. At his side, he saw Nora's body begin to tremble. He couldn't comfort her. It took all his strength of will not to throw that fat hand off his body and pounce on Bonner. Grinding his teeth together, he girded himself to endure Bonner's pawing.

"I saw one man," Bonner went on, "still moving his lips even though his throat had been burned away. At the last, he had no mouth, and all he could do was wave the stumps that were left of his arms until the skin on them charred and burst."

As Bonner grinned at him, Christian shrank away from the leering face and prying fingers. He spoke so that only Bonner heard him. "You're mad."

"Enough," the Queen said. "You've made Nora cry, Bishop."

Bonner lifted his hand from Christian's shoulder and bowed to the Queen. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I but seek to convince this corrupt boy of the foulness of his sins by showing him the severity of the punishment he faces. Give me a week with him, Your Majesty, and I will return him to you obedient and free of heresy, or begging to die."

"Bonner!" Mary's voice whipped through the room, causing everyone to start. "Control your tongue."

The bishop again begged the Queen's pardon.

While Bonner's attention was elsewhere, Christian glanced at Nora. She was biting her lip, trying not to sob. She looked at him, and he winked at her. Startled, she quit weeping. All the while, Christian was slowly moving his hand to the neck of his doublet. Unlooping a jeweled button, he lifted his other hand and tugged at the lacing of his shirt. His fingers slipped beneath the white silk and caught on a gold chain. Drawing it forth, he wrapped his hand around the object suspended from it.

Suffusing his voice with unhappy confusion, he begged the Queen for permission to speak. Mary scowled at him, but at a pleading look from Nora, granted his request.

"Please, Your Majesty, I don't understand. How have I committed this terrible sin?" Christian searched Mary's face as if seeking salvation from it, all the while exuding wounded innocence. Once Mary was looking into his eyes, he held them for a long moment before glancing down as if in shame. He spoke quietly. "Your Majesty knows that I was cast into sin as a boy."

"And you've corrupted others now that you've grown," Bonner said.

Christian kept his eyes downcast. His shoulders drooped in submission. He almost smirked when the Queen lashed out at Bonner for interrupting. Mary ordered Christian to continue.

"I've never spoken of this to anyone, Your Majesty, because of my shame. I—I fought my father when he tried to reclaim me. For over two years, until the day Father brought me to court to be presented to the great King Harry."

Mary nodded. "Father often told the story of you being dragged into his presence as furious as a cornered alley cat."

"My father threw me at the King's feet. It wasn't until I beheld the King's face that I realized I was in the presence of majesty, and I was afraid."

Mary bobbed her head. "Everyone felt it. My father was chosen by God for greatness."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I was afraid, but the King laughed that giant's laugh of his and tapped me on the head with his walking stick." Christian paused, for everyone was looking at him, waiting. "And then…" Queen Mary scooted forward in her chair to hear him better. "And then…" Bonner's eyes bore into
Christian's. "And then the King ordered me to play the lute and sing for him, and said if I wasn't obedient, he'd throw me in the
Tower and hang me. So I sang."

"What did you sing?" Nora asked, then covered her mouth with her hand.

"Yes," the Queen said. "What did you sing?" Christian's mouth twitched, then he began to sing.

My little fool

Is gone to play,

She will tarry no longer with me.

Hey ho, frisk-a jolly,

Under the greenwood tree!

Hey ho, frisk-a jolly,

Under the greenwood tree!

Hey ho, frisk-a jolly.

He'd done it, Christian thought as he finished the song. He'd nudged the Queen's mood from suspicion into reverie. Like breeze-tossed ribbons on a maypole, her moods flapped, sailed, and jerked according to some hidden derangement Christian could not understand but had learned to influence.

The Queen's deep bark of laughter brought smiles to Christian's and Nora's faces.

An imitation of a smile distorted Bonner's lips. "Your wit is blazoned throughout the kingdom, Lord Montfort, but not all your fabled intellect can reason out of this. You consort daily with heretics."

It took the schooling of a runagate to keep Christian's smile in place. The Queen's merriment vanished, and he beheld the fires of Smithfield in her gaze. Bonner knew, Christian was certain, about Dymoke and the cellar.

Raising a sausage of a finger, the bishop pointed at Christian. "You consort with heretics."

"I do not," Christian said.

"I have one in gaol to prove that you do."

"One?"

"A foul doxy called Three-Tooth Poll. Why, the woman can't even tell what a Mass is, or whether or not the sacramental wine turns to Christ's blood."

Christian tightened his hand over the object it held. "You have Poll?" Of all the possibilities for disaster, he'd not thought once of this one.

"And a scrawny cutpurse who refuses to acknowledge the Pope."

"Inigo Culpepper." Christian could barely hear his own voice, so faint was it.

"Heretics."

"Oh, Your Majesty, no," Nora said. She had been so quiet, they all looked at her as if one of the tapestries had spoken.

Christian tried to glare her into silence, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty." Nora rushed to the Queen and threw herself at Mary's feet. "The good bishop is mistaken."

"I know heresy when I hear it!" Bonner roared.

"Of course, my lord." Nora's voice quavered, yet she persisted. "But Lord Montfort consorts with these knaves and thieves apurppse, Your Majesty."

"Nora, what could excuse habiting with the Devil's minions?" Mary asked.

"Why, to save them from the heresy he is accused of adopting, Your Majesty."

Christian raised his eyes to the ceiling. They were never going to believe that piece of fabrication. Not unless he helped Nora with her lies. Why did she have to screw up her courage and risk her life now, when she'd be better off playing the mouse? Confident in her newfound mendacity, she busily dressed up her tale.

"For months he has been leading them toward the true religion, Your Majesty. How often have I heard you lament that our well-born lead their baser charges astray from the true religion? Lord Montfort has taken your lamentations to heart. He seeks to spread the truth among those who need it most."

"Nonsense," Bonner said. "This fair report is nothing but a veil he spreads in front of virtuous eyes. He spends his time swilling and carousing. He wallows and cavorts with sinners because he, too, is a sinner. Look upon the face of his sin, Your Majesty."