* * *
London was full of plague rumors. At Princess Melanthe's command Ruck tracked hearsay through the muddy streets. When he presented himself to attend her at Westminster Palace, Allegreto assailed him in her anteroom.
"What befalls?" the youth demanded, trailing Ruck to her steward. Allegreto had a morbid fear of plague: he talked of it endlessly and had taken to attaching himself to Ruck whenever he was at the palace, as if Ruck had some talisman against it.
"Nothing befalls, that I can tell," Ruck said.
"Nothing?" Allegreto asked anxiously.
Ruck held out his hand toward the door as the steward announced him. "Am I to report to your mistress or to you, whelp?"
"To me, certainly." The princess's voice was elegant and firm. She lowered the book of poetry to her lap.
"My liege lady." Ruck bowed, while Allegreto hovered by his elbow like an importunate child.
"Green Sire," she acknowledged courteously. She was much more sedate in her manner among the English, dressed with rich propriety in blue and white, only a few diamonds sparkling in her necklace and belt. A changeling, taking on the aspect of her surroundings. He felt his own weakness, succumbing to this false look of virtue when he knew the corrupt truth of her.
"What news?" she asked.
"I find no evidence of any epidemic here, Your Highness."
She nodded. "Well enough. It's only gossip as usual, you see, Allegreto." She laid aside the book and gave a little stretch. "I fear you must leave me now to rest. The sea journey still fatigues me."
Ruck started to withdraw, but Allegreto hung on to his arm. "No, the truth!" Allegreto demanded. "What do you know?"
Ruck frowned at him. "I've said truth. There's no plague in the city."
"Do not conceal it!" Allegreto flung himself onto the bed. "My lady—he must speak."
"Do you hide something, sir?" she asked sharply.
Ruck prevented himself from looking directly at her. Out of her presence it was possible to feel disgust, but the sight of her overpowered his better reason. A vision of her had haunted him for thirteen years: the reality cut through illusions to the heart of impure hunger. Her new modesty only made it worse. He knew more of her, but not enough. He feared that everything could not be enough.
"There is no plague," he repeated. "It is but gossip."
Princess Melanthe tilted her head. "But you believe it will come?"
"How can I know? There's talk of the planets aligned for it."
This news turned Allegreto white. "My lady!"
"There's little enough to that," Ruck said. "I vow the planets predict plague once a month. The astrologers make their living on such gloom."
"No!" Allegreto turned to Princess Melanthe. "My lady's charts say the same!"
"You must be careful, love," she said. "Very careful. I've cast your stars again. They exert an ill chance now."
"In Bordeaux they said it had returned in the south!" Allegreto exclaimed.
"Not in Milan," she said soothingly. "The talk there was that it raged among the Danes."
"Perhaps it is all talk," Ruck said.
"Traders will bring it from the north! In death ships!" Allegreto hurled himself off the bed. "Lady, let us fly!"
"Fly where?" she asked calmly.
"Away!" His voice had a frantic undertone. "Out of the city!"
"And suppose it follows us out of the city?" She smiled at him. "Perhaps you'll be fortunate to meet the Heavenly Father while you're still young and innocent."
The youth made a faint sound, falling to his knees before her. He buried his face against her skirt. Ruck had begun to feel a certain compassion for Allegreto. The indifferent way she mocked his mortal fears might have seemed casual, but Ruck had caught the small cruel narrowing of her eyes as she looked down at her youthful lover. At that instant it was as if she hated him, but then her mouth softened, and she ruffled his hair.
"Fly, then, if it pleases you," she said. "Return home to Monteverde."
He lifted his face quickly. "Your Highness—we go home?"
"Not I. But I'll send you to safety. Your father will shield you in his country villa."
Allegreto stared at her, his fingers gripped in the folds of her dress. "No—lady..."
She traced her fingers down his face. "Go home. I couldn't bear to see your sweet skin swell and blacken," she murmured. "I couldn't bear to hear your groans."
His breath came faster. His tongue ran around his lips. "We will go home together, lady. My father will give refuge to us both."
