The rain was just a chilly silver trickle now, puddling deeper into the mud beneath them. Emeline sighed. “What happened to Jerrid?”
“We believed we needed only to return home as quickly as possible, and summon the medick. It was too late to return to the Tower, so Alan Venter took the wounded Lord Jerrid up before him, riding west. He hoped to alert the Watch on his way, but Lord Jerrid was near fainting, so they set off at a gallop. My lord and I intended the same, and I was helping him mount his own mare, when we were ambushed.”
Emeline shivered, trying to adjust the soaked bandage falling from head to eyes across Nicholas’s brows. “Adrian?”
“Indeed, my lady. There was just his lordship and myself left alone, when along comes Sir Adrian and a clutch of louts. It seems those that ran from us before had run only to call for help, and waited, I believe, to see Alan and Lord Jerrid leave so we’d be without hope of defending ourselves. And the Watch didn’t come. We were hopelessly outnumbered, nine against two, and my lord barely able to stand.”
Nicholas pushed David’s administering hands away. “How is Adrian?”
Adrian sat alone, watching them. He seemed bemused and unable or unwilling to rise. He made no attempt to escape, and sat cradling his shoulder. His doublet was cut across the chest, its ribbons dangling beneath his cloak, but there was no sign of bleeding. Of his backers, three were dead, another dying. Two were badly injured and trying to stagger away from further retribution. The others had disappeared.
David murmured, “My lord, after this – the ruin – the treason – Sir Adrian cannot be left alive. He can never return home. To the sheriff, then? Or we wait a little longer for the Watch? Or I drag the constable from his bed?”
Nicholas murmured, “Let him go.”
Emeline whispered, turning from Nicholas to Adrian, and then again to Nicholas, “But what if he calls for help as before? What if he attacks another time? You can’t fight any longer, my love.”
“Nor can he.” Nicholas nodded towards Adrian. He held Emeline’s hand but was looking beyond her. “Give me a moment more, my sweet, and then help me to my feet. We’ve still one horse left between us, and David will see us back to the Strand. I don’t care where Adrian goes.”
Now she looked to David. “Can his lordship ride all that way?”
David nodded. “In my experience, my lady, there’s nothing his lordship can’t do if he wishes it. But apart from the original wounds which have reopened, he’s been slashed to the back of the head and deep across the knee. Perhaps more. You’ll need to support him on horseback, my lady, while I lead the beast by its bridle.”
Nicholas squinted up through the last gentle patter of the rain. He said, with almost a smile, “We were finished, you know, my love, before you magically materialised. David expected to die. I was already nigh dead.”
“Life is always unexpected, my lord, as the wheel turns, whether with turns of fortune for the better – or for the worst.”
“For the better,” Nicholas murmured, “with my beautiful wife appearing from the shadows like some voluptuous Sir Lancelot.”
Emeline smiled. “You must be feeling better, my love, to talk like that.”
“Let us hope so,” David said. “And hope too that Harry and Rob took that other traitor to the constable for questioning and are now back at the Strand. And more importantly still, that Lord Jerrid reached home safely and is being tended by the doctor at this moment, and did not fall in the gutter on the way.”
“Jerrid is very fond of gutters,” mumbled Nicholas. “But he survives. He always survives.”
“And you, my love. You would have been all right in the end,” Emeline assured him. “I was listening, ready to rush forwards, you know. I realised you were trying to delay, hoping the Watch would come.”
“It appears,” Nicholas said, “that the Watch was watching elsewhere. And now I’m going home. The other side of the city of course, and it will take me an hour, but I shall cling to that saddle, with your warm strong arms around me, my love. I want my own damned home and my own sweet wife and my own warm dry bed. I may never leave it again.”
“I wish that were true,” said Emeline. “But it will only be until the next adventure.”
His horse had wandered, nosing the moss along the side of the empty storehouse and the weeds between the stones. David grabbed its reins, brought the horse alongside and with some difficulty, helped his lordship mount. Then Nicholas reached down, and Emeline bounced up before him, cuddled side saddle, one arm around his waist.
Adrian remained where he had fallen. He was propped, quite silent, against the low stone wall of the herb garden attached to the storehouse behind. He gazed up at his cousin, his pale blue eyes colourless in the night’s shadows. Nicholas stared back.
Eventually Nicholas said, “Are you hurt, cousin?”
Adrian roused himself, as if he had been half asleep. “Not much. Your brawlers did little damage.”
“Whereas your brawlers did a great deal.”
The rain had almost ceased. It dripped from the overhang of the buildings along the lane, and hung faint like a silver sheen within the darkness. The clouds were separating and a first glimmer of stars peeped between. The faint pearly light pricked out the raindrops on Adrian’s cheeks, spangling along his eyelashes. He sighed. “It would be easier if you killed me.”
The horse was prancing, impatient. Nicholas soothed it, stroking its neck although his own hands were trembling. He remained watching his cousin. “I do not kill in cold blood. And I do not kill within my own family.”
“Except for your leech of a brother.”
“I’m tired of that repeated taunt. If you slaughtered Peter yourself, then you know the truth. If you didn’t, though that seems unlikely, then my protestations of innocence are of no concern to you.” He paused, then leaned down, saying quietly, “Get yourself out of here, Adrian. Find passage across the ocean to join Tudor’s precious court of traitors if that’s your wish. I’ll not stop you. Or go back to Sissy, and try to reform your life. I’ll not inform on you to the crown.” His voice sank even lower. “But tell me this. What was this bitter battle for? Simply following your desire to eliminate the Chatwyns?”
Adrian croaked, half laugh, half sob. “Urswick came with letters. I went to collect them, and then deliver them as I’d been instructed.”
“Just one simple request for Tudor to find a rich wife and align himself with Northumberland?”
Adrian shook his bedraggled hat and its torn feathers. “Other letters as well, which you never found. A whole walletful of them. Rallying support, demanding allegiance, declaring himself the rightful monarch, reminding some of favours long owed and Lancastrian loyalties long overlooked. Tudor’s coming, Nicholas. He’ll be king of England before the year is out.”
“So the men who fought for you were Tudor’s men. That means Frenchmen and English traitors.”
“Men who appreciate and care for me. For me, Nicholas, not because of wealth or title, but because of loyalty. True friends. Unlike my own uncaring family. But they weren’t under my orders, nor I under theirs.” Adrian looked away, wincing as he touched his shoulder. “I’ve no funds to pay for that many henchmen. They protected me because we fight for the same cause. And because they respect me.”