Chapter
XXII

Nora was approaching the gallery when she heard thunder on the staircase. His eyes smoldering, Christian swept down on her. She forestalled him.

“I’ll rid us of de Ateca,” she said.

“You can’t.”

“I got rid of you, did I not?”

She almost grinned when she saw Christian’s neck and face flush.

“Listen behind the arras if you must,” she added, and entered the gallery before her husband could object.

Ignoring his furious whisper of her name, Nora glided into the sunlit room with a greeting for the conde. Slender as a whiplash, the Spaniard glittered as he bowed over her hand, the light catching the shine of his hair and the rich silver brocade of his cloak.

“I fear you’ve caught me alone, my lord,” she said. “Blade and my husband have yet to return from hawking. And you must forgive our lack of proper greeting, for, you see, that flighty cousin of ours misremembered his invitation. I have ordered rooms prepared, but there will be delay.”

De Ateca made light of the inconvenience, as Nora had expected he would, and she hastened to put her stratagem to work.

“I’ve sent for wine, my lord, and welcome this chance to converse with you alone, for I fear Blade has taken a liberty in inviting you to Falaise.” She managed to conjure up a flush. “Being but newly married, I find I need solitude with my husband, and this is his wish as well. Indeed, my lord is sending Blade to Castle Montfort anon, so that we have privy time to learn of each other.”

Nora watched de Ateca’s face but could catch no hint of anger or irritation.

“Perhaps I will give company to the boy on his journey,” the Spaniard said.

“Oh,” Nora said. She hadn’t thought the man would be so persistent. The arras that concealed Christian and Blade jiggled, and she took the movement as a sign of her husband’s displeasure. “Of course, it will be as my lord decides.”

Walking away from the arras so that de Ateca was forced to turn his back to it, Nora waved her hand to gesture to the whole long gallery. “What think you of Lord Montfort’s changes to Falaise, my lord? We are quite modern here. Windows, look at the windows.” She pointed to the mullioned panes that traveled the length of one wall of the gallery and reached to the ceiling. “No more dark and clammy castle rooms. And chimneys. No more soot on the roof beams. I’ve never lived in a house with so many chimneys and windows.”

Enjoying herself now, Nora prattled on about wainscoting and oak panels as the conde fingered the braid on his cloak and almost yawned. He would flee the manor house in fear of having his wits turned to stone from boredom, she thought gleefully.

“Yes,” de Ateca finally said. He removed his jeweled cap and twirled it with both hands. “Modern. However, Lord Montford seems altogether archaic in some of his tastes.”

“My lord?”

“Musings, my dear Lady Nora. How is the Earl?”

“Much improved,” she said. “All his humors are in balance again, and the wound heals quickly.”

“My physician said that the Earl was lucky to live.”

“Yes, and I find that certain herbs are most beneficent in healing sword wounds. Camomile—” Her mouth twitched with humor as de Ateca interrupted her hastily, before she could make him suffer through a lecture on herbs.

“Your skill is bruited far and wide since you cured the Earl,” he said. He wandered away from her, along the wall of windows and headed back toward the arras. Nora hastily cleared her throat and began to blurt out something about herbs. Halting, de Ateca forestalled her again.

“Brigands and runagates abound in this kingdom, my lady. A disgrace it is, and King Philip would never allow so many thieves and murderers to run free in Spain, even on the docks.”

“So many are displaced from their homes by enclosures,” Nora said, her ire showing. “The nobility fence in land and toss tenants out in the road without any care for their livelihood. Why, even Jack Midnight was respectable before his lord cast him off his land and—”

The conde interrupted her yet again, and as she began to think, Nora allowed him to launch into a tirade on the shortcomings of the English nobility. Something de Ateca had said bothered her. King Philip would never allow so many thieves and murderers to run free in Spain, even on the docks. Even on the docks …

Christian had never mentioned that he and the Earl had been on the docks when they were attacked. He’d said they’d been on the southern bank, in the stews. She remembered because she’d been jealous of what he might have been doing in the lurid ordinaries and bawdyhouses of the area. Yet de Ateca said Christian had been on the docks.

“Merciful God,” she whispered.

She wet her lips and looked at the arras. It hadn’t moved. Had Christian left? Even as she wondered that, the hanging was swept aside. Her husband stood poised with one hand on the arras and the other caressing his sword hilt. Her body went cold, and Nora hastened to put herself between de Ateca and Christian.

“My lord, you’ve returned.”

