The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (69 page)

‘Reliable?
 
Cyrano de Bergerac?
 
That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘Have you ever met him, Sir?’

‘No.
 
But the man’s a legend in his own lifetime.’

‘He’s a good many things,’ agreed Ashley.
 
‘One of them takes the form of a willingness to risk his neck on your behalf.
 
That Francis and I are doing so is one thing.
 
That a Frenchman is prepared to do so, is quite another.’

‘What does he want?’ asked Hyde suspiciously.
 
‘There must be something.’

‘Difficult as it may be for you to believe, there isn’t.’
 
Ashley didn’t bother to hide his distaste.
 
‘I asked him to help and he agreed.
 
He’s even providing protection for His Majesty and the Duke on their journey back here.’

Although Sir Edward didn’t say anything, the expression on his face was that of a man sucking a lemon.
 
Charles hid a smile and turned back to Ashley.

‘Go on.
 
James and I return discreetly to Paris while the four of you drive on to Honfleur and take on an indeterminate number of hired killers.
 
Is that it?’

‘More or less. There are a number of other details that --’

‘I’m sure there are.
 
But you know, Ashley … although your reasons for doing this and the methods you’ve devised are all good, you’ve no idea what odds you’ll be facing.
 
And if the end result is that you and Francis are both killed – along with your servant and Monsieur de Bergerac – it isn’t worth it. I’d sooner forgo the whole thing.’

‘That’s good of you, Sir, and we appreciate the thought.
 
But, in my view, the attempt has to be made to lessen the likelihood of a similar thing happening again.
 
This time we know what to expect.
 
I doubt we can rely on that next time.
 
And since I have a plan which, as Cyrano has pointed out, will work so long as everyone involved sticks to it – and three good men to execute it with me, I urge you to let us try.’

There was another long silence.
 
Hyde opened his mouth, then shut it again and Francis contemplated his fingernails.
 
Finally Charles said, ‘Let me send half a dozen men to wait in Honfleur and assist you, should the need arise.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, Sir.
 
I prefer to rely on the men I know personally.
 
It’s usually safer in the long run.’

‘God – you’re a stubborn fellow!
 
Very well.
 
Have it your way.
 
Now let’s hear these other details you mentioned.’

Ashley listed them.
 
A plain coach and pair, along with the uniforms he and Jem would need as coachman and groom; money for travelling expenses; departure from the Louvre under as many eyes as possible at around noon, the day after tomorrow; and any kind of jewel or insignia Charles could find that would pass muster in the dark when pinned to Cyrano’s cloak.

‘Why leave at midday?’ objected Hyde.
 
‘With an early start, the journey could be completed in a day.
 
The later departure will necessitate a stop on the road.’

‘Which we will need so the switch can be made after dark without anyone being the wiser.’

‘And what about suitable clothes for Lord Wroxton and Monsieur de Bergerac?’

‘They are being … loaned to us … from the wardrobe of the Th
éâ
tre du Marais.’
 
A small but wicked smile curled Ashley’s mouth.
 
‘Lord Wroxton is a particular favourite of the lady who has charge of it.’

Hyde sniffed.
 

Charles, catching the faintly desperate expression on Francis’s face, quirked an eyebrow, hesitated for a moment and then grinned.

‘Don’t worry, Francis.
 
I won’t ask – much as I would like to.’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ murmured Francis. ‘Your restraint is appreciated.’

‘I thought it might be.’
 
And to Ashley, ‘Is that everything?’

‘I believe so, Sir.
 
You’ll put your brother in the picture when he arrives and I’ll make sure all our other preparations are in order.
 
If you have any questions, send for me.
 
If not, I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.
 
When Jem and I arrive, have us brought in the back way to a place where the uniforms can be left waiting.
 
Since we can ill-afford to lose our own clothes, I’d appreciate them being placed somewhere from which we can retrieve them when this is all over.’
 
He stood up, waited for Francis to follow suit and then added sardonically, ‘Time to take the red feather for a walk, Sir.
 
After which you may pray, as I shall, that the assassins are no better at their work than the go-between is at his.’

