Lady Fortune

by Anne Stuart

  Then again, she’d never met a fool before. Perhaps they were all able to work charms on people, and therein lay their power. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. The sooner Master Nicholas returned to the king, the happier she would be. Unless she was lucky enough to leave first.

  SHE WASN’T COMING back to the window again, and Nicholas shrugged, moving away with a jaunty whistle. He was enjoying himself far more than he had expected during this exile, all because of a quiet lady with frightened eyes. He was normally a fast healer, but he was feeling surprisingly good given the damage the good abbot of Saint Hugelina had inflicted on his all-too-human flesh. That was one debt he had every intention of repaying before he was finished here, Nicholas thought with a faint, predatory smile.

  And finishing here had become a high priority. He’d been in residence one day only, and already he was missing his life. He had a very clear plan for what he wanted, and it didn’t include wasting time at a small, strategic fortress at the backside of nowhere.

  It didn’t include spending years at the beck and call of a capricious sovereign either. He’d served Henry well. With luck, if he carried off this latest task, he would be able to claim his reward and be free.

  Very few people were free nowadays—even the king had obligations and people to answer to. But Nicholas prided himself on being far more clever than the king, and he had no doubt that he’d be able to achieve anything he wanted, particularly when his wants were relatively modest.

  King Henry wanted the blessed chalice, and Nicholas would deliver it to him, with the help of whatever confederate Henry had chosen to send on ahead of him. He had only a short time to accomplish it—Henry wasn’t known for his patience—but accomplish it he would. And he would use Julianna of Moncrieff to do it.

  He’d originally thought to seduce Lady Isabeau. A simple enough plan—Isabeau was lovely, fragile, and clearly the light of Lord Hugh’s life. If he were betrayed by his new bride, his common sense would desert him, leaving him vulnerable to Henry’s greed. And the saints knew it would be no hardship for Nicholas—Lady Isabeau was beautiful, tender, and not many years older than he was. He could enjoy himself tremendously in the bargain.

  But during the long hours of last night he’d come up with a far better plan. Seducing a lady away from a virile new husband was not an impossible task, but seducing the lady’s beloved, newly widowed daughter would distress the mother, which in turn would worry the husband. And while he enjoyed dalliance as well as the next man, he had a particular interest in getting beneath Julianna of Moncrieff’s drab skirts.

  She wouldn’t know the weaknesses of her stepfather’s household any more than his new wife would, and her knowledge of the Blessed Chalice would be nil. It didn’t matter. She was a curious soul, and he could prime her to find out what she could without her ever realizing she was being manipulated. He could count on Bogo to weasel his way around the castle and seek out its vulnerabilities, while he himself concentrated on the nobles within. Human, emotional strategies were far more interesting than battle tactics.

  He threw back his head, not bothering to wince as a stray shaft of pain shot through his back. The serving women by the well were watching him, and he gave them an exaggerated bow, the tiny silver bells jingling.

  The women giggled, whispering among themselves, and he immediately picked out the most bedable—a buxom, saucy creature with the mouth of a woman who knew about pleasure. If Julianna took too long to seduce, he could always manage to assuage his hunger with this one.

  An older woman leaned over, whispering in the girl’s ear. Probably warning her about the dangers of giving birth to a by-blown idiot, or that fools were cursed with deformed equipment that caused pain rather than pleasure. She shook off the warnings, bless her, and winked at him.

  To hell with Julianna, he thought, taking a step toward her, when Bogo caught his arm in a none-too-gentle grip. “There’s no time for that,” he whispered. “You’ll never guess who’s here.”

  “There’s always time,” Nicholas drawled, turning to look down into Bogo’s swarthy face.

  “She’ll keep,” Bogo said. “This won’t. Gilbert de Blaith is here.”

  This was interesting news indeed. “Henry has sent Gilbert on ahead of us? How very interesting. Does Lord Hugh have any idea what kind of viper he’s nursing in his bosom?”

  “Apparently his lordship is fond of the lad. Sees him as a son. He’s been here for quite a while now, worming his way into the household.”

