Lady Gallant (34 page)

It was almost sunset the next day before Christian emerged from the forest to view the grass-covered plain that heralded the approach to Falaise, and Nora. A moated country house, Falaise rested on a hill that dominated the rolling meadows around it. It was old—his ancestors had built the manor even before the Tudors killed off the last of the Plantagenet kings nearly eighty years before—but Christian preferred the place to his family's seat, Castle Montfort. The castle was a great stone pile, dank, cold, and forbidding.

Perhaps the castle would have been a more appropriate prison for his wife, but Falaise was a day's ride from London, and he wanted to be close to his father. In addition, he'd sent men to search for the laborers who worked in the cipher garden and had to be near to receive any news from his intelligencers. And he felt better about taking Nora to his own house for punishment, for when he found out, his father was sure to cavil with him for what he'd done.

Kicking his horse into a trot, Christian rode across the meadows. As he neared Falaise, he could see reflections in the water of the moat—the bright green of the ivy clinging to the house, the creamy stone of its walls, the Persian-silk blue of the sky. Red brick chimneys jutted from the roof, concealing the corner room at the back of the house where he'd ordered Nora taken.

He slowed his mount as he rode over the drawbridge, acknowledging the ducking heads of several villagers on their way home from making deliveries at the lord's house. At the stairs in front of the main door, he pulled up. A groom took the horses's bridle, and Christian swung down. He was halfway up the stairs, cloak swinging with each stride, when a whizzing sound made him halt. A sliver of thin metal pierced the front door a moment before Simon Spry opened it. The thief blinked at the dagger that impaled the oak beside his nose, then stepped back inside the house and slammed the door.

Christian slapped his riding gloves against his palm and spoke to the dagger. "Good eventide, my comfit."

"Whoreson vicemonger," Blade said from somewhere at Christian's back.

"Odd how you manage to utter the vilest coney catcher's obscenities with the accent of an Oxford student. Have you remembered your past yet?"

Blade stamped across the courtyard and up the stairs, passing Christian and then whirling to face his captor, standing one step above him. "No, I haven't, but that's not what has me ready to piss melted lead. What have you done to Nora?"

"Attend to your own affairs, my sweet, or I'll teach you how."

Christian stepped around Blade, but the youth ran up the stairs to plant himself in front of the door.

"She's corpse pale and shivers in the sun's heat, and she won't talk to me. You've set your pack of wolves about her and let them take nips at her flesh. God's cock, I knew you were vicious, but I thought you fancied Nora. What's she done?"

Tucking his gloves in his belt, Christian slowly closed in on Blade, who set his feet wide apart and glared his defiance.

"Angel's morsel, get out of my way."

"What did she do to you?" Blade asked with a smirk. "Wasn't she a virgin?"

Christian's hands flashed out. Blade's arm was twisted behind his back while an arm choked his throat. Christian lifted his victim and proceeded to ram Blade's head into the door in rhythm with his couplet.

You are, will be or have been

Unchaste in fact or will.

After tossing the now limp Blade down the stairs, Christian stepped into the shadows of the entry way. "Unhappy consequences befall you when I hear the subject of my wife's chastity tripping off your tongue. I'll send someone to wipe your nose and carry you to bed, my comfit."

Inside, Simon Spry waited to take Christian's cloak. The older man jutted a whiskered chin at the door. "Hotter than Mag's petticoats, he's been. Furious at being made to wear the saddle after being ridden bareback all these weeks."

"Trust not the innocence of youth, Simon. Remember what I was like at his age."

"You're not much older than Blade now, and I trust you."

"Then you're crackbrained, you old prigger."

Christian handed Simon his gloves and walked into the hall, where the fireplace already burned logs in preparation for evening. Followed by Simon, his boots tapping against the black and white marble tiles of the floor, Christian kicked a stool aside and halted before the fire. He placed his forearms on the mantel and bathed his face in heat.

"You put her in the maid's chamber?" he asked.

"Aye, Kit, but are you sure that's the right one?"

"Fed her, did you?"