*
 
*
 
*

‘Well, that,’ remarked Ashley as he and Francis made their way out of the Louvre, ‘went a lot better than I expected.’

‘Really?’
 
Francis eyed him with faint incredulity. ‘You cut across the King mid-sentence and told him he’d do as you said whether he liked it or not.
 
And you think it might have been worse?’

‘I thought he’d argue more and refuse to see sense.’

Francis shuddered inwardly at the thought of how things might have gone if that had happened.
 
He said, ‘Just how well do you know Charles?’

‘Better than he’d like and well enough to know what I can get away with,’ shrugged Ashley.
 
‘He knows I respect him.
 
He also knows that when I forget my company manners there’s always a good reason.’
 
He paused, grinning. ‘Your own performance was impressive.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘That’s what I mean.
 
Only seven words in nearly an hour.
 
If that didn’t revise Hyde’s opinion of you, nothing will.’
 

‘He likes Cyrano even less.’

‘No surprise there.
 
And speaking of Cyrano, I suggest we run him to earth now so that he has all of tomorrow in which to prepare.
 
And, when we’ve done that, you can go home and make another attempt to convert Pauline to the notion of marriage.
 
God alone knows why … but the woman’s so much in love with you she’s beginning to lose her reason.’

Grasping his arm, Francis pulled him to a halt.

‘She
said
that?’

‘I deduced it.
 
As for, from
what
,’ replied Ashley provocatively, ‘you can’t really expect me to breach a lady’s confidence, now can you?’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

They found Cyrano de Bergerac in his usual tavern and persuaded him to leave it long enough to take a walk away from interested ears.
 
Cyrano appeared pleased that the chase was on, promised to have everything in readiness for the time appointed and told Francis to bring their assumed clothing to his lodgings as soon as he’d acquired it.
 
Then he went back to his interrupted dice-game.

‘Are you sure he’ll be all right?’ muttered Francis.
 
‘From what I’ve seen, he’s quite likely to turn up drunk.’

‘In which case you’ll have the long drive to Louviers in which to sober him up.’

‘You’re really not worried?’

‘Not about Cyrano,’ came the far from reassuring reply.
 
Then, ‘How long is it since you used your sword in earnest?’

‘You know the answer to that.
 
Worcester.’

‘Then we’ll spend this afternoon mending that.’

Francis groaned and said nothing.

Back in the Rue des Rosiers, Francis was glad to find that Pauline and Athenais were still out.
 
If Ashley was going to push him round and round the yard till his lungs were bursting, he really didn’t want an audience.

Though still chilly, the day was bright and sunny with a promise of spring in the air.
 
The two of them shed their coats and went outside.

‘I hope,’ said Francis, ‘that you’re going to make some allowances.’

‘No.
 
But unless you do something really stupid, I’ll promise not to hurt you.’

After ten minutes, Francis thought the word ‘much’ should have been added to that sentence.
 
After twenty, his wrist was on fire, his arm felt like lead and his shoulder was beginning to ache like a bitch.
 
Stepping back out of range and holding up his left hand, he said, ‘Give me a minute, will you?’

‘By all means.
 
You’re hopelessly out of condition, you know.’

Francis gave him a dirty look. ‘And you’ve got a full arsenal of nasty little tricks.’

‘Thank you. They work better than the other kind – and if you survive this bout, I’ll teach you a couple of them tomorrow.’
 
He paused. ‘Don’t look now, but the ladies are back and standing at the window so you might want to stop leaning on your sword and puffing like an old man.’

Francis said something extremely rude but had the sense to do it quietly.
 
Then, straightening his back and raising his sword-arm, he said, ‘You realise that, just at this moment, I’d like to subject you to some serious damage?’

Ashley grinned companionably.

‘Try,’ he said.

Francis launched a swift attack, expecting to be made to look even more inept than he had before.
 
Instead, Ashley gave him both space and opportunity and even allowed him to complete a couple of showy moves followed by a fairly spectacular disarm.
 

‘Bastard,’ said Francis without heat.
 
‘You let me do that.’

‘I thought you’d be more appreciative.’
 