Christian paid her no attention. His eyes never left the Spaniard, and she almost shivered as the two stared at each other. Christian didn’t say a word. He remained in the threshold, the fingers of his one hand caressing the ornate silver and gold embossing of his sword hilt.

Nora heard herself stuttering an explanation of the conde’s presence, but neither man responded. Finally de Ateca smiled and spoke Christian’s name with a caress in his voice. Again Christian ignored the words. Nora twisted her hands together and stood on her toes in an attempt to see over Christian’s shoulder if Blade was still there. The youth was nowhere in sight. She was left to deal with these two men by herself. If only she could get Christian away from de Ateca before he decided it was time to kill him. The wrath of the Queen would descend on all of them if Christian killed one of King Philip’s noblemen.

She had no doubt that her husband was going to kill the Spaniard. She could tell from the way his eyes had lost all hint of feeling and from the way he held his body in that relaxed and lazy pose that had deceived her more than once. De Ateca hadn’t realized it yet. He was still eyeing Christian hungrily, a thing he should not do, Nora realized, for she could see that the Spaniard’s lust only added to Christian’s rage.

The silent perusal had taken on the quality of a duel, with de Ateca participating in both amusement and ignorance of his danger. The longer Christian remained mute, the more fearful Nora became, until she was too scared even to shake. She remembered Christian fighting Jack Midnight and the bloodlust that had turned his magnificent body into an instrument of death. If he pursued Midnight with such exclusive purpose, how much more merciless would he be with de Ateca, who had blithely risked the Earl’s life? In that moment Nora knew she couldn’t stop Christian. He wouldn’t allow it.

The silence ended at last when Christian stepped into the gallery and walked toward de Ateca. As he passed Nora, he whispered to her.

“Get you gone, love.”

He passed her before she could shake her head, and she turned to follow his progress. He strode toward the Spaniard, coming closer and closer. De Ateca remained where he was, allowing Christian to alight within a sword’s length of him. Nora crept as close as she dared and thus heard her husband’s voice, soft, warm, and menacing.

“ ‘If a man come presumptuously upon his neighbor to slay him with guile; thou shalt take him from mine altar, that he may die.’ ”

Christian paused and gave de Ateca a sensual, alluring smile that made the Spaniard take a step toward him. Then he drew his sword. De Ateca gawked at the flashing metal aimed at his heart, then recovered and fell back, drawing his own blade.

“You be far from the altar of God in my presence,” Christian said. “And you will die, but not before I hack the truth from you.”

Holding his sword at ready, de Ateca asked, “What truth? Are you annoyed about your cousin? I haven’t touched him.”

“Stop the pretense,” Christian said. “Nora, get out at once.”

She had thought herself forgotten. “No. De Ateca, he means to kill you.”

Christian grinned and nodded, to Nora’s great exasperation. Alarmed at last, de Ateca started to back away from his host.

“The docks,” Nora said upon viewing the Spaniard’s perplexity. “You mentioned docks, and I think you must know about the attack upon the Earl and my husband.”

De Ateca stepped sideways in Nora’s direction, but Christian cut him off.

“Leave, sweeting, or I promise I’ll beat you for your disobedience.”

Nora stuck out her chin, knowing from experience that Christian couldn’t lift his hand to her. “I have a right to know the truth, for I’ve suffered as much as you have.”

De Ateca’s laughter made her look at him. He was moving again, trying to force Christian to face the windows. She scurried to the opposite wall and put her back to it so that she was out of the way and wouldn’t distract Christian.

“So,” de Ateca said. “I betrayed myself, and the beautiful viscount was present to hear it. But you don’t know it all, and mayhap if I tell you, we won’t have to fight. You see, it was a mistake.”

Christian pointed his sword at de Ateca’s eyes and wove a pattern in front of them. “How so?”

“I suspected your pretty cousin was but a distraction. He seemed to offer so much, but surrendered nothing.”

“Spaniards have distrustful natures,” Christian replied.

“We’re also strong of purpose.” De Ateca lunged and rammed his sword along Christian’s blade until the two locked at the hilt. Grabbing his opponent’s forearm, he held on and faced Christian over the crossed swords. “When you fed me your cousin, I realized my efforts to gain your interest were useless, so I decided on another method. If you were desperate for your life, you might come to me for help, and then I would have you.”

“The heretics,” Christian said.

“What heretics?” De Ateca whistled softly. “So all the fantasies I whispered to Bonner contained a measure of the truth.”

