Chapter
XVIII

Either he had crushed a baby chick beneath the heel of his boot, or he’d foiled the machinations of a devil in voluptuous form. To Christian’s torment, he couldn’t decide which was the case. The dilemma kept him up all that night, along with his body’s anticipation of the relief he’d promised himself on the morrow.

He was up with the first light, rousing his body servant and harassing Cook and the poor steward. All of them were wroth with him already for descending on Falaise without proper warning, so they could prepare the house for his arrival. The steward, Master Nicholas Tideman, had know him from a babe, and when Christian had first arrived at Falaise, Tideman had made his displeasure clear at the intrusion of Christian’s less respectable companions.

“Young viscounts do not invite such persons to give company to their ladies,” Tideman had said, his lip curled in disgust as he examined Simon Spry and Odo Twitch.

As soon as he was dressed, Christian sought out Tideman. The older man was in the kitchen yard supervising the delivery of a new work table. Christian marched out to him, barely acknowledging the steward’s salute.

“Tideman, I need a kitten.”

“My lord?”

“Or a puppy, or mayhap both, or several of each.”

“Master Christian, have you an imbalance of humors?”

“Even young weasels or hedgehogs will do if we’ve no kittens or puppies.”

Tideman stuck his thumbs in the belt that circled his globular belly and lifted his nose. “Young viscounts do not play the jester to their retainers, Master Christian.”

“I’m not playing the jester. I need a puppy, or a weasel, or a hedgehog. Something.”

“And I am not in the habit of keeping weasels or infant hedgehogs, my lord.”

Christian glanced over his shoulder at the men hauling the work table through the kitchen door and stepped closer to Tideman. “It’s for my lady. Are you sure we’ve not got a wounded lamb or a starving fawn on the grounds?”

“Ah.” Tideman nodded and chuckled.

“Amused, Tideman?”

“Your lady wife found no favor in the rude company you kept these several weeks past, and you seek her goodwill. It is well that you sent those lewd fellows away, Master Christian, and it is true that Lady Nora isn’t wont to yearn for jewels and the like. Favors animals, does she?”

“I have no need to seek my wife’s goodwill,” Christian said stiffly while meeting Tideman’s amused gaze.

“No, Master Christian.”

“I am capable of thinking of another’s pleasure, you know.”

“Of a certainty.”

“Then find me a puppy, Tideman.”

Tideman responded with a tightness in his voice that meant he was trying not to laugh. “I believe there are some in the stables, Master Christian.”

Christian chose the smallest and least fat of the puppies. To his disgust, they all possessed downy, bulging middles gurgling with a surfeit of their mother’s milk. So much for finding a starving or abused creature for Nora to comfort. Wrapping the sleeping puppy in a fragment of a blanket, Christian returned to the manor house. On his way through the kitchens he met Blade, lounging on a bench beside a table.

“Found something else to torture?” the youth asked.

“If I wanted that kind of sport, I’d take you to the cellar for a few hours of entertainment,” Christian said.

Blade took a hefty bite of a fruit tart, then turned sideways on the bench, bending a knee so that his foot rested on it. “It won’t do any good. The puppy, I mean. She hates you as much as the disciples hated Judas.”

“She needn’t love me. She needs only to yield with grace and obedience.”

Blade tossed his fruit tart on the table and scowled at Christian. “She told me what you want. Why don’t you kill her and make an end to it?”

Christian shifted the puppy to the crook of his left arm and lifted Blade’s chin with his fingertips.

“Have you been comforting my wife, marchpane?”

“Get your hands off me, Montfort. She invited me to play cards with her and Arthur.”

“There will be no cards tonight.” Christian left Blade cursing and ripping a loaf of bread into ribbons.

When he gained the landing outside Nora’s chamber, he bethought himself to knock instead of invading, as was his habit. One couldn’t woo a shy maid into bed by playing the infidel.

He shifted the puppy to rest on his shoulder. He could feel its nose snuffling at his neck and smiled.

Tap tap.

Silence.

Tap tap.

The puppy grunted and licked Christian’s neck before subsiding with a snore.

Tap tap tap.

No response. She was asleep. Thinking to deposit the puppy in bed with her, Christian eased the door open and slipped inside.