"I've had audience with the king. Will you deny me my lands that he commends to me?"
"But the plague—"
She gave a slight laugh. "There is some privilege in age, my lovely boy. Does it not strike most terribly at the young and handsome such as you?"
He shook his head, holding her embroidered hem pressed to his mouth. "I can't leave you, Your Highness."
"The stars augur ill for you. Will you compel me to follow your coffin?"
He gave a dry sob. "You know I can't leave you, lady. But let's fly from this city, I beg you."
She sat back, glancing a question at Ruck.
"As soon as Your Highness likes to venture forth," he said bluntly. "But the weather is threatening. We were fortunate in our water crossing. To the north, they say the winter already holds hard. And it would be wiser to take time to assemble a large escort for my lady's protection."
Allegreto raised his face, wiping fiercely at the tears that tumbled down his cheeks. "Please—lady—no delay!"
"How long to softer weather?" she asked Ruck.
"Three months, say."
"Three months!" Allegreto cried. He reached for Princess Melanthe's hand and squeezed it between his. "I'll be dead in three months! I feel it!"
She looked down at him for a long moment. His eyes seemed to grow wider, almost fearful, as he held her gaze.
"I'm in no hurry to leave," she said indifferently. "The journey will discommode me."
He suddenly snatched his hands away and flung himself from her. "You taunt me!" he shouted. "We'll not stay here, or I'll write to my father!"
"Little use, if you're to be dead in three months." Princess Melanthe picked up her book and turned a page idly. "With luck he might arrive to pray over your coffin."
Allegreto seized the book. He ripped out half the vellum, scattering it across the carpets as if the precious leaves were but wheaten chaff. When Princess Melanthe made no reaction, his face seemed to transfigure, altering from smooth beauty to a demon's mask of rage. He leaned over her, grabbed her cheeks between his palms and kissed her, crushing his mouth against hers. Ruck saw her hands clench white on the arms of the chair as the youth bore her head hard back against the carved rest.
Ruck grabbed Allegreto's shoulder and hauled him off. With one shove he sent the youth sprawling backward against the tapestried wall.
"Master yourself!" He held Allegreto by the throat, pressing him to the wall. "Before you find a grave sooner yet!"
Allegreto swallowed beneath his hand, breathing hard. He looked at Ruck with black eyes that had gone empty, as if fear and fury had canceled each other.
The sound of light clapping came from behind. "A most knightly performance, Green Sire! The poor child only wants manners. Perhaps you might give him a lesson at your leisure."
"Tell my lady—"Allegreto said between panting breaths, "tell my lady's grace to think of how she will grieve should I die."
Ruck let him go and stepped back. "This lies between you and your mistress." He cast her a hard glance, then bowed. "I await your decision outside, madam."
She lifted her hand to bid him stay. "That will not be required. We'll be civilized, shall we not, Allegreto? Begin the preparations to depart for Bowland at once, sir."
"Tomorrow! By secluded ways," Allegreto said, quick and hoarse. "If it please my lady's grace."
She made an impatient flick of her hand. "As you will, then! We take only what
men-at-arms you have at present, sir. The rest of my court may follow with my baggage. It will be safer to avoid peopled places, should pestilence somehow run ahead of us."
"No, only for his fancy?" Ruck asked in outrage. "Your highness, such a small party—it's not protection enough!"
"Allegreto wishes to avoid plague."
"Plague isn't the only danger to Your Highness," he said harshly, "or the likeliest, for that matter!"
Her lashes lifted. "And what is likelier, sir? You can't master such bandits as the countryside boasts?"
He scowled. "My lady—I'm not thinking of outlaws only."
"Of what, then?" she demanded.
"Your Highness holds great wealth and property," he said brusquely.
"Ah. It's my abduction you fear. Well thought, Green Sire, but I have no dread of it. Our departure will be quick and quiet, and if we travel by uncommon ways, so much the better to foil any such schemes." She smiled. "And of course, you may spread word that any man who forces me to wed him will rue every day of his short life and die in lingering agony."
