The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (71 page)

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*
 
*

Ashley, meanwhile, walked in on something very different.
 
Athenais had shed her clothes and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, clad in her night-rail and the hideous pink wrapper, both of which were sliding off one shoulder.
 
The mass of curling copper curls were fastened haphazardly on top of her head, with odd strands falling about her ears and her bare toes peeked out from beneath the hem of her robe.
 
For a second, Ashley stopped dead on the threshold, trying to recover his breathing whilst simultaneously fighting the wave of hot, wild hunger that immediately washed through him.

Oh God
, he thought.
 
Not now.
 
I can’t do this now
.

Aware of his hesitation if unaware of its cause, Athenais smiled uncertainly and said, ‘There’s something I want to tell you.
 
Something I should have said ages ago, really.’

This wasn’t good.
 
On any other night, he’d have made some excuse.
 
On this particular night, knowing what lay ahead, he couldn’t – which meant his only hope lay in keeping it as brief as possible.

‘Yes?’

Her uncertainty grew.
 
‘Won’t you take off your coat and sit down for a moment?’

He didn’t want to do either one. Retaining his coat was a necessity.
 
And the position that offered the best chance of hiding the state of his body was the one that offered the least comfort.
 
Choosing the lesser of two evils, he gritted his teeth and sat on the bed, as far away from her as possible.

He said, ‘What is it you wanted to say?’

‘It’s … difficult.’
 
She looked down and started fussing with her sash.
 
‘It’s about why I haven’t been able … the reason it’s taking me so long to …’ She stopped, swallowed hard and began again. ‘It’s what’s stopping me going to bed with you.’

Holy hell.
 
As if things weren’t bad enough, it was going to be
that
kind of conversation
.

‘You don’t need to explain.
 
I think I understand it well enough.’

‘Perhaps.
 
Perhaps not.
 
It isn’t anything physical.
 
I’m perfectly well.
 
And it isn’t you or that I’m afraid or that I f-find the prospect of lying with you unbearable.’

‘That’s comforting.’
 
Get to the point, darling.
 
I’m aware that this important but I’m in serious trouble here
.
 
‘So what is it?’

Athenais looked up, her eyes wide and apologetic.

‘He said things while he was …’ Another pause.
 
‘He did it deliberately because he wanted me to remember it if – when I lay with you again.
 
And though I’ve tried to put it from my mind, I haven’t quite been able to.
 
So I’m scared it will come back at the worst possible time and ruin things between us.
 
Do you see?’

For Ashley, mention of the Marquis had the effect of a douche of freezing water and his body reacted accordingly. Physically, the relief was indescribable.
 
Mentally, he had the usual urge to ram his fist into something. Moving a little closer to her, he reached out and took her hand, saying quietly, ‘Yes.
 
Of course I see. And I don’t want you to worry or feel obliged to do anything before you’re ready.
 
As for ruining what’s between us … he can’t, love.
 
I won’t allow it.’

Her fingers twined with his and clung.

‘This probably wasn’t the best time to tell you,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why it suddenly seemed so important, except that you’re going away and I didn’t want you to do that thinking that I don’t want you any more or that I wouldn’t give anything in the world for things to be as they were before.’

So would I
, thought Ashley grimly.
And once bloody Honfleur is behind me, we’ll have to see what can be done about that.
 
But he merely smiled and said, ‘At the risk of having you hit me, I thank you for that – and for explaining how you feel.
 
You should do it more often.’

‘I know.’
 
She continued to look at him as if unsure of what to say next.
 
Then, ‘Will you wake me to say goodbye in the morning?’

‘I don’t think so.
 
I’ll be leaving very early and you look charming when you’re asleep.’

‘Oh. Then would you … do you think you could kiss me goodbye now?’

This was a good deal more than he’d either expected or hoped for.
 

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes. Please.’

‘Now who’s being overly-polite?’ he teased, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear and closing the rest of the space between them. ‘Do you remember what I told you to do the very first time I kissed you?’

It took her a moment to realise what he meant.
 
Then, with a tiny laugh, she said, ‘Yes.
 
I’m to tell you if it’s horrible.’

