“But if you already don’t reckon it’s him, m’lor–?”
“No, I don’t think it was him. Who it was – well actually I have an idea, but it’s an idea I don’t want to have,” said Nicholas, somewhat obscurely. “So first I’ll eliminate all other possibilities. Gloucester tonight. Then we’re off to London.”
Footsteps in straw, a shuffling of men, and the further disturbance of the horses. Emeline recognised her own palfrey’s impatient whinny. The other man cleared his throat, seemed to walk away, then called from a distance, “Within the hour then, my lord?”
Nicholas said, “David’s already packing my bag. You can wake one of these brats, and get my horse saddled ready. David’s too – and yours. One spare for baggage.”
“No outriders, m’lor? They say the roads is getting more dangerous now the baron’s gone and no one sent to patrol the boarders.”
“No outriders,” Nicholas said, his grin obvious in his voice. “I want speed, not grinding propriety. I’ll save your miserable hide for you if we get stopped by thieves.”
The other man’s snort sounded very like the horses. “Before midnight then, m’lor. Right here, ready saddled.” And his footsteps disappeared in the direction of the outhouses.
Emeline stamped the three steps needed and regarded her husband with fury through the shadows. Her palfrey, smelling her familiarity, kicked at the stable door. Nicholas looked down in faint surprise. His wife glared up at him and said through her teeth, “I knew it. You’re a vile, horrible, dishonest pig man. You promised to take me with you, but you’re just running away from me in the middle of the night. Or is it your father you’re running away from this time? Perhaps you’d like to borrow one of Nurse Martha’s gowns? In either case, you’re the miserable coward your father called you.”
“Did I promise?” wondered Nicholas vaguely. “How unwise of me.”
“You’re always promising things and then you don’t do it,” she accused him. “Your promises are useless, worthless feathers in the wind. You – you’re –”
“I probably am,” grinned Nicholas. “But in fact I had every intention of asking if you wanted to come with me – mad escapes in the night being the stuff of all the best romances of course. Hardly proper for young ladies. But then, I’m not much interested in proper, as you might have gathered.”
Emeline sniffed and bit her lip. “I don’t believe you.”
“Regarding what, precisely?” smiled Nicholas. “Being proper, or the romance of escape? Both quite true, I promise.”
“There you go, promising again,” she glowered. “And you know quite well what I meant. I think you’re lying and I’m quite sure you meant to run away and just leave me a message to find in the morning, just like last time.”
He took her hand firmly, leading her away from the stables and out into the little hedged garden and its neat paths, parsley sprigs and moonshine. “You speak too loudly, my love, and will have my father alerted and half the household gaping through the windows.” He pulled her along until they stood together under a willow, its drooping leaf disguising their shadows. “Now,” he said, “listen to me and don’t interrupt. My father has every intention of dragging me back to Westminster to face my accusers and show an innocent face. Then he’ll wrap me in fishing net and transport me bodily to Flanders or Portugal or some such. I’ve been avoiding the old man for years, and it’s exactly what I mean to do again. A long sea trip most certainly doesn’t appeal to me at present and nor do my father’s attempts to bully me into his way of life. Simply refusing to take any notice of his demands is much like voluntarily running onto an unsheathed blade, or at the least beating one’s head against the castle battlements. My only other form of escape would be to knock him down. But I won’t do that. He’s too old, too fat and usually too pissed. Instead I intend disappearing. Then I intend discovering who slaughtered my brother and your father.”
“Oh.” She went pale, unnoticeable in the night’s looming black, and mumbled, “But you don’t know who it was, so how can you know it was the same killer?”
“Bloody murder doesn’t happen every day, even in London’s back alleys. When two people, linked by family, are killed within the same year and in exactly the same manner, then I have almost enough brain to see the probabilities.”
“The fire –”
“Few know,” Nicholas said, “since the details of Peter’s death were kept as quiet as we could manage. But since I was first on the scene after the messenger arrived with the news, I know more than most. Peter was slaughtered a house in Nottingham – and his visit there was clandestine. His throat was cut, and an attempt was made to burn the body. But the fire didn’t travel, and with his doublet doused in dribbled wine, went out. Your father – well, the similarities are clear enough.”
“I don’t want to know anymore.”
“If you come with me,” Nicholas pointed out quietly, “you’ll be faced with worse truths than that. You’ll be faced with discomfort, danger and surprise. Will you risk your reputation and your safety? I can guarantee your life, but little else.”
She shook her head. “Your father thinks you’re a coward. You’re not, are you?”
Nicholas laughed. “My father doesn’t know me. Nor do you.”
“Then I’ll gallop off into the night with you,” said Emeline in a rush, “and find out.”
“In which case,” Nicholas said, “you’d better hurry upstairs and pack yourself a bag with as little as you think you can live with. Practical necessities, changes of linen, a warm cloak and no baudekyn gowns.”
“I don’t own a baudekyn gown. You never bought me one.”
“I will, as soon as I have my brother’s killer in gaol.” One hand to her elbow, he was leading her back towards the house. “But I leave in less than an hour, with or without you. So hurry. And for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone else or make enough noise to wake up my wretched father.”
“And Martha? She’s very efficient, and can pack in no time –”
Nicholas shook his head, pushing her forwards. “No Martha. No Avice, Sissy, or your mother. No servants and no secret whispered confidences.”
Emeline now had the hiccups. “I have to come alone?”
“You don’t have to come at all,” Nicholas told her. “But if you do, you won’t be alone. You’ll have me, and once we get to London I’ll set you up in the Strand House, and fill it with nursemaids and female companions to look after your things. But no females yet, nor anyone to slow me down. Leave letters for your family explaining what you’ve chosen to do – if you’re entirely sure you want to do this – but try not to make it sound as though I’ve abducted you by force. My father would love something else to accuse me of. And don’t tell anyone where we’re going.”
“I don’t know where we’re going.”
“London eventually.”
Just one moment longer she stood beyond the scuffle and busy smell of the stables and stared up into the face of her husband. “You’d sooner I didn’t come, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, the final hiccup swallowed back.
A couple of the stable boys were already saddling horses, hauling out the panniers and saddle scabbards while scrubbing down the young lord’s great sleepy liard. Nicholas said, brusque now, “Of course I would. It would be far easier without you. But perhaps less interesting. Admittedly I’m surprised you want this, but hurry, or I shall leave without you anyway. If you’re not back down here within the hour, I’ll assume you’ve changed your mind and crawled into your nice safe warm bed. In which case, I shall blow you a kiss to your chamber window, and ride off into the night.”