A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece: Jakob & Avery: Book 2 (The Hansen Series - Jakob & Avery)

by Kris Tualla

  “Some of our brothers, I believe.”

  Bethington’s gaze followed, and widened a little. “Spaniards, I think. They are talking too fast for me to follow.”

  “Wait here.” Jakob moved through the tavern’s patrons toward the bar.

  He ordered a pitcher of wine with two goblets and, with his back to the trio, listened to the men’s conversation while he waited. They were speaking quite rapidly, but Jakob believed he understood the gist of their conversation.

  After paying for the wine, Jakob carried the decanter and glasses back to Percy. “I was able to follow their discussion. If I am not mistaken, they were discussing a celebration of Advent, next Sunday. December first.”

  Percy startled. “Are we that close to Christmas, then? I have lost track.” He counted on his fingers. “Only five more weeks until our mysterious Order convenes.”

  Jakob handed Percy a goblet of rich red wine. “Shall we introduce ourselves?”

  “They seem pleasant enough.” The Englishman watched the Spaniards over the rim of his glass as he took a taste of the wine. When he lowered his goblet, he gave Jakob an appreciative look. “This is excellent. What did you ask for?”

  “I asked the barkeep what he recommended. This was his choice.”

  “Ah. Must have been expensive, then.” Percy’s disappointment was obvious.

  Jakob tasted his as well; Percy was right, the wine was very good. He shook his head. “Not at all. It was quite reasonable, especially considering the quality.”

  Percy swallowed another mouthful of the delectable beverage and glanced at the Spanish knights. “They certainly are well dressed. Why do you believe they are wearing the collars now?”

  Jakob had been thinking about that himself. “Two reasons, I believe. First, to gain respect. They are displaying their status quite clearly for everyone to see, even if their observers have no idea what the collar represents.”

  Bethington dipped his chin in agreement. “And the second reason?”

  Jakob met the other man’s gaze. “They are our hosts, are they not? We are convening in their country, and in their city. Perhaps they wish for the knights traveling here to recognize that they are part of the Order.”

  “Ambassadors of a sort?” Percy grinned. “Welcoming respected members as they arrive? I quite like that idea.”

  Jakob refilled their glasses. “I believe we are about to make new friends,” he said in Norsk.

  “And I believe you are right,” Percy answered in that language. He picked up the decanter. “You will lead, this time.”

  Jakob did so, standing tall and approaching the trio with confidence. Now was not the time to cower.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in Spanish. He indicated their heavy golden collars with the drooping ram. “We are here for the Order also.”

  Their evaluative looks, which traveled over both him and Bethington, were not as friendly as he would have hoped.

  Jakob gave the men a slight bow. “I am Sir Ja—Petter Hansen, representing King Christian the Second of Denmark and Norway.”

  The eldest man in the group squinted at him. “Japetter?”

  Jakob felt his cheeks warming. “My name is Jakob Petter. But I understand Jakob is a difficult name in Spain.”

  Another evaluative look, this one focusing on his distinctively Nordic features and coloring. “You are not Jewish.”

  “No, my lord.” Jakob offered the usual explanation. “My mother likes the Bible names. And I was meant to be a priest.”

  To Jakob’s relief, Percy stepped into the fray. “And I am Sir Percival Bethington, representing His Royal Highness, King Henry the Eighth of England.”

  “Welcome to Barcelona, Sir Hansen, Sir Bethington.” The knight turned to his companions. “May I present Alvaro de Zuniga y Guzman, Duke of Béjar.”

  Jakob estimated the man to be about forty years of age. He was slim of physique, sporting a trimmed, gray beard. “I am honored, your Grace.”

  The elder man continued the introductions. “And this other pup is Pietro Antonio San Severino, Duke of San Marco.”

  Jakob smiled at the designation; the pup was in his mid-thirties judging by his receding hairline. “My honor as well, your Grace.”

