Susanna felt her face flush, and her voice was gone for a moment. There was a longing in his eyes, a true invitation behind the dry humor. “I …”
He began to close her off, his wall coming down again, and she shoved her shyness aside.
“Yes.”
He focused on her, and his eyes glittered in the firelight.
“I will get warm water from the kitchen.” Her words tripped over themselves, but she rose as calmly as she could. “This room is the warmest, so you can start taking off your doublet, if you are able.”
His face was serious, his brows drawn together. “I was not talking only of seeing to my wounds—”
“I know what you were talking about.” Susanna walked to the door, then turned to look at him.
Parker grinned back at her. “As long as we’re in accord.”
12
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: His love towarde women, not to be sensuall or fleshlie, but honest and godly, and more ruled with reason, then appetyte: and to love better the beawtye of the minde, then of the bodie.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: Not to be lyghte of creditt that she is beloved, though a man commune familierlye with her of love.
He was too tired for this sweet torture. And too stiff.
Parker winced as Susanna applied salve to an open cut on his arm, where he’d been sliced open by his own shovel in one of his many rolls on the stable floor with Marcus.
He was getting old.
He needed to start thinking instead of fighting, but it wasn’t as if he’d had any choice.
Her fingers brushed his shoulder, and then she placed a warm, wet cloth over the deep purple bruise there. The solution she’d dipped the cloth in had a pungent smell, but he could feel his muscles relax as the heat did its work.
Despite being half-naked in a room alone with Susanna Horenbout, he would not be doing what he’d wanted to since the moment he saw her.
Ravishing her.
Just the thought of it made him smile.
“I would have my way with you—you know that, don’t you?”
He saw a smile dance on her lips and then disappear. “I know.”
“And as you do not run, the thought is obviously not repugnant to you?”
Her hands stilled. “No.”
“Perhaps you should run.” The words stuck in his throat.
Her hands gripped him just tight enough to make him wince. “Perhaps I should. But I won’t.”
“And your blacksmith?” Ever since Susanna had mentioned him, Parker had felt the man’s presence like a stone in his boot.
She started sponging his back again. “I am an artist, Parker. I do not cook, I do not clean. I work long hours on commissions my father receives from lords and royalty throughout Europe. I would make a poor wife.”
Parker waited, wanting to hear everything before he spoke.
“But I am no nun. I want to experience the pleasures of the bed. I thought my father—I thought he would understand that. See me as he sees my brother. But he took very badly to my clumsy attempts at seducing the blacksmith who works with him on some of his larger commissions.”
“Were you successful? In your seduction?” Parker made his voice level, but he could feel the tension in her fingers as she stopped sponging.
“What if I was?”
“I will not lie and say it matters not to me, but it will change nothing between us.”
She made a helpless twitch of frustration. “I was not successful.” She sighed. He heard the regret in it and felt a stir of chagrin. “So close we were, and my father …” She squeezed out the cloth absently, as if thinking back to the moment before her father caught her in her blacksmith’s arms.
Something new reared within him. He’d felt possessive of her since the first crossbow bolt embedded itself in the door above her shoulder. But now he wanted to act. To make sure the world could see what he already knew. What she needed to know herself.
That she was his.
He rose, quicker than she was expecting, put his hands on her, and jerked her hips to his.
She gave a quick, nervous swallow, and tried to pull back. He held her in place.
“I am in no state tonight to do anything about my desires for you, my lady. But next time you remember a kiss, I would prefer it to be mine.”
He bent his head to hers and touched her softly, holding himself in check, falling slowly, gradually into a thing that took on a life of its own.
He was deaf, suddenly, and blind, and his only impressions were of her sweet rosemary scent and the softness of her lips.
She made a noise, a gasp, and he realized he had backed her into his desk, that she was about to fall over it.
As carefully as he could, he stepped back.
She looked at him, wild-eyed, her breath coming in pants. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth.
As he limped slowly from the room, he decided he had achieved his aim. She would not think of her blacksmith again.
You were there when my husband died?”
Mistress Harvey looked at Susanna uncertainly. She seemed confused, half-dazed, and Susanna could see they had roused the woman from her bed, although the morning was almost halfway gone.
“Yes, I was on the same ship as he, and tried to give him some relief as he lay dying. He entrusted a last message for you to me.”
Mistress Harvey made a sound of distress, enough to divert Parker’s gaze from his post at the window into the plushly decorated room, but he swung immediately back to the street, watchful and ready.
Despite her exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, Susanna’s mind drifted back to last night. He had looked just as dangerous then, but his intense focus had been on her. On wanting her.
When he was alone with her, Parker’s smile reached all the way up to his eyes.
She shivered.
“What was the message?” Mistress Harvey whispered. She was pale, pinched. Afraid.
Embarrassed at her wandering mind, Susanna straightened. “He said he’d provided for your future. That you held his secrets.”