Ruck gazed at her. She was so beautiful and so wicked, laughing at him behind that comely innocent smile. It would work, he thought with resentful wonder—between her reputation and her plan to slip away, she would be near as safe from seizure and force as if she traveled with half a thousand men.
He bowed his head. "My lady," he assented grudgingly, "as you say."
Allegreto gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. He stood against the wall, fresh tears trickling down his cheeks. The pulse in his throat hammered visibly.
Ruck's own heart still thudded with reaction. He had seen little of Princess Melanthe and her courtier so far on the journey—he hoped that he would see little more, if this was to be the way of it. He disliked scenes and ravings intensely.
SIX
"One...two...three...hie!" Ruck yelled, driving Hawk forward, dragging at the lead horse's bridle as the line went taut over his saddlebow. The animals threw their heads, blowing great puffs of frost, heaving and struggling as their hooves sank half to the knee in ice water and mud.
Easy enough for the Princess Melanthe to choose to avoid lodging on the way north. She and her attendants sat in the wagon, lumbering monster that it was, without even lifting the leather cover to watch. Ruck let the line go lax and backed Hawk again, turning in the saddle to look down the line of five blowing horses to his men wrestling with the tree limbs braced beneath the wheels.
Her whirlicote's proud paint and glitter was a sad sight now, covered in dirt, drowned to the axles in the ruts. His sergeant-at-arms, standing to the side and peering underneath, shook his head and straightened. He held up his arm for another try. Ruck turned again.
"One—two—" As the whirlicote rocked thrice in time, the men chorused in with Ruck's shout, maintaining a miserably determined enthusiasm. "Hie-uuup!"
Hawk bowed his gray head and strained. The harnessed horse reared against the yoke and came down with a splash of frigid water that sprayed over Ruck's leg. Shouts erupted behind him. The whirlicote pitched mightily and went nowhere.
He twisted round and saw two of the men sitting on their backsides in ice water. He cursed under his breath, throwing the rope off his saddlebow. Turning Hawk, he rode through the mud to the front of the whirlicote and reached over, pitching back the leather curtain.
A miserable-looking Allegreto huddled nearest the front, cloaked in furs. Her single gentlewoman sat behind him, almost invisible in her wrappings. Ruck leaned farther over. Princess Melanthe reclined on a couch placed midway back in the vehicle.
"Madam," Ruck said, "I think, if you were to descend, your ease would be well served."
"I'm quite at ease, kind sir," she replied tranquilly in English.
"Then I hope you find this place pleasing, Your Highness," he retorted in the same language, "for we won't see another, if my lady's grace and her company of twenty stone stay within."
"Twenty stone!" she said, with a light surprise. "Do we weigh so much?"
"More," he said.
In the half-light of the whirlicote he couldn't tell, but he thought that wicked-innocent smile hovered at her lips. "Allegreto will descend," she said in French. "He fancied the journey."
"Aye, he will," Ruck said. "I doubt this whirlicote goes any farther, laden or not."
"You must try harder, Englishman!" Allegreto shivered and pulled his furs closer.
"Poor Allegreto," Princess Melanthe said. "Are you cold, my soft southern pet?" She laughed, changing to English again. "Green Knight—call for my litter."
Allegreto lifted his head. "What did my lady say?" he asked urgently.
She only smiled tauntingly at him. Ruck turned his horse away, issuing orders. As his men set to work on the harness, he rode Hawk to the back of the whirlicote, judging how they might angle her litter so that she didn't have to step into the muddy water to make the change. Allegreto's head popped out from the back opening.
"What did my lady say?" he insisted.
"Can you ride a horse, whelp?" Ruck asked.
Allegreto groaned.
"It was you who'd have us come on roads out of the common way," Ruck reminded him.
"To avoid the pestilence!"
Ruck looked at the bleak and empty country around. The track ran along the dark edge of a forest, with not a habitation to be seen. A hard, cold wind blew off the somber line of mountains that marched away to the west, burning his face. "I think we're well secluded from infection," he said blandly.