  “Which young Gilbert does so well,” Nicholas murmured. “I wonder why Henry saw fit to send us as well? After all, Gilbert’s talent with a blade is unequaled. If Henry wants a simple assassination, then he has no need of my particular gifts.”

  “Who knows what goes on in the minds of kings?” Bogo muttered.

  “Very true. Did young Gilbert see you?”

  “I don’t think so. But he knows we’re here—you’re the talk of the household. They’ve never seen an idiot before.”

  Nicholas smiled faintly. “I take leave to doubt that. It’s more of a trick to find someone who’s not a total idiot.”

  “I don’t like that Father Paulus neither,” Bogo said darkly. “There’s something not quite right about him.”

  “I can’t say I’ve developed any great fondness for him. I’ll tell you what, you can cut his throat if you want when we’re finished. I’m sure the saintly man will count it a blessing if you hurry him up to heaven.”

  “I doubt that’s where he’s going,” Bogo said. “And I’ve got better uses for my blade. Leave it to someone like Gilbert, who enjoys it.”

  “I can but suggest it,” Nicholas said. “I’ve never been sure if the boy kills for sport as well as for gain. We could suggest the abbot as someone worthy of his metal.”

  “Don’t try your puns on me, Master Nicholas,” Bogo said sternly. “Save ’em for the gentry.”

  “I can’t resist. After all, I need to keep in practice. I suppose I’ll have to go seek out young Gilbert and discover what he’s doing here.”

  “You’d best be careful. I don’t think you’re supposed to know each other. King Henry told the earl that Gilbert’s an orphan from a household up in Northumberland.”

  Nicholas didn’t even blink. He’d learned long ago to school his emotions. Curse Henry for a devious tyrant! He’d done it on purpose, to remind Nicholas just how much in his power he really was.

  “Northumberland, eh?” he said evenly. “And I suppose, if we ask, he’ll say he comes from the Derwent family. It has a certain ring, does it not? And why has he traveled so far to be a fosterling?”

  “His family died in the plague, and King Henry’s keeping his holdings until he deems the lad worthy of them. Or so he says.”

  “I wouldn’t think there’s much in Northumberland that would interest King Henry,” Nicholas said. By this time the servant women had disappeared back into the kitchens, the knights had dispersed, and the strong wind had picked up, setting Nicholas’s bells jangling in a way that set his own temper on edge.

  “I told you, who knows what goes on in the mind of a king?” Bogo said. “Maybe he’s confided in young Gilbert.”

  “And maybe he’s confided in you, old friend. Either way, it’s not for me to question. Henry wants the sacred relic, and I plan to deliver it, with or without Gilbert’s help.”

  “I imagine he’s just here to cut a few throats to ease things. That’s what he does best, isn›t it? Be a shame if he got his hands on the ladies, though. That young one that came here with us, she’s a lively morsel, isn’t she? Looks like she hasn’t had much of a life yet. ’Twould be a shame to snuff it out too quickly.”

  “Don’t try to be subtle, Bogo, it doesn’t suit you,” Nicholas murmured in a cold voice. “If Gilbert puts a hand where it doesn’t belong, I’ll cut it off.”

&nbs
p; “I wouldn’t be too cocky if I were you, master.”

  “I wouldn’t be too uncertain of my master if I were you, Bogo,” he replied. “I have talents and secrets you can’t even begin to imagine.”

  Bogo’s swarthy face creased in a sour smile. “I doubt that you do, master, after all these years.” He squinted up at the keep. “You’ll be wanted in the Great Hall. I’m thinking Lord Hugh wants the lady properly wedded and bedded. Word has it he’s been like a cat walking on hot coals since she got here.”

  “Then why the delay? A betrothal’s as good as a marriage, everyone knows that.”

  Bogo shrugged. “Maybe he thought he’d take it easy on her. Give her time to get used to him.”

  “A sensitive soul in the guise of a warrior. Interesting, Bogo. That might prove useful later on.”

  “There’s no doubt about it, Lady Isabeau is his weakness.”

