The King's Courtesan

by Judith James

  ROBERT CONTINUED in the opposite direction.

  Vengeance was a personal business between one man and another. Harris, justice, resolution, lay to the north. How could she expect him to abandon it now? He’d known her less than six months but he’d carried this burden almost al of his life. And why couldn’t she understand the danger the man presented? Was his word not good enough? Harris assaulted women…and children, for sport, and he had a grudge to bear.

  And what now? Instead of waiting for him so they might face the king’s displeasure together as they’d agreed, she had chosen to please her ex-lover by scampering back to London within hours of his summons. He had taken a risk, revealing himself to her. One he had shared with none other. Perhaps, in the light of day, despite her words of comfort and acceptance, the summons had come as a welcome excuse. He had known in his gut it was a mistake to tel her, and that was before she bloody decided he was her toy soldier brought to life.

  Wel , he was no one’s toy. Certainly not Charles’s, and certainly no woman’s, and a good soldier fol owed his instincts. He completed his mission. He refused to be distracted. Let Charles deal with her. The man had betrayed and humiliated her and she’d sworn she would never take him back as lover. But what would happen when she was back at court with a charming and charismatic king intent on reclaiming her? How long would she resist?

  She would be safer at court, though. If Harris had a chance to hurt him through his wife he would, but he would never dare molest one of the king’s courtesans.

  His jaw tightened. She would be in London by tomorrow.

  How would Charles greet her? With diamonds and sapphires cut and set to match her eyes. A palace suite now she was a lady. Apologies and blandishments and words to soothe her hurt and anger. Men like Charles and de Veres, they had a talent for such things, but he was unaccustomed to pretty speeches. Try as he might, he never seemed to find the right words. You have never claimed to love me in return, she’d said. Wel , perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps the words didn’t drip from his tongue like honey, but he’d wager no one else had humored her with tales of Robin Hood or indulged her interest in sword fighting or stood patiently for hours while she admired shrubs!

  His horse, sensing his mounting fury, grew restive, tossing its head, muscles bunching, fretting to be released. He turned him sideways, holding him in check as he reared and pranced, feeling the power and frustration coiled beneath him. Then he straightened him out, leaned forward and gave him his head, hurtling through the night with the ful moon lighting his path and his black cloak bil owing behind him like wings. He was vengeance. He was retribution. He rode for Caroline and Harris was his prey.

  He approached Gildersome, a vil age close to Farnley, not quite sure what to expect. The message had been vague and he was wary. A tavern was the best place to mingle, listen to the news, make discreet enquiries and spread a little coin. It usual y required a good deal of finesse and even greater quantities of alcohol before suspicious locals actual y parted with any useful information, but this night the tavern was abuzz with the goings-on in the nearby woods. It seemed that militant-looking strangers had been making themselves at home with the local farmers and businessmen for several weeks now, and one more stranger was hardly worth a glance.

  The heavily forested area was crowded and even easier to infiltrate than the tavern. Over a hundred men mil ed about, talking and arguing. Al of them were Protestant, many of them ex-parliamentarian soldiers, and several of them he recognized, including Joshua Greathead, whom he’d glimpsed in London. What he didn’t see was Harris. What he heard shocked him. Not for its content, but its delivery.

  They spoke of treason, and a more voluble, undisciplined, indiscreet group of conspirators one could not imagine.

  Perhaps they felt themselves too far distant in Yorkshire to attract attention, but they were blithely out in the open planning an attack on the royalist strongholds in Leeds, with the intent of starting an uprising to overthrow the king. There was even talk that General Fairfax, their old commander, might come to lead them.

  It would have been laughable if it weren’t so dangerous. He hunched his shoulders to disguise his height, lowered his hat and wrapped his cloak like a scarf to obscure his features, and slipped into the shadows. It was beginning to feel like a trap, though not the kind he’d expected. Any man placed in these woods by witnesses could expect to be hanged, drawn and quartered. He’d overheard enough to make the risk worthwhile, though. It seemed the tavern in nearby Morley had been commandeered by a group of brutal braggarts and bul ies. He left the woods as quietly as he entered them, and went elsewhere to hunt his prey.