Ashley bent to retrieve his sword. ‘But if you’d rather work for it …’

And he engaged Francis’s blade with sudden, disconcerting force.
 
With no time to think or do anything except defend himself, Francis found himself driven relentlessly back across the yard.
 
On the two occasions when he failed to parry in time, he was dimly aware that Ashley pulled back just enough to stop his own blade touching him.
 
And when his back finally hit the wall and he let his sword-arm drop, Ashley’s point remained motionless a scant two inches from his throat.

His lungs heaving and his heart thundering in his chest, Francis gasped, ‘I’m so glad you’re on my side.’

Inside the kitchen, Athenais and Pauline looked at each other.

‘Well,’ said Pauline, at length.
 
‘That was fun. But now I suppose we’d better set some water to heat.’

‘So they can both take a bath?’

‘So Francis can soak his shoulder before it’s so stiff he can’t move it,’ came the arid reply.
 
And then, in a furious undertone, ‘
Men!
 
No damned sense whatsoever. Why didn’t they start this a week ago?’

‘Start what?’ asked Athenais, her eyes once more on Ashley as he sheathed his sword and went to pick up his coat.

‘Nothing.’
 
Pauline handed her a pair of buckets and said, ‘Go and tell the Colonel to fill these.
 
Since he’s feeling so spry, he might as well be useful.’

A little later, while Pauline ministered to Francis’s aches and pains and Ashley had disappeared to wash and change his shirt, Athenais hovered aimlessly in the parlour for a few minutes and then, without really thinking about it, wandered upstairs to her bedchamber.

Ashley stood at the wash-stand, naked to the waist.
 
Something hot and unexpected curled in Athenais’s stomach and she froze, staring at the play of muscles in his back as he rubbed a damp cloth over his arms.
 
Then, seeming to sense that she was there, he dropped the cloth in the basin with one hand whilst reaching for his shirt with the other.

She said huskily, ‘I could wash your back.’

He half-turned, slanting an arrested, sideways glance. ‘Could you?’

She nodded.
 
‘Yes. If you like.’

Ashley decided he’d like it very much.
 
Too much, probably – which suggested that he probably ought to refuse.
 
But she looked … she looked as if she
wanted
to; and that was the kind of progress he’d neither expected nor even permitted himself to hope for as yet.
 
So he smiled and said, ‘I would.
 
Thank you.’

Athenais wrung out the cloth and reached up to lift his hair away from his shoulders.
 
It felt heavy and soft in her fingers.
 
Her throat tightened and her mouth felt dry.
 
She began to wash his back, aware that his muscles were tense and he was standing absolutely motionless, his head slightly downcast.
 
Her hands started to tremble and she didn’t know why any more than she understood the sensations that seemed to be waking inside her.
 
It wasn’t desire that she felt, not quite.
 
But it was something not so very far distant.

Ashley concentrated on keeping his breathing even and his body under control.
 
This was the nearest they had come to intimacy since that fateful night.
 
He could feel the slight tremor in her fingers and wondered if she was perhaps less ready for it than she had thought.
 
He told himself not to read more into it than there was and not to start looking for further, similar developments.
 
Unfortunately, he couldn’t prevent a tiny seed of hope taking root and refusing to be stamped out.

Athenais reached for the towel and, very much more slowly than was necessary, dried him off.
 
She would have liked to slide her hands round his waist and lean her cheek against his shoulder-blades for a moment but she knew that she mustn’t do it. Ashley wouldn’t touch her unless she indicated that she was willing – so it would be unfair to do anything that might be construed as an invitation until she was sure she was ready.
 
Until she was sure she could lie in his arms without hearing d’Auxerre’s voice in her head.

I want you to remember this next time the bastard Englishman tries to bed you.
 

She shoved the thought away, started folding the towel and searched for something to say to break the silence. Finally, ‘Why have you and Francis suddenly decided to practice your sword-play?’

Ashley cast a glance over his shoulder, saw the sudden darkness in her eyes and immediately pulled on his shirt.

‘Francis thinks Pauline will like him better with muscles.’

The darkness faded and she responded to the smile in his voice.

