A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece: Jakob & Avery: Book 2 (The Hansen Series - Jakob & Avery)

by Kris Tualla

  “No, you and I are too closely connected. I believe you should choose another name.”

  Percy gave him an apologetic look. “I am clearly English, and cannot pretend to be otherwise.”

  That was true. Too bad. It would have been rather fun to watch Bethington play a Frenchman.

  Percy snapped his fingers. “I am the patron for myself.”

  Jakob cocked one brow. “What?”

  He was growing exuberant. “I shall be—give me a name!”

  Jakob said the first name that came to mind. “Paul.”

  Percy made a derogatory face. “Too much like Paolo.”

  True. “Thomas.”

  “Thomas, what?” Percy rubbed his hands together. “Windsor?”

  Jakob’s first instinct was to say no, but he paused. The name sounded like it was connected to English royalty—but not too closely so. “Thomas Windsor. What rank of nobility?”

  Percy blew a breath through rounded lips. “The Order is packed with dukes, as it seems. Thomas might need to be a duke as well.”

  “Perhaps a duke of a more remote part of England?” Jakob offered.

  “Wales.” Percy grinned. “I’ll be the Duke of Merthyr Tydfil.”

  Jakob laughed. “Is that an actual place name?”

  “Yes!” Percy clapped his hands. “And it must be real, because who would invent such a name as a ruse?”

  “Thomas Windsor, Duke of Merthyr Tydfil, Wales.” The name and title did sound real enough. “And you will be a patron?”

  “Yes. I have traveled to Spain to ensure that King Henry the Eighth’s most valuable knight, Sir Percival Bethington, is well situated and cared for.” Percy’s familiar grin split his ruddy cheeks and his green eyes glowed. “It is perfect.”

  “Yes. I agree.” Jakob poured himself a glass of Percy’s ale. “After my audience with Avery and the Señores Garcia and Montenegro on the morrow, we will have more information about the finances to this point.”

  “And you will tell me everything I need to know.”

  Jakob dipped his chin and raised his glass in acknowledgement. “And the next day, Thomas Windsor will visit the shipyard.”

  Percy tapped his chin. “I wonder what he shall wear.”

  December 4, 1518

  Avery sat in the chair and did not move. She stared at the wine glass in her hand, emptied for the third time. Jakob did not refill it, thinking it best that the lady slow down her consumption so that her conversation might remain coherent.

  The Mendoza lawyer and accountant were surprised, and not happily so, when they discovered that he was attending the appointment. They objected, of course, but when Avery insisted, there was nothing they could do about it.

  The same applied to Esteban, who had been uninvited from the meeting. Avery gave him strict instructions that the quartet was not to be disturbed under any circumstances short of earthquake or fire.

  Jakob clenched his jaw to keep from laughing at the comical expressions of desperation which flickered over Esteban’s countenance. Yet each time he opened his mouth to speak, Avery quelled his words before they were fully formed.

  Unfortunately, her triumph was short-lived, as Paolo’s finances were at long last laid out in front of her.

  “Might I have more wine, please?” she asked once Señores Garcia and Montenegro departed.

  Jakob stood behind Avery and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  “Is that wise?”

  “I do not care if it is wise,” she spat. “And if you will not pour it, I shall get it myself.”

  Jakob lowered himself into the seat next to hers, his back against the table so he was facing her. Her cheeks were as blanched as limestone, her eyes black as charcoal.

  “You will survive this.”

  “How, Jakob?” she growled. “How is that possible?”

  At the moment, he did not have that solution. The short answer to their hours-long meeting was that Esteban had nearly bottomed out all of Paolo’s accounts to pay for the ships. He closed the investment accounts as well, withdrawing the principal funds and the accrued interest, so there were no resources there.

  Her remaining cash-at-hand was frighteningly miniscule, and shrinking by the day.

  And still there were debts. Finishing the ships, of course, was the largest. Jakob thought the smaller ones could be managed by frugality in the palazzo, but until he had that conversation with Avery, he could not be certain.

  But that conversation would wait for another day.

  Frustrated by his silence, Avery stood and stalked to the sideboard where the sangria waited. She poured the last of it into her goblet.

  “It looks like blood,” she murmured. “Everything in my life is bleeding.” Then she drained the glass.

  Jakob was worried about her, afraid that if he left her here, inebriated and alone in this house with Esteban, that she would reveal things which should not yet be spoken. Managing to pull her estate out of the depths to which it had been dragged would require planning, and keeping secrets from the majordomo was key at this point.

  And so, the lady must not be left alone. The way he saw it, he had two options.

  He could carry her away from the house, and stow her somewhere for the night. Except, he had no carriage. And once the effects of the wine hit her fully, Avery was not going to be in any condition to walk.

  If he requested her carriage, Esteban would never allow him to ride off with the intoxicated Lady Mendoza. He would keep her here, and probably pour even more wine into her until she told him everything that transpired during the afternoon.

  If I cannot take her away…

  Avery had already shown disdain for gossip in the face of the seriousness of her situation. He prayed now that she was sincere in her stance.

