Nicholas followed the young magician. Glancing around the garden, he again regretted that the girls were nowhere in sight.
—
THE WEEKS PASSED with surprising speed. Each day was full of duties from dawn to dusk, and Nicholas discovered that the hectic pace was to his liking. Being busy kept him from brooding, a trait inherited from his father. The strenuous routine of constantly being on the move, of having to pitch in with much of the physical labor, was hardening his youthful frame as well. Always fit from riding and sword practice, he was now gaining strength to go with his speed. After his first day hauling arms and armor out for cleaning and having to lug it all back into the armory, he thought he was going to die. Now he could carry twice the load and feel little strain.
The work seemed to agree with Harry, too, though he reveled in complaining whenever he had the chance. In the three weeks since coming to Crydee, both boys had found little time to spend with Margaret and Abigail, though Harry had found a bit more than Nicholas. He delighted in playing upon Nicholas’s anxiety over the young lady-in-waiting, sometimes teasing him to the point of anger. But most of their time was caught up in the seemingly endless routine of the court of Crydee. So far the only time Nicholas had found to pay court to Abigail was on Sixthday afternoons, and to his chagrin Marcus was always nearby.
The people of Castle Crydee took on individual identities to the boys from Krondor. The kitchen staff was friendly, the other servants respectful and distant. The younger serving girls viewed Harry with a mixture of amusement and wariness, while a few watched Nicholas with open admiration, attention he found somewhat disquieting. Swordmaster Charles was interesting but always formal in speech and manner. Faxon was open and friendly, and Nicholas found him a good listener. Nakor and Ghuda were rarely in evidence, always seeming to find something in town or the nearby woods to occupy their time. Slowly the alien quality that had overwhelmed Nicholas upon first arriving was wearing off, and while Crydee would never feel like home, it was becoming familiar. And Abigail occupied more of Nicholas’s thoughts than any girl he had previously known. On those rare occasions he could find her without Marcus hovering by she was warm and attentive, and left him with conflicting feelings that he was making a total ass of himself and that she really cared for his company.
Nearly a month after the reception dinner, Nicholas and Harry dined with the Duke’s court once again. Since they were members of the household, it was not an unexpected event, but it was the first time since they had come to Crydee that the boys had been free enough from duty to eat at the same time as everyone else. They sat at the foot of the table, removed enough from the Duke and his family that only faint snatches of conversation reached them. Not only was the household in attendance, but several important members of guilds and crafts from the town were seated at the Duke’s table, while some visiting merchants and traders were seated around the hall.
Nicholas sat staring across the hall at Abigail, who seemed to be listening somewhat distractedly to something Marcus was telling her. She glanced at Nicholas with regularity and occasionally flushed and lowered her eyes when he caught her gaze.
Harry said, “The girl likes you.”
Nicholas said, “How do you know?”
Harry grinned as he sipped at a goblet of wine. “She keeps looking over here at you.”
“Maybe she thinks I look funny,” Nicholas said with a note of fear.
Harry laughed. “Given how much you and Marcus resemble each other, and that you’re obviously the only two chaps she pays the least bit of attention to, I’d say she has a preference for a certain type.” Tapping his friend upon the shoulder, he said, “She likes you, dummy.”
Dinner passed with the boys engaging in trivialities with the two young men who sat beside Nicholas. One was a gem dealer seeking to underwrite an expedition into a region of the Grey Tower mountains; he claimed there were gem deposits still untapped by dwarves or human miners. He was to be disappointed, Nicholas knew, for the Kingdom made no claims over the Grey Towers beyond the foothills; the gem dealer would have to treat with Dolgan, the King of the western dwarves, at village Caldara, a week’s travel or more inland.
The other man was a traveler from Queg, a merchant in fine silks and rare perfumes, who had occupied most of the girls’ afternoon showing them his wares, which was why Nicholas had not caught sight of them all day. Margaret was more given to hunting leather and simple tunics, like her mother, it seemed, though she wore the proper gowns and jewelry in court; but Abigail and most of the daughters of the town’s richer merchants had purchased enough of the merchant’s fineries to guarantee him a profitable trip before he visited Carse and Tulan on his way home.
The merchant was named Vasarius, and something about him irritated Nicholas. Perhaps it was the way Nicholas had caught him staring at Margaret and Abigail, in a manner Nicholas could only consider covetous. When Nicholas caught him at it, he merely averted his eyes from the girls, or smiled at Nicholas as if he were but glancing around the room.
After dinner the merchants gathered before the Duke and his lady and a short period of socializing followed, before they were escorted out of the castle. Nicholas noticed that while the other merchants were attempting to get Martin’s attention, Vasarius was chatting amiably with Charles and Faxon.