"She won't come to the dining chamber," Simon said. "When we got here, she didn't fuss at where she was put, just plopped down on the window seat and folded her hands. Makes me jittery, she does. All still and quiet. She's plotting something, sure as the stews stink."

"And no word from my clerk?"

"Not yet. Inigo has gone to the city to listen to your magpies sing, but he says that many of the Queen's household scattered when she left for Hampton Court three days ago. Sent to other palaces, they were." Simon paused, glancing at Christian's face. "Here, Kit, you look like you haven't slept since Yuletide."

Christian took the tankard of ale Simon handed him and drained it. All it seemed to do was fog his thoughts even more and aggravate his weariness. He refused another drink, for he still had Nora to face. Ordering that the evening meal be served in an hour, he set off for the room at the east corner of the house on the topmost floor.

The chamber was reached by the servants' stair, six steep flights that led to three rooms. Christian paused before one door and noted that Inigo had installed the massive silver-plated lock that usually went on Christian's own chamber at whichever of the family houses he stayed. Withdrawing a key from the pouch at his belt, he stood glaring at it.

It was happening again. Just knowing she was on the other side of the door was enough. Cursing under his breath, he braced both hands against the door. He called up images of heretics burning alive, victims of the rack, but the only real picture in his head was of Nora—naked, large-eyed, trusting Nora. If he didn't find relief, he was going to open the door and fall upon her like a beast, his lust and his hate rampant, and neither of them would survive the inferno unmaimed. So he thought of his father, of how Sebastian had put his hand on Nora's head and blessed her.

When the pain in his groin had ebbed slightly, he began to recite passages of the
Iliad
in Greek. After a long while, he was able to stand erect and enter Nora's chamber. His first impressions were of shadows pierced by fading light from a recessed window, and of dust floating in the air, blanketing a chest, bed hangings, a sideboard. He'd known the room wouldn't be ready for use. What furniture was there made the room look the size of a comfit box.

Nora was perched on the window seat, barely touched by the fast-dimming light. She had removed her French hood, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders and snarled in the faded embroidery of her riding habit. Crouching, her hands pressed against the whitewashed walls, she watched him silently.

"Do you approve of your new home?" Christian asked, watching her as closely as she watched him.

She started at the sound of his voice, then wrinkled her brow. She looked around the room as if giving it her attention for the first time. What she saw appeared not to interest her, for she quickly returned her gaze to him without making a reply.

"I asked how you found your chamber, wife."

"It's fine."

Irritated that she hadn't noticed her bare and incommodious surroundings, Christian tried again.

"And your servants, you approve of them as well?"

"Who?"

"The special retainers I've assigned to you—Simon Spry, horse thief and swindler, Odo Twitch, false beggar and pimp. And, of course, my dear Mag and her girls, but you won't have had time to meet them."

"They're fine," Nora said. "My lord, please, if you would but hear me."

"The only words I will listen to are the names of those you serve. To whom did you send the cipher?"

"I can't tell you."

"If I have to find out for myself, your punishment will be that much worse. Tell me now and I'll send you to Castle Mont-fort in peace. You'll be in gaol, but I'll forgo my other… plans."

Nora reached out a hand to him, but pulled it back abruptly. She laced her fingers together, twisting them while he watched her eyes fill with unshed tears.

"My lord, I beg you to listen."

Expelling a long-held breath, Christian turned to leave.

"Wait!"

With deliberate care, he returned to stand before his small wife, arms crossed and eyes blank. Saying nothing, he lifted a brow and waited. Nora's gaze wavered and sank to the floor.

"I know you suspect me of serving Bishop Bonner, but it's not true. We've misunderstood each other from the beginning, it seems. I thought… but I was wrong, and I don't fault you for not wanting me."

"So gracious of you not to blame me for not wanting a traitor for a wife. No, say nothing more. I told you I want nothing from you but the name of your master. Is it de Ateca?"

"No."

Christian narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you, and my patience is at an end. Dinner is in one hour. I'll come back to let you out of your cage then."

"I'll eat here."

"If you want to eat, you'll do it where I command and when I command." He backed away as she rose for the first time, bringing her near enough for him to catch the scent of honeysuckle that rose from her hair. "One hour," he repeated, and fled her presence.