Mistress Harvey gave a cry, and Susanna saw Parker frown.
“Madam.” His voice was harsh and impatient. “Since attending to your husband in his last hours, Mistress Horenbout has been attacked five times. The matter involves the King, and as his courtier, I am bound to see this to a resolution.”
The widow began to weep.
“Do you know anything of this?” Susanna reached out a tentative hand and placed it on her heaving shoulder.
“I begged my husband, begged him over and over through the years, to cease his prying. I told him no good would ever come of stealing secrets.” She lifted a trembling hand to wipe her eyes.
“What secret did he entrust to you?” Parker’s voice was softer now that he saw she would cooperate.
Mistress Harvey pursed her lips. “I didn’t want to know it. So I kept it folded, as he gave it to me. It has been a burden to me since the moment it lay in my hand.”
She went to a small desk set against a wall and slipped a hand behind one of the legs. With a snick, a small drawer slid out, and Mistress Harvey withdrew a letter from it with fumbling fingers.
Parker took the folded parchment she held out and as he read it, his expression grew … frightening. Cold, controlled. Susanna believed him capable of almost anything in that moment.
“Where did your husband get this?” Parker hadn’t moved an inch from the window, but it was as if he’d stepped toe-to-toe with Mistress Harvey. As if he loomed over her.
She trembled. “I know not. I can tell you when he came by the secret, but that is all I know. As soon as he told me it concerned the King, I wanted no part of it. But he said it was our safeguard. Someone he feared would not move against us while we had the letter.”
Susanna could see the stark fear on her face, and suddenly knew Mistress Harvey did not speak true. She did know the secret. Either she had looked, or sh
e’d known since the beginning.
Parker said nothing for a moment, then he slipped the parchment into his money pouch. “Tell me all you know.”
“He attended a merchants’ guild meeting a year ago. He came back excited, spent the next day out of the house. When he returned that evening, he was afraid. Nervous. As if he regretted hunting down the rumor he’d heard. Now that he had the truth, he didn’t want it.”
“Common sense intervened, then.” Parker’s tone was dry, but Susanna could see he held himself in check with iron will. Whatever was on that paper had made something clear to him, and it had shaken the ground beneath him. He seemed to vibrate with tension.
“We must go. I don’t need to ask you to keep this quiet, do I?” He held Mistress Harvey’s gaze, and Susanna saw her go paler still.
“No, sir. You need not.”
He nodded, taking hold of Susanna’s arm and pulling her along in his wake.
As they stepped outside, the front door was slammed hard and fast behind them, making her start in surprise.
“Why was she lying?” She pitched her voice low.
Parker gave her a considering look.
“She is lying because she knows the King will kill anyone who knows the secret on this paper. Swearing she doesn’t know is her only chance of survival.”
“How do we know this secret is even true?”
Parker quirked his lip. “Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t.”
Susanna drew her cloak around her as they approached Parker’s cart. “But in this case?”
“In this case, I know this secret is true because I already knew it.”
“And yet here you are, alive.” Susanna smiled, but Parker did not smile with her.
“Until the moment I read that paper, I thought I was the only one left alive, save two, who did know it.”
Susanna swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “Who are the other two?”
“The King himself and his brother-in-law, Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk.” Parker lifted her up onto the cart, then untied the reins.
“So how did Harvey discover it?”
“There is only one way. Either the King or Suffolk has talked. And we can only hope to God it was Suffolk.”
“And if it was the King?” Susanna moved over on the driving bench, and Parker joined her. He flicked the reins.
“Then we are dead.”
13
The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: Not to be ill tunged, especiallie against his betters.
Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: Not to make wise to knowe the thing that she knoweth not, but with sobernesse gete her estimation with that she knoweth.
What is the secret?”
Parker turned his attention from the rutted road to look at Susanna’s serious face. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”
“Whoever is behind these attacks thinks I know anyway.”
Frustration rose in him at the truth of her words. “It could be they thought Harvey had told you of the letter, not realizing his message for you had nothing to do with the secret he kept with his wife.”
He wondered again who the bastard was, although he had his suspicions.
“Am I not damned either way, then? At least knowing the secret, I may be of some use to you. Some help.”
Parker wasn’t sure when someone had last offered to help him.
“Parker?” A frown creased her brow, and he had to hold himself back from touching her.
There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her eyes held a spark, though. Tired but determined.
If he could not trust her with the truth, he could not trust anyone. And for a long time, he’d thought trusting no one was the only wise thing he could do.
But he was so tired of the cold loneliness of the last few years. So tired of looking at each hand extended in friendship with suspicion.
He wanted the safe haven he could see in her smile.
“I cannot tell you here. Let us get home.” He urged the cart horse forward, bracing an arm around Susanna as they hit a deep pothole and the cart lurched over it.
He felt too exposed on the street. He was only one man, and whoever wished to silence them had many at his disposal.