The hangings had never been drawn about the bed. The trundle bed on which Arthur slept was still slid beneath Nora’s larger one. Christian walked slowly to the empty bed, cradling his furry burden. Coming to a halt, he stared down at the spot where Nora’s head should have been. With care he lowered the puppy to the mattress and stroked its small head, then bellowed for Nora’s maid.

After three bellows, the girl appeared, flustered and fearful.

“Where is my lady?”

“Where—where—where—”

“God’s blood, stop that chattering and tell me where my lady and her page have gone.”

“I thought her abed, my lord. It is early, and she hadn’t called.” The girl squealed when Christian let out another bellow.

“Tideman!”

“I’ll fetch him, my lord.” The girl ran.

“Tideman!” Christian followed the maid, taking the stairs three at a time. He was barreling through the hall when he almost ran into the steward. “Where is my lady, Tideman?”

“Is she missing, Master Christian?”

Fury burned away his confusion. “Call all the servants to the hall, and the guards.”

In a short time, Christian was standing before the fireplace in the hall, facing his household staff. Blade lounged on the steps that led down from the fireplace. Sunlight poured cheerily into the hall from the windows that reached almost to the ceiling, mocking Christian’s anxiety.

“No one has seen her since last night, my lord,” Tideman said. “Or the page, either.”

“And a mare is missing from the stables?”

“The head groom was reporting so when you called, my lord.”

Christian raced down the stairs and headed for his chambers. “Call my men to horse and set the household to searching again. I want to make sure she’s not here before I leave. Blade, you’re coming with me.”

“But I like it here.”

“I want you to be there when I catch her. I’m not fool enough to think she got away on her own. She’s most likely gone back to London, and when I find her, I’ll take a whip to her. Even Nora should know better than to prance about the highways of England with no more protection than that angelic pestilence.”

Christian was dressed in riding clothes and mounting his stallion before all of his men were assembled. Cursing their slowness, he rode out with Blade and two sergeants at his heels, anxious to pick up any signs of her passage before weather or traffic destroyed them. He willed himself to go carefully, for tracking demanded attention to detail and calm persistence. It took the whole of his will to imprison his worry and his rage. As it was, if the dangers of the road didn’t kill Nora, he was like to when he got his hands on her again.

She’d run from him. Was it because she was a traitor, or was it because she couldn’t bear for him to touch her? In all likelihood it was both. He walked along the road from Falaise to London leading his mount, his gaze raking the ground for signs of her passage. As the hours passed and he found no trace of her, his wrath grew and settled into his heart.

What a fool he must have looked, toting a puppy about his own house and running after a woman who had fled his presence. She didn’t want his hand on her, but that was exactly what she was going to get. When he caught her, he would put his hands on her any way he wished, for as long as he wished, and he would watch her squirm.

Nora peeped through the screen of overgrown witch hazel to survey the herb garden. It was deserted and bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. They’d given up searching the house and grounds long ago, and her husband was gone.

It had been her idea to remain at Falaise, and Blade had been against it when she took the chance of confiding in him. After an hour of her pleading he had agreed to distract her husband and direct the search for her to London. Lord Montfort would expect her to flee witlessly into the forest or gallop off to the city with no thought for the danger. She wasn’t as stupid as he thought, but she counted on him underestimating her. He had, and now he was well on his way, searching and cursing, no doubt. With any luck he would spend weeks ferreting around in the city while she conceived of a plan for her and Arthur’s future.

The boy knelt beside her, impatient to be free of the witch hazel vines that had overgrown this corner of the herb garden. Flanked by two stone walls that formed the corner, the plants encroached on verbena and a bed of petunias, reaching over three feet high. They’d hidden there ail day, feasting on the supply of food and drink provided by Blade.

As Nora had expected, once the search ended, Tideman set the household to work tidying Falaise. Satisfied that no one was about, she took the basket of leftover food from Arthur and stood. Her bottom was numb from sitting so long, and she watched Arthur’s lithe movements with envy as he plunged ahead over her, shoving aside stalks of witch hazel. Once they were free of the vegetation, she shook her skirts into place and ran a hand through Arthur’s rumpled curls. Handing him the basket, she walked behind him as he marched into the house, whistling.