‘The slightest push will do.’
 

He put his arms around her, being careful to hold her loosely, and slowly, lightly brushed her mouth with his own. She sighed and her eyes fluttered shut.
 
Encouraged, Ashley slid his tongue along her lower lip and felt her lean a little closer.
 
He kissed the corner of her mouth and then drew back, waiting.

Athenais’s hands travelled from his chest up to his shoulders and she made a small sound which sounded very much like disappointment. He laid one palm firmly against her back and allowed the other to slide up into her hair.
 
Then he laid a trail of butterfly kisses along her cheek and jaw.
 
By the time he returned to her mouth, her lips were parted, waiting for him.

Since she seemed to be enjoying it, he cautiously allowed the kiss to deepen just a little.
 
Then, while she still seemed ready for more, he ended it and released her.

She opened her eyes and stared into his with an expression that actually made him want to laugh.
 
He said gravely, ‘No.
 
That’s
not
the best I can do.
 
But it’s the best you’re going to get for now.’

Her smile was sudden and blinding.
 
‘No rushing?’

‘No, darling.
 
No rushing.’
 
He let his fingers brush her cheek and then stood up.
 
‘I’ll be gone as short a time as possible.
 
Meanwhile, I forbid you to fret.’

‘I’ll try not to,’ said Athenais huskily.
 
‘But know that I’ll miss you.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Early on the following morning, Ashley and Jem made their way to the Louvre via different routes but managed to arrive within minutes of each other.
 
Ashley led the way to the room designated by Chancellor Hyde and discovered that it was locked.
 
He frowned a little, then frowned rather more when he located the key on top of the lintel.

‘Idiot,’ he muttered.
 
‘If you’re going to leave the key for any jackass to find, why bother locking it?’

Deciding that the Colonel wasn’t in the best of moods, Jem wisely kept his mouth shut and followed him inside.

Amongst a plethora of rubbish, everything he had asked for lay in readiness. Instructing Jem to change into the footman’s livery, Ashley set about checking the firing-mechanism of the pistols and the bags of powder and shot that accompanied them.
 
That done, he counted the money and was surprised by Hyde’s generosity.
 
And finally, like Jem, he shed his own clothes in favour of the coachman’s dark coat and enveloping cloak.
 
Fortunately, the outfit included a wide-brimmed hat which concealed most of his hair and gave him the sort of nondescript appearance that usually went unnoticed.

Dropping the pistols into the pockets of his heavy driving-coat, he passed the powder and shot to Jem and said, ‘The coach will be in the stable-yard.
 
But I’m not sure how long we can hang around there without inviting questions, so I think we’d better make ourselves comfortable here for an hour or so.’

‘Suits me,’ remarked Jem.
 
And subsided on a heap of moth-eaten rugs.

For Ashley, the hour felt like two.
 
He went through every step of his plans twice, praying that Francis and Cyrano had set off as planned.
 
He tried and failed not to dwell on Athenais’s invitation to kiss her. And finally he took to pacing the floor.

When he heard a clock chiming eleven, he drew a breath of pure relief and said, ‘Right, then.
 
Come on, Jem – move your sorry carcass.
 
Time to set the game in play.’

‘A game, is it?’
 
Mr Barker heaved himself to his feet and brushed down his borrowed livery. ‘Not like no game I ever played, it ain’t.’

Ashley ran a critical stare over him and said briskly, ‘We’ll have to take your own coat with us for tomorrow night. That tunic is too damned eye-catching.’

It was dark blue, trimmed with bright yellow braid and Jem rather liked it.
 
But he picked up his discarded coat without argument and started calculating what his chances were of keeping his new finery afterwards.

The stable-yard was busy but Ashley was relieved to see a plain black travelling coach waiting near the steps to that part of the palace where the King’s apartments lay.
 
With a curt, business-like gesture for Jem to follow him, he strode across to it and dismissed the youth who was dithering around the horses.
 
A jerk of his head told Jem to take the lad’s place while Ashley himself strutted around the coach, examining the wheels and axle.
 
He exuded an air of one who didn’t suffer fools gladly which effectively kept the other servants at bay.
 