Running away did no good, for he was back in her chamber when the hour was up, torn once again between desire and damnation. He bowed mockingly to her and held out his arm. She stared at it until he grabbed her hand and forced it to lace under his arm and rest in its crook. Then he marched her downstairs and into the main hall. Raucous laughter, belching, and cursing could be heard long before they entered, and the volume of noise rose as they walked the length of the hall to the dais reserved for the lord.

Christian studied Nora as they passed between two long trestle tables occupied by pockmarked, sweaty, and ripe-smelling retainers. He'd gotten her attention at last. The strangeness of his household was penetrating her wits. She wrinkled her nose, pulled her skirt close to her body, and slowed her steps. He tugged her along, noting that his people were falling silent as they perceived of their arrival.

As they neared the dais, Christian felt Nora halt. He looked down at her, then noted the direction of her stare. She'd seen Mag and the others sitting at the lord's table.

"My special friends, wife," he said. "They've come to meet you."

He grabbed Nora's arm and yanked her up the dais after him. Pausing before Mag, he took the woman's hand and kissed it. As he ran his tongue over Mag's knuckles, he heard Nora catch her breath. Slowly a smile spread over his face, and Mag's eyes lit with anticipation.

"Oh, Kit," she murmured, "you shouldn't make such promises in public."

"But I intend to keep them," he said. "And you may chastise me if I don't."

Mag laughed and rushed at Christian, pressing her body to his and forcing his lips open for a kiss. Whistles rose from those below, and a few stamped their feet. Christian lifted his head. Still holding Mag, he turned to them and raised his voice.

"My good people, I give you my wife, Nora." Beside him, Nora jerked her gaze away from Mag to look at him. He grinned at her. "A fair maid who's a maid no longer. Sweet, obedient, docile, and silent, everything a man could want in a wife."

Cheers rose from the ale-drunk crowd, and Christian bid them resume their meal. He led a red-faced Nora to the chair beside his, and Mag took a stool on his right.

"Wife, I present my dear and honorable friends." He stopped while Simon and Holly smirked. "Simon you know. And this plump morsel of sin is Holly, and the wench with her mouth full of goose is Annie. Annie, don't stuff your mouth so."

Annie swallowed and leered at him. "My mouth's been a lot fuller with you in it, Kit my delicious."

Nora's goblet toppled, splashing wine on the tablecloth. Christian righted the vessel while surveying Nora's pallid features.

"Does our banter disturb you?"

Nora wet her lips and shook her head.

"Good. Have some goose." He threw a drumstick on her trencher. "And some capon and an artichoke or two."

"And what about you, Kit?" Mag scooted close to Christian so that her breasts pressed against his arm. "Have some meat. You're going to need your strength."

Christian opened his mouth and allowed Mag to feed him. He licked the woman's fingers clean of juice before taking a drink of wine. When he glanced at Nora, he saw she was regarding him as if he were a devil's imp. Her hands were shaking as she sipped her wine.

"You aren't eating," he said. "Does the play disturb you?" He gestured at Simon Spry, who was toying with Annie's breast.

"I'm not hungry."

"I won't have my wife yammering and squalling about the honest pleasures of my friends. By God's cock, why is it that plain women are so prudish and spiteful?"

It should have given him great satisfaction to watch Nora turn the color of faded parchment and shiver as if she'd caught an ague. It didn't, and that made him furious with himself and-wildly angry at her. He couldn't let her see him weaken, but he was going to have to suspend the torture for the moment, or he'd never carry out his next plan.

"Can you imagine," he asked in a light voice, "how pleasant it will be to spend the whole summer and fall in the company of these dear friends, wife?"

Nora turned to face him. The dazed expression he'd seen in her chamber had returned, and she didn't answer. He couldn't stand watching her eyes lose focus and her head and shoulders droop. How dare she look so pitiful when it was she who'd caused them to be trapped together in this Hell?

"You look tired," he said. "Go to bed."

When she failed to respond, he snarled at her. "Get out of my sight."