In the kitchen Cook was bent over a pot of stew. As Arthur tramped into the room, the woman let out a squawk and dropped her ladle into the pot.

“My lady!”

“Good even, Cook,” Nora said.

Potboys and Cook’s assistants stared.

“My lady!” Cook repeated.

“A wonderful day for walking and feasting by the river, was it not?”

Cook rubbed her hands on her apron and worked her mouth open and closed. “My lady.”

“Is something wrong?”

“We thought you’d run away.”

Nora frowned. “Run away? What a foolish notion. Did you not consult your master? He knew I was going on a long walk today.”

“But … but …”

“And where is everyone? The house is so quiet.”

“God save us, my lady. The lord has gone off looking for you. Gone in the direction of the city.”

“Looking for me? But he gave his permission for my walk days ago. Oh, my.”

“My lady!”

Nora turned to see the steward gawking at her.

“Oh, Master Tideman,” Cook said, “our lady hadn’t run off at all.”

Nora clasped her hands and inclined her head to Tideman. Here was the test, she knew. If Tideman could be fooled, she would be safe for a few weeks.

“It seems that there has been a confusion,” she said.

“Your lord husband thought you vanished, my lady.”

“So I understand,” she said, and told her story again.

As she talked she eyed the steward, alert for any sign that he suspected her of mendacity. There was none. He frowned a good bit, and sputtered when she put forth the surmise that Lord Montfort had forgotten he’d given his permission for her outing. Nora felt a jolt of fear when the steward shook his head.

“Unbelievable,” Tideman said.

“You question my words?” Nora did her best to look aghast.

“Oh, no, my lady. I meant that Lord Montfort’s forgetfulness is unbelievable. So unlike him. He remembers the most inconvenient things most of the time, but since you came … And, of course, there was all that raving about hedgehogs and weasels.”

“You must explain,” Nora said.

“I fear my lord has been distracted of late.” Tideman gave her a knowing look. “He has been melancholy and remote and this morning he asked me for a puppy or some such creature. I believe he wished to present one to you, my lady. Indeed, love has changed my lord in ways I had not thought possible.”

“Love.” Nora’s wits refused to stir. “Ah, yes, you speak of our—our love. Of course you do. Our love. Mayhap you’re right. My lord has been addled by it, as I have.” She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “And to think I was only a short distance away, at the river.”

“But we searched everywhere,” Tideman said. He glanced at Arthur, who rocked on his heels and gave the man a wide-eyed look.

As Nora listened to Tideman voice his confusion, she counted the minutes that passed. The time approached for Blade’s message to arrive, and her whole scheme depended on it. Blade had said he would bribe one of the grooms to pretend to receive a message. Where was the groom?

“We should send word to Lord Montfort anon, my lady,” Tideman finally said.

“Oh, there’s time aplenty for that,” Nora said.

“But my lady—”

“I’m famished.”

“The message—”

“I crave some venison, and perhaps a bread pudding.”

As she piled up her list of cravings, a stableboy entered with a note in his hand and gave it to Tideman. Nora tried not to look relieved as Tideman glanced at the note, then at her.

“It is for you, my lady.”

Taking the paper, Nora opened it, making sure she held it so the steward couldn’t see the script. She popped her eyes open wide and giggled.

“Oh, Tideman. My lord indeed misremembered our conversation. He got halfway to London before he recollected where I was.” She crumpled the note in her fist and smiled at the bewildered steward. “He sends his regrets and says he’ll continue to the city to visit the Earl before returning. What a fine jest. We shall tease him without mercy when he comes home.”

“As I said, my lady, Lord Montfort has been muzzywitted since he wed.”

“I believe you, and thank you for your concern. And now I need rest, I think. I will be in my room until time to dine.” Nora was about to leave when the steward put up a hand.

“My lord said that you would be moving to the master’s chambers, my lady.”

“There is no need since my husband isn’t here.” Nora hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Has my lord said anything else?”