Then the double-doors opened and Charles and his brother sauntered down towards them.

Under cover of cuffing Jem round the head, Ashley muttered, ‘You’re a groom.
 
Do your bloody job.’

And, with a bit of slightly overdone cringing, Jem shot round to open the carriage door and let down the steps.

There were numerous people in the yard, not all of them busy.
 
Charles caught Ashley’s eye for a moment and then said, ‘Your name, coachman?’

‘Vauban, milord.
 
Your Majesty, I should say.’
 
Ashley bowed low and clumsily.
 
‘Where might I have the honour of driving Your Majesty this day?’

‘Honfleur,’ said Charles clearly.

‘Honfleur is it?’ He pursed his lips.
 
‘Not before dark, I’m thinking.’
 

‘By easy stages,’ came the lazy reply. ‘My brother and I have no wish to endure unnecessary jolting.’

‘Always a smooth ride with Vauban at the reins, Your Majesty,’ boasted Ashley earnestly.

Laughter stirred in the King’s eyes.
 
‘Indeed?’

‘Guaranteed! So if Your Majesty and His Highness would be pleased to take your seats … Honfleur it is.’

‘Excellent,’ murmured Charles as he and James climbed aboard the coach.
 
‘Do you think three times is sufficient?’

‘If it’s not, they’re either deaf or stupid,’ breathed Ashley.
 
And, gesturing for Jem to take up the steps and shut the door, he climbed on to the box and took up the reins.

Never having driven a team before, Ashley found negotiating the coach out of the stable-yard and through the city’s busy streets a trial.
 
The strain on his shoulders and arms surprised him and he looked forward to reaching more open road.
 
He also looked forward to finding out if anyone was following them.

*
 
*
 
*

To Francis’s immense relief, Cyrano de Bergerac was neither drunk nor in a mood of particular ebullience.
 
As for the two ex-soldiers sitting on the box of the dilapidated hired coach, they were as taciturn a pair as he’d ever met and merely grunted an acknowledgement before relapsing once more into silence.

He and Cyrano loaded weapons and the costumes they would wear as the King and the Duke of York and then climbed aboard themselves.
 
The interior of the coach smelled of sweat and onions.
 
Francis couldn’t decide which was worse.

For a time, as they rattled over the cobbles, neither he nor the Frenchman spoke.
 
But finally Francis said curiously, ‘Tell me … are you really doing this to pass a dull Tuesday?’

‘You don’t think one can do something just for fun?’ returned Cyrano. And then, ‘Why did you write your play?’

Acknowledging the hit with a slight gesture of one hand, Francis said, ‘You saw it?’

‘I did.
 
It is unusual and it made me laugh.
 
Best of all, it got Pauline Fleury back on the boards.’
 
Cyrano folded his arms and leaned back against the squabs.
 
‘How did you manage that?’

‘Truthfully?
 
I bullied her into it.’

‘Did you indeed?
 
A novel experience in that lady’s life, I would imagine.’

Francis refrained from comment and silence fell again. But presently Cyrano said, ‘Colonel Peverell seems to know what he’s doing.
 
I hope it’s not just on the surface.’

‘It isn’t.
 
He is experienced in a variety of ways. And, if you really want to know, engaging in swordplay with him is like fighting two men at once,’ said Francis.
 
And added ruefully.
 
‘Or so it seemed to me.’

Cyrano merely nodded.
 
‘And his man … Jem, is it?’

‘An out-and-out rogue.
 
But loyal – and reliable, when it counts.’
 
Francis thought it was time to pose a question of his own.
 
‘Isn’t it a little late to be asking all this?’

‘Not at all.
 
Knowledge is always useful.
 
It just doesn’t make any difference now.’
 
And tipping his hat over his eyes, Cyrano leaned back and decided to take a nap.

*
 
*
 
*

As soon as the city was behind them, Ashley drew up briefly to allow Jem to join him on the box.
 
An hour later, with little other traffic on the road, he said, ‘There’s a horseman behind us.
 
He’s been with us since just outside Paris.
 
Unless he’s riding a slug, there’s no reason he couldn’t have overtaken us by now.’

