Rivals for the Crown (17 page)

She gave de Boyer a wary glance. "Yes," she said, then turned back to Rory. "You do remember Sir Henry de Boyer, sir?"

"No," Rory said. "Nice to meet ye, de Boyer."

Henry de Boyer nodded. "We met at the palace, MacGannon. I would have thought you on your way north already. Scotland is very far from London."

"I'm staying all winter."

Isabel's smile was delighted. "Oh, wonderful! Henry, is that not lovely?"

"Yes, Henry," Rory said. "Are ye not surprised?"

De Boyer's smile was slow and appraising. "I admit I am. Why do you stay, MacGannon? Does John Comyn always keep his lackeys here in London?"

"I dinna ken. I'll ask him. I am here to see the sights, sir. And are they not grand?" He smiled at Isabel. "I dinna ken ye still would have duties."

"I do, which is very surprising. I thought I'd be dismissed."

"Speaking of dismissing.. .de Boyer, d'ye mean to spend the afternoon with us? I am delighted, of course, if ye are. Nothing would please me more than to spend my time with ye, sir. But I am surprised that ye keep seeking me out."

De Boyer laughed. "I assure you, sir, that it is not your company I seek. No, I have an appointment elsewhere. Demoiselle, I will meet you here for your return as we agreed." He met Rory's gaze. "We see each other daily, of course, living as we do so close together at court."

"Do ye now?"

"We do." De Boyer bowed over Isabel's hand. "Until later."

She smiled. "Enjoy your tryst, sir."

De Boyer looked startled, then smiled. "Enjoy your walk, demoiselle."

"I am sure I will."

They stood together, Rory and Isabel, watching de Boyer walk briskly away. Rory wondered briefly if Isabel was using him to

make de Boyer jealous. And how he could make the most of that. He turned to her with another smile.

"Good to see ye, lass. I was afraid ye'd been warned away from me."

"We made a bargain, sir, and I always keep my word."

"Do ye? Good to ken that. Ye look bonnie. I like yer hair loose like that."

"Thank you, sir. Now, tell me, why will you stay in London?"

"I'm being hunted in Scotland and am here for my health."

"I do not understand."

"Nor do I, to tell ye the truth. But tell me, lass, how is it Henry de Boyer appears every time I see ye? Ye seem to be well acquainted."

"Henry is one of the king's household knights, and I was one of the queen's ladies. There is nothing more between us."

"Ah. I'm glad of it. But he is escorting ye back to Westminster."

"There is nothing to that, sir. We were on the same boat coming here and he asked me what time I would be returning."

"And is he truly off to a tryst? Do the two of ye talk of such things?"

Her laugh was brittle. "It was my poor attempt at wit, sir. I have no idea of his plans, nor who he is meeting."

Rory nodded but was not convinced. He'd seen the looks thrown between the two of them, seen the surprise on de Boyer's face at her remark, the caustic note in her voice. There was something between them, perhaps something unrealized, but still there.

"Tell me," he said, "how can ye still have duties if the queen is dead?"

"I've been asked to do small things. To start packing her clothing. It won't last. One day I'll be told my services are no longer needed."

"And ye'll go home to yer family?"

"My family is here, my mother, and my grandmother."

"And yer father?"

"Dead. And you?"

"One brother, many cousins, of which Kieran is one. Two parents, two aunts, two uncles. That is my family. So what will ye do, when yer services are no longer needed?"

"I have no idea. Where shall we walk, sir?"

He smiled at her. "Ye ken the city and I'm the stranger. What should I see?"

"What have you seen already?"

"We were at Westminster Abbey for the funeral, as ye ken. And we were at the funeral banquet afterward."

"Were you? I didn't see you there."

"Why would ye? Ye were dining with the king's party and we were among the invisible Scots."

"I'm still surprised I did not see you. You are.. .notable, sir."

"Am I? Trust me, lass, I am of no significance here in London."

"Nor I." She shivered at a sudden blast of wind. "Now, where shall we go?"

"Somewhere within walls? Could ye show me the Tower, at least from the outside? Then we'll find somewhere warm."

"Oh!" She seemed to consider something, then nodded. "Of course. But we'll go into the grounds. I'll be pleased to show it to you."

She led the way up the slight hill from the water, then along a narrow and cramped street, keeping under the shelter of the houses that leaned toward each other from either side, lifting her skirts high to step over a suspiciously colored puddle. He enjoyed the view of her leg above the short leather boots she wore, then took her arm to pull her against the wall while a cart laden with fish rumbled past them. He enjoyed the feel of her next to him. He looked down at her, at the curves of her body, soft and desirable. No wonder de Boyer was attentive.

"How is it," he asked, "that ye and Rachel Angenhoff are friends?"

"Her family lived near my grandmother. We met as small girls and played together, and we continued to be friends as we grew. What did she tell you?"

"The same thing. And that she had to leave London suddenly. They were expelled, aye?"

"Yes." Her face flushed with color. "How horrid is that, that they were driven from London because they are Jews! I was going to ask the queen for her help in rescinding the expulsion, but, of course, I cannot now."

"Probably wise that ye dinna, and I wouldna put it to the king, were I ye."

"No. Nor will I have the chance."

"I'll probably see him before ye do."

"Why, sir? Are you acquainted?"

"No. But I think yer king wants my country and I think he means to have it."

"Surely he simply means to help you find a king. And why is it that your people have not been able to do that?"