‘He already has muscles.
 
And she likes him well enough as he is.’

‘True.
 
But his personal confidence is at a very low ebb, poor fellow,’ replied Ashley, perjuring Francis without a second thought.
 
Then, ‘Pardon my asking – but what do
you
know about his musculature?’

‘Enough.’ The smile widened and became decidedly naughty. ‘But a lot less than I know about yours.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.
 
Francis has begged me to favour him with another bout tomorrow.
 
It would be a shame if I felt the need to punish him a little.’

‘From what I saw, you did enough of that today,’ she replied frankly. ‘Pauline’s cross.
 
With both of you, I think … but mostly with you.’

‘I’m getting used to that.
 
And if Francis is clever, he’ll make it work to his advantage.’

*
 
*
 
*

Sitting in a tub of hot water while Pauline massaged his aching shoulder, Francis was attempting to do just that.
 
He said, ‘God, that feels good.’

‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’

‘I am, darling.
 
I truly am.’

‘I suppose this sudden surge of activity was the Colonel’s idea?’

‘Yes.
 
And it was the right one.’

‘Maybe.
 
It’s just a pity he didn’t think of it sooner.’
 
She kneaded the muscles at the base of his neck, still thinking with a sick sense of dread of what he’d told her.
 
‘You’re not going to be much use the day after tomorrow if you can’t raise your damned arm.’

Francis grinned up at her.

‘Other parts of me are rising easily enough.’

She rotated his arm, just hard enough to make it hurt.

‘Behave yourself.
 
There are more important things to think of.’

‘And all afternoon in which to think of them.’
 
His left arm surfaced and snaked swiftly round her waist.
 
‘Do you think we could both fit in here together?’

‘Not a chance.
 
And stop that – you’re making me all wet.’

‘That’s a wicked thing to say to a fellow.’

‘Only if the fellow in question hasn’t a thought above his navel.’

‘Well, be fair.’
 
He pulled her face down for a kiss.
 
‘I’m sitting naked in the bath …and you’re here, bending over me and affording me the most delectable view.
 
You can’t expect me to be sensible under those circumstances.’

Between his arm and the rim of the tub, Pauline found herself trapped.
 
She said tartly, ‘I rarely expect you to be sensible at all.
 
Now let go of me and I’ll get a towel.’

He let her go but only in order to stand up, sending water sloshing over the side to soak her skirts.
 
Pauline barely had time to say more than his name when he stepped out of the bath and pulled her firmly against his streaming body.
 
Then, in a low, enticing voice he said, ‘Dear me.
 
What can I have been thinking?
 
You really need to get out of those wet clothes.’
 
His fingers were already making short work of her laces and, the second her gown fell loose, he turned her so that her back was against his chest and slid his hands over and around her breasts.
 
‘Let me help you.’

*
 
*
 
*

Ashley gave Jem the gist of his meeting with the King, along with a few very precise additional instructions.
 
Part of his mind was locked on what lay ahead at Honfleur.
 
The other part was still grappling with the fact that Athenais had seemingly sought an opportunity to put her hands on his body – which the look he glimpsed in her eyes afterwards made less encouraging than it might otherwise have been.
 
He wondered what had caused that and whether if, instead of joking he’d asked what she was thinking, she might have told him. The trouble was that, tomorrow, he’d have to tell her that he was going away for God knew how many days and that he’d have to lie about the reason for it.
 
As a consequence, now didn’t seem the best time for inviting potentially painful confidences.

He escorted her to the theatre, keeping the conversation light and impersonal and then left Francis to bring both her and Pauline home again.
 
And it was then that he realised he had no idea what to do with himself for the rest of the evening.
 
He contemplated and then, for no particular reason, dismissed the idea of seeking out Sir William Brierley.
 
He stopped part-way home at a tavern and sat in front of a pot of ale that he didn’t want.
 
Then he went back to the Rue des Rosiers and spent an hour sharpening and polishing both his sword and the knife that habitually lived in his boot.
 
And finally, suspecting that tomorrow’s difficulties could only be compounded by anything that took place between them tonight, he decided to avoid Athenais and go to bed.