Nora shoved away from the wall, but remembered Sybille’s teachings in time to stop herself from rushing at de Ateca. “You set Bonner upon Christian.”

“It was the challenge, I suppose.” De Ateca smiled at Christian over their locked weapons. “No one I’ve hunted has ever led me so intriguing a chase. By the Virgin, you nearly cut out my heart when I—but your wife doesn’t want to hear about that.”

“Out with it,” Christian said. “I want to know what you said to Bonner before I kill you.”

De Ateca clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You needn’t fluff your feathers so, my cock. All I did was hint to Bonner about the possibility that you were a heretic. I considered threatening you directly, but decided you would kill me if I tried. So I used Bonner.”

Christian shoved de Ateca away. The two surveyed each other.

“I expected you to be thrown in the good bishop’s dungeon,” de Ateca said. He sighed and flicked a glance at Nora. “But she interfered, and then Bonner set spies around your town house. I didn’t know his minions were following you until after it was too late.”

“You whoreson—”

“It is hardly my fault,” de Ateca said. “I planned to come to you in Bonner’s dungeon. I was going to give him enough time to make you desperate, but not enough time to mar your pretty face or any of the rest of you.”

“That is sufficient,” Christian said. “Make your confession, de Ateca.”

“Christian, no,” Nora said. “You’ve found out what you need to know.”

“He will get all of us killed, Nora.”

De Ateca chuckled. “Not if you please me as I demand.”

“It will be as I demand,” Christian said. “For not only have you threatened my father, you also cost me the love of this lady, and for that alone I will kill you.”

Nora felt a jolt pass through her body. In an instant she understood the reason for Christian’s fury, unbelievable as she found it. Belatedly she sensed the leashed but unmovable resolve in him, and its cause. Christian’s body vibrated with it like a church bell struck by its clapper. For the first time she understood his remorse and his grief, understood that—much as he loved his father—the loss of her regard had driven him beyond his ability to endure. He was helpless, and Christian de Rivers could not endure being helpless.

“My lord,” she said, “No. Think of the King and Queen.”

“Look away, sweeting.”

Christian charged de Ateca, wielding his sword so quickly that Nora could only see a blur. Even as she protested, de Ateca’s sword flew out of his hand, clattering onto the marble floor near her. She snatched the weapon as de Ateca drew his dagger. When she straightened, Christian cast aside his own sword, aiming it to land at her feet. To her horror, his own dagger appeared in his hand.

“I want to feel you die when I stick this into your heart, Spaniard.”

“You can’t,” de Ateca said. “After all, your father isn’t dead.”

“I’m not a fool. How long will it be before you threaten him or Nora to get what you want?”

“Not long.”

Christian backed de Ateca toward an alcove holding a bust of Plato. The conde sidestepped the pedestal and bust at the last moment and leaped past his opponent, heading for Nora. Christian swerved and charged after the man.

For a stunned moment Nora watched the two race toward her, then cried out and bolted. De Ateca caught her skirt and yanked, but she bashed at him with the hilt of his own sword. The delay gave Christian the chance to catch up, and he launched himself at de Ateca.

The Spaniard turned in time to fend off the sweep of Christian’s dagger, and the two fell to the floor, wrestling. Nora circled them as they tumbled one way and then another, cringing each time de Ateca’s blade jabbed. Suddenly de Ateca threw his whole weight behind a lunge that rolled Christian beneath him, almost at Nora’s feet. She pulled her skirts away from the fighters and backpedaled, but she was too late.

Christian caught sight of her dress. Distracted, he looked up at her, and de Ateca pulled his dagger arm free of Christian’s grip, aiming for the younger man’s throat. The tip darted toward the exposed flesh of Christian’s neck, and primordial fear took hold of Nora. She raised de Ateca’s sword in both hands, point down, and rammed it into the Spaniard’s back.

She felt the sword slice brocade, silk, and flesh. It lodged deep in the man’s chest, and blood splashed on her skirt. De Ateca gagged, his body rigid, then collapsed on top of Christian. Christian, his hands fending off the Spaniard’s dagger, grunted and hurled the body from him.

The sword jerked from Nora’s cold hands. She stumbled back, gaping at the dead man. Christian swept her into his arms, crushing her to him.

“He didn’t hurt you?” he asked.

She tilted her head back to stare up at him. “I just stabbed a man, and you ask if I am hurt. Of course I’m not hurt. He is the one who is hurt.”

“But you’re a woman and delicate of mind and body.”

“There is no time for delicacy. We must hide de Ateca.”

