Mistress Spy

by Mingle, Pamela

  Gradually, her chills subsided. But still her voice shook when she spoke. “Some men were chasing me. I fell.”

  “Who? Who was chasing you? Can you remember?”

  “Aye. Long Legs and Bull Neck.”

  Nicholas laughed. “I believe you are delirious. There will be time enough later for you to explain.” He dipped the cloth into the basin and swept it over her face again, then moved lower, wiping her neck. The candlelight lent a soft glow to her skin. He laid his cheek against her forehead.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Checking to see if you have a fever. You are burning with it, Maddy.”

  “I-I’ve been sick. With influenza.”

  “Aye. Margery will provide a remedy for it. But that is not what brought you to me.”

  “Nay. Would you wash my hands, Nicholas? They are filthy.” Maddy closed her eyes and drifted while he lifted each hand, one at a time, moving the cloth over them, then up and down each finger, even cleaning the dirt from her nails. When he finished, Nicholas kissed the center of each palm. He did not think she would remember. Then he summoned Margery.

  “Margery is going to undress you,” he told Maddy. “Your clothes are soiled. And then you must sleep.”

  “Where will you be?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

  Squeezing her hand, he said, “Don’t be afraid, Maddy. I’ll be close by.”

  What she had endured this night, on top of suffering from influenza, he did not yet know. But he would get it out of her and would not rest until he’d found the villains who had caused her such pain. Nicholas studied her face while she drifted off, dark lashes sweeping across the tips of her cheekbones. Pulling a chair over to the side of the bed, he covered himself with a blanket and watched her until his own lids grew heavy and he dozed off.

  …

  Hours later, Maddy awoke, an uneasiness gripping her. Where was she? The faint light of dawn had crept into the room, and she heard the early morning songs of thrush, robins, and chaffinches. Propped on her forearms, she glanced around. Ryder was sleeping in a chair nearby, his head lolling on his chest, a blanket wrapped around him. She lay back down until sleep once again carried her away.

  The next time she woke up, the sun was streaming in. Ryder was gone, and she thought maybe she’d dreamed his being there. But she glimpsed the blanket draped over the chair and decided he’d been real enough. It made her happy, knowing he’d watched over her. But she didn’t wish to dwell on it overmuch. His moods seemed to change unpredictably, and God only knew whether he would be gentle, loving Nicholas or judgmental, curt Master Ryder when next she saw him.

  Before long, Margery tapped lightly on the door and entered. She set a tray down on the table near the bed. “And how’re you feeling this morning, mistress?”

  “You didn’t bring me anymore of that vile brew you forced me to drink last night, did you?”

  She laid a hand on Maddy’s forehead and gave a satisfied grunt. “I did, but I’ll not make you drink it again unless your fever comes back.” After she’d bathed Maddy thoroughly and helped her into a clean smock, she said, “Might you be able to eat something?”

  “As long as it’s not pottage.” Maddy didn’t think she could ever eat it again, after that brute Wolf had forced it on her at Carlisle Castle.

  “Nay, that would not sit well on your stomach, you being ill with the influenza. Can you sit at the table, mistress?”

  “I think so.” Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and remained there until she felt steady enough to stand.

  “Here, put this about your shoulders.” It was a lovely cloak, made of fine, soft wool and embroidered with flowers around the neck and hem. It must have belonged to Daniel’s mother. Margery laid out the meal on the small table. Fresh strawberries and cream, manchet with butter, broth, a tankard of ale. The sight of it gave Maddy the last bit of strength she needed to stand up and walk.

  “Master Ryder will see you while you are eating, if you feel well enough, mistress.”

  She glanced down at her attire. With the cloak, she was decently covered. “Aye. Tell him he may come.” When Margery turned to leave, Maddy stopped her. “Thank you, mistress. Much as I hated that tea, I suspect it lowered my fever.”

  In a few minutes, Ryder strode in. “Good morrow, Maddy,” he said, studying her. She sipped at the broth and let him look. “You are feeling stronger?”

