For My Lady's Heart

  "May God give both of their souls reprieve." Edward's broad shoulders were drawn inward, his lower lip unsteady. He groped for the wine goblet and drank.

  "Amen." She made the cross, drawing a deep breath. "My lord, in my woman's frailty, I have not the courage or desire to act upon my claim to Monteverde. I wish only to return to Bowland and live there unmolested in my widowhood, if it please you. But a man of greater energy and shrewdness than my poor self, sire—such a man as the Duke of Lancaster, say—a lord of your son's natural powers might make a great and useful thing of this claim."

  "Verily." The king wiped his eyes. "Verily."

  "Your majesty must wish to give the duke much, in return for his dedication to his brother's interests in Aquitaine," Melanthe murmured.

  King Edward began to weep at this mention of his son's unswerving loyalty. God knew, Lancaster was truly faithful to his family, bankrupting his own coffers as he was in trying to hold Aquitaine together in their name. For a moment Melanthe feared she had gone too far, that this talk of his sons would send Edward back into maudlin foolishness. But the chamberlain took advantage of the moment to get his claws upon the quitclaim again. The king roused, shaking off his retainer's obtrusive hand with royal contempt, showing a gleam of his former spirit as he stared down at the document with a narrow-eyed examination.

  They shall not have it, Ligurio. Melanthe smiled inside herself, her teeth grinding together. Not Alice Perrers or Riata or Navona either. Pray God and Fortune, King Edward had resolve enough left in him that he would turn her quitclaim over to his favorite son instead of Alice's brood, and the wolves of Italy would find John of Lancaster in their midst after all. Fair payment it would be to him, she thought, for the dislocate shoulder and humiliation she had caused. By hap someday he would even thank her.

  The king looked up at her, his eyes red. "What can we do to show our fondness for you, child?"

  "Sire," she said, bowing her head. "My only wish is that I may live alone at Bowland. My marriage is in your majesty's gift."

  "You would not be pleased to wed again?"

  "Nay, sire, by your leave. In hap, in the fullness of time, at God's hest I will enter a nunnery and devote myself to prayer."

  The king nodded, gripping the quitclaim. "So be it. You have our pledge, child—in our affection for you we shall not require you to marry again. Also, we desire that you hold the dignity of your father's offices, in the style of Countess of Bowland, and all other titles with which he was invested." He waved a shaky hand toward the chamberlain. "See that these things are so affirmed by our seal."

  Bowing down unto the very floor, Melanthe abandoned the king to Alice's tender avarice. It was vital now to leave London instantly, before Allegreto or the Riata could discover what she had done. She acted by Ligurio's teaching: she kept her goal clear, but the path to reach it shifted on the edge of a moment.

  She felt freedom near. On the high empty hills she remembered from her northern childhood she would live, belonging to no one but herself. Of all her father's rich and comfortable manors, she chose cold Bowland Castle as her citadel, as he had done. If she could command Monteverde for the six years of Ligurio's dying, she could hold her father's lands from Bowland, vast though they might be, among these simple-headed Englishmen.

  The course she would take to attain her end was still uncertain, but she lived moment to moment as she must. Allegreto was well distracted from his usual vigilance—she had made sure of that before her audience with the king—but how long his fear would divert him she did not know. Always she watched for opportunity, seized on a different ruse, twisted and turned as she saw her chance or felt her danger. She had betrayed every bargain and vow with her quitclaim. Now she lived like quicksilver, breath to breath until she could rid herself of her watchdogs.

  * * *

  London was full of plague rumors. At Princess Melanthe's command Ruck tracked hearsay through the muddy streets. When he presented himself to attend her at Westminster Palace, Allegreto assailed him in her anteroom.

  "What befalls?" the youth demanded, trailing Ruck to her steward. Allegreto had a morbid fear of plague: he talked of it endlessly and had taken to attaching himself to Ruck whenever he was at the palace, as if Ruck had some talisman against it.

  "Naught befalls, that I can tell," Ruck said.

  "Naught?" Allegreto asked anxiously.

  Ruck held out his hand toward the door as the steward announced him. "Am I to report to thy mistress or to thee, whelp?"