It was Tideman’s turn to blush. “Forgive me, Lady Montfort. The master confided to me that you wished to become more acquainted with him before occupying the same chambers. I hope you understand that I have known Lord Montfort since he was in swaddling clothes, and he oftentimes entrusts me with his confidence. It is unfortunate that this snarl occurred upon the eve of your closer union.”

“Yes, yes, unfortunate,” she babbled. She would say anything to get away. “And I do understand.”

Catching Arthur by the hand, Nora fled the kitchen before Tideman could embarrass her further. The man was so concerned for her, and she had to lie to him.

“Lady,” Arthur said when they entered her chamber, “the monster might come back.”

Arthur had taken to calling Lord Montfort the monster after Nora had told him as much as she felt he was able to understand about her husband’s treatment of her.

“He’s going to be so busy hunting for me,” she said, “he won’t have time to return. Blade will see to it by laying a false trail. You’ll see.”

And so she and Arthur established themselves as the sole occupants of Falaise, though several days passed before Nora could feel secure in her ruse. She even moved herself to a better chamber, larger and with windows that looked out over the front courtyard. Her security lasted a day. On the eve of the fifth day, she and Arthur were spinning tops in front of the fireplace in the hall when one of the lower sections of a window burst open.

“Kit, you pretty piece of manflesh, where are you?”

Tops skittered and smacked against the fireplace. Arthur gave a startled cry and Nora whirled in a flurry of skirts to face the intruder. A painted, leering face goggled at them. A bleary-eyed gaze roamed over Nora and Arthur, dismissing them. The head wagged back and forth, bobbing a tangle of false blond curls, and the smell of ale wafted toward Nora.

The painted mouth opened, and the intruder bawled, “Kiiiiiiiit. It’s Sybille. Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

Nora covered her ears, and Arthur giggled. As the woman continued to bawl for Lord Montfort, Nora heard Tideman’s running steps. The steward rushed into the hall, then halted abruptly at the sight of the woman. Nora cringed at Sybille’s high screech, and her temper gave way. How dare this bawd stick her head into Nora’s house and bellow for the man who was her husband? Marching up to Sybille, Nora made a fist and pounded the top of the woman’s head three times.

“Be quiet.”

“Ouch. Here, love, there’s no call for blows. I know I’m late, but I didn’t get word of Kit’s invitation till yesterday. Where is that man? I haven’t had a taste in months.”

Nora decided she didn’t like Sybille. “He isn’t here.”

“Ow. My head hurts.”

“You’re drunk,” Tideman said. “Get you from this house, woman. How did you get in?”

“I’ve been getting into houses of gentry morts since I was a dell.”

Nora stepped closer to the window and found that Sybille not only smelled of ale but also was drenched. Her curly hair was wet, and her soggy clothes gave off a musty odor.

“You swam the moat,” Nora said in disbelief.

“Can I swim the moat, too?” Arthur asked as he trotted up behind her.

Nora groaned. “No.”

“Get you gone, woman,” Tideman repeated.

His reply was a snore as Sybille’s head dropped to the windowsill.

“I’ll remove her, my lady.”

“No,” Nora said. “Give her the room next to mine.”

“But my lady—”

“She’s soaked and in a stupor. If we cast her out, she could die of exposure or be set upon. Put her upstairs, please.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The following afternoon Nora entered the room she had assigned to the bawd Sybille, with Arthur marching behind her, laden with a pile of clothing. Nora carried a tray, which she placed on a stool beside the bed where Sybille lay curled in a ball. The woman pressed her hands to her forehead and groaned.

“Who’s making all that noise? Ooooh.”

“Mistress Sybille, you’ve swilled yourself into a stupor, and I’ve come to help you.”

“Leave me alone.” Sybille hunched her body so that her bottom stuck up in the air and her head burrowed into the mattress. “Tell Kit not to worry, I’ll be ready to tup in a day or two. Oh, my head.”

“Tup?”

Nora’s benevolence expired in flames. She yanked the covers from Sybille and smacked the waving bottom. Sybille howled and scrambled away while Arthur clapped his hands and laughed.

“Arthur, this woman isn’t fit company for you. Go help Tideman.”

“Yes, my lady.”

His disappointment marked by his slow steps, Arthur left them reluctantly after depositing his burden of clothing on the bed.

