“That is why we must talk. All journeys have some danger in them. I should explain some things to you before I go.”
She glanced up sharply. He faced her impassively, but she had learned much about him these last weeks, and that perfect face could never be a complete mask to her again. Now she noticed the thin veil of concern that diffused the warmth of his eyes. A strange numbness began slipping over her.
“Before I go, I will be giving you a key. It is for the box in my study. There is coin there. I will also show you a trunk in the wardrobe that contains papers regarding properties and banking credits. The mercery accounts are at the shop. Andrew is well familiar with them. Should you ever need help with anything, John Constantyn will aid you.” He paused. “He is the executor of my testament.”
Somehow she managed to draw another letter despite her shock. “You only ride to Salisbury, David.”
“You should know what to do. I have seen too many women who did not.”
“I do not want to speak of this.”
“Nor do I, but we must nonetheless.”
She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the appalling realization that forced itself into her mind. She knew, she just knew, that David did not go to Salisbury. He was going someplace very dangerous to do something very risky.
For Edward? She wanted to believe that was so, but the memories of Frans van Horlst asking a man for help in the King's secret corridor, and of a French noble meeting David in Hampstead, boiled in her mind.
I have no desire to jeopardize you. In France then.
He watched her with that deep gaze that always saw too much. Could he read these thoughts as he could so many others?
She was surely wrong. The very notion was unworthy of her. But he knew about Bordeaux and he played to win and used his own rules.
He could not do this. He would not. Their gold and silver would not tempt him. He was not ruled by such hungers.
“I expect that with John's help I will be able to manage things,” she said. “Do not concern yourself.”
“If something ever happens to me, the shop can be either sold or liquidated. Andrew could help with that. The mercers' wardens will see to placing the boys with other masters.”
“And me, David? Will they seek to place me with a new master as well?”
“They have no authority over your life. But they will no doubt offer advice and counsel you to remarry and join your property and business with another merchant's.”
“Is that the advice that you gave women as a warden?”
“Often. You, of course, need not look to merchants. You will be very wealthy.”
He spoke as though that should reassure her. He was telling her that if wealthy, widowed, and noble, she could have the husband she was born to have. It hurt her that he could so blithely talk about her going to another man.
“I assume that the properties in my name are well documented? And there will be money enough to buy more. Perhaps, then, I will not remarry at all.”
He reached over and stroked her cheek. “The thought of you living your life alone gives me no pleasure.”
“Let us be frank, David. We are speaking of your possible death. Your pleasure afterwards will not matter. Now, are we finished with this morbid topic? When do you leave?”
“Two days.”
Holy Thursday. Joan had said that the rumors called for the fleet to embark for France soon after Easter. Two days and then two weeks of empty chambers. She knew that a part of her would simply cease to exist while he was gone. Maybe it would cease to exist forever. She wouldn't believe that, she couldn't accept its possibility, but he had as much as warned her so just now. He would not have spoken thus unless he thought his danger very real.
A ripping ache filled her chest. Wherever he went, he must go for Edward. Surely he would not risk giving her such pain for anything else.
She set aside her box and stared at her lap. She tried not to care. She argued valiantly that if he was involved in something dishonorable, she would not want to see him again anyway. She told herself that if the worst happened and she became a rich widow, that would not be so bad. None of it helped relieve the weight around her heart.
Her throat burned and she fought to hold on to her composure.
Suddenly he stood in front of her. He lifted her up into his arms. Before she buried her face in his chest, she saw surprise in his eyes.
“I did not mean to upset you, my girl.”
The warmth of his embrace made the tears flow. “Did you not?” she mumbled. “You speak to me of dying and widowhood as if you speculated about next year's wool shipments.”
“That is because I do not expect to be harmed. I am just being practical for your sake. I have survived many worse dangers than I could possibly face on this little adventure.”
There was much in this man that remained a mystery to her, but the parts that she knew she had come to know very well. And she knew now that he lied to her. He did not do that too much anymore, mostly because she avoided asking the sorts of questions that led him to it. And his lies had rarely been true lies. Usually they were ambiguous statements like this one.
She nestled her head closer and his embrace tightened. “Can you not stay? Let another do this,” she whispered.
“None other can do it,” he said quietly. “I have committed myself.”
“Then I care not where or why you go,” she said. “You are a merchant, and there will be many trips, some of them very long. Go where you have to go, David, as long as you promise to come back.”
David and Sieg left Thursday morning. Christiana threw herself into a whirlwind of packing in order to distract herself. She chose and rechose her clothes for court until Emma was frantic. She tried not to think too much about the poignancy that had imbued David's lovemaking the last two nights.
He had hired two men to guard the house in Sieg's absence, and in the afternoon she had one of them escort her to Westminster.
She reclaimed her bed in the anteroom, and tried hard to pretend that it was just like old times. Sometimes it was, but often, as Joan and she lay on Isabele's bed and shared gossip and talk, her mind would suddenly drift away as she wondered where David was and whether he was safe.