“Blade stands guard outside. No one will come. You aren’t going to faint?”

“Don’t waste time, my lord.” Nora chewed her lip while she thought. Vaguely annoyed that Christian didn’t realize their danger, she set her mind to solving the problem while he fussed over her. “I know,” she said suddenly. “Change clothing with him.”

“What?”

“Put on his clothes.” She was already busy pulling de Ateca’s cloak off his body. “Quickly, before any more blood gets on them. You will steal out of the manor with Blade. We’ll hide the body in the window seat for now. You and Blade will ride out to the forest. When you’re far away but still visible, I’ll see to it that his men catch a glimpse of you. Once you see them, ride into the forest.”

Christian was standing over Nora, his brow furrowed. “Where de Ateca and Blade will encounter brigands.”

“Indeed.” She yanked at one of the dead man’s boots.

“This is another punishment,” he said as he knelt to help her, “making me wear a dead man’s bloody clothes.”

“It serves you right.”

Christian paused in removing de Ateca’s doublet. He ducked his head so that he could see her eyes, and she blushed.

“You saved my life,” he said. “I thought you said you didn’t care about me.”

“Put the clothes on.”

“Nora, you killed a man for me.”

“I would kill a man for a kitten, too.”

“So,” he said with a smile, “I at least merit the affection you give kittens and puppies.”

She avoided his eyes by pulling up her skirt and ripping a strip off her petticoat. She began wiping the blood on the floor.

“Sweeting.”

She scrubbed furiously.

“Nora.” He drawled her name in a low, caressing tone. “My little dragon.”

She threw the bloodied cloth on de Ateca’s body and tore another piece of petticoat.

“ ‘Behold,’ ” he murmured in Latin, “ ‘thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.’ ”

“Will you hurry? Cozen me not when we have a dead man in our gallery.”

Christian began unlacing his doublet. “As you command, sweeting. ‘One gracious word that from thy lips proceedeth, I value more than others’ dove-like kisses.’ ”

“God deliver me from all men.”

Several days later Nora was sitting on the riverbank with her embroidery while Blade and Arthur fished. At the moment Blade was lying on his back, eyes closed, his fishing pole stuck in the ground beside him. Arthur, on the other hand, busied himself with the task of spearfishing, having found Blade’s method too tame.

Nora snipped a piece of gold thread and whispered to Blade, “You should be at prayers begging God’s forgiveness for causing that man’s death.”

“He deserved to die. How many poor peasants do you suppose he sent to their deaths for not knowing the doctrine of transubstantiation?”

“Weeping false tears in front of those Spanish noblemen when they came to fetch the body.”

Blade stretched his arms and yawned. “We were supposed to have been close. I had to.”

“Telling them what a godly and virtuous man the conde was. Saying what a loss to King Philip it was.”

“That was Christian’s idea. Good, wasn’t it?”

Tossing her embroidery aside, Nora clasped her hands and stared at them. “God will never forgive me.”

“Nonsense. If He forgives popes for all the things they’ve done, He’ll forgive you for defending your husband. It was your Christian duty.”

Heartened, she lifted her head. “Do you think so?”

“Verily.”

“I hadn’t thought about it in that way.”

Nora contemplated this newfound justification while Blade and Arthur gathered their poles and fish and tramped off to the manor in search of food. After she had killed de Ateca, there had been no time to think, only time to conceal the act and survive. Since then she had suffered tormenting guilt, certain that she was doomed to Hell. Not all her husband’s reassurances that the conde needed killing had assuaged her remorse. The knowledge that she would do the same thing again to save Christian’s life had proved to her that she was beyond forgiveness. Now Blade had pointed out that she’d promised to honor her husband before God. One couldn’t very well honor a person by letting him die. Mayhap she wasn’t doomed.

“To let him die would have been the greater sin,” she assured herself aloud.

Satisfied, she looked around for her discarded embroidery. It was lying on top of her sewing basket. She reached for it, and a shadow fell across the material. Looking up, she beheld the cause of her sin. Christian met her gaze and smiled at her, picking up the embroidery and kneeling to hand it to her. As she took it, he placed his hand on hers, and she started.

Bleakness overcame Christian’s smile, and she glanced away from him. Irritated with herself for regretting his unhappiness, she removed her hand from his grasp and took up her needle. It wasn’t her fault, she thought. His nearness scattered her wits and sent small demons to torture her body with unwanted excitations.