  “Then we’ll work through Lady Isabeau.”

  “You want Gilbert to kill her?”

  Nicholas hesitated. “I don’t like to think of myself as a sentimental man, but I do have a strong dislike of violence. Besides, she would be almost as great a waste as her pretty daughter. Once Henry gets the sacred relic, Lord Hugh will need something to distract him, and a pretty woman will do wonders to keep his mind off his losses. While a vengeful man can be dangerous indeed.” He shook back his long hair. “Speaking of which, where is Father Paulus?”

  “In the Great Hall. Where we should be right now.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Nicholas said gently.

  And he was. Looking forward to looking Father Paulus in the eye as he turned a somersault in front of him. The priest had earned himself a dangerous enemy, and there was a good chance he’d have no idea just how wicked Nicholas could be when his temper was roused. There were better ways to destroy a man than to cut his throat—he’d learned that long ago. Mockery and gentle ridicule would do the trick far more effectively.

  He was even more interested in facing the bride’s daughter, with her huge brown eyes and her elegant body that moved so bewitchingly beneath her drab clothes. It was a good thing she fit well with his plans, or she’d become a dangerous distraction. He hadn’t dreamed of a woman in years, and yet last night Julianna of Moncrieff had danced through his thoughts, dressed in much less than those layers of fine wool. He was quite desperate to know whether the reality would come anywhere near the luscious dream world of scent and skin.

  “You there! Fool!” Sir Richard was rushing toward him across the courtyard, and Bogo faded into the morning mist. He had the good sense to keep his distance from his master—a fool with a servant such as Bogo was a man with unexpected depths, and Sir Richard already had too many suspicions. “You’re wanted in the Great Hall!”

  Nicholas bowed with an exaggerated flourish, strolling toward the huge portal with deliberate laziness. “I live to serve,” he murmured.

  “You’d best do so,” Sir Richard snapped. “All hell’s broken loose—Lord Hugh’s storming around in a temper, Lady Isabeau is crying, and that damned priest is acting like he’s the cat who’s just eaten the canary. Get in there and distract people till we find out if there’ll even be a wedding.”

  Nicholas glanced at him sideways as he preceded him into the Great Hall. Sir Richard wasn’t a bad man. He lacked imagination, of course, but he’d been surprisingly gentle with Lady Julianna, and he disliked the abbot, two strong points in his favor.

  Nicholas paused in the doorway, surveying the situation. The place was packed. Most of the servants and knights were in attendance for their master’s wedding, but the happy couple was nowhere in sight. From a distance he could hear Lord Hugh bellowing in rage, and after a moment he spied Lady Isabeau seated near the fire, a deceptively calm expression on her face, her daughter standing by her side.

  He took a moment to savor Lady Julianna in her hideous brown gown and enveloping veil, then turned his attention back to the bride. There was definitely something wrong, much as she was trying to hide it. And he imagined the abbot of Saint Hugelina was behind it.

  The door behind the arras opened, and Lord Hugh strode through, a thunderous expression on his face, followed closely by Father Paulus. There was no missing the smugness on the monk’s bony face, and Nicholas allowed himself the brief fantasy of sending his fist directly into the middle of that pale flesh.

  He couldn’t, of course. Not now. Instead he simply tucked into a ball and rolled forward, ignoring the pain in his back, ignoring the shrieks of the crowd as they moved out of his way. Four complete turns brought him, standing, in front of Lord Hugh and the smirking priest.

  “We come to celebrate a feast

  Our lord and master’s sought-for wedding

  With wine and ale and roasted beast

  We’d rather witness Lord Hugh’s bedding.”

  There was a nervous titter of laughter in the Great Hall, but Lord Hugh looked even more furious.

  “There will be no—” he thundered, and then his glance fell on Lady Isabeau’s calm form. “No bedding,” he said finally. “Father Paulus has enjoined us to live chastely in the eyes of God for the time being, and my wife and I will conform to his goodly advice. We will be as brother and sister, working together for the well-being of this household and our people.”