  The King’s Arms was at the very edge of the vil age, backing onto the moor. It might have been a pleasant walk by day, but its isolation made it a perfect gathering spot for men of a certain sort, and a dangerous walk for the uninvited by night. The door burst open on a roar to drunken laughter. A portly older gentleman hurtled from inside, landing face first in the dirt. A voice that had lived too long in his dreams rose above the din.

  “Come back when you have the rest, or your wife and daughter wil settle the account, you useless piece of dung.” A familiar feeling came over him. Anticipation, exhilaration, a sense of heightened awareness, focused and honed to a deadly, determined calm. His teeth flashed white in the moonlight as his lips drew back in a feral grin. He’d tracked his quarry to his lair. He waited for the uproar to subside, then quietly slipped inside. Only a few of the occupants looked to be locals. The bald man lounged by the hearth, groping the breast of a naked woman who looked to be drunk, asleep or, by the bruises on her face, unconscious.

  A half-dozen wel -armed men were with him. They were al too busy dicing to notice his presence.

  He took a seat on a bench near the back of the room and sidled over to rub elbows with a bleary-eyed fel ow who looked about ready to slide under the table. “Who’s that lot over there, eh?” he asked, sliding his new friend a pint of ale and half a crown. “They don’t look to be from around here.”

  “Neither do you,” his drunken companion answered sourly, but he pocketed the coin and reached for the ale. “Too many strangers round here these days.” Another commotion drew both their attention. An unkempt, scrawny-looking youth carrying a heavy flagon of beer had done something to earn a string of curses and a cuff that sent him reeling to the floor. The boy picked himself up, expressionless, retrieved another flagon, and continued serving as he’d been doing before.

  “That be the mighty war hero Colonel Harris, honoring us smal folk with his presence. He’s the earl of something or other, or so he claims. He’s here and about often these days. Some say too often. Some say it’s tied to the doings in the woods, but he ends up here every night cheating at cards and dice. You want to be careful not to draw his attention. If he invites you to play there’s no refusing, and no leaving til you’re parted from al your coin.” So…the arrogant fool had used his own name. “And that lot with him?”

  “Those be his men and the reason none dare complain.

  The lad is his son, poor bastard, and the woman one of his whores.”

  “I’m no stranger when it comes to games of chance,” Robert said with a slow smile. “Perhaps I’l see what I might take from him.”

  “They say a fool and his money are soon parted. Good luck, friend. Beware he doesn’t also take your life.” Robert rose and patted the man’s shoulder, then tossed him another coin. “Drink to my health at the wake.” He moved quietly through the shadows and they moved with him, coalescing into a dark shape that waited, just feet from its prey. Robert’s hand caressed his sword hilt. He could see the veins where his enemy’s neck met his shoulder, pulsing life in rhythm with his heart. That this thing should live when his sister did not was unbearable. Harris could be dead within two seconds, but he had to recognize and understand. He had to know that his casual slaying of Caroline was what ended his life now.

  And so he waited, amazed they could be so complacent.r />
  So certain of their invulnerability they never once raised their eyes to scan the room. When at last he did feel a gaze upon him it was the boy’s. The lad’s eyes met his directly, cool, assessing, and he returned the stare. The boy’s cheeks were gaunt, his eyes fil ed with shadows. They flicked to the sword and Robert lifted his fingers. When he looked back the lad had turned away.

  He had waited long enough. He leaned over, clamping Harris’s shoulder in a viselike grip. “Excuse me, Colonel, but I was wondering if we might have a quiet word outside.” Harris’s grip was as strong as his own. He seized Robert’s wrist and threw himself back in the chair, toppling it, dropping the woman and freeing himself, shoving Robert back against the wal as he rose. The men, taken by surprise, watched in stunned silence before erupting into cheers, thinking it a drunken brawl and eager to see their leader break some bones. Holding Robert in a choke hold with only the back of his arm, Harris used his considerable strength to force him up the wal so only his toes touched the floor. “What dog is this come snapping at my table?