  "To me, certainly." The princess's voice was elegant and firm. She lowered the book of poetry to her lap.

  "My liege lady." Ruck bowed, while Allegreto hovered by his elbow like an importunate child.

  "Green Sire," she acknowledged courteously. She was much more sedate in her manner among the English, dressed with rich propriety in blue and white, only a few diamonds sparkling in her necklace and belt. A changeling, taking on the aspect of her surroundings. He felt his own weakness, succumbing to this false look of virtue when he knew the corrupt truth of her.

  "You come with what news?" she asked.

  "I find no evidence of any epidemic here, Your Highness."

  She nodded. "Well enough. It is only gossip as usual, you see, Allegreto." She laid aside the book and gave a little stretch. "I fear you must leave me now to rest. The sea journey still fatigues me."

  Ruck started to withdraw, but Allegreto hung on to his arm. "Nay, the truth!" Allegreto demanded. "What dost thou know?"

  Ruck frowned at him. "I've said truth. There's no plague in the city."

  "Do not conceal it!" Allegreto flung himself onto the bed. "My lady—he must speak."

  "Dost thou hide something, sir?" she asked sharply.

  Ruck prevented himself from looking directly at her. Out of her presence it was possible to feel disgust, but the sight of her overpowered his better reason. A vision of her had haunted him for ten and three years: the reality cut through illusions to the heart of impure hunger. Her new modesty only made it the worse. He knew more of her, but not enough. He feared that everything could not be enough.

  "There is no plague," he repeated. "It is but gossip."

  Princess Melanthe tilted her head. "But you believe it will come?"

  "How can I know? There's talk of the planets aligned for it."

  This news turned Allegreto white. "My lady!"

  "There's little enough to that," Ruck said. "I vow the planets predict plague once a month. The astrologers make their living on such gloom."

  "Nay!" Allegreto turned to Princess Melanthe. "My lady's charts say the same!"

  "Thou must be careful, love," she said. "Very careful. I've cast thy stars again. They exert an ill chance now."

  "In Bordeaux they said it had returned in the south!" Allegreto exclaimed.

  "Not in Milan," she said soothingly. "The talk there was that it raged among the Danes."

  "Mayhap it is all talk," Ruck said.

  "Traders will bring it from the north! In death ships!" Allegreto hurled himself off the bed. "Lady, let us fly!"

  "Fly where?" she asked calmly.

  "Away!" His voice had a frantic undertone. "Out of the city!"

  "And suppose it follows us out of the city?" She smiled at him. "By hap thou wilt be fortunate to meet the Heavenly Father while thou art still young and innocent."

  The youth made a faint sound, falling to his knees before her. He buried his face against her skirt. Ruck had begun to feel a certain compassion for Allegreto. The indifferent way she mocked his mortal fears might have seemed casual, but Ruck had caught the small cruel narrowing of her eyes as she looked down at her youthful lover. At that instant it was as if she hated him, but then her mouth softened, and she ruffled his hair.

  "Fly, then, if it pleases thee," she said. "Return home to Monteverde."

  He lifted his face quickly. "Your Highness—we go home?"

  "Not I. But I will send thee to safety. Thy father will shield thee in his country vill
a."

  Allegreto stared at her, his fingers gripped in the folds of her dress. "Nay—lady..."

  She traced her fingers down his face. "Go home. I could not bear to see thy sweet skin swell and blacken," she murmured. "I could not bear to hear thy groans."

  His breath came faster. His tongue ran around his lips. "We will go home together, lady. My father will give refuge to us both."

  "I've had audience with the king. Wilt thou deny me my lands that he commends to me?"

  "But the plague—"

  She gave a slight laugh. "There is some privilege in age, my lovely boy. Does it not strike most terribly at the young and handsome such as thee?"

  He shook his head, holding her embroidered hem pressed to his mouth. "I cannot leave you, Your Highness."

  "The stars augur ill for thee. Wilt thou compel me to follow thy bier?"

  He gave a dry sob. "You know I cannot leave you, lady. But let us fly from this city, I beg you."

  She sat back, glancing a question at Ruck.