"We have two factions and everyone has chosen sides and willna relent. Neither side is willing to let the other rule, and can ye blame them? There's a throne at stake, and a great deal of money and power. And that's why yer king is 'helping.' He's put his own name on the list of Competitors, has he not? If he thought the Scots would accept him, he'd be ruling us now."

"Would that not at least bring peace to your country? I mean no insult, sir, but would it not be better for all if our countries were united?"

"Let me ask ye this, lass? What would happen to yer friend if England and Scotland were united? Would she and her family then be driven from Scotland as well?"

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "But, sir, may I remind you that King Edward generally gets what he goes after?"

"Aye. Ask the Welsh, right?"

She nodded. They talked then of their families, of the differences between Scotland and London. She told him of her grandmother's illegitimacy, and of the lady-in-waiting named Alls, who had betrayed her trust. And her fears for the future, that she and her mother might be turned out into the street.

"For what need does a king have of a queen's lady or a queen's seamstress if there is no queen?" she asked.

"Now," he said. "Perhaps, King Edward is planning to marry again and he wants all of ye to stay to attend his new queen."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no! Surely he won't remarry! I may despise what the king did, but he was devoted to Eleanor, and to his daughters. And he has a son and heir. He does not need to remarry. How could he? They were married for thirty-six years. He loved her. And she was devoted to him. You've heard the story of how she saved his life in the Holy Land?"

"No." Rory looked over her shoulder. Had he not seen that same man at the dock earlier? The man was of middle height, middle weight, and middle age. Rory almost laughed at himself, but what better person to spy on another than a man easily lost in a crowd? He would look for the man again later, he thought, and turned his attention to Isabel once again, enjoying her bright eyes and lively tone.

"It's such an amazing story! King Edward was struck by a poisoned arrow and he was dying. No one knew what to do, but

Eleanor pulled the arrow out of him and sucked the poison from the wound and saved his life! Is that not the most romantic story?"

"Ye think it romantic when a woman sucks the poison out of a man? So would most men."

She took two steps, then stopped and faced him, her cheeks scarlet.

He felt coarse. "I'm sorry. That wasna a proper thing to say. I dinna mean to offend ye."

"I'm.. .I'm not offended. I've been at court all my life. There is not much that can be said that I've not heard."

"I'll wager ye're wrong, mistress. We men are base creatures."

"Not all, certainly."

"Most. But probably not yer Sir Henry."

"He is not my Sir Henry. If he belongs to anyone, it is Alis de Braun."

"The lady-in-waiting who betrayed yer trust?"

She nodded.

"Ah, so that was it then, she and he.. .1 take it then that I am to be the instrument to bring his attention back to ye?"

"I never had his attention.

"But ye wanted it."

"I.. .admit I found him handsome at first. And charming. But..."

Her gaze went to his mouth, and he felt his body respond. God's blood she was beautiful. Her smile was admiring, and his body stirred again.

"I have discovered that there are men whose charms are equal to Sir Henry's. Or far exceed them. I would not use you as an instrument, sir."

"Not even if I begged?"

She laughed. "It depends upon how prettily you beg, I think."

"That could be difficult. We speak what we mean in the Highlands and not in riddles, nor with pretty language."

"You could put it in a poem perhaps."

"Me? Write a poem? Like one of the king's courtiers? Is that what they do all day, write poems and sing bawdy songs?"

She laughed again. "No, sir, it is far more serious than that. You forgot the scheming to get in the king's good graces and to eclipse all the others trying to do the same. Some, of course, do weightier things, like create songs or write poems or make up riddles for us to solve."

"And here I thought I understood courtly love."

"Courtly love is completely different. No one is scheming there."

"Ah, then I am mistaken. I thought courtly love was when a man wrote a poem to a woman he pretended to love but could never attain because she was wed to another."

"You are somewhat correct."

"So he's lying to get her to lay with him, aye?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "Or at least give him her kerchief, if not her body, depending on how good his poem is, aye? So he's scheming. And she's flirting and throwing her kerchief—or herself—on the floor. Or asking him to wear her color in a tournament, for her own reasons, which are female and therefore unfathomable to me. So she's scheming as well. And that's what ye all do all day."

"It sounds so sordid when you put it that way. It's not all like that, though some of that does exist. But what is wrong with a love poem?"

"It should be real. It should be a song of love, not artifice."

Her gaze drifted across his face, dropped to his shoulders, as though measuring their width, then returned to his eyes. "Would yours be, Mr. MacGannon?"

"Rory," he said, wanting to hear her say it.

"Rory, then. So your poem of love would be genuine?"

"I would not tell a lass I loved her if I dinna."

"Have you ever written a love poem?"

"No, and I dinna think I could. But if I were to, it would praise the beauty of her
grey
eyes, and talk of her lovely brown hair and the graceful way she moved through London's streets, and I would tell her that meeting her had been something I wouldna ever forget."

He met her gaze and smiled, watching the color mount in her cheeks.

"Do you fall in love often?"

"I've yet to. But I'm starting to think it might be enjoyable."

Her smile was embarrassed, but pleased. They walked in silence past another few houses, then she slanted a glance at him.

"So, if not a poem, do you tell riddles?" she asked. "I am fond of riddles."

"Are ye now? Then I have one for ye." He faced her and took a step forward.

She took a half-step backward and hit the wall of a house. "I'm ready."

"Oh, aye, ye are, lass. So, here it is. When is a thief not a thief?" He put a hand against the wall to her right, then did the same to her left.

"Are you confining me?"

"Och, no, lass. A woman's confinement is not a result of blocking her way."