  “Pray, be seated.” She gestured to the settle, which he pulled around so that it faced the table. “Would you share my meal? It is far too much for me.”

  “Nay, I’ve already eaten.” He had washed and dressed, and appeared so handsome, Maddy had to look away. His beautiful green eyes shone bright; his curly dark hair and beard were both neatly combed. The shirt and leather doublet showed his broad shoulders to advantage—best if she concentrated on eating. She needed her strength.

  Face resting against his hand, Nicholas watched while she ate. Just when she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, he said, “Who are Long Legs and Bull Neck?”

  She sputtered, half laughing, half choking. “Did I mention them last night?” Maddy thought maybe he was angry, but he was smiling. “My captors. That is what they looked like, so it was easiest to think of them with those names.”

  Nicholas laughed. “I thought you were delirious. How did you come to be taken by them?” He leaned forward and wiped something off her cheek with a cloth.

  “I…they were reivers. Or they wanted me to think they were, at first. But then one of them said to the other, ‘We’re meant to be reivers; we should act like them.’ Those weren’t precisely his words, but close enough.”

  Nicholas’s hand was suddenly gripping hers, gently. “Can you start at the beginning, Maddy? Do not leave anything out.”

  And so, with his hand clutching hers, at times stroking it with his thumb, Maddy gave him an account of all that had happened last night. When she was finished, he said, “What makes you so sure it was not a raid?” He let go of her and helped himself to a piece of manchet.

  She sighed, frustrated. “I must have left things out. It was all so confusing, and I didn’t feel well.”

  “We can finish later, if you wish to rest.” He got to his feet.

  “Sit down, Nicholas.” Impatiently, Maddy motioned toward the seat he had vacated. “I’m quite well.” He did as she asked, although she’d expected him to argue. “I did not think it was a raid because, aside from what I’ve already told you, they didn’t actually take anything. Except me.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Lady Dacre said they made off with some livestock, but I think she was lying. I saw no evidence of it. They weren’t dressed like reivers—no steel bonnets, no padded leather doublets or breeches. And there wasn’t a lance in sight.”

  “Hmm. And they planned it for Good Friday, a day they knew most folk would be in their homes. Why would they want you to think it was a raid?”

  “Most likely to conceal the fact that they were meeting with the Dacres.” Then Maddy remembered she hadn’t told him about the short letter she’d found in Christopher Dacre’s room. She had related only last night’s events. “There is something more I’ve not yet told you.”

  “Which is?” He cocked a brow at her.

  “After our meeting at the wall”—she couldn’t look at him when she mentioned it—“I decided to search Musgrave’s chamber, but it was locked. I passed Dacre’s chamber on my way back down the passage and it struck me that I should have a look in there instead.”

  “And you found something, I take it?”

  “A strange missive. It was very…concise.” She paused, because she had to rack her brain to recall what it said. So much had happened since.

  “Maddy?” Ryder said.

  “Wait a moment. I am thinking. Directly after I found it, I went down with influenza.” She leaned her forehead against the heels of her hands, finally looking up. “This is not it exactly, but clos
e enough. ‘The gathering on Friday will go on as planned. Attending will be F, H, and B.’ No signature.”

  “You said the two who took you were Scots?” When she nodded, he said, “So the initials most likely stand for Ferniehurst, Hume, and Bucceleuch. The lairds suspected of sheltering the rebels.”

  “Aye! Long Legs mentioned Ferniehurst by name. Said he’d cautioned them not to hurt anybody. That must have been the tall man they led into the vicarage.”

  “Did you see the other lairds?”

  “No. But they may have been there. Perhaps Ferniehurst arrived late, after the others.” What did it all mean? Maddy’s head was a jumble of disparate facts that did not make sense. She pushed herself up from the table, suddenly feeling a great need to lie down.

  Nicholas was on his feet in an instant. “I have exhausted you with my questions. Come, let me help you to your bed.”

  “I am not usually so frail,” Maddy said, embarrassed by her weakness. “There is much more to discuss.”

