How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel (4 page)

Chapter 7

At sup, Lady Fay picked another small bone from between her teeth, put down her fork, and stood. What had seemed like such a good idea yesterday, needed rethinking.

“You may all depart in the morn.” She glowered at the Nicholas look-alike, sitting across the table.

Sean glared, raised up from the bench, and pressed a heavy hand upon her shoulder. “The monks stay. We canna defend the fort and muck the stalls. We need their strong backs.”

Before Fay could argue, Agatha cleared her throat and stopped all conversation in the hall. In the silence, the wind whistled through the slits in the keep. “You should be thankin’ them, not castin’ them out. If you’re gonna lead, young woman, you must have some tolerance and grace about you.”

Tolerance? Was I not the one who offered the brothers shelter? Who rules this keep?
Cheeks hot from being so thoroughly reprimanded in front of all her court, Fay rose, and strode across the long room. She grabbed her long bow and slammed the door. There had to be hare, bird, or even squirrel to be found.

Bloody wounds of that Christian God, she should have say who was allowed to stay or go. And that monk had to go. He disturbed her in ways not at all holy.

The musty ether of the well-house grew thick as she descended the long flight of stairs. At the lowest level, she entered the stable cave where her palfrey, Freya, whinnied, expecting a treat.

“Sorry, dearest. Not tonight.” That man made her so crazy, she’d forgotten.

Loki barked excitedly and ran in mad circles until she untied his bindings. “Och. You might as well come along, too.”

Silently, her youngest knight, Derek, who must’ve followed from the great hall, helped with her saddle and saw to it the drawbridge was let down. She allowed him to follow through the first acre of sleepy sheep, before racing ahead, along the ocean cliffs. She needed to spend some time alone.

Who was that monk? Was it really Nicholas, or as he claimed, Nicodemus? And why did Agatha need to scold her in front of everyone?

The salty breeze blew her hair about when she let Freya run at will across the fields of purple clover. Bounding alongside, Loki woofed, his joy infectious. At the end of the path, she turned toward the black cliffs, where waves crashed against stones. She rode hard into the forested hills and stopped at a small clearing.

“Stay.”

With a doggy grin, Loki obeyed with tail thumping.

A brown hare twitched its ears in the thistles, and she aimed, pulling her bowstring taut.

An arrow whizzed from behind and speared her prize between the eyes.
What the devil?

Turning so quickly that her neck strained, she stared with mouth open. About thirty paces behind, the Nicholas look-alike met her gaze. She’d praise the miraculous hit if his face were not so cock-sure. And if his robe had not ridden so high that naked thighs hugged horseflesh.

As if reading her lascivious thoughts, he ogled her from head to toe, stopping at her bared calf. His tongue flicked over his lower lip.
That’s no priestly gesture.
Sinfully, she pondered on what it might be like to kiss him and boldly eyed him back.

One side of his mouth curved up delightfully. “I must apologize for the dreadful meal. You were correct. My monks cannot cook. We usually eat whatever scraps our patrons provide.”

He rode forth such that his bare calf brushed against hers, lighting her on fire. Heart pounding, she tugged on Freya’s reins, and studied the violet blossoms of Devil's Bit Scabious.

Another hare flicked its ears from deep within the flowers, and again, his arrow flew.

Before she could utter a word of praise, Loki woofed, fetched, and dropped the dead animal at their feet.

She dismounted, strung the hare on her saddle, and said, a bit jealously, “With archery skills such as yours, I’d imagine you eat quite well.”

“Poaching is punishable by loss of eye or hand. I’d dare not risk it. Surely a queen would understand that.” His tone was censured.

For the second time today, she’d been chastised as a child. She scowled at him. “We have no such laws. Here on Man, I allow all to hunt freely.”

Hazel eyes never left her face as he swung a foot to the ground. In one quick move, his hands were about her waist. Then he lifted her down, squeezed her hand, and said, “Come. Let’s not quarrel. Instead, we will hunt. Together.”

It’d been so long since someone had asked just for her companionship, that she nodded without even thinking. In the peaceful countryside, he spoke of fiber for strings, the most pliable bow wood, and which feathers worked best for flight. She shared her secrets of arrow points for small game until the sky deepened to dark violet. All the while, he stood close—touching, smiling, and being attentive. By the time they traversed the drawbridge, torches were lit.