  “And I,” the man paused, turning his body fully toward Jakob. “I am Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, Duke of l’Infantado.”

  The surname de Mendoza zinged through Jakob’s frame. He perused the duke’s neatly tied grey hair, cloudy brown eyes, and hawkish nose, wondering if Avery’s husband might have had a similar look. “Pardon me, your Grace, but on the day we arrived we encountered a funeral procession…”

  “My close cousin.” The duke did not appear pleased at the connection. “Our fathers were brothers.”

  “We offer our sorrows,” Percy interjected.

  “And we are honored to meet you as well, your Grace,” Jakob hurried to add. In his surprise at the duke’s name, he had neglected that bit of convention.

  “Have you been to the priests?” de Zuniga asked.

  “Yes, the day we arrived,” Jakob answered, indicating the golden collar. “But we did not know we should wear this before the Order.”

  “It is your choice,” de Mendoza said. “But doing so will assure that you receive the proper respect.”

  “I understand.” Jakob placed a hand over his heart. “Thank you.”

  “Your Spanish is passable, Sir,” San Severino complimented. “Where did you learn?”

  Jacob shoved aside the pain which the knight’s innocent enquiry prompted. He made a motion which included Bethington, still standing by his side. “We had an excellent teacher in England.”

  “He has taught you well. Your pronunciation rivals a Catalonyan.”

  “She, your Grace.” Jakob halted, wondering how much to reveal. Mendoza knew Paolo, so he must be acquainted with Avery.

  Even with that connection, no one in Spain knew where she disappeared to; but Jakob had no idea if she had revealed her whereabouts once she returned. He decided to be vague for the moment.

  “Our teacher was a Spanish lady-in-waiting of Queen Catherine’s court.”

  Percival tensed and cut his eyes toward Jakob. His expression shouted, what are you doing?

  De Zuniga perked up at his words. “So you are acquainted with Catherine of Aragon?”

  “Yes.” Jakob grasped the opportunity to shift the focus of the conversation. “She is a beautiful woman, and very gracious to aid us in this way.”

  Before any of the Spanish knights could question him any further, he added, “She is with child again. The babe might be born even now.”

  Mendoza nodded. “Yes, we had heard that.”

  Percy lifted his glass. “To a healthy boy!”

  Jakob grinned and lifted his glass as well. “A healthy boy!”

  The three Spaniards joined in the toast and drank liberally. Then San Severino tilted his head and peered through narrowed eyes at Jakob.

  “Has anyone told you that you resemble King Henry?”

  *****

  “What were you thinking?” Percival demanded as he and Jakob made their slightly unsteady way back to the palazzo. The wine was not only delicious, it was strong.

  “I do not know.” Jakob waved a loose arm. “They were all dukes and they all looked at us like we were estúpido.”

  “Got your Norsk pride up, did it?” Percival poked his arm. “That will get you in trouble, you know.”

  Jakob grunted. He was well acquainted with that unsettling result since boyhood. “How well do you think Mendoza knows Avery?”

  “That is hard to say. He did not look pleased to be connected to his cousin, Paolo, however.”

  “No, he did not.” Jakob took an overly cautious step up a curb. “Do you think anyone knows she was in England?”

  Percival copied his action, climbing the treacherous precipice in one try, before continuing to walk beside him. “Do you mean, has she told anyone where she was?”

 
“Yes. Or is it still a secret.”

  Percival shrugged. “I guess you would have to ask her.”

  *****

  Jakob was not happy about the idea of speaking to Avery again, destroyed as he was by her intentional misdirection concerning her life. Yet on the other hand, he sorely missed her.

  Avery’s friendship had been the highlight of his five months in England. Confessing the story to her of how his leg was injured had finally freed him from the heavy guilt under whose shadow he had lived for the last nine years.

  Falling in love with her afterward was startling.

  Falling out of love with her had not yet been possible.

  Should I write her a note?