‘Seen him,’ agreed Jem laconically.
 
‘What do you want to do?’

‘Nothing yet. We’ll be pulling up for a change of horses in about an hour.
 
He’ll either pass us then, or he won’t.
 
Let’s find out which.’

They rolled on to Mantes-la-Jolie and pulled up for the change.
 
Ashley haggled with the ostler and then left Jem to oversee the setting of new horses inside the traces while he opened the carriage door and asked his passengers if they wished to stretch their legs.
 
The Duke of York hopped down with every sign of relief.
 
Charles followed more slowly and, noting Ashley’s expression, said, ‘What is it?’

‘I think we’re being followed, Sir.
 
I’ll know for certain if the fellow is still behind us when we leave here.’

‘And if he is?’

‘We leave him alone for the time being.
 
After that … well, we’ll see.

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what you have in mind?’

Ashley met the King’s gaze with a very direct one of his own.

‘No, Sir.
 
I wouldn’t.’

They resumed their journey.
 
And some twenty minutes later, the solitary horseman duly reappeared round a bed in the road behind them.

‘Bugger,’ said Jem.

‘Not necessarily,’ came the thoughtful reply.

*
 
*
 
*

Having left Paris much earlier in order to take a more meandering route, Francis and Cyrano arrived in Louviers well before the royal party and pulled up behind a cheerful-looking inn rejoicing under the name of the Fleur-de-Lys.

Cyrano jumped out, offered the inn-keeper a brief handshake and said tersely, ‘Get the coach out of sight, Pierre.
 
Are the rooms ready?’

‘Of course, Monsieur.’

‘Good.
 
We’ll see to the luggage and leave the rest to you.
 
If anyone asks, we’re not here.’

Upstairs in a pleasant bed-chamber, Francis said idly, ‘You seem to know an inordinate number of very helpful gentlemen.’

‘People don’t cross me,’ said Cyrano simply.
 
‘I may not be quite as black as I’m painted – but a fearsome reputation has its uses.’

Francis laughed.
 
‘I’ll take your word for it.
 
Ask anyone about me and they’ll say I’m a frivolous fellow who talks too much.’

‘And are you?’

‘Not any longer.’

‘Then that has its uses, as well.’
 
He pulled a silver-laced coat of sapphire broadcloth from his portmanteau, followed by another of gold-laced crimson.
 
‘My word … won’t we look pretty?’

‘One of us will,’ said Francis gently.
 
And smiled.

Understanding his guests need to remain out of sight, the inn-keeper sent up a tray of bread and cheese, along with pots of ale.
 
While they ate, the two of them debated the merits of the Th
éâ
tre du Marais versus the H
ô
tel de Bourgogne and the players of both companies. Cyrano reduced Francis to gales of laughter with an account of his last encounter with Montfleury and Francis responded with a description of his and Ashley’s attempts to teach Etienne Lepreux and his colleagues to fence.
 
They were just about to send down for more ale when sounds from outside drew them to the window.

Colonel Peverell had arrived.

Some minutes later there were sounds of movement and muted conversation from the room next door.
 
Then, a little while later, Ashley walked in and, on glancing around the room, said, ‘I’m glad you’ve made yourselves so comfortable.’

‘No you’re not,’ said Francis, passing him what was left of his own mug of ale.
 
‘You’re tired, hungry and your throat’s full of dust. Where’s Jem?’

‘Busy.’
 
Ashley downed the ale in one swallow, reached for the last remaining piece of cheese and subsided on the edge of the bed.
 
‘We were followed all the way from Paris.
 
The fellow’s here somewhere, lying in wait.
 
Jem’s gone to find him.’

‘And then?’
 
It was Cyrano who asked.

‘I thought you and I might have a little chat with him.’

‘Ah.
 
I take it we’ve no intention of letting him follow us on to Honfleur?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Excellent.’
 
Cyrano rose, stretched and cracked his knuckles.
 
‘And in the meantime, while we wait for your man to return … am I going to meet this King I’m to impersonate?’

‘Yes.
 
I don’t know if it’s from gratitude or curiosity … but he’s already asked for you.’