  You’l lick my boots, cur. Or I’l slice you open from bel y to throat.”

  Gripping the man’s forearm and using it for leverage, Robert lifted his legs and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him backward and sending him flying over the table, scattering food, drink, and dice and sending his sword sliding across the floor. Leaping up onto the table he unsheathed his own. “A man who mistakes wolf for dog is bound to come to a bad end. Don’t you think?” Harris grinned, spat out a tooth and then spat blood. “Wel , wel . Young Nichols, is it? I remember you. Al grown up, then? Last I saw you, you were running away as your little sister pled for mercy.”

  “Aye. Her name is Caroline.” He jumped to the floor and kicked the sword toward him. “Get up.”

  Harris reached for the blade and jumped to his feet. “Stil squeamish, then, are you, lad? It’s a nice gesture, though.” The rest of the men had stepped back, clearing a space, while the remaining townsfolk had run for the door, fleeing into the night.

  “I just want to take my time with it, Colonel. Savor the moment after al these years.” He darted forward in a lightning move that left Harris cursing with an inch-wide gash from temple to jaw. “I think it’s more fun this way.” They were circling each other, eyes locked. Robert was a master swordsman, not a frightened child, and he could see the realization dawning in the other man’s eye. “She stil thinks of you. She sent me to say goodbye.” He lunged again and Harris gave a shriek of pain and rage as the giant blade pierced his left shoulder, cutting through muscle and tendon. Nerveless fingers opened and his sword clattered to the floor. Laughing and cursing at the same time, Harris pul ed himself up against a table and tried to staunch the flow of blood. “As you can see I am unable to wield a weapon. The duel is over. I’l tel you what, Nichols. Why don’t you say hel o to her for me? Kil him, lads.”

  CURSING, SHOUTING, SCREAMS and breaking crockery were doubtless viewed as ominous signs to most people, but for Hope and the sergeant they were a godsend. Ever since Hope had decided to turn around and head to Yorkshire instead of London she had been afraid of her husband’s greeting, but after searching the deserted Farnley Woods, and the towns of Farnley, Gildersome and Leeds, she began to fear that something might have happened to him on the way. Both she and Mr. Oakes agreed that asking questions might do more harm than good, but that reduced them to wandering from tavern to tavern, inn to inn, hoping to find some trace of him. If Oakes viewed the sounds of battle as promising, then so did she.

  “I expect we might find him inside, my lady. Perhaps you should wait here with some of the men.”

  “I’ve seen my share of tavern brawls, Oakes. I am not some delicate flower.”

  They stepped into a chaotic mess. Tables and chairs were overturned. A woman lay unconscious or dead under a table, at least three men lay dead on the floor, and three others were fighting a fourth, who was laying about him with a giant sword that sang as it cut through the air. Robert!

  “Why, look, boys! ’Tis one of the king’s sluts herself come to cal .” The words were spoken by a massive bald-headed man covered in blood. She knew him instantly from Robert’s description. There was a momentary lul in the battle as the entire room turned to stare. She stared right back. As Robert looked at her, stunned, one of the men rushed him from behind. He raised a gauntleted fist without looking, smashing the man’s nose and dropping him like a stone.

  Robert heard the snick of metal behind him and turned just in time to deflect the blade of a wicked-looking main-gauche, but he was too slow, catching the man in the thigh instead of through the heart.

  “Get the woman, you fools,” Harris shouted, and his two remaining attackers rounded on her. Robert turned his back on the man who’d murdered Caroline and plunged his sword through the shoulder blades of one, while Oakes and one of his men did for another. Hope was safe in a corner, surrounded by five more of his men. At least she’d had the sense to bring them. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the colonel.

  “Now…you die.”