Inside the stables, two of the monk’s brethren greeted him, and he handed off the hares. “Roast them on a spit.”

Wishing the evening to never end, she said, “Walk with me, Brother, while they prepare our meal.”

“As you wish.” Hazel eyes held amusement or mayhap it was just a flicker from the firelight. Whatever it was, it was endearing. She put her palm on his arm and exited the stables.

Outside, Derek gave them both a fierce scowl and grabbed the torch from its sconce. “You’re late. Everyone is searching.”

“You may go now and let them know that the monk will be my protector.” She gave Nicodemus what she hoped was a flirtatious smile.

The worried Derek tried to push her in the direction of the stairs. “But Sir Ferguson said he wished to speak to you immediately upon your return.”

Of course he did. He was always bossing her around. But not tonight. “By all the gods in Valhalla, tell him I’ll speak when I deem it’s necessary to speak. Now go, tell him I am fine, and stop fretting.” She waited until the young man’s boots no longer pounded upon the hard earth before grabbing another torch.

Assured they were alone, she led him to the stairs by the outer wall and stumbled. His strong arm slid about her waist and held tight. He smelled of horse and leather, and something else wonderful. When his fingers squeezed her waist, her nipples hardened and her breath quickened.

The round dark centers of his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

She licked her lips, leaned in, and waited, with her heart pounding.
Will he be my first real kiss?

Soft beard caressed her cheeks, then sweet lips brushed across hers.

Suddenly, a moan emerged from deep within him and he backed away. “God help me. I cannot.”

Oh nay, not again
. She’d misread him as she had his brother. Cheeks aflame and muttering an apology, she rushed up to the top of the wall. Below, the silver whitecaps, lit by the moon, slid unendingly forward until crashing into the cliffs. She wished to be swallowed up by the night.

Behind her, the monk set the torch at the base of the ladder, and slowly climbed up the wall. After some time, he sighed, stirred, and she met his now dark eyes that drew her in.

“Why did you bring me here? Alone.” He lowered his forehead to hers and their lips all but touched again.

How could she explain that the mere scent of him turned her wanton? She searched for a subject and was horrified at what came out of her mouth. “I, uh, I was worried, uh, for my village women. I mean, for their well-being and I needed to talk plainly. I can send for a wench if you and your brethren need servicing.”

“You asked me here so as to inquire if my fellow monks need to be bedded?” The man’s brows raised.

When he put her intentions in that tone, she sounded even more improper but had no choice but to trudge forward along the path she’d created. “I have no idea of the needs of monks. I just wanted to make sure. Well? Do you or don’t you?”

“We’re all married to Christ.” The monk gazed up into the sky, to a God she knew could not possibly exist.

“Good. That’s good.” She nodded. What a heathen she’d become. She’d truly hoped for a different answer.

“Was that all?” A glint of humor flashed in his eye as he cocked his tonsured head.

Certainly, he was reading her mind. She swallowed hard as one lone gull caught a sliver of moonlight. “But why?”

“You ask why we give up coupling?”

“Not all priests do so, at least so I’m told.” Being alone in the dark had made her quite bold.

“We’ll need no women to service our needs. I assure you, you and your woman friends are safe.”

She exhaled. Finally, a way to change the subject of conversation. “I have no friends.”

“Surely that cannot be true.” His features softened and he reached to tuck a lock of her hair behind an ear.

Shivers ran up and down her spine and she scooted away, into the spacing between the stones. What would it be like to spend time with him, in the ways of women with men?

With knees to her chest, she shivered at the ocean breeze, and curled her cloak around. “The locals would rather I lay dead cold in the ground with the rest of my family.”

Strong arms tugged her back against his chest and she moaned. Beyond, over the ocean’s constant roar, screeching gulls ducked in and out of the surf. For the first time in her life, she was not alone.

“Why did Alexander spare you?" His chin rested on her head, his warrior arms wrapped around her waist, and his fingertips moved in tiny caresses.

Entranced, she almost forgot what they were discussing. “Hmm? I’m not completely certain. I was only four when my father, King Magnus, was killed. I barely remember him.”