  “But not now.” At the bedside, he removed the cloak from about her shoulders. She felt her cheeks burning, as she wore only the smock underneath it. Nicholas leaned in and kissed her forehead, the barest tickle on her skin, before she lay down. “I shall call Margery in to close the drapes and help you with the bedclothes.”

  Maddy wanted to ask him where he would be, but he was gone before she had the chance. It wasn’t that she was frightened. She was not, not any longer. When Nicholas was near, her mind—her soul—hummed with a higher degree of awareness. Colors seemed brighter, voices louder, taste more acute. At the same time, she felt buoyant and light. Maddy wasn’t strong enough to fight these odd, opposing feelings, nor did she want to. She could only succumb.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Something warm and soft was burrowing into her. The sensation was pleasant. Maddy smiled, thinking it was Useless. Then she remembered she was not at the priory. The burrowing creature giggled, and she knew who it was.

  “I must remember to thank Master Ryder for bringing my dog—I did sorely miss her.” Maddy petted him—Daniel, not Useless—and more giggling ensued. “Mmm. Good girl.”

  “Daniel. You were not to wake her.” Nicholas’s voice came from somewhere across the room. He was probably at the table near the window, where they’d sat this morning. She heard the crinkling of parchment.

  “Master Daniel, is that you? And I thought it was my wee canine friend.” He grinned at her, his hair tousled, his eyes mischievous. “You do slightly resemble a dog, now that I look upon you.”

  Daniel sat back on his heels, held up his arms like paws, stuck his tongue out and panted. “You are funny, Sir Mouse.” Maddy stretched and yawned. “What time is it? Have I slept all day?”

  “I heard the church bell ring two a short time ago,” Nicholas said, now much closer. She did not dare glance up at him, with her tangled hair and sleepy eyes. “Come, brat. Mistress Vernon will want to wash and dress. You may see her later.”

  Nicholas lifted Daniel into his arms and they left. Fortunately, she’d remained under the bedclothes, because Nicholas stuck his head back in. “Shall I send Margery to you?”

  “Aye, pray do.” Nestling back into the bed, Maddy smiled to herself, until a sobering thought struck her. Where was Nicholas’s father? No mention had been made of the man, and it made her uneasy. After all, he had threatened her—said things would not go well if they were forced to remove her from Lanercost. It was a rather vague threat, but a threat nonetheless. So while Margery was helping her bathe, she asked. “Is Master Francis Ryder at home, Margery?”

  “Nay, mistress. He has gone to York. Left yesterday.” Since it was unlikely she would know when he would be back, Maddy did not ask. York was quite a distance. If he left only the day before, he would not return anytime soon. One less thing to worry about.

  She felt renewed after bathing and washing her hair. When she was dressed—in more of Susan Ryder’s apparel, no doubt—Margery bid her sit by the fire while she combed her wet locks.

  “You have a fine head of hair, mistress,” she said. “Thick and shiny.”

  “And unruly. I’m afraid I pay little attention to it. But I do thank you.”

  She set the comb down. “Are you hungry?”

  “Something to eat would not go amiss,” Maddy said. “And drink. But I would very much like to go downstairs.”

  “Let me ask Master Ryder.” She bustled out of the chamber before Maddy could stop her. Must one seek his permission for everything? She wandered over to the window. The prospect offered up a wide expanse of green, with archery butts on one side, and on the other, an enormous garden with an abundance of blooming flowers and a path meandering around it. An inviting place to stroll.

  “Are you sure you are feeling well enough to leave your bed, Madeleine?” She hadn’t heard him enter.

  “Are you so tyrannical with your servants that they require your approval for everything?” Maddy asked, ignoring his question. “It must occupy a great deal of your time.”

  “Such sarcasm. And I thought you were ill.”

  “I’m not ill, Nicholas,” she said, turning. “Only a little tired, still.”

  He held out his hand. “I’ll take you down to the drawing room, if you will hold on to my arm.”

  She rolled her eyes, but in truth was glad for the strength of that arm. Maddy had never been in the drawing room. It still bore a woman’s touch, and she suspected both Nicholas and his father steered clear of it, each staying in his own domain. A fire was burning in the grate, and Nicholas led her to a cushioned settle positioned near it. Margery entered and lowered a tray to the chest in front of the settle. Maddy felt like the Queen of Sheba.