Given the new information Mistress Harvey had provided, they could be under attack from two fronts. Harvey had been playing two dangerous games.
But Parker had a surprise up his sleeve: the plan he’d put into place with Peter Jack early yesterday morning.
Unusual though it might be, he had his own army to call in.
The house was quiet. Susanna had been dismayed to find Mistress Greene in the kitchen that morning, but the housekeeper had promised to lie down if she needed to.
Susanna had watched her chop vegetables, look in on the boys, and make bread. She moved slowly, but each movement was a deliberate reclamation of her territory. She gathered up the rushes before the fireplace, stained dark with her blood, and threw them into the fire. Then she slapped her hands together as if ridding them of dust, and turned her back on the flames.
Tears had prickled behind Susanna’s eyes at the housekeeper’s determination and bravery. To cover her weakness, she’d busied herself, putting on a kettle to boil, sweeping the floor, all in silence. She felt the same quiet companionship with Mistress Greene that she’d had with her mother, completing small tasks together in the kitchen.
Now, with the house so still, they looked in at the kitchen, and Susanna thought Parker always would, until the end of his days. He would never enter his house again without checking the well-being of each person in it.
Mistress Greene slept in the big chair by the kitchen fire, still pale and hollow-eyed, and a quick look at the boys showed they slept too, empty soup bowls sitting on the small table between their narrow beds.
Eric looked much better, his color back; but Peter Jack’s face was a mess of cuts and bruises, smeared green with the unguent Maggie had left for them to apply. He stirred as they backed out of the room and opened his right eye, his left swollen shut.
“All well?” he croaked, his voice rough. Marcus had hit him across the throat, and Maggie had said it could take a week for his voice to recover.
“Shhh.” Susanna stepped forward and crouched beside him. “All is well. Parker and I will be in his study if you need us. Go back to sleep.”
Peter Jack shook his head. “I’m tired o’ sleeping.”
“Give us a few minutes, then,” Parker told him, coming up behind her. “There is something I must tell Mistress Horen-bout in private, but then you are welcome to join us.”
“Need the privy, anyway.”
Susanna helped him to sit up, and was enveloped in the strong herbal scent of the unguent. He shook his head at her offered hand and struggled to his feet on his own.
He hobbled behind them into the kitchen and started for the back door.
She watched him make his slow, painful way across the floor, then hold the wall, teetering as he slipped his feet into his outdoor boots. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked closer to the child he was than the young man he would become. She felt a fresh wave of anger at Marcus and the man who had sent him. Her breath caught in her throat and stuttered out as she exhaled, fists clenched.
“Even with the beatin’, this is still the best me ’n’ Eric ever had it.” Peter Jack watched her, his right eye steady and clear, making the swollen red and purple of the left even more shocking.
“And, tell the truth, I’m glad we got into the thick. I was the one tryin’ to kill you two nights ago. I feel like I earned me right to stay now. I fought for you, and I will again, mistress.”
Tears, sharp as rose thorns against the backs of her eyes, threatened and then spilled out.
She could not answer him. If she did, she would sob. She had to breathe in deeply to stop herself as it was. He seemed to understand, because when she blinked her eyes c
lear, the door was closing behind him and he was gone.
She composed herself and turned to find Parker staring at her from the doorway.
“You inspire loyalty, my lady.” His eyes held some emotion that seized her throat and grabbed at her heart.
“No more than you.” Her voice trembled.
“Nay. I inspire fear. Or envy. But seldom loyalty.”
“You inspire it in me.” The way he was leaning against the door, his eyes intense in his lean face, his posture alert and poised, inspired more than loyalty. Her hand reached for her satchel, closed around air, and she remembered it was in her room. She would paint him just like this as soon as she could. She tried to imprint the picture he made in her memory.
“You honor me.” As he straightened up, his expression was unreadable.
She felt a tingle at her nape. John Parker was beyond anything she’d dealt with before. A life spent in her father’s atelier had not prepared her for him.
“Let us talk before Peter Jack returns from the privy.” He gestured down the passageway and she followed him, her mind no longer on the secret. She wanted nothing more than a day of quiet, her paints, and enough light to paint by. And the company of her model.
“Are you sure you wish to know this?” Parker sat again in the right-hand chair, leaving her the left. They were beginning to have their own chairs by the fire, little rituals of comfort and accommodation. Some sort of shared life.
Susanna paused. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she had changed her mind, she did not want to hear the secret. But not hearing it would make none of this go away.
“I wish only for an end to this, and hearing the secret may help us. It certainly cannot harm us.”
“It could harm you, if the Tower got hold of you.” His voice was grim.
“If the Tower called for me in this matter, I would be harmed whether I know the secret or not. And the more I swore I didn’t know, the more harm would befall me.”
He nodded tersely in agreement, then turned to face the fire.
In a Treacherous Court Page 8