  The murmur of scandalized conversation was hushed, but the abbot’s smile widened. “Come, my daughter,” he said to Isabeau, who still hadn’t risen. “Come and be joined to your husband-brother.”

  She was as good as her daughter at hiding her feelings, Nicholas thought. Only a faint shadow in her eyes displayed her dislike of the priest’s edict, even as she rose obediently and approached the towering form of her new husband. So the daughter was afraid of bedding and the mother wasn’t. An interesting piece of information, Nicholas thought.

  The ceremony went smoothly, the vows brief, grumbled by Lord Hugh, murmured sweetly by his new bride. Father Paulus then launched into a speech that seemed interminable, Nicholas thought as he observed people shifting from one foot to the other, trying to hide their yawns.

  At last the final blessing was pronounced, the happy couple was bidden to live in chaste bliss, and a restrained huzzah filled the hall. Nicholas moved with his usual deft grace, sliding up next to the unhappy couple.

  “The monk’s desire

  Is strange and ill

  We’ll see his ire

  When tup you will.”

  “Silence!” Father Paulus thundered, glaring at him in impotent fury.

  “How can I be silent, oh, Father Twist?” Nicholas replied, doing a little spin that set his bells to jangling. Julianna was watching him, and he leaned forward and kissed the horrified monk on the forehead. “You’ll have to find your own sick pleasures and leave these two to theirs.”

  “I’ll have you flayed alive!” he said in a furious whisper.

  Nicholas smiled sweetly at him. “You already tried, good priest. Find some other way to bring yourself to completion.”

  And he danced off toward the waiting Julianna before Father Paulus could do more than sputter in impotent rage.

  Chapter Eight

  THERE WAS NO place to escape to in this crowd of people, and Julianna prided herself on her courage. She lifted her head to watch the jester’s graceful approach, telling herself the man was mad, and as a good Christian she should be merciful.

  “You’d look far better without that ugly dress, my lady,” he greeted her softly. “You’d look far better without anything at all. Turn around, and I’ll unfasten it for you.” Fortunately, his musical voice was pitched low enough that no one heard him.

  “Are you bleeding again?” she asked him in a severe voice.

  He clasped his hands to his chest in a devout gesture. “Only my heart, pierced by cupid’s arrow, torn by you
r cold indifference.”

  “You were a fool to do those somersaults—you’ll reopen your wounds, and for what? Father Paulus is a dangerous man. He’ll simply think he didn’t do a good enough job on you and be determined to do better.”

  “The abbot won’t come near me again,” Nicholas said in a soft, certain voice. “And I am a fool, dearest. It’s my calling in life. I thought you realized that. Why don’t we leave this decidedly un-merry gathering, and I’ll strip off my clothes and let you tend me?”

  The man was incorrigible, surprising a shocked laugh out of her. He froze, staring down at her out of his strange golden eyes.

  “Do that again,” he said urgently.

  “Do what?”

  “Laugh. Until last night I was beginning to think my lady Sobersides incapable of it.”

  All amusement fled. “I don’t find there’s much to laugh about in this life.”

  “Then you don’t look hard enough. I can find five ridiculous things without even turning around. You could do the same if you felt like it. For one thing, the unhappily married couple’s misery is laughably apparent.”

  “I don’t find human misery entertaining,” she said sharply.

  “Even in your mother? You have a more tender heart than I would have thought. It’s amusing because it won’t be long before they realize that Father Paulus’s edict is both ill-conceived and against the teachings of the church. I give them two weeks at most before they’re happily bedded. What’s your wager?”

  “I’m not going to gamble on my mother’s virtue!” Julianna said in scandalized tones.

  Nicholas took a step back, eyeing her with a contemplative air. “Then we’ll wager on yours. How long before you’re happily bedded?”

  “A lifetime!” she snapped, then could have bit her tongue. The oh-so-clever fool was not the man to have such information.

  But he didn’t blink, unsurprised at her outburst “Sooner than that, my lady,” he murmured, his voice low. “I promise you.”