Christian rose and strolled toward the riverbank, his head down. She watched him, fascinated by the way his thigh muscles moved as he walked. Encased in their second skin of black hose, they seemed at once hard and yet flexible. Once she had heard one of the maids at Falaise twittering in rapture over Lord Montfort’s legs.

God’s mercy, she thought. It was becoming more and more difficult to hate him. She couldn’t not hate him, for if she let go of her hatred, he would dominate her, bully her, crush her under his boot. Wouldn’t he? Of late he seemed more interested in kneeling at her feet than putting her beneath his.

He turned suddenly to look at her, and she dropped her gaze to her sewing. She tried to ignore him, but he came back to her and dropped to her side. Extending those disturbing, long legs out and crossing them at the ankles, he propped himself up on an elbow.

“What can I do to make you stop hating me?” he asked.

Disturbed by the similarity of their thoughts, she shifted slightly away from him so that she wouldn’t have to feel the heat of his body. “I don’t hate you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“No.”

“All feeling for me is dead?”

He was looking deep into her eyes, and she flushed, changing the direction of her own gaze to the gold and crimson threads of a flower in her embroidery.

“I don’t know. Don’t touch me!”

Whipping his hand away from hers, Christian rolled onto his stomach. The movement brought his body on top of Nora’s skirt, but he was careful not to trespass by touching her body.

“You’re not sure,” he said. “Sweeting, if you waver, it must mean that you are considering forgiving me for my unforgivable doings.”

She shook her head, confused by his gentleness. A contrite and sweet-natured Lord Montfort was a creature of fantasy.

“Please?”

“You hurt me,” she said.

“I want to spend my life atoning for it.”

“That would do no good.”

Christian ducked his head to catch a glimpse of her averted face. “Mayhap you need courting, my flighty mistress. Shall I woo you?”

“Cozen me, you mean.”

“Nay, little dragon.”

Quick as a fly, he twisted his body and rose on his knees. Sinking onto his heels, he captured her hand. Nora tried to get it back, but he wouldn’t release it.

“It is mine by rights,” he said. “At least let me hold it for a moment. I promise to do naught else. This time.”

“Hmmph.”

“I promise. Know you the laws of courtly love?”

She shook her head, for her mouth was too dry to allow speech.

“There are twelve, and the last declares that practicing the solaces of love, thou shalt not exceed the desires of thy lover. I swear to abide by the laws.”

“But I don’t trust you.”

“How could you after what I’ve done? I must earn your trust, although after I tried to kill that bastard whoreson Spaniard only a stubborn woman would—God’s blood, you try my small store of virtue, woman.”

“Small store indeed.” She yanked at her hand again to no avail.

“Hold still. I’m trying to court you.”

“I have no need of courting.”

“Yes, you do, and you’re going to be courted if I have to sit here until nightfall.”

“Oh, very well.” She gave up trying to wrest her hand from his possession. Glaring at him, she set her mouth in a straight line and waited.

Christian grinned at her. He stroked the back of her hand with his fingers, then squeezed it.

“Such a mite of a hand.” He kissed that hand. “Listen to me, Nora.

She pursed her lips as he finished. His warm voice soothed her skittishness, but not completely.

“You are at my orders, sincere and humble?” she asked. “Humble?”

“As contrite and penitent as a debauched nun.”

“Christian!”

“Curse it, I’m doing my best.”

“Prove yourself, sirrah. Release my hand.”

“But I’m not finished wooing.”

“Release my hand or be branded for the cozening runnagate you are.”

He threw her hand from him with an exasperated growl and planted his fists on his belt. “You are cruel.”

“You said you were at my orders.” She was beginning to enjoy her superiority.

“I also said I would be gay. I shall prove myself.”

Nora didn’t like the sudden glint in Christian’s eyes. He began to whistle a tune and then burst into song.

Christian whistled another few notes before breaking off to chuckle at her. Nora frowned, annoyed at the way her cheeks burned.

“As I thought,” she said. “You’re a cozener, a twisty, tricky lizard.”

“You wound me, sweeting.”

“And you’re trying to make me laugh in hopes that I will forget all the terrible things you said to me.”

“I confess it. You have me there.”

“Well, you won’t succeed.” She jumped to her feet, scooped up her embroidery and sewing basket, and thrust them at her husband. “There. If you’re going to serve me as you would an overlord, you may carry my burdens.”

She gathered her skirts in both hands and set off for the manor without waiting to see if Christian followed. He did, though, for she hadn’t gone more than ten steps before she heard him close behind, voice lifted in song once more.