Emeline was upstairs and back in her husband’s arms. “For brief moments only, my love. I have to leave as soon as the sun sinks. Before the London gates are locked, but not too much before.”
“You’ve told me very little, Nicholas.” she sighed. “Can’t you tell me a little more? And you look so very strange in those clothes. It’s disconcerting.”
“But not skirts this time.” He was laughing. “Just a little fustian and worsted. Unbleached linen and second hand wool. Does it prickle?”
“Yes, very prickly. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this close to such uncomfortable materials before. This must prickle even more inside.”
“I’m thick skinned,” explained Nicholas.
Emeline smiled into his prickles. “So who are you supposed to be this time?”
The shutters had not yet been raised. The sunshine streamed in, angled in a wide sweeping stripe of gold across the floorboards. They sat together on the settle, she resting her head on his shoulder. The window was behind them, its light warming the back of their necks. Nicholas stretched his darned hose and scuffed brown shoes. “Oh, anybody will do. The story will change in different places. A wandering doctor perhaps, selling tinctures and salves. David has packed me a bag of herbs and spices, including lavender which I could smell from the other side of the stables. I suspect him of mischief, since he knows I loathe the stuff and will throw it out at my first chance.”
She sat up, startled. “But Nicholas, how can you? What if people come for medicines? What if they want to be bled? What if you have to examine them?”
“I’ll cheerfully examine the women. I’ll send the men to Harry for treatment. He’s been bleeding folk for most of his life.”
Emeline said, “Oh, Nicholas. Would you really? Being quite free to do – without a boring wife pulling at your lacings – will you? Knowing I shall never know about it.”
His thoughts were momentarily focused elsewhere. Then he realised what she was asking, and grinned. “Oh, I imagine I can resist for a few days. So think the best of me, little one. And I shall miss you, and promise to avoid the temptations of lust and fornication.”
“Promises again.”
“I’ll be busy, my love, with no time for pleasure except in my dreams.”
Emeline reached out, cradling his face, her palm light against the long black scar. “Even when we’re not making love, you still call me your love. But I know I’m not. I’m the woman you didn’t want to marry. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m fast becoming accustomed.” He took her fingers, moving them from his face to his lap. She felt the sudden quickening of his body, and was surprised. He said, “And pretending is what I have to do from now on. I’ll be playing a different part. Adventure. Danger. But also border security, with a small hand, perhaps, in keeping our country safe.”
She shook her head. “Are you a – spy – Nicholas?”
“Lord no.” Nicholas stood abruptly, striding over to the window alcove where a small bundle lay; the last of his preparations. “Just a messenger – a man of small skills but trustworthy – one of the many the king uses. Then there’s a troop of ordinary men – perhaps more intelligent than the rest of us – who do the king’s bidding in even greater secrecy. Those are the spies, faceless and nameless. It’s a spy who gave the information I’m now being sent to act on. It’s a king’s main responsibility to protect his country. He can’t do that with sword and axe alone.”
“Oh dear,” mumbled Emeline. “Why would any man want to be king?”
“Many do. Many don’t. Some seek power. Me – power doesn’t interest me but action does. I’ve seen my father slouch too long at the ear of kings, hoping for recognition. So I don’t want boredom either. I doubt our good King Richard ever yearned to be king, though when Bishop Stillington announced the old king’s bigamy to the world, Richard of Gloucester was the direct heir. He had no choice once he was elected by all three estates. But I believe he was born to power. He handles it better than most.”
She took a deep breath. “But I don’t want you to go on dangerous missions.”
“But I do.” Nicholas dropped the small bundle at his feet and came back to the settle, sitting quickly again beside his wife, both hands to her shoulders. “I call it adventure, and that’s a convenient word, but I stand for more than that, my love. And I’ll be back, I promise. Meanwhile you can start believing my promises. If the king trusts me, you might as well too. Can you love a man you don’t trust?”
“You don’t even believe I love you,” she pointed out. “You said I was just infatuated because you make me feel – and you know how you make me feel.”
And he said, “I know what you love, my little one,” and chuckled.
“You don’t understand,” she sighed. “I wanted something all my life. Dreamed of it. Yearned for it. Not just romance, and certainly not making love, since I didn’t even know what that was. It was so much more than that. I thought it was Peter, of course. Our wedding was nearly planned, so it had to be him. Then after you made love to me, I realised it was you. All the dreams, all the wanting, all the coming alive and feeling safe, it all just happened in your arms.”
He took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Silly puss. So trust me then.”
“But you go away so often, and I’m frightened you’ll never come back at all.”
“I’m not such a fool.” Nicholas stood again, bending to kiss her briefly on each cheek and once lightly on the mouth. “The king wants a little exploration, questioning and poking into corners. His grace would send Brampton or Lovell if there was real danger expected. I’m little more than fledgling fodder, my love, a tadpole amongst toads.” He stepped back, smiling. “But I’m hoping to meet up with two very different men, one a Tudor emissary bringing letters from France to Northumberland, and I mean to intercept him. And the other –”
But he was interrupted. From downstairs echoes rumbled, the slamming of doors, calls for the steward, then for Nicholas. Adrian’s voice answered, but was shouted over. “I’ll have you know this house belongs to me before all else,” roared the Earl of Chatwyn, “and I’ll be attended to, nor accept argument. So where’s my boy? Where’s that fool son of mine?”
Upstairs Nicholas nodded to Emeline and spoke quietly. “I’m away, and fast. If the old drunkard sees me dressed like this there’ll be a thousand awkward questions and I’ll never escape. You’re the lady of the house, so deal with your difficult guest while I get out by the stables.”
Emeline whispered back, “Is he drunk?”
“He’s so habituated, it’s hard to tell. But listen; slurred, slovenly, and angry without motive. So yes, he’s drunk, and I wish I was. Can you handle it, my love?”
“I can. I will. My mother and your father. Adrian, Sissy and Avice. What could be easier? What joyful entertainment it will be to be sure, while I’m desperately missing you and just longing to crawl into bed alone and dream of your return.” And Emeline turned from him, running into the corridor towards the main stairs. She did not look back.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was another slow saffron afternoon. They sat in Emeline’s bedchamber, still drowsy with the tired yawns of an interrupted night.
Eight women, and the chamber seemed almost crowded. Emeline curled back on her bed against the high stacked pillows. She had dressed a little grandly, hoping for confidence in face of her father-in-law’s arrival. But now her curls were unruly and the pins of her headdress were askew in the wilting starched chiffon. Her sister sat beside her, knees scrunched up and arms around her knees, showing far too much ankle and a face quite flushed with tired excitement.