Nicholas was on the verge of saying something about this to Harry when Marcus approached. “We’re going hunting tomorrow,” he said. “You two begin laying out everything we’re going to need. Have a couple of servants go with you.”
Nicholas nodded, while Harry barely suppressed a groan. They hurried off and motioned for a couple of the servants to follow. Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and noticed Abigail watching his departure. She waved to him, wishing him a silent good night, and Nicholas turned to see Marcus looking at her with a sour expression. Smiling slightly, Nicholas felt better than he had since coming to Crydee.
—
IT WAS LATE when Nicholas and Harry finished organizing the equipment for the hunt. They would be gone only two or three days, but there would be a half dozen in the party—Martin, Marcus, Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, and Nakor—so a fair amount of equipment and provisions needed to be readied. After a minute of standing around in confusion, not knowing where to begin, the boys had allowed the experienced servants to take charge and had mostly observed, save when it came to choosing weapons. Both squires knew they were responsible for those choices, and by now both had a good idea of what Martin and Marcus would require. Like his father, Marcus was an excellent bowman and favored the longbow.
When everything was ready, Nicholas and Harry returned to the banquet hall. Nicholas left his friend and went up to the Duke. Martin finished his conversation with one of the local merchants and said, “Yes, Squire?”
Nicholas said, “All is ready for tomorrow, Your Grace.”
“Good. I have no further need for you this evening, Squire. We leave at first light.”
Nicholas bowed and departed, leaving Martin to his guests. Harry was likewise on his own, from all appearances, as he hurried across the hall to Nicholas. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d turn in. It’s an early start tomorrow.”
“Lady Margaret mentioned that she’d be taking a stroll through the Princess’s Garden.”
“Well, there you go,” said Nicholas. “Now’s your chance.”
Harry grinned. “Abigail went with her.”
Nicholas grinned in return. “What are we waiting for?”
With a single lack of decorum, the boys hurried out of the Duke’s great hall just a stride short of a full run.
—
AS THE BOYS leaped the three steps up to the Princess’s Garden, Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles. Margaret’s was confident and amused; Abigail’s was shy and pleased.
Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of courtly dignity. Grinning self-consciously, Nicholas said, “Good evening, ladies.”
“Good evening, Squire,” replied Margaret.
Abigail spoke softly. “Good evening, Highness.”
The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to Margaret. The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to speak at the same time. The girls laughed and the boys had the good grace to look embarrassed. Again there was a silent moment, then Harry and Nicholas began to speak again.
Margaret said, “I know you two can’t seem to live a moment apart, but why don’t you come over here with me, Squire Harry.”
Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.
Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden, to another bench, where they sat. Softly Abigail said, “You seem to be adjusting to living with us, Highness.”
Nicholas said, “It’s ‘Squire’ here, my lady.” He flushed a little and said, “I…think I like it. Some of it.” He stared at her, amazed at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like. Her skin was clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured. He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous in the faint light of the torches upon the wall. Her hair was gathered back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a cascade of golden silk. He glanced down and said, “Some things I find a great deal more appealing here than others.”
She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, “Is His Grace overworking you? I hardly ever see you in the castle. We’ve spoken little more than a dozen words in weeks.”
Nicholas said, “I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father’s court and being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go on all the time in Krondor.”
“I would have thought that a wonderful life,” she said. Her tone was disappointed. “I can’t imagine anything more thrilling than being presented in your father’s court, or the King’s court.” Her eyes were wide and her expression earnest as she spoke. “The great lords and beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands—it all sounds so wonderful.” She positively glowed to Nicholas’s eyes as she said this.
Trying not to sound too blasé, Nicholas said, “It’s often colorful.” In fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore. But he was sure Abigail didn’t wish to hear that, and at this particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last thing he wished. She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last moments he had forgotten to breathe. “Perhaps someday you can visit Krondor or Rillanon.”
Her expression turned from wondering to resigned. “I’m the daughter of a Far Coast Baron. If my father has his way, I’ll be pledged to marry Marcus soon; I’ll be an old woman with children before I have a chance to visit Krondor, and I’ll never see Rillanon.”
Nicholas didn’t know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she spoke of marrying Marcus. At last he said, “You won’t have to.”
“Have to what?” she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.
“Marry Marcus if you don’t want to,” he said awkwardly. “It’s not as if your father can command you to.”
“He can make it very hard for me to say no,” she said, lowering her eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly long.
Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her hands in his own. Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them with the other, he said, “I could…”
Softly, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, “What, Nicky?”
Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, “I could ask my father—”
Abigail said, “Nicky, you’re wonderful!” She reached out and put her hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.
Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed. He had never known a kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant. Her lips rested perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses. His head swam as he began to return the kiss. He felt his body warming as he drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands. She moved in such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.
Abruptly she pulled away. “Marcus!” she whispered and before Nicholas could gather his wits she was gone. He blinked in confusion, feeling as if someone had poured icy water over his head. A moment later, Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the ones by the football field. Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss he had not heard his cousin approach.
When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression darkened. “Squire,” he said coldly.
“Marcus,” answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.
“I don’t suppose the Lady Abigail is here.”
Nicholas discovered that he didn’t like the way in which Marcus was looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him mention her name. “She’s not here.”
Marcus glanced around. “But unless you’ve taken to wearing her cologne, she was here moments ago.” With narrowed gaze he said, “Where is she?”
Nicholas stood. “Over there, I think.”
Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up to him. They both crossed to the other side of the Princess’s Garden, where they found Harry sitting on the bench. The Squire from Ludland was flushing furiously.
Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.
Marcus said, “I suppose you were entertaining my sister.”
Harry’s flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion. “I’m not sure,” he said. Looking off toward the castle—in the direction the girls had obviously gone—he added, “She is a most remarkable girl.”
Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both. “I hoped you two would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven’t. Well, here’s how it’s going to be.” Pointing at Harry, he said, “My sister can take care of herself, but she’s slated for bigger things than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl.”
Harry’s face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept his silence.
Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, “And you, cousin…Abigail doesn’t need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her behind when he goes home. Is that clear?”
Nicholas stepped forward, “What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn’t have duties for me, is my business. And who Abigail chooses to spend her time with is her business.”
Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were separated by Harry, stepping between them. “It won’t do anyone any good if you two start brawling,” he said, his anger making his voice hard and scolding. Looking as if he would welcome any excuse to brawl himself, he turned a challenging gaze at Marcus. “The Duke would be displeased, wouldn’t he?”
Marcus and Nicholas both looked at Harry in momentary surprise, then locked gazes. Marcus said, “We leave at first light, Squire. See that everything is ready.” He turned and marched away, his back as straight as a poll arm.
Nicholas said, “He’s going to cause trouble.”
“You’re the one who’s already caused trouble,” answered Harry.
“She doesn’t love him,” said Nicholas.
“Oh, she told you this?” asked Harry.
“Not in so many words, but—”
“Tell me on the way to our rooms. We’ve got to be ready for tomorrow.”
As they walked, Nicholas said, “She doesn’t want to stay here with Marcus, that’s certain.”
Harry nodded. “So you think you’ll take her back to Krondor?”
“Why not?” said Nicholas with an edge of anger in his tone.
“You know why,” answered
Harry. “Because you’re going to marry some Princess from the court of Roldem, or a Duke’s daughter, or a Princess of Kesh.”
With anger in his voice, and the memory of Abigail’s kiss still fresh in his thoughts, he said, “What if I don’t want to?”
Sighing, Harry said, “What if your King commands you to?”
Nicholas’s jaws tightened, but he said nothing. He ached with frustration, the frustration of the interrupted embrace and the frustration of wanting to plant his fist in Marcus’s face. At last he asked, “What did Margaret do that got you so flustered?”
Harry blushed again. “She’s…amazing.” He drew a deep breath and blew it out theatrically. “She started by asking me how the men in Krondor kiss, then asked me to show her. One thing led to another.” He stopped as if catching his wind. With red cheeks, he said, “She got very bold, and…” He paused, then blurted, “Nicholas, she asked me if I’d ever been with a woman!”
“She didn’t!” exclaimed Nicky, half laughing, half groaning.
“She did! Then…”
“What?”
“Then she asked me what it was like!“
“She didn’t!”
“Will you stop saying that. She did.”
“So what did you say?”
“I told her what it was like.”
“And?”
“She laughed at me! Then she said, ‘When you know what you’re talking about, Squire, come let me know. I’m curious.’ Then she went back to kissing me, and moving around against me so I thought I was going to burst! Then Abigail came running over and said Marcus was coming, and they hurried off.”
“Amazing,” observed Nicholas, his anger and frustration vanishing before his astonishment at his unusual cousin Margaret.
“She’s that,” Harry said.
“You still think you’re in love?” Nicholas asked jokingly.
“My stomach hurts worse than ever, but…”
“What?”
“Your cousin Margaret is really scary.”
Nicholas laughed and bade Harry good night. As he returned to his own quarters, he lapsed into a memory of soft lips, warm perfume, and the most incredible eyes he had ever beheld. His body warmed at the memory. And his stomach hurt like mad.
The King's Buccaneer Page 12