  No. The answer might be too complex for her to explain. In addition to that, she may not want any part of her situation to be written down.

  Would she agree to see me?

  She would, if she knew why he wished to speak with her. That brought him back to a note. A sealed message for Esteban to hand her in the event she balked.

  Should I make an appointment to see her?

  No, she could refuse him too easily from a distance. If he was outside her drawing room—with a note—he stood a much better chance of gaining an audience with her.

  The note should mention that he had met another knight of the Order: one Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, her cousin-in-law. That should prompt her curiosity at the very least, or her fear at the most extreme.

  Either way, she was bound to grant him an interview.

  That decided, Jakob turned over and tried to fall asleep, wondering which language he might dream in tonight.

  Chapter Seven

  November 25, 1518

  Avery’s hands began to shake when she read Jakob’s note. She refolded the missive and gripped it tightly to still the tremors. “Send him in, Esteban.”

  “Shall I stay with you once again?” His tone evinced his assumption that her answer would be yes.

  “That will not be necessary.” She gave the majordomo what she hoped he would believe was a confident smile. “I shall be quite safe in the knight’s presence.”

  Esteban pressed his lips together in a most disapproving manner. “As you wish, my lady. But I shall remain close, in case you need any assistance.”

  Not too close, I hope.

  Her impending conversation with Jakob was not one that she wished for anyone to overhear, even her trusted manservant.

  Esteban opened the door and stood in the doorway, forcing Jakob to turn sideways to step past him. The Norseman didn’t react to the slight, but straightened his shoulders and walked toward her without looking back.

  Avery caught Esteban’s brief sneer before he exited the room. The majordomo was rather overprotective of her. But better that than lax, she supposed. After all, she had not yet sorted out her friends from her enemies.

  And speaking of friends—was Jakob still one of hers? The expression on his handsome face was pleasant enough, though she had hoped for a more emotive greeting. Even anger would show that he cared what she thought of him.

  He stopped a few feet in front of her and bowed. The golden collar which he wore over his brown brocade tunic hung in front of his chest, and glimmered when it caught the light. “Good day, Lady Avery.”

  “Good day, Jakob.” She stressed the use of his Christian name while looking pointedly at his chest. “Is that collar for the Order of the Golden Fleece?”

  He looked down at the heavy piece of jewelry and lifted the dangling ram in his palm. “Yes. And Henry assured that mine was made with Baltic amber.”

  That was interesting; the English king clearly must hold Sir Hansen in high esteem to go to that effort. “Please sit.”

  He chose the closest chair to hers and lowered himself into its curved comfort. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  Avery put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, and then motioned for him to move the chair closer. Jakob understood and, rising to his feet, carried the chair to her side so no scraping sounds would betray them.

  “What is amiss?” he whispered, concern etching his countenance.

  She answered in kind. “I do not wish for our discussion to be heard, and I know that Esteban is waiting near the door.”

  Jakob’s lips twitched. “He does not like me.”

  “No.” She shrugged. “His previous encounter with you was not a happy one.”

  “Neither was mine with you,” he reminded her.

  Avery’s cheeks caught fire. “I am so very sorry, Jakob. I can only hope that, while you are in Barcelona, you may come to understand how precarious my situation was.”

  “I am gathering an understanding,” he admitted.

  “You said I should have trusted you in England and you were right. You have every reason to be angry with me.” Avery’s heart felt like it had climbed into her throat. “My question now is this: am I able to trust you here? In Spain?”

  Jakob leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes dark and brooding. “I think that answer will depend on you, Avery.”

  Though wary of his response, Avery was forced to ask the question. “What do you want from me, Jakob?”

  His gaze dropped and he pulled a long breath, letting it out slowly. When he reclaimed her regard, some of the darkness was gone from his expression.

  “I want you to marry me.”

  Avery’s head fell into her hands, muffling her outburst. “I cannot!”

  Jakob leaned forward again and spoke in a low, clear tone. “No you cannot. Not yet. But I will be here for months.”