  “I’m not inclined to humor you, Captain.” Harris reached behind a wooden pil ar, snatching the skinny, battered youth by the hair and pul ing him close like a shield. Stil able to wield a knife, he held a razor-sharp blade to the lad’s jugular. “We’l be leaving now, Nichols, and with no interference or I’l slit the boy’s throat.”

  “No, you won’t.” Robert’s voice sounded cold, disinterested. “He’s your son.”

  Harris grinned and chuckled, shaking the boy’s head back and forth by the hair. “You think that wil stop me? His and forth by the hair. “You think that wil stop me? His mother’s a whore and him naught but a little bastard. I’ve plenty more where he came from.”

  “Do you think it wil stop me?” Robert sounded curious, almost amused. He took a step forward, resting the tip of his sword over the boy’s heart. “Beyond this lies your lungs.

  You took something from me. Why should I cavil at taking something from you?”

  “Robert, no!”

  “Listen to your bitch, Nichols. You’re scaring her.” Robert turned to look at her, the tip of his sword never leaving the boy’s chest. What Hope saw horrified her. This was what he’d warned her about. This savage, blood-covered, ferocious man with the snarling voice, sword outstretched and death in his eyes.

  “Goddamn it, Oakes!” he snarled. “I’l have your head for bringing her here. Get her out. Now! Take her back to London and the king, where she belongs.” She stared at him in shock. “Robert, please. You can’t—”

  “Leave. Now,” he growled. “You have no business here. Go and don’t come back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “THAT POOR CHILD!”

  “You needn’t fear for him, my lady. The captain—”

  “Wouldn’t hurt him. I know. You told me you’d never seen him harm an innocent and I believe you. But when we left he was holding him at sword point. And to have one’s own father use you as a shield. What kind of man does that?”

  “The kind who needs kil ing, I expect, my lady. The captain wouldn’t go after a man for no reason.”

  “No. He had reason enough, no doubt. I am sorry if I have dragged you into trouble with him, Oakes.”

  “I’m a tough old badger, my lady. I can weather the storm.”

  “I should not have ordered you to turn back, but we had a terrible argument before I left and I didn’t want him going after that man. I was very upset he would not leave it and come with me. At first it was hurt and anger, but the further we got the more convinced I became that he was on a path that would do him far more harm than good. I was a fool to think he needed rescuing. He is clearly a man who can care for himself and al I did was make a mess of things. I have never seen him so angry.”

  “Neither have I. But the mess was made before we got there, my lady.”

  “He is quite done with me now, I think.”

  “Do you, ma’am? I think he was more angry yo
u saw him like that, than he was with you.”

  She nodded thoughtful y. “There’s a name for men who release something savage in battle. It’s said they glory in it.”

  “Aye. A berserker, my lady. The captain, he is a fearsome man in battle. He’s good at staying alive and that means he’s good at kil ing. But it doesn’t control him. He controls it.”

  “You told me that at times before battle he had eyes like a shark. You said they looked like ice. I saw that look tonight.” She shivered.

  “Aye. I noted it, too. But no berserker stays his sword in the midst of battle or stops to see his lady safe. Remember that when you ask yourself what things he holds most dear, or what it is that rules him.”

  Oakes patted her hand before leaving her to her thoughts, joining Jemmy on the box to ride musket, as the coach took her home to London.

  She settled back against the cushions, stil haunted by the image of the bruised and hol ow-cheeked youth, an innocent trapped between the hatred of two grown men, both whose duty it should have been to protect him. Oakes is right. Robert wouldn’t harm him. But there were other ways to harm than using sword or fist. His words came back to her over and over, churning to the rumble of the coach. You don’t want to know. I go hunting. If you knew who I really was you wouldn’t like me much. You might even be afraid.

  He had told Oakes to take her back to the king, where she belonged. He’d told her not to come back, and after seeing him, she was far from sure she wanted to. He had warned her, yes…but some things no words could adequately convey. She wasn’t sure she would ever forget the sight of him, blood-covered and snarling with bodies al around.