  Jakob walked to Avery and stood in front of her. She lifted her chin to stare up at him, abject misery carving deep hollows in her cheeks. She let go of the empty glass, whose life was narrowly spared by the carpet underfoot, and gripped his sleeves. Part in grief and part for balance, he guessed.

  His decision made, he leaned over and gathered her in his arms, lifting her without effort. Avery did not object, instead, she looped one arm around his neck, and buried her face under his chin.

  Jakob crossed to the door, and managed to get it open without dropping her. “Direct me to your chamber, my lady.”

  *****

  Avery’s head throbbed and her bladder demanded immediate attention. She sat up in bed and realized that she was fully clothed. Not only that, but she had no recollection of how she got there or why she was not in her nightdress. She climbed from the bed, grabbing the canopy poster for balance, and stumbled in the dim light to the chamber pot, wondering why the floor was swaying.

  She managed to piss without spilling, and then moved to the table to pour water in the basin and wash her face.

  A sudden snore from the outer room made her jump and spin around far too quickly. She fell to her knees, her heart bashing her ribs and her body tingling with fear. Her stomach roiled and she felt as if she might vomit. Who was there?

  And why?

  Dread suffused her core as she recalled the hours spent earlier that day with men who detailed her complete and utter destruction. She managed to grab the basin in time for her stomach to empty its soured contents in that receptacle and not on the floor.

  Between spasms, she heard movement in the outer room. Footsteps approached. She tried to scream between the gut-emptying heaves, but managed no more than strangled squeaks.

  In the pale light of a single candle, she saw boots stop beside her. As she panted over the basin, she tried to think rationally without success. “Who—”

  Strong hands slid under her arms from behind and lifted her to stand. She put her hands out and leaned on the table for support.

  “I’ll take care of the mess. Let me help you back to bed.”

  Jakob.

  Relief at the sound of his voice made her want to cry, before the rea
lization that he was sleeping in her chamber zinged through her frame like a well-fueled fire.

  Avery turned to face him, albeit more slowly this time. “What are you doing here?” she rasped.

  He moved the basin away from their feet and then dipped a towel in the pitcher of cold water. “You were drowning your sorrows in a very large decanter of strong wine. I could not leave you alone.”

  She glowered. “This is my house. I was not alone.”

  Jakob wrung out the cloth and handed it to her. Avery reluctantly accepted the kindness and washed her face. She did feel a little better, but she was still wobbly and needed to sit down.

  She staggered to the closest chair and sank into it. Jakob followed. He squatted in front of her, his expression tender.

  Avery glared at him. “Explain yourself, sir. Why did you see fit to compromise my reputation this way?”

  Jakob’s voice was low. “I could not leave you alone with Esteban in your condition. He would have worked every bit of information out of you.”

  Another shock of realization stabbed her. Nothing about this nightmare was getting better, only much, much worse. She could not breathe of a sudden. Though she gasped for air she could not get enough to satisfy her lungs. The light of the candle grew dim.

  She was floating through the air again, and some part of her memory reminded her that she had fainted in front of Jakob before. Her head cleared slowly and she was lying on the couch in her outer room. Flashes of her rooms in England and couches shared with Jakob moved through her awareness like a waking dream.

  “Lie still.” Jakob left her side and returned with the damp towel. He wiped her face and neck with the cloth. Though she was angry with him and wanted to stop him from tending to her, she had no strength to move any part of her body.

  So instead, she began to cry.

  Deep, gulping, ugly sobs emanated from her chest. Sorrowful wails, moving up and down in pitch with no discernible pattern, escaped her throat. Her shoulders shook and her belly ached. She rolled on her side and curled into a ball, wishing she could disappear. Or better yet, die.

  *****

  Jakob let Avery cry. That was probably the best thing for her to do at that moment. He went back into the sleeping room and dumped the sour-smelling vomit into the chamber pot, then covered the vessel to contain the stench.

  There was scant water left in the pitcher, but he carried it into the outer room anyway. He slid a chair close to the lounging couch, and rewet the towel. He pulled Avery out of her fetal ball and began to wash away her tears.

  “Go ahead and cry. Get it all out.”

  She pressed her fingers over her eyes so she could not look at him, but her sorrow did not slow.

  Jakob pushed her hair off her brow. “Tomorrow, we will begin putting our plan to work.”

  “Wh—what plan?” she gasped between sobs.

  In truth, he had no idea. He drifted off to sleep this evening as he played several unsuccessful scenarios to their logical end in his mind. And yet, there were some elements which proved hopeful.

  “The important thing is to use what people assume to be true,” he offered.

  Avery uncovered her eyes. “Wh—what do they assume?”

  “Because you are intimate with the Spanish princess, now the queen of England, you have influence. Both in England and here in Spain.”

  Avery struggled to sit up, but Jakob did not assist her. She needed to start helping herself climb out of this dungeon of despair, and sitting up unaided was a metaphorical beginning.

  She gave him a severe look through red-rimmed eyes. “Do I have influence?”

  “I am certain that you do, to some extent,” he admitted. “And testing that out might be wise at some point. But not until that becomes necessary. And only if it becomes necessary.”