  Avery peeked at him from between her fingers. “Jakob, please do not—”

  He grasped her barricade, and silenced her objection by pulling it down. He wove her fingers between his own.

  “Here is what I propose: we both have unknown courses ahead of us. And neither of us knows whom to trust. True?”

  Avery nodded. “True.”

  Jakob stared at her, hard. “Then we shall trust each other. No more secrets between us. Not a one. From this moment forward, we will be completely honest, even if we must cause each other pain.”

  She nodded, the tiniest blossom of hope sprouting. “I swear to you, Jakob. I will never hide anything from you again, if only you will act as my most trusted advisor.”

  His expression grew pensive. “I shall do so, Avery, to honor you.” He squeezed her hands. “And I will continue to do this, even if I decide, in the end, that I do not wish to marry you after all.”

  Avery was punched so hard by his words that she couldn’t draw a breath. The idea that Jakob might turn her away had not occurred to her; she believed his love to be unshakeable, even when she refused it.

  “Thank you,” she rasped.

  “We shall begin now.” Jakob pointed at the note in her lap and whispered, “What does Diego Hurtado de Mendoza know about you?”

  *****

  Jakob had not intended to say such a thing to Avery as he had, but he was very satisfied with her reaction to his disquieting words.

  Her face drained of color and her barely-discernible pupils widened. As she remained silent, one red splotch blossomed on each cheekbone. And when she spoke, her voice was rough with shock.

  He asked the next question quickly, not allowing her time to say or ask anything more.

  If she thought he might give up on her, she might take more care with her interactions with him. And hopefully, she would not shoot his arrow back at him and refuse him once and for all.

  “Was he at your wedding?” Jakob pressed when Avery didn’t speak.

  She blinked and caught a breath, her eyes moving side to side. “Yes. Yes, he was.”

  “Have you seen him since that time?”

  “No.” She frowned. “I do not think he had much care for Paolo.”

  “So he did not know you had disappeared, then?”

  Avery looked straight at him. “I cannot be sure.”

  Jakob let go of Avery’s hand, unlinking their fingers, and combing his own
through his hair. “Have you told anyone where you were?”

  She nodded. “My brother and his wife, who arrived this past week.”

  “Are they trustworthy?”

  “Not in the least,” Avery huffed. “But they are leaving soon.”

  Jakob rubbed his face, rasping his beard, and thought about what that information might mean to Avery’s situation. His conclusion surprised him. “Then in my opinion, as your trusted advisor, where you spent your years away from this house should no longer be a secret.”

  “What?” Avery gaped at him.

  “The nobility of Barcelona know you were absent from your marriage for nine years, do they not?”

  “Well, of course.” She snorted her disgust. “And they know very well what disease my husband died of.”

  Jakob pointed at her. “And what do you believe they think you were doing all that time?”

  Avery slumped in her chair. “I have not thought about that.”

  “I would wager that serving as highest ranking lady-in-waiting to the Queen of England was not a consideration.”

  A laugh escaped her. “You are most certainly correct. And now I see your point.”

  “While Paolo wasted his life with whores, you elevated your station and attended Spain’s beloved princess, Catherine of Aragon.” Jakob grinned. “That should put any naysayers in their place.”

  “Yes, it certainly will.” Avery gave him a soft smile. “The truth wins out again, Jakob.”

  “And—it is the easiest path to walk.” He rose to his feet. “I will tell Percival that your time in England is to be revealed not hidden.”

  Avery looked up at him. “Are you leaving?”

  There was no place else he needed to be at present. “Was there something else you required?”

  Avery hesitated, then shook her head. “Not yet, I suppose.”

  Jakob sat down and took her hands once more. “What is it, Avery?”

  She seemed to turn into herself, as if warding off an attack. “I have been meeting with Paolo’s lawyer and accountant. I am afraid the estate is in a bad way.”