  "As soon as Your Highness likes to venture forth," he said bluntly. "But the weather is untoward. We were fortunate in our water crossing. To the north, they say the winter already holds hard. And it were wiser to take time to assemble a large escort for my lady's protection."

  Allegreto raised his face, wiping fiercely at the tears that tumbled down his cheeks. "Please—lady—no delay!"

  "How long to softer weather?" she asked Ruck.

  "Three months, say."

  "Three months!" Allegreto cried. He reached for Princess Melanthe's hand and squeezed it between his. "I'll be dead in three months! I feel it!"

  She looked down at him for a long moment. His eyes seemed to grow wider, almost fearful, as he held her gaze.

  "I am in no hurry to leave," she said indifferently. "The journey will discommode me."

  He suddenly snatched his hands away and flung himself from her. "You taunt me!" he shouted. "We'll not stay here, or I'll write to my father!"

  "Little use, if thou art to be dead in three months." Princess Melanthe picked up her book and turned a page idly. "With luck he might arrive to pray over thy coffin."

  Allegreto seized the book. He ripped out half the vellum, scattering it across the carpets as if the precious leaves were but wheaten chaff. When Princess Melanthe made no reaction, his face seemed to transfigure, altering from smooth beauty to a demon's mask of rage. He leaned over her, grabbed her cheeks between his palms and kissed her, crushing his mouth against hers. Ruck saw her hands clench white on the arms of the chair as the youth bore her head hard back against the carved rest.

  Ruck grabbed Allegreto's shoulder and hauled him off. With one shove he sent the youth sprawling backward against the tapestried wall.

  "Master thyself!" He held Allegreto by the throat, pressing him to the wall. "Ere thou findest a grave sooner yet!"

  Allegreto swallowed beneath his hand, breathing hard. He looked at Ruck with black eyes that had gone empty, as if fear and fury had canceled each other.

  The sound of light clapping came from behind. "A most knightly performance, Green Sire! The poor child only wants manners. Haps thou might give him a lesson at thy leisure."

  "Tell my lady—"Allegreto said between panting breaths, "tell my lady's grace to think of how she will grieve should I die."

  Ruck let him go and stepped back. "This lies between thee and thy mistress." He cast her a hard glance, then bowed. "I await your decision without, madam."

  She lifted her hand to bid him stay. "That will not be required. We shall be civilized, shall we not, Allegreto? Begin the preparations to depart for Bowland at once, sir."

  "Tomorrow! By secluded ways," Allegreto said, quick and hoarse. "If it please my lady's grace."

  She made an impatient flick of her hand. "As thou wilt, then! We take only what men-at-arms you have at present, sir. The rest of my court may follow with my baggage. It will be safer to avoid peopled places, should pestilence somehow run ahead of us."

  "Nay, only for his fancy?" Ruck asked in outrage. "Your highness, such a small party—it be nought protection enough!"

  "Allegreto wishes to avoid plague."

  "Plague is not the only danger to Your Highness," he said harshly, "or the likeliest, for that matter!"

  Her lashes lifted. "And what is likelier, sir? Canst thou not master such bandits as the countryside boasts?"

  He scowled. "My lady—I think not of outlaws only."

  "Of what, then?" she demanded.

  "Your Highness holds great wealth and property," he said brusquely.

  "Ah. It is my abduction you fear. Well thought, Green Sire, but I have no apprehension of it. Our departure will be quick and quiet, and if we travel by uncommon ways, so much the better to foil any such schemes." She smiled. "And of course, you may spread word that any man who forces me to wed him will rue every day of his short life and die in lingering agony."

  Ruck gazed at her. She was so beautiful and so wicked, laughing at him behind that comely innocent smile. It would work, he thought with resentful wonder—between her reputation and her plan to slip away, she would be near as safe from seizure and force as if she traveled with half a thousand men.

  He bowed his head. "My lady," he assented grudgingly, "as you say."

  Allegreto gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. He stood against the wall, fresh tears trickling down his cheeks. The pulse in his throat hammered visibly.

  Ruck's own heart still thudded with reaction. He had seen little of Princess Melanthe and her courtier so far on the journey—he hoped that he would see little more, if this was to be the way of it. He disliked scenes and ravings intensely.