“Go on.”

Letting her legs dangle out over the cliffs, she took comfort in his tight hold.

“My mother, fearing more reprisals, sent me to the English court. A year later, Scottish knights stole me away to Alexander. He treated me as a cherished daughter. I truly do love him.” Her voice cracked and a wet tear dripped down her face. “He’s the only father I’ve ever known and I’ve let him down.”

A large hand gently caressed her head and smoothed her hair. “I’m sure he will forgive you.”

“He canna. I was supposed to prevent a revolt, not cause one. Then soon after the rebellion, I killed the knight Alexander wished for me to marry.”

“God’s Bl—I mean, why, my child?” His body tensed.

She tried to explain, but even she did not fully understand. “We had not said our vows. I was young, not willing, and he insisted. On . . . bedding.”

The monk pulled her away from the wall’s edge, turned her about, and pinched her chin such that she had to look into his deep hazel eyes.

His breath tasted of mint. “God works in strange ways.”

“If you believe He exists.”

“Surely you are in fear of the Almighty.” The moon decided at that moment to duck under a cloud.

She shuddered. “Nay. I am not.”

As if waiting for some force to come down and smite her dead, his eyebrows raised to the heavens. Then his soft beard caressed her ear when he whispered, “You should not speak so, not even alone with me.”

With a quick shrug, she slid off the ledge. “I’ve already confessed, hoping for some good counsel. My priest shared it amongst the villagers and now none will approach the keep.”

The monk’s eyes turned dark as he took her hand. “That priest has sinned most egregiously. What is confessed is sacred.”

After giving him a snort, she backed away, and began the long climb down the ladder. “What does it matter? Come. It grows late. No doubt your men have roasted the hares by now and we can have a bit of meat before we sleep.”

The whole way down, she cursed her broken nature. Surely a woman should have better sense than to lust after a monk.

Chapter 8

Bleating goats woke Nicholas from the little sleep he’d managed and he cursed. Most of the night, he’d stared at the tufa ceiling, reliving that one sweet kiss. When he did dream, it was only of her.
Bloody palms of Christ.
Best not dwell on it. Already his shaft was hard and wanting for relief.

At least I’ve made some progress with the prickly queen. Or has she seduced me?

Rising, he kicked Eaton, snoring in a nearby pile of hay. “Wake up you lazy sod and see to it that breaking-of-fast is edible. I’m off to the village.”

While his friend grumbled, Nicholas wandered into the open courtyard, still deep in shadows. Horse manure was knee-high in places, and broken vessels lay strewn about everywhere. High above, guards in the ramparts spoke quietly, gazing out over the ocean. In the brick gatehouse, the chest of the watchman heaved up and down.

What she’d said last night about the village priest gave him grave concern. Best to see to it as his first chore of the day. Grabbing a skin of water, he exited the keep. The dog, Loki, ambled alongside under the clear blue sky, as if they’d been friends for years.

Odd. No tradesmen met him along the way, nor carts filled with goods. The road from the village into the keep lay quiet except for scores of bleating sheep, running in circles and trampling pastures.

Just outside the village, an armed guard woke from snoozing upon a large rune stone. He yawned and said, “State your trade.”

“Are you blind, sir?” Nicholas held up the cross around his neck, and pointed to his sandaled feet.

“Uh, you must be one of them new brothers. Sorry. Just so’s you know, I can’t allow you to go back. Evil business in the keep, that.” The guard winked, as if that explained all, and lay back down.

What the devil?
Giving a quick nod and blessing, Nicholas ducked through the gated hole in the crumbling wall. It would’ve been easier to climb one of the many piles of rubble. From there, he traveled the main road, dotted with rotted thatch, crumbled buildings, and piles of filth.

The priest, no doubt forewarned, waited outside the only well-tended building in the center of town. Robed in fine wool, he shouted at two young men stuffing hay under a platform in a large square near a stone cross. A kind of pitch, as used in torches, sat in buckets beside the structure.

“Father Michael?” Nicholas’s stomach rolled and his hand reached for a sword he no longer carried.
God’s blood. He means to burn her alive?
He stomped toward the priest while Loki sniffed and growled.

