Susanna saw the flare of temper in those pool-blue eyes, a quick downturn of the mouth before order was restored. “You are a boor, Parker.” All coquetting was gone.
“Perhaps. But an honest one.” He bowed a farewell, but as she turned away, he leaned forward. “Have you seen Fielder?”
A blue flame burned in the look she gave him over her shoulder. She had not mastered her temper fast enough. “I saw him at the gaming tables.”
“My thanks. Please give my regards to your husband.”
It seemed he could not have said anything to make her more furious. Her frame shuddered as she suppressed her anger. Her hands clenched, her neck stiffened, her back drew straighter.
This was an even better painting: Outward Beauty Fighting Inner Beast.
“Who is that?” She watched Lady Carew laugh prettily as a courtier raised her hand to his lips. She seemed oblivious to them, though a moment ago she had clearly wished them to the devil.
“That is Francis Bryan’s sister, Elizabeth Carew.”
Susanna suddenly understood why she had seemed vaguely familiar.
“She is also the wife of Nicholas Carew, the best jouster in England, and one of the King’s closest friends.”
There had to be more to it than that. “And?”
Parker slanted her a look, his lips quirked in a smile. “And the King’s mistress.”
25
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Not to be rash, nor perswade hymselfe to knowe the thing that he knoweth not.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To sett out her beawtye and disposition of person with meete garmentes that shall best beecome her, but as feininglye as she can, makyng semblant to bestowe no labour about it, nor yet to minde it.
Can you see Harry?” Susanna’s murmur was discreet, despite the shrieks of laughter and shouts of conversation around them.
Parker shook his head, his eyes never still. This was deadly earnest now, and he worried Harry would be noticed by the wrong people.
He had accompanied them as Parker’s page, a pair of invisible eyes and ears, and Parker hoped he was invisible enough to escape harm.
He moved Susanna through the throng, avoiding, sidestepping, especially when there was a danger of conversation.
Why was he so reluctant to give Susanna’s name? Norfolk knew who she was, and he was the danger. Still, Parker felt calmer knowing the vultures of court did not know her. Let them speculate. Let them gossip. She would be known to them soon enough, as the King’s painter at the very least.
At last they were at the entrance to the smaller chamber that had been turned into a gaming room.
“There is Fielder.” Parker spotted the yeoman as the crowd parted for an instant, and tightened his hold on Susanna’s arm. He shouldered through the crowd blocking the door, the gawkers watching fortunes made and lost.
“Which one is he?” Susanna craned her neck.
“Dark hair, tall, in green.” Fielder looked well. He was younger than Parker, and he had an excellent physique, broad in the shoulders, trim in the hips. But he also had the look of a man in trouble. His eyes shifted around the room, and Parker saw the moment he realized they were bearing down on him.
He froze, his eyes wide, then backed away from the table where he had been playing. As he spun toward another door at the back of the room, he knocked into a man holding a cup, sending him stumbling and his wine flying in a rainbow arc.
“Follow me.” Parker dropped his hold on Susanna’s arm and ducked into the crowd, half-running after Fielder through the throng.
He skirted a woman wailing as she dabbed at a wine stain across her bodice with a dainty white lace kerchief and pushed past a man muttering curses as he brushed wine from his velvet doublet. He could not let Fielder get away.
He burst through the door Fielder had taken and found himself in a long passageway. Fielder was to the right, just turning a corner, and Parker flicked out his knife as he charged after him. He rounded the corner himself just in time to see the door midway along the passage close. A second later, and he would have missed it and run straight past it.
Making as much noise as he could, he ran to the end of the corridor, then walked back to the door in silence. He pressed himself against the wall, and withdrew his sword.
Fielder came out with a cocky, self-pleased swagger. He closed the door without looking, then shrieked as Parker whipped his sword up, blocking his way. He pinned Fielder to the door with the blade against his throat.
“Surprise, surprise.” Parker grinned.
Fielder drooped, giving up the fight like a battle flag that had lost its wind. Parker was forced to push back against him to keep him upright.
“I was afraid Simon had noticed the coat.”
Parker clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Not wise to wear your enemies’ clothes if you plan on attacking them, Fielder. I would have told you that in your training, if I’d thought you needed something like that spelled out. Obviously you aren’t as bright as I thought.”
“I didn’t know about Simon.” Fielder’s words were spoken through gritted teeth.
“You thought you’d have a two-to-one advantage, eh?”
Fielder’s eyes glittered in the low, flickering light of the passageway. “For you, I’d have preferred there to be four of us.”
“Ah, you flatter me.” Parker leaned in with his blade, and watched Fielder’s eyes widen. “What are your instructions from Norfolk?”
Fielder’s eyes shifted just for a moment over Parker’s right shoulder, down the passage. He remembered that Susanna was following him and felt a moment’s unease that he had left her, even for a short while, in the heat of the chase.
“Stay back,” he called, not taking his eyes from Fielder.
But something was wrong. Fielder looked smug again.