  “I’ve never been so pampered.”

  “Aye, well, it will be of short duration. Do not become accustomed to it.” His voice was teasing.

  Margery left, and Maddy sipped from a cup of clary. Nicholas buttered bread and sliced cheese for her. “Eat, Maddy, or I’ll feed you myself.”

  “Like your man at Carlisle?” She gave him a cynical glance, even though his comments had been said in jest. His eyes darted away and he rubbed his beard. She’d embarrassed him and felt moved to apologize. “Forgive me. I know you were joking.”

  “It is I who should apologize to you. I am sorry for what you endured there.”

  “Let’s not talk about it. Not now.” She brushed a lock of hair off her face. Since Margery had admired her somewhat wild tresses, perhaps Maddy should ask if she would give it a trim. “What happens now? Will I return to Lanercost?” Even asking the question made her heart thump, but she tried to keep a measured tone of voice. If she did not return, what else awaited her?

  “We shall see. I wrote to Lady Dacre this morning to let her know you would be remaining with us until you regained your health. Even though I’m sure she already knows, I explained how you came to be here. I noted you had sustained some minor injuries and suffered a relapse of influenza but were recuperating well.”

  “So now we wait?”

  “For her response, yes. Would you care to hazard a guess?”

  Maddy chuckled. “What are the stakes? If I guess correctly, will there be a prize?”

  He gazed at her a long time before saying, “I might kiss you again, if you would let me.”

  Oh. Heat suffused her face, and other, more private places, too, and then she laughed. “That, sir, would be a prize for you, not me.”

  Nicholas sat down beside her. “You did not enjoy my kisses, then,” he said, teasing her.

  Like a foolish, lovesick girl, she could not suppress her smile. Before she could gather herself, Nicholas seized her hands. “Maddy, forgive me if I’ve upset you. But I do want to kiss you again…and do other things with you as well. Does that shock you?” He lifted her hand and lightly kissed her fingers, sending a jolt of heat through her.

  Say something. Maddy wanted to but was utterly tongue tied. So instead of speaking, she raised her hand to his face and
caressed it. His beard was surprisingly soft to the touch. She found this degree of touching was not sufficient. Without giving it any thought, she raised her other hand to his face as well. Nicholas held perfectly still, watching her, waiting to see what she would do next. “Come here,” Maddy said. “Come closer.” He complied, and she kissed him.

  Opening her mouth slightly, she invited his tongue to taste her, as she wished to taste him. A dazzling brilliance nearly overwhelmed her, but from pleasure rather than fever. Maybe this was a different kind of fever. Before she’d had enough of him, he pulled away.

  “You are not well yet, sweeting.” He smoothed her hair, his fingers caressing her sensitive scalp and making her want to say, I am well! I am well! He kissed her once more, lightly, on the lips, and moved away. The man possessed a great deal of self-discipline.

  “Back to my question. What do you think Lady Dacre will say?”

  Maddy clasped her hands together tightly. “That depends on information we do not have. Does she suspect me? Is she worried I overheard something? Or saw Ferniehurst entering the house? If so, she will dismiss me. She might say my health is too fragile to assist her.”

  “There is another way of looking at it. If she suspects you, she—and Dacre—may want to keep a close eye on you. For that reason, they may want you back. I mislike it.”

  “You are misliking one thing or another most of the time, Nicholas.” He looked so discomfited, she couldn’t hold back a grin.

  “Not I.” When he registered the skepticism on her face, he laughed and said, “Perhaps, but only when you are involved.”

  “I know her well enough to judge the true meaning of her words. She is fond of me, in her way, Nicholas. Strange as it sounds, I like her, too. It pains me to think she is involved in some perverse plot against the queen.”

  He didn’t speak, but the slight lift of one side of his mouth gave away his feelings on the matter.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Maddy said. “But she has come to rely on me. She likes having me there to help with her correspondence, to assist with her household tasks, to visit the sick—”