Her suspicions about what he might be doing played over in her mind, and more than once she forced herself to analyze the evidence suggesting treason. That's what it was, after all. Treason of the highest kind, that would put people whom she loved in danger. She told herself that there was no proof that David was selling the French information about the fleet's destination and that she had let some overheard phrases work evils in her mind.
At the Easter banquet the King formally announced the embarkation to France, and the cheers in the hall greeted it as joyous news. Word spread that the troops would board the ships on Wednesday.
On Tuesday morning Joan roused her out of bed early. “There is to be a big hunt, and then lots of private parties in the taverns and inns on the Strand before tonight's feast. One last celebration before all the knights leave,” she said as she went to Christiana's trunks and began choosing clothes for her. “You must come with William and me and be my chaperon so Idonia won't interfere. It will be a day of play to last everyone through the summer.”
Christiana had been enjoying her stay at court, even if a part of her kept worrying about David. Joan had been right, and Westminster bulged with knights eager to pay any female attention. They practiced their poetic flattery even on unattainable women. It was expected for women at court to accept the milder attentions, and she did so, in part because they helped distract her from her concerns and suspicions about David.
Like most of the women, she merely rode to the hunt and watched the men demonstrate their prowess with arrow and spear. She stayed close to Joan and William Montagu the whole morning. The young earl acted besotted with the Fair Maid of Kent. Joan flirted back enough to give more hope than she ought. Christiana thought about Thomas Holland supervising the loading o
f ships in Southhampton. First Andrew and now William and who knew how many in between. Joan's constancy hadn't lasted very long.
The hunting parties made their way to the Strand at midday, and Joan's group descended on a large inn close to the city gates. Usually inns did not serve meals, but most had brought in cooks to deal with the large number of visitors to the area. This one's public room became so stuffed with tables and people that one could barely move, and Christiana soon lost track of Joan. She found herself standing against a wall, searching the crowd for friends to join.
“There you are,” said a soft voice at her shoulder.
She turned to find Lady Catherine edging up close to her.
The older woman's cat eyes gleamed. “This is horrible, isn't it? I expected as much and took a large chamber upstairs. Come and join my party for dinner, Christiana.”
She hesitated, remembering David and her brother telling her to avoid Catherine.
“I expect Morvan to eat with us,” Lady Catherine said.
She hadn't seen much of her brother these last days. The King's knights had been managing the troops provided by the city. It seemed odd that Morvan would dine with Catherine, but maybe whatever he held against her had been resolved.
The crowd pressed against her. Catherine touched her arm and gestured with her head. Christiana debated the offer. It would be nice to spend some time with Morvan before he sailed.
“Thank you,” she said, deciding quickly. There could be no harm in it, and surely David wouldn't mind if Morvan was there, too.
She followed Catherine through the throng to the stairs leading to the second level. Even up there the bodies were thick, because others had shown Catherine's foresight and taken chambers. Lady Catherine continued up to the inn's quiet third level, led her to a door, and ushered her in.
The chamber had been prepared for a party of fifteen. Two long tables cramped the space between the bed and the hearth. It was a warm April day and the narrow windows overlooking the courtyard had been opened, but the thick walls obscured the sounds from below.
Only one person waited in the chamber. Stephen Percy stood near the farthest window.
“I must go and collect the others,” Lady Catherine said brightly, turning to leave. “We will be back shortly.”
Christiana stared at Stephen. He smiled and walked to one of the tables and poured wine into two cups.
“A fortuitous coincidence, Christiana,” he said as he handed her one of them. “I feared that I would not see you before we left.”
She glanced at the tables awaiting the other diners. How long before some of them arrived?
“You will ride with your father?” she asked.
“Aye. The King has collected a huge army. It promises to be a glorious war. Come and sit with me awhile before the others come.”
She thought of David's demand that she not see this man. By rights she should leave. But they would only be alone for a few moments and there could be no harm in wishing him well. She took a seat across from him at one of the tables.
“How is your merchant?” Stephen asked.
“David is well.”
“He is not with you. He did not accompany you on this visit or on the others.” His tone lacked subtlety. He assumed she returned to court to avoid David. That she sought solace amongst her friends.
“He is a busy man, Stephen, and is out of the city now.”
“Still, I expected him to welcome the entry to court that you provided.”
“He has little interest in such things.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. He leaned forward and his gaze drifted over her face.
His attention evoked an utter lack of feeling. In a strange way she felt as if she were seeing him for the first time. The face which she had once thought ruggedly handsome now appeared a bit coarse. There was something ill defined in the cheeks and jaws, especially compared to the precision of David's features. The blond hair, she felt quite sure, would not feel very soft if she touched it. Those thick eyebrows contrasted so little with the fair skin as to be almost invisible.
“You are so beautiful,” he said softly. “I think that you grow more lovely each time that I see you.”