The cleric fingered his ornate cross and sneered in Latin. “Franciscan, I presume, from your pathetic attire?”

The bastard would pay for that tone. “I’m Brother Nicodemus and have been sent by
His Holiness
to serve the Isle of Man.”

“Be gone.” The priest shooed both man and dog with a hand’s wave.

“What poor soul are you roasting, today?” Frowning, Nicholas kicked at the iron bracelets attached to the base of the assembly.

“I might say it’s none of your concern. However, as you are her guest, you should know.” The priest grinned, exposing yellowed teeth, and circled the wood. He pushed on the center post, nodding gleefully.

Wary villagers, dressed in plain linens, gathered in the square to watch.

“You intend to burn the queen?” Clenching his teeth, he pictured flames licking Fay’s ivory skin, her green eyes glazed in terror.

“A sin as grave as hers cannot go unpunished.” The priest continued bobbing his tonsured head with a hint of madness.

The curious grew to over two dozen as Nicholas argued her case. Finally, he raised his arms to the Almighty. With perfect timing, he pointed at the priest just as the sun ducked behind a cloud. “What if, as another holy man of God, I can prove to you that Lady Fay is God-fearing? Would you put-off her demise?”

The priest jumped up on the platform, shouting to the crowd, “She confessed her sins.
Vengeance is mine, so sayeth God
, and I am His instrument here on Man.”

Nicholas countered, thanking his mother for the modicum of religion he’d managed to memorize.
“For He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.
”

A tavern woman, still holding her establishment’s ceramic pitcher, kicked at the wooden structure until a board came loose. “I’ll explain what ungodliness goes on here, Brother. Once Lady Fay is dead, him and his bishop take what is rightfully hers. And you would let him do it?” She turned to the townspeople and scowled at them all.

The villagers that had gathered around the platform tolerated her disdainful scowl. With thumb and forefinger together, she circled her hand to the right and to the left twice. Her brown kirtle swirled when she turned and stomped back into the tavern.

What a brave, or stupid wench. Nicholas made the sign of the cross over the small crowd, hoping to dissolve her curse. “
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, waited, and frowned.

One industrious lad, dressed in short tunic, stole the pile of straw. Another grabbed the pail of pitch. They ran off toward a building in need of a new roof. Then, one by one, the rest of the villagers pulled the small structure apart, and went back to their daily chores.

The red-faced priest turned to Nicholas and said, “I give you a fortnight to bring her to me. She shall proclaim her belief in Christ, in front of me, here in the square, or burn.”

Nicholas considered how best to thrash the weasel when Eaton surprised him by stepping out of the shadows.

A large cowl covered his face. “Come along Brother, I do believe your work here is done.”

“Not until I have gathered what we need for a few meals. From what I’ve seen of the ledgers, these
fine
folk owe back taxes. I’m going to collect.” He turned toward a shop with slabs of mutton hanging out front and his mouth watered.

“That’s why you asked me to follow?” Eaton’s mail clunked as he raced to catch up.

“I already have no love of this village or its people.” Under their feet, the road changed from dirt to slabs of stone, and the buildings more solidly built. “These good people should be aiding the lady, not building an altar to burn her.”

“Now, now, Brother Nicodemus, a forgiving heart may be what is needed. We know not what evils these people have suffered.”

“Eaton? You surprise me.” He stopped in front of the butcher, where the portly owner eyed them warily.

His friend put a palm to his arm, and for once spoke with sincerity. “I was not always a knight. Even now, my fortune rests with your success. She’ll need the love of these people. Robbing food off their tables is not the way to make it happen.”

“So what do you suggest?” Nicholas glanced at his rope belt, devoid of purse. Even if he wanted to pay, he could not under his current role.

Eaton grinned, his normal devil-may-care attitude back again. “I may have
dug up
a few coins.”

Nicholas hissed as he pushed him aside. “Christ’s blood. You take too many risks. What if you were seen?”

“What’s done is done.” He shrugged and jumped to avoid a pile of manure. “By the way, I checked. The rest of our belongings remain well hidden.”

“Very well. Buy us some food. I’ll see if that saucy tavern wench can cook. Abounding in such miracles, we could eat better tonight.”