Lady Gallant (27 page)

"You don't deserve the hand of Medusa in marriage," Christian said.

"My daughter is betrothed." William eyed Christian speculatively. "She's in the middle of marrying Flegge."

"Beshrew me, sir, for contradicting you, but Nora was in the middle of sharing a bed with me when Flegge interrupted."

William's roar made Nora cringe. Her face drained of color, and she felt her legs wobble. An arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she was dragged into the shelter of Christian's body.

"I'll still marry her," Flegge said.

Sighing, Christian addressed the giant. "Anthony Now-Now, my good fellow, toss this ferret into the Thames at once."

Flegge was snatched up by the collar, his arms and legs flailing, and carried from the chapel to the jeers of Lord Mont-fort's ruffians. Nora almost smiled, so great was her satisfaction at witnessing Flegge's humiliation. She looked up at Christian, but he was returning the calculating gaze of her father.

"You've dishonored my daughter."

"It's a fault, I know."

"I'll complain to the Queen."

"She hears complaints about me daily."

"Your title won't protect you."

"I know. Nothing seems to protect me from your daughter, so I've decided to rid myself of the necessity of protection by marrying her."

"Good."

"What?" Nora twisted beneath Christian's arm to gawk at him.

He was rubbing his damp brow. "My wits are addled from this fever."

"Get you home to rest when we finish here," William said. "We must petition the Queen for permission."

"Unbalanced humors, that's what it is." Christian gave his head a slight shake.

Nora chewed her lip as she assessed Christian's flushed skin and bleary eyes. "Father, Lord Montfort suffers from an ague. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"Of course I know." Christian whirled away from her, spreading his arms wide. "Come, kittens, our business here is finished, and if I stay, she'll dose me with her foul stew of roots and branches."

"Montfort, we haven't finished discussing terms," William said.

Christian vanished in the midst of knights, beggars, and thieves.

"Montfort, you're not running away from this. Montfort!"

"It's no use," Nora said. "He never listens to anything he doesn't want to hear."

"He'll listen to me," William said. "Son of an earl or no, he's not going to ruin my family's honor. The banns have been waived, all we have to do is change the name on the contracts. It shouldn't take more than a week to arrange."

"But the Earl is dangerously ill, and Lord Montfort suffers, too."

"It matters not," William said. "By next week, the Earl will either be dead or recovering, and either way, Christian de Rivers will have himself a bride if I have to bring the priest to his father's bier."

Nora shook her head and whispered, "He would kill you."

"Nonsense. In any case, you have no say in the matter. Get you to your chambers and refresh yourself. You look like you've spent the night in a rabbit's burrow."

William strode away, intent on his plans to corner Lord Montfort. Hugging her waist, Nora sank down on a pew and tried to make sense of what had happened. Had Christian meant to offer for her hand when he invaded the chapel? He'd been so fevered, she wasn't sure he hadn't merely intended to ruin the ceremony. After all, he was distraught over his father and ill himself. To hold him to promises made while in such pain would be dishonest.

And he'd told everyone he'd seduced her! Though she herself had implied such attempts to the Queen, she hadn't gone so far as to claim carnal relations. But Lord Montfort's scruples were as rare as scales on a bear.

Sinking back, Nora rested her head on the hard wood of the pew. Ah, well, she'd wanted him, so what right did she have to complain about the way she got him? For she did indeed have him. Her father and the Queen would see to that. But in guarding her honor, they would also see to it that she would never know if he wanted her for herself—or out of charity.

Christian hopped down from the cart laden with baskets of freshly baked pastries. Simon Spry and Anthony Now-Now followed and began to unload pies, bread, and buns. Dressed in a white smock, his head enveloped in a baker's shapeless cap, Christian made a show of directing the delivery to his father's kitchens.

Grabbing a double-handled basket himself, he ducked into the house. Heat suffused the main kitchen, and he was engulfed in the bustle and scurry of preparations for the morning meal. No one paid attention to the baker and his apprentices, and Christian slipped out of the main kitchen with his basket and up the back stairs. At the doors to the Earl's chambers, the men on watch only lifted their brows at the sight of the heir sporting a dirty silver wig and a thick coating of flour on most of his exposed skin.

"How is he?" Christian asked of them.

"Fair, my lord," one said. "But he tried to sit up and took bad."