  Avery tried to draw her knees to her chest, but her stiff bodice prevented it.

  Jakob set the damp towel aside. “Would you like me to help you dress more comfortably?”

  Avery narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

  Jakob shook his head slowly. “No. I am trying to save you.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. “Because we are friends.”

  The words that he spoke were less than she wanted to hear, he thought, but he would not divert her attentions with an affaire of the heart. Lady Avery needed to find her own way at this time. Only then would she be able to come to him freely, without the weight of her past pinning her helplessly in place.

  Jakob gave her a soft smile. “I will help you remove your burning beam, the way you helped me to remove mine.”

  Avery heaved a constricted sigh, and then turned her back to him. Jakob began to unlace her bodice in shared silence as the church bells rang four times in the near distance.

  *****

  Jakob only left the Mendoza palazzo once he was assured that Avery would be safe there on her own. She ate a little bit of cold supper from the tray which he had ordered much earlier that evening, and her head seemed to clear. As much as he wanted to kiss her mouth when he left, he settled for kissing her hand.

  “Thank you, Jakob, for being so kind.” Her cheeks pinkened. “I am afraid that I have behaved in a manner of which I am not at all proud.”

  Jakob gave her a sad smile. “You are faced with a situation far worse than you anticipated. You have every right to grieve in the manner which you did. I am only glad that you invited me here, so that I could protect you and keep you safe.”

  Her gaze dropped, as did her voice. “I wonder how long it will be before the entire city is claiming that I took you to my bed.”

  The thought of doing so brought parts of his body to immediate attention. If everyone assumed that he and Avery were lovers, was there anything too horrible about turning the gossip to truth?

  Yes. He wanted her as his wife, not his mistress. On this stand, he would not compromise.

  Jakob bent in a shallow bow. “I promise that I shall vow that such a liaison never occurred, for whatever good that might do.”

  “Thank you, again.”

  He stepped through the door and closed it softly, pausing to say a quick prayer for the lady and her precarious circumstances.

  As he turned to leave the palazzo, he saw Esteban, leaning against a wall across the courtyard, watching him. There was nothing to be gained by pretending that he did not notice the majordomo, and something to be gained by acknowledging the man’s presence if done right.

  Jakob tilted his head and flashed a crooked grin. He saluted Esteban with a flourish and then made his exit with his head high and his back straight.

  Chapter Eleven

  December 6, 1518

  Jakob rode to the docks in the carriage with Percy, but did not get out. Though the afternoon threatened rain, neither man wanted to wait another day to discover what they could about the unfinished trade ships. Jakob was eager, because the sooner Avery had that knowledge, the sooner she could decide how best to move forward.

  Percy’s motivation was that he found the chance to dress up and play-act enticing and entertaining.

  “Be careful what you reveal,” Jakob reminded him once again. “Do not say anything that gives the game away.”

  Percy rolled his bright green eyes. “I understand. Trust me. I am not a fool.”

  Jakob’s gaze raked over Percival Bethington’s outrageous apparel, which shouted the converse. “Do not let them think you are.”

  “Never!” The English knight opened the carriage door and stepped out. Then, with a foppish flip of his wrist, he held an elaborately embroidered kerchief so that it caught the afternoon’s damp, gusting breezes. He walked down the pier as if he did not have any urgent business, but was merely curious, his arse swinging like a woman’s.

  Jakob clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from guffawing and drawing unwanted attention.

  The carriage was staying in its place until Percy returned. Making himself comfortable on the bench, Jakob massaged hi
s damp-weather-bothered thigh until he dozed off—a result of yester evening’s lack of sleep. He awoke when the English knight climbed inside once more; almost an hour later, he guessed by the angle of cloudy light. As Jakob sat up to make room for his beefy counterpart, the carriage starting moving.

  Percival’s tunic was spattered with wet spots. “It is raining.”

  Jakob nodded. “So I see. What did you discover?”

  Percy rubbed his newly-shaved jaw. “Their accounting is confusing. They talked about everything in terms of maravedis, but that is like talking about everything in terms of pennies, not pounds.”

  Jakob nodded. “I experienced that yesterday with Avery’s accountant. The numbers are enormous, but the value is low.”

  “It is good that you know this, so that you can make the calculations sensible.”

  “What is the balance that is due on the ships?” he pressed.

  “Only thirty-five percent. Which is not bad, considering.” Percy shrugged. “And if he inflated that for my benefit—”

  Jakob threw up a hand. “And we will assume that he did.”

  “Yes. That means the lady could probably redeem the ships for less.”

  Jakob leaned forward. “The question now is, how much is that?”

  “He offered me the ships individually for one hundred and seventy-five thousand maravedis, or the pair for three hundred and twenty-five.”

  Jakob required pen and paper to check himself, but he made a guess at the inflated amount. “The lady might be able to procure them for one hundred and twenty-five thousand maravedis each, or thereabouts.”

  Percy appeared impressed. “Does she have those monies available?”

  Jakob snorted. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “How much does she have?”

  Jakob considered how much of Avery’s situation to reveal, and landed on as little as possible. “I cannot say for certain.”