She raised the cup of wine to her mouth and watched him over its rim. His hand reached toward her face.
In that instant before he touched her, she suddenly knew several things clearly and absolutely. She knew them as surely as she knew that day would follow night. Although they came as revelations, they did not surprise her at all. Rather she took a step and there they were, new facts of life to be reckoned with.
She knew, first of all, that no other diners would be joining them. No one, least of all Morvan, would arrive at that door. Stephen had arranged this with Lady Cather-ine's help, or maybe Catherine had done it herself. The tables, the cups, were all a ruse to get and keep her here so that she and Stephen could be alone.
She also knew, as she regarded that suddenly unfamiliar face, that she had never loved this man. Infatuated, giddy, and excited, she had been those things, but those feelings would have passed with time if he had not tried to seduce her and thus disrupted her life. She had decided that she loved him in order to assuage her guilt and humiliation after Idonia found them. She had clung to that illusion in hopes of rescue from the consequences. But she had never really been in love with him, nor he with her, and now she felt only a vacant indifference toward that hand reaching for her.
And finally she knew, with a peaceful acceptance that made her smile, that the daughter of Hugh Fitzwaryn had fallen in love with a common merchant. A glorious burst of tenderness for David flowed through her with the admission.
She leaned back out of reach.
“Nay.”
He dropped his hand and sat upright, his green eyes examining her own. She let him search as long as he wanted, for he would not find what he sought. He smiled ruefully and poured some more wine.
“You have grown up quickly. It is a woman's face that I see now.”
“I have had little choice. Perhaps I was overlong a child anyway.”
“Innocence has its charm,” he said, laughing.
“And its convenience.”
He glanced at her and shrugged. “Your merchant is a very fortunate man, my sweet.”
She felt a vague affection for Stephen. He was a rogue to be sure, but no longer dangerous to her heart. “I know that none at court will ever believe this, Stephen, but I think myself fortunate, too.”
It felt good saying that. It felt wonderful standing up for her husband against the pity and sympathy of these people.
Stephen glanced at her sharply and then laughed in an artificial way. “Then my quest is indeed hopeless.”
“Aye. Hopeless.”
He made an exaggerated sigh. “First your brother's sword and now your husband's love. This story is a tragedy.”
Nay, it was always a farce. Written by you and played by me who thought it real life. But she found that she could not hold that against him anymore. It really didn't matter. He didn't matter.
Dinner actually arrived, brought by two servants, and she stayed and ate with Stephen because being alone with him held no betrayal now. Her love for David felt like a suit of armor, and she was sure that Stephen recognized the futility of trying to penetrate it. They spoke casually about many things, and the hour passed pleasantly.
Toward the end of the meal, however, she suspected that he again began weighing her resolve against his skill at seduction. His smiles got warmer and his flattery more florid. His hand accidentally touched hers several times.
She calmly watched the unfolding of his final effort with surprise and amusement. She rose to leave before he could act on his intentions.
He rose more quickly and stepped between her and the door. His slow, insinuating smile filled her with sudden alarm.
“The meal was lovely, and it was good to share this time with an old friend, Stephen. But I must go now.”
&n
bsp; He shook his head, and his green eyes burned brightly. “The duty that says you must go was not chosen by you. In this world and this chamber, it does not bind you, my love.”
She cursed herself for thinking that she could treat this man as a friend. “It is not duty that takes me away, but my love for my husband,” she replied, hoping to kill any illusions he might have that she pined for him.
A spring breeze, light and free, blew through her heart with this more blatant admission of her feelings for David. How long had she loved him? Quite a while, she suspected.
How ironic that the first person to whom she admitted her love should be Stephen Percy. Ironic and also fair and just. Now she must tell David when he came back. If he came back. Then again, maybe she would not have to. Maybe he will just look at her and know. Of all her thoughts and emotions that he had read, this would probably be the most obvious.
Stephen had not moved out of her path, and he considered her closely, as if he judged her determination. She looked back firmly. Her response did not evoke the reaction she expected. Instead of backing down, a subtle ferocity entered his eyes and twisted his mouth.
He suddenly reached for her. She tried to duck his grasp, but he caught her shoulder and pulled her toward him. Surprised by his aggressive insistence, she squirmed to get free. He imprisoned her in his arms.
“A woman such as you cannot love such a man. One might as well try to mix oil and water. You have told yourself that you do in order to survive your fall, my love. That is all.”
“You are wrong,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. “I love David, and I do not love you. Now unhand me.”
“You may think you do not love me, but you will see the truth of it.” His face and lips came toward her.
She leaned back until she could lean no further. She desperately turned her face away, but that bruising mouth found her cheek and neck. He grasped her hair to steady her darting head and forced a crushing kiss on her lips. His other hand slid down to grab her bottom. Her stomach turned. To think that she had cried over this lout! She began using all of her strength to break free.
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