Christian shut his eyes for a moment, cursing his need to leave his father. Then he sighed and went in. Walking lightly, he approached the bed and stood, clutching the basket in front of him, and watched his father. Sebastian was sleeping. Pale, he seemed to have shrunk like a withering plant in a flowerbed.

"You smell like peach tart," Sebastian said with his eyes closed. He opened them and surveyed his son from cap to shoes. "And you look like you belong in an oven along with your pastries."

Christian set the basket on the floor and took out one of the small pies. He waved it before Sebastian. "Does it tempt you? Tarts are my specialty."

"What have you been doing, my headstrong?"

"Toiling in the kitchens of Bloody Bonner."

The Earl sat up too quickly and groaned. "God's wounds, I'm never going to get well if you keep scaring me like this."

Christian tossed the pie into the basket and pressed his father back down against the pillows.

"Forgive me, sire."

"You have plenty of clowns and disguisers among your minions. Why must you risk yourself?"

"Because I'm better at it than most, and I'm in a hurry. Think you I want to marry with the headsman's ax waiting outside the bridal chamber?"

Christian tugged the cap and wig from his head and ran his flour-covered fingers through his hair. He stopped when his father shook his head and chuckled at him, as he used to when Christian was seven. Sebastian's smiled faded, though, and he patted the mattress beside him. Christian lowered his weight to the bed gently so as not to jostle the sick man.

"What have you discovered?" Sebastian asked.

"Nothing," Christian said. "His clerks are clams, and his priests stuff their mouths with so much capon and mince pie that all I could hear was the smacking of lips and burping. But fear not, there are other ways. Mag will snare at least one or two of his priests in her house, for they're mighty fond of riding something other than donkeys of an evening."

"And the Queen?"

"Scolded like a godmother." Christian pounded his thigh, and a puff of flour rose from his smock. "She boxed my ears and threatened to fine me into poverty if I didn't marry Nora. God curse Her Bloody-Minded-Majesty."

"But she doesn't question your faith, you careless baggage."

"Nay, only my honor."

Sebastian breathed deeply, then let out a sigh. "Good. I was worried that she was privy to the attack."

"She's dying. Everyone knows it but the Queen herself. The whole city lets loose its bowels every time she takes to her bed. Blade has it from de Ateca that the Spaniards fear the country will go to Mary of Scotland and her French husband. I do believe they'd rather have our young Bess. Philip could marry her and keep England."

"She'll never consent to that."

"To sharing power? The Lady Elizabeth's grace? Not until cabbages sprout legs and walk." Christian stood, brushing flakes of dried dough from his apron. "I must bathe before I turn into a loaf and start to rise."

The Earl stayed him with a lift of his hand. "Before you go, you'll tell me why you must risk your life on the day of your wedding."

"There won't be time for disguisings after. I've sent word to Cecil that I must curtail my intelligencing for a few months. Someone has made Bonner suspicious of me, and I can't risk involving you or Nora, or my friends."

"You've already involved Nora. You're marrying her tonight."

"I've tried to explain, sire." Christian stooped to retrieve his discarded wig and cap and began brushing white dust from both. "It's not my fault she exposed herself to dishonor. The widgeon blurted out her presence in my bedchamber, and even a rook such as I couldn't stand by while she married that pestilence of a Flegge."

Shifting uneasily under his father's gaze, Christian began to hum the melody to a bawdy song.

"You were forced to it," Sebastian said.

"My wits sizzled by an ague."

"But bound to it by honor."

"Body racked with seizures, mind plagued and deviled."

The Earl snorted. "You know my feelings upon the matter."

"She's not so delicate or so timid as either of us thought."

Christian suddenly chuckled and spun around in a circle, his arms flung wide. "God's sweet patience, sire, you should have seen her prick those doctors with my sword. She had to lift it with both hands, but she never balked once. Whipped and kicked their tails out of the room with all the enthusiasm of a gaoler from the clink. I think my lessons and nagging have borne fruit."

"I've never seen you like this," Sebastian said.

Christian left off smiling to himself and flushed. With difficulty he met his father's gaze. "She saved your life, and I tried to get rid of her in spite of it. And then Flegge took her, and I nearly went mad. When they told me she'd been taken, I almost convinced myself it was for the best. But then Blade said something I'll never forget. He said I should think about what my life would be like without her in it." Christian grimaced. "He knows, you see, what it's like to have no one. So he railed at me that I deserved to lose her. Strange how fond of her he's grown since she doesn't approve of him any more than she does of me."

"And what would your life be like without the timid Mistress Becket?"