  SIX

  "Oen...tweye...thren...hie!" Ruck yelled, driving Hawk forward, dragging at the lead horse's bridle as the line went taut over his saddlebow. The animals threw their heads, blowing great puffs of frost, heaving and struggling as their hooves sank half to the knee in ice water and mud.

  Easy enough for the Princess Melanthe to choose to avoid lodging on the way north. She and her attendants sat in the whirlicote, lumbering monster that it was, without even lifting the leather cover to watch. Ruck let the line go lax and backed Hawk again, turning in the saddle to look down the line of five blowing horses to his men wrestling with the tree limbs braced beneath the wheels.

  The whirlicote's proud paint and glitter was a sad sight now, covered in dirt, drowned to the axles in the ruts. His sergeant-at-arms, standing to the side and peering underneath, shook his head and straightened. He held up his arm for another try. Ruck turned again.

  "Oen—tweye—" As the whirlicote rocked thrice in time, the men chorused in with Ruck's shout, maintaining a miserably determined enthusiasm. "Hie-uuup!"

  Hawk bowed his gray head and strained. The harnessed horse reared against the yoke and came down with a splash of frigid water that sprayed over Ruck's leg. Shouts erupted behind him. The whirlicote pitched mightily and went nowhere.

  He twisted round and saw two of the men sitting on their backsides in ice water. He cursed under his breath, throwing the rope off his saddlebow. Turning Hawk, he rode through the mud to the front of the whirlicote and reached over, pitching back the leather curtain.

  A miserable-looking Allegreto huddled nearest the front, cloaked in furs. Her single gentlewoman sat behind him, almost invisible in her wrappings. Ruck leaned farther over. Princess Melanthe reclined on a lounge placed midway back in the vehicle.

  "Madam," Ruck said, "methinks, were you to descend, your ease would be well served."

  "I am full at ease, kind sir," she replied tranquilly in English.

  "Then I pray that you find this place pleasing, Your Highness," he retorted in the same language, "for ne'er shall we nought see another, stay my lady's grace and her company of twenty stone within."

  "Twenty stone!" she said, with a light surprise. "Weighen we so much?"

  "More," he said.

  In the half-light of the whirlicote he could not tell, but he th
ought that wicked-innocent smile hovered at her lips. "Allegreto will descend," she said in French. "He fancied the journey."

  "Yea, he will," Ruck said. "I doubt me this whirlicote goes any farther, laden or nay."

  "Thou must try harder, Englishman!" Allegreto shivered and pulled his furs closer.

  "Poor Allegreto," Princess Melanthe said. "Art thou cold, my soft southern pet?" She laughed, changing to English again. "Green Knight—do drive out a decree, my litter to the forn."

  Allegreto lifted his head. "What did my lady say?" he asked urgently.

  She only smiled tauntingly at him. Ruck turned his horse away, issuing orders. As his men set to work on the harness, he rode Hawk to the back of the whirlicote, judging how they might angle her litter so that she didn't have to step into the muddy water to make the change. Allegreto's head popped out from the back opening.

  "What did my lady say?" he insisted.

  "Canst thou ride a horse, whelp?" Ruck asked.

  Allegreto groaned.

  "Thou it was who wouldst have us come on roads out of the common way," Ruck reminded him.

  "To avoid the pestilence!"

  Ruck looked at the bleak and empty country around. The track ran along the dark edge of a forest, with not a habitation to be seen. A hard, cold wind blew off the somber line of mountains that marched away to the west, burning his face. "I think us well secluded from infection," he said blandly.

  Allegreto scrambled up and balanced on the wagon's gate, the long toes of his elegant slippers, one yellow and one blue, drooping forlornly over the side.

  "I have a fine rouncy for thee, whelp." Ruck tilted his thumb toward a mud-covered harness horse. The sergeant led it up. The animal squelched to a halt and blew a spumy sigh, reaching out a hopeful muzzle toward Allegreto's blue toe.

  The youth snatched it back. He looked up at the arriving litter and then over his shoulder into the whirlicote. "My lady, my exquisite gentle lady, I worship you. I live for you. You are more beautiful than the sun, more lovely than—"