Parker sensed rather than saw the arm lifting up just behind his field of vision, and it was the last thing he remembered.
The noise of the gaming room and hall were muffled in the corridor. Susanna looked left and right down the long passage, and wondered which way Parker and Fielder had run.
She heard the faint clatter of running feet to the right, and decided it was as good a direction as any. She lifted her skirts and began to jog, her thin leather slippers silent on the stone floor. These passageways must not be used by the King, for there was no runner on the floor, and few decorations and paintings hung on the walls. Low-burning candles sat in small alcoves to cut a little into the dark.
She had had Parker at her side for so long, she felt uneasy without him. Her heart fluttered like the flame of the candle just ahead.
“Mistress.”
The call came from behind her and Susanna spun, narrowing her eyes in the gloom to see who was there. As the man passed in front of a lit alcove, she saw he was a stranger. And from the hard look on his face, he meant her harm.
She backed away, the flutter of her heart now a thunder, holding her skirts high so as not to trip. A wave of cold fear made her shiver as she caught the glint of a blade in his hand and realized it was too late to run. Her skirts would slow her down, and he was closer than she’d thought. He moved swiftly and with purpose.
Taking a deep breath, widening her stance, she decided to stand her ground, her mind seizing thin straws of possibility on how to defend herself. She grasped the girdle about her waist and felt the heavy pendulum swing of her copper pomander at the end of it.
Her pursuer seemed confused that she had halted, and his steps slowed. He approached more cautiously, and she used the time to unclasp the chain. She tested the weight of the pomander with a little jerk. When he was within striking distance, she gathered her courage and stepped forward with a cry, swinging the chain back and up in an arc.
He jerked with surprise at her shout, his gaze fixed on her face, and the pomander came out of the darkness at him, striking his left temple.
Susanna did not wait to see
what damage she had done. Still clutching tight to the chain, she turned and ran, feeling a scream building in her chest.
Where was Parker?
At the turn in the corridor she risked a quick look back, and saw the man kneeling on the floor, one hand against the wall to steady himself, the other raised to his head. It might have been a trick of the weak light, but she thought she saw the dull gleam of blood.
She switched her attention back to the passage in front of her, and despite the danger behind, froze.
Parker lay on the floor, his arm flung to the side, sword still in his palm, horrifically vulnerable. Above him, two men stood in quiet argument. One was Tom Fielder. With a jerk of impatience, his companion dropped to one knee beside Parker and raised his knife. Lifting it up and to the left, he grasped Parker’s chin and tipped it back to give him better access.
“No!” Susanna ran at Fielder’s companion, the pomander whirling in a solid copper blur at her side.
The man stopped, his mouth open, and Susanna leaped, screaming like a banshee from a dark bog. She heard the crack as the pomander connected with the bastard’s skull, the blow so hard that the copper casing split open and the perfumed oil within filled the air with the scent of ambergis and cinnamon.
Her hand shook as she drew back her chain to make another strike, but as her arm swung up, it was grabbed viciously from behind and twisted up behind her back. She let out a cry of pain.
“What a mess.” It was the rough voice of the man who’d been pursuing her. He hitched her arm an inch higher, and Susanna had to pant to keep from blacking out.
Fielder stood with his mouth open. “Norris. What happened to your head?”
“This little bitch did. Same way she took down Smithy.”
Through the lights dancing before her eyes, Susanna saw that Smithy lay unmoving beside Parker.
Her terror made it difficult to think. She drew in a deep breath and tried to calm down. She had to get help for Parker. She had to escape.
“What do we do?” Fielder hunched his shoulders, shooting a nervous look at Susanna.
A shout of laughter floated down the corridor, and the noise of the revelry rose as a door from the hall was opened. Someone was coming.
“Help!” Susanna screamed as loud as she could, hope blossoming.
Norris’s hand clamped over her mouth, and she bit his palm as hard as she could.
“Argh!” He shoved her forward and she fell onto Smithy and Parker, pain dancing down her arm as if it were on fire.
She rolled onto Parker’s chest, pressing her ear to his breast, and heard the steady drum of his heart. Her left hand brushed something hard on the floor beside him and she caught hold of it with her fingertips as she was hauled up again.
Parker’s knife.
She cried out as Norris wrenched her injured arm again, using the noise as a distraction as she pushed the knife up her sleeve as far as she could with one hand, forcing it under her tight undersleeve. She shivered as the blade rubbed against the thin skin of her inner arm.
To have a small chance of saving herself, she would have to make a blood offering.
The laughter from the adjoining corridor had turned to shouts and teasing, and one of the revelers broke into song.
“Leave Parker and Smithy. We can kill her somewhere quiet.” Norris shoved her past Smithy, who had begun to moan and flutter his eyes as he came around. Parker’s form was still.
“Leave Smithy?” Fielder clearly didn’t like that. Didn’t like the implication that they were all disposable. His look hardened.
“Carry him then, if you like.” Norris pushed her forward, and with nothing to lose, Susanna began screaming again.
“Help! Help!”
