Emeline whispered, “You didn’t warn them we were coming?”
“Certainly not,” said Nicholas. “This is far more entertaining, tests the organisational skills of the household, and gives them all something to complain about afterwards.” He turned as a page hurried to take his wet cloak, hat and gloves. “And tell Sanderson,” Nicholas instructed the page, “we expect dinner within the hour, and an early supper to make up for dinner’s inevitable inadequacies. But first of all wine, and plenty of it.”
The page managed to smile, bow, and trip over a puppy racing to greet the newcomers. It slid the polished floorboards, tail swinging enthusiastically. Emeline found her fingers warmly licked as she reached down to slip out of her wet shoes. The house soon thundered with puppy enthusiasm as the rest of the litter discovered the new excitement, and as the storm grew outside, so the thunder escalated both within and without.
It was after supper, with parcels and panniers unpacked and two good meals digested, that Emeline said, “I love your house, Nicholas. Can we stay forever?”
“Oh, without a doubt, and into a glorious eternity,” he said. His feet, ankles crossed, rested on the low table where a candle gently smoked a wisp of honey perfume and two wine cups, one empty and one full, stood waiting. There was a small hole in one toe of his soft knitted hose. “But,” Nicholas continued, “that’s only until something interrupts us.”
“So not forever then. And what will interrupt us this time? Fire? Pestilence? Your father? Battle, murder, the apocalypse?” She sat on the wide window seat, her gaze on the pelting sleety grey beyond the glass. “And who will be staying for such a short forever?” she sighed. “Both of us? Or only me?”
He grinned. “Yes. All of that.”
So she turned and faced him. “Nicholas, I’ve told you I love you and I’ve told you I don’t care if you don’t love me. I’ll be comfortable here, and it’ll be interesting to try and be the lady of the house for the first time. There’s all London to explore, and perhaps even the court. But I didn’t come all this way to sit alone and give orders to servants and play with your dogs and wait and wait for you to come back.” He did not answer at first, so then she said, “When I first told you I loved you, you said I couldn’t, because I didn’t know you. So how am I ever going to know you if you keep running off? I’m not your father. I don’t carry a stick. I’ve no plans to murder anyone. You like me well enough in bed.” She looked away again, staring at the rain. “Surely I’m not such a burden for the rest of the day.”
He did not move, though his smile faded. Finally he said, “But you want comfort and you want sympathy, and I’m unpractised at both. Would you be content to ride through the night? Will you obey me if I tell you to sleep in a damp cellar? Can you go all day without food? Are you prepared to lose your reputation, and be known as the mad wife of a mad murderer? And even if you are prepared for all these things, how could I ask it of you?”
She looked up instantly and stared at him. “And when do you need to do any of those things yourself? And sympathy? I’d as soon expect angels to jump down the chimney. You talk of adventure, but you’ve never fought in battle. You talk of the king but you don’t go to court. When something threatens, you just run away. You don’t even care about being called a coward. And now you say you’re going to find who killed my father, but you just pretend you’re doing something clever and dangerous while you hide from me.”
He was silent a moment, then spoke softly. “It’s a mad bad world, my love, and every kingdom needs those who will surrender their comfort in order to help their king.” He sighed, as if not intending to say more. But then he shook his head, and continued. “For instance, little one, I went to meet someone at the docks, who brought the message I’d been hoping for. There are those, but I’ll name no names, who thought their lives at risk when King Richard first came to the throne. Some of them fled the country, and went to Brittany and France. Now there’s one who regrets that choice, and wants to return. The king sanctions that return. The poor wretch attempted to sail back to England last November, but he failed. He was – let us say – dissuaded. Now the French hold him hostage. But I’m told he has found a way, and will try again.”
She gasped. “You’re going to help a – a fugitive?”
“A simple young man who discovered that foolish bravado and too much belief in his own importance, did him no good at all. Now he has learned that sitting in France at the side of the traitor Tudor is even more unpleasant than behaving himself at home. His mother has called him back. I have been asked to help, if he manages to arrive on our shores.”
“You work for – the king?”
Nicholas did not miss the disguised sob, nor the candlelight reflecting the moisture in her eyes. He leaned back, gazing up at the high painted ceiling beams and their vaulted arches, addressing the trail of dust, out of reach of the cleaner’s brooms. “Is it easier to think me a coward, little one? Perhaps I am. Does it matter?”
“I still love you.” She fumbled for her kerchief and blew her nose defiantly. “I don’t blame you for not fighting in the wars. I wouldn’t want to go to battle either. But you’ve suffered too. It must have been terrible when your mother died. And then that accident with Peter’s arrow.”
Nicholas moved at last, placing both feet firmly again on the floor, and turning his chair to look at his wife. “Accident?” he said. “You asked who? Adrian? My father?”
“I didn’t ask.” Emeline blushed slightly. “But your father and Sissy were talking about it. It sounded – dreadful. Your father said you were ill for such a long time afterwards. And he said it wasn’t really your fault.”
“Good of him.”
“I’m not prying,” she said quickly. “I’m just – well – trying to be sympathetic.”
“A good example,” Nicholas said, standing abruptly and wandering off to find the wine flagon. He returned from the far table, jug in hand, and refilled his cup. “It proves how useless sympathy can be. And since you believe Peter was worthy of canonisation, I won’t bother telling you the true story.” He drained his cup, and handed the other, still full, into his wife’s hands. “Drink,” he ordered her. “It brings more comfort than words.”
“I don’t want wine.” She shook her head furiously. “All I want is peace, and friendly company. In fact, right now all I want is a bath.” And she replaced her cup firmly on the little table.
Nicholas stood over her, looking down with a frown that etched the left side of his face in disapproval, the scar burying deeper and catching the side of his mouth in a scowl. The he reached forwards, and took her wrist. “Come with me,” he said softly, “and I’ll give you bath, adventure, and sympathy as I know it.” And he pulled her up on her feet, turned, and led her inexorably towards the great double doors at the end of the hall.
She squeaked, “You’re drunk,” as he raised one foot and kicked the doors wide. “Nicholas, you’ve no boots on. It’s absolutely pouring, and there’s lightning and thunder and it’ll be so muddy and now it’s almost night.” Then she pulled sharply away, whispering, “Are you going to throw me in the river?”
He was laughing as he tugged her outside. “You want a bath? I’m going to share it with you.”
He allowed her to pause one moment just outside the doorway as the heaving soaked blackness absorbed them. The rain pelted, slamming against them both, against the pale plaster of the walls behind, against the little bushes, herbs and paths, and against the great bending trees further down the slope. Nicholas walked resolutely into the storm and held Emeline close to him, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand gripped to her wrist.