Allegreto scrambled up and balanced on the wagon's gate, the long toes of his elegant slippers, one yellow and one blue, drooping forlornly over the side.
"I have a fine rouncy for you, whelp." Ruck tilted his thumb toward a mud-covered harness horse. The sergeant led it up. The animal squelched to a halt and blew a spumy sigh, reaching out a hopeful muzzle toward Allegreto's blue toe.
The youth snatched it back. He looked up at the arriving litter and then over his shoulder into the whirlicote. "My lady, my exquisite gentle lady, I worship you. I live for you. You are more beautiful than the sun, more lovely than—"
"No, you may not ride in the litter," she said tartly. "Gryngolet will not abide you at such close quarter."
Allegreto turned back. Ruck held onto Hawk's reins, half expecting another fit of passion, but the youth appeared to resign himself to the limited recourse, choosing to mount rather than risk the falcon's temper—or his lady's. By the time her gentlewoman was transferred to a mule and the litter moved into place, Allegreto was somewhere off amid the pack train, sawing at his horse's reins to turn it away from a donkey loaded with fodder.
Princess Melanthe appeared at the lowered gate of the whirlicote, wrapped in a mantle of ermine and royal blue. Ruck dismounted. In spite of their efforts, there was still a gap the width of a rod across the icy lake between the wagon and the litter. He saw nothing else for it—he pulled off his muddy gloves and moved to step into the water and assist her.
"Pray do not," she said, leaning her hand across to catch the top of the litter. She flashed him a smile and with a swift move stepped across the gap.
The litter tilted precariously, and she gave a small squeak, holding to the roof. Ruck dove forward with a splash, catching her. Her body startled him: a brief weight, a soft lithe shape within the voluminous mantle. He hardly realized he was standing to his knees in freezing water. Almost as soon as he touched her, she left his hold, ducking into the litter and lapsing back into the cushions.
Somehow he had her hands in his. They felt so hot that they stung his flesh. He thought: witch, to burn so—and then she held his fingers for a moment and murmured in English, "Your hands are so cold!"
"My feet are colder, madam," he said. He hiked himself out of the ditch and walked away with his legs dripping.
When the litter was marshaled into place and horses harnessed to it, she summoned him again to her. Even bundled in her furs and hood as she was, Ruck found it hard to look at her fa
ce. As he stood by the litter, he let the curtain sag so that all he saw were the damask cushions and her cloak.
"What is your counsel?" she asked quietly in English.
He didn't know why she asked his counsel, as she had never yet taken it, not even in so modest a matter as the choice of road.
They had avoided Coventry, they had avoided Stafford, now they swung wide of Chester. In the past ten days she had sometimes wished to go north and sometimes west, as erratic as a belfry bat. They had come so far out of the way to her lands in the north that he had begun to doubt if she had the vaguest notion of where they lay. That, or she had gone witless in her head.
"I caution my lady's grace, let us hurry to the nearest manor and crave harbor." He had said it before. It was what they ought to have done all along, if not for her indulgence of Allegreto's overblown terrors. "Yewlow lies east by sunset, if we don't tarry."
"And what ahead?"
"An arm of the sea. Dee quicksands and the Wyrale," he said. "It's wilderness."
"You know the country?"
"Well, Your Highness."
"Dragon hunting?" she asked mildly.
He did not give her the dignity of an answer to that, although it was true.
Her voice from behind the curtain held a hint of amusement. "So we need fear no attack by a fiery worm, if we advance."
"Outlaws only, my lady," he said dryly.
She said nothing for a moment. Then he heard her sigh. "Allegreto will be tedious. Can outlaws be worse?"
Ruck glanced at Allegreto pounding vehemently at the poor cart-horse's ribs. "I think my lady's grace hasn't much experience of outlaws."
She gave a low, wry laugh. "And you but little of Allegreto. But your fingers are blue with cold, sir. I might be pleased to see you in bed at Yewlow tonight," she murmured. Where he held the curtain, she caressed the back of his hand.
For My Lady's Heart Page 58