Norris’s blow landed just above her ear, making her ears ring.
Pain washed over her in waves, her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor. The world retreated, sound coming to her as some distant thing.
Norris spat in disgust and lifted her up, his fingers digging into her waist and back. He started down the passageway, half-carrying, half-supporting her.
“Help me!” His shout sounded as if it came from two fields away.
Fielder had obviously left Smithy to take his chances because he was empty-handed, and he took hold of her legs around the knees. The world tilted as Norris and Fielder carried her as if she were a rolled-up Turkish rug.
As they turned the corner at a jog, Susanna managed to twist her head for a final look at Parker, and saw four young courtiers standing beside him, looking at her with their mouths open.
26
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Not to seeke to come up by any naughtie or subtill practise.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To have a good grace in all her doinges.
Parker.”
Someone was slapping his face. Each successive call of his name seemed more urgent, each slap a little harder.
Parker batted the hand away and opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light.
“Denny?”
“Aye. At least your brain is not addled.”
“What—” Shock punched an icy fist through his chest and grabbed hold of his heart. “Susanna?”
“Your lady?” Denny leaned back on his heels. “I fear I have bad news.”
Parker struggled to his elbow and tried to drag himself to his feet. With a start he saw a man beside him, struggling against two finely dressed young courtiers sitting on his chest.
“What happened?”
“We were on our way along this passage to visit a … young lady and her friends for an … intimate visit. We were laughing and singing, and your lady might have called out a dozen times before we heard her. But that last scream …” Denny rubbed a shaking hand across his forehead. “It was a scream of desperation. It cut through our wine haze.”
Parker felt dread sinking in him like the weights of a drawbridge, cutting off all possibility of hope.
“We ran, fast as we could. One fellow was trying to help up his friend here, the other was hauling your lady down the corridor. When the rogue saw us he abandoned his friend and they both disappeared around the corner, carrying the lady between them.”
“Did you see who they were?”
“One was Fielder.” The fourth courtier, standing beside Denny, sounded subdued. “I thought he was a weasel, but now I have the proof of my own eyes.” He hiccuped, and peered at the floor with bleary eyes. Then he bent and picked up a gold waist chain with a cracked pomander attached.
“Is this your lady’s?”
Parker reached out to take it. It was Susanna’s. There was blood on it, and his fingers came away sticky with perfume. He felt the gaping chill of fear and a wave of dizziness.
“You did well to injure this cove before you were overcome, Parker.” Denny’s voice was full of admiration.
Parker looked at the man, blinked his eyes to clear his sight, and finally recognized him as the man will had pointed out on the stairs of the palace, following Bryan.
“I didn’t.” He looked at the pomander dangling from his hand, and back to the bloody mess on the side of the man’s head.
Susanna.
“Take this bastard to the Knight Marshal, and have him kept until I can question him. Which way did they go?”
“Down the corridor and to the left.”
Parker gave a quick bow, and staggered as his world spun again. He waited a moment until the floor stopped moving, and then searched the ground for his weapons.
He picked up his sword, but could find no trace of his knife. It could be anywhere in the shadows and he didn’t have the time to look for it.
Without a word, he knelt next to Fielder’s accomplice, and the man flinched. But Parker only reached across to grab the knife beside him.
This time when he stood, the world rocked a little less violently.
“Surely you cannot go as you are?” Denny called after him as he staggered do
wn the passageway, hand against the wall for balance. “Wait until you can stand straight, man. One of us can go with you.”
Parker waved him away. They were drunk, and he couldn’t risk any of them discovering the extent of this plot. “No time to lose,” he called back.
For Susanna Horenbout, he’d run into the very jaws of Hell.
They meant to kill her, quickly and privately, and her only chance was to make it slow and public.
She relaxed her body, turned herself into a dead weight, and a thrill of satisfaction overcame her fear when Fielder stumbled.
Norris tripped in reaction, and his hand slipped from over her mouth.
She screamed.
Norris deliberately dropped her headfirst onto the stone floor, but she lifted her head in time and her shoulders and back took the impact, sending shocks of pain through her body.
She lay stunned a moment, her legs still loosely held by Fielder, but Norris was already bending to haul her up again. Using her right leg against Fielder’s hip as a brace, she kicked her left hard up between his legs, arching her back to get power behind the blow.
Fielder made a tiny squeal of sound, his face white, and he dropped her, curling over his groin in a strange, slow movement.
“Pull yourself together.” Norris spoke through gritted teeth, each word ground out in frustration.
Susanna let him lift her partway up, and when she judged the angle right, she twisted in his hands, scrabbling to get her legs under her. She ducked beneath his arms and staggered a few steps forward before she broke into a run.
“Lucifer’s bones!” Norris’s shout echoed through the passageway, his rage in every syllable. He would be vicious if he caught her.
The thought gave her an extra spurt of speed.
Norris was not far behind her, fueled by pure hatred.
Ahead Susanna could hear murmurs and the discordant clang of copper, and pushed herself even harder.
In a Treacherous Court Page 16