Nora put her hands on her hips and studied Sybille. The woman crouched as far away from her as she could get and peered at Nora through a tangle of snarled and matted hair. Pointing to the tray, Nora ground out her words.

“Drink that.”

“What is it?”

“A brew of camomile and other herbs.”

“Ech. No thanks, my lady. Where’s Kit?”

Nora flew at the woman, grabbed a handful of tangles, and yanked her over to the edge of the bed.

“Ooooow! You pissing bitch. Oooow!”

Shaking her victim by the hair, Nora shouted above Sybille’s protests, “Be quiet or I’ll dunk you in the moat!”

Sybille was in no condition to fight. Clapping both hands over her mouth, she groaned and subsided. Nora released her hair and poured a cup of the herbal tea.

“Drink.”

“Naaah.”

“Remember the moat,” Nora said.

Sybille took the cup in shaking hands and sipped. “Blehh.”

Not waiting for another refusal, Nora shoved the cup to Sybille’s lips and held it there until the woman had drained it. When released, the bawd gagged and spat, but Nora was back quickly with more tea. Four cups later, Nora allowed her patient to collapse.

“Eeeeeewww. I’m dying.”

“You won’t be in an hour or so. I’ll send up a tub at that time, and I want you to scrub and put those clothes on. And Mistress Sybille, don’t go looking for my husband. He’s not here.”

“Bloody witch.”

“I’ll see you anon, Mistress Sybille.”

Several hours later, Nora sat opposite a transformed Sybille. She eyed the woman’s wildly curling hair and generous figure and began to doubt the wisdom of the plan she’d conceived during the night.

“God’s bloody arse,” Sybille said, “I feel wonderful, and I’m obliged to you, lady.” She stuffed a meat pasty in her mouth and spoke at the same time. “Too baa Ah misshed Kit.” Swallow. “Might as well go back to town.”

“Don’t go.”

Sybille wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, took a gulp of ale, and burped. “Why?”

“You’re a thief and a … a …”

“Whore, lady, a damned good whore. Ask your lord husband.”

“How would you like to spend the evening in the pigpen?”

“You just try it.” Sybille began to rise from the table.

Nora sighed. “Enough of this arguing. If you’ll listen, I’ve a bargain to strike with you.”

“Well, hurry up, I want to get out of this place. That steward gives me the runs.”

“Please, Mistress Sybille.”

With little grace, the bawd plopped back down on the bench opposite Nora.

“As I said, you’re a thief, and you seem to know how to—to get your way and to take care of yourself. The way my husband does, and I would like you to teach me.”

“Why?”

“I need to know.”

Sybille stared at Nora, and Nora stared back, but she couldn’t keep a flush from stealing up her neck to her face.

“Well, stick me in a roomful of new-landed sailors.”

“What?”

“Our Kit’s too much for the likes of you, is he?” Sybille threw back her head and crowed. “I’m not surprised, love. He plies the whip like a slavemaster. Trouble is, he makes you like it.”

Nora bit her lip to keep it still and to forestall tears. “I don’t like it.”

Sybille was quiet. She stuck her face close to Nora’s and remained there for long moments, staring. “No, I can see that.” Sybille backed off and leaned her elbows on the table. “Word in the stews is that Kit’s gone and lost his heart to a shy little dove with blue blood and no stomach.”

“I don’t know,” Nora said. “But he grinds me under his heel, and I can’t have that. Not anymore.”

Sybille tossed her head. “Do you mean to tell me you’re still afraid of him? Silly chuck.”

“I need to learn how to take care of myself and Arthur.”

“What you mean is you want to snatch the whip from Kit’s pretty hands and make him feel its kiss for once.”

“Something like that.”

“It will take some doing.”

“I know.”

“God’s blood, I’d love to see Kit at the mercy of a woman, just once. There’s a lot of us that would.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Sybille picked up another meat pasty and bit into it. Smiling through bits of crust, she nodded.

“For my room and board and a little extra, I’ll show you enough to pit yourself against any coney catcher in the kingdom. Maybe a few tricks of the flesh as well.”

Sybille swallowed and wiped her moth. “ ’Course, we’re going to need a few things. Got a nice sharp dagger about you, love?”