In Defense of the Queen (5 page)

She exchanged a glance with Mistress Greene, and the housekeeper shrugged. “The boys’ll be back soon enough, one way or another. Want me to wake Eric to stable the horse?” When Parker shook his head, she stepped back into the kitchen, leaving the door open for them.

Susanna looked up at the night sky. “He doesn’t know London . . .”

“He’s a grown man. Much older than you.” Parker led the horse to the stable, and she followed him in as he unhitched the small cart.

Susanna took a deep breath. “I am worried about him.”

“He brought this trouble. Made this mess himself and pulled us in with him.” Parker’s words were cold.

She leant against the rough planks of the stable wall. Closed her eyes and let the sounds of him brushing the horse soothe her.

She felt movement and the heat of his body. The sweet smell of hay and leather enveloped her. She opened her eyes to find him right before her.

He moved closer, until their bodies touched, and cupped her face between his hands.

“We’ve been in worse straits.”

She tried to smile. “We have.”

He leaned in to her, his kiss gentle, giving. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. His need, his hunger, ignited her own, until they were both desperate, taking everything they could.

Parker held her higher on the wall, lifting her, pushing her skirts up and she arched against him, her legs around his waist as they took from each other’s mouths. The feel of his hands gripping her bare thighs made her weak, aching. He wrenched his mouth from hers and began a trail down her neck, where her pulse leapt and sung.

“Sir.”

The stable door slammed open, and the horse gave a sharp whinny. Over Parker’s shoulder she saw Harry stumble in.

Parker set her down, held her a moment, trembling, as her skirts tumbled back into place. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted.

He turned to face Harry.

Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of them. “’Tis the mistress’s brother.” His voice wavered.

“You found him?” Susanna stepped around Parker, her legs still unsteady. She grabbed Parker’s arm.

Harry nodded. “Down near Old Swan.” He looked back over his shoulder, as if he expected Lucas to come through the door at any moment. “We think he’s dead.”

Chapter Eight

There is a great number of noblemen among you that are themselves as idle as drones, that subsist on other men’s labour, on the labour of their tenants, whom, to raise their revenues, they pare to the quick.

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

T
he horse was disgruntled, pulling the cart for the second time that night when it should have been warm in the stable. It tossed its head and wouldn’t be hurried, and Parker felt a strong kinship with it.

Susanna sat beside him, wrapped in her cloak, her body bowstring tense. She strained forward, as if that would somehow make them go faster.

Harry tapped his shoulder from behind, pointing right, and he saw Peter Jack crouched on the ground near the dock at Old Swan.

Susanna leapt from the cart before he’d even pulled on the reins, and stumbled her first few steps.

Parker left the cart to Harry, swinging down and reaching Lucas and Peter Jack at the same time she did.

“He’s alive. I felt him breathe.” Peter Jack lifted a hand and hovered it in front of Lucas’s mouth.

He was very still, Parker could see why they’d thought him dead, at first. “Did you see what happened?”

Peter Jack nodded. “Saw two men. One swung something at him from behind and he dropped like a stone.”

“Thieves?” Susanna began to touch her brother’s head, her long, delicate fingers probing for the injury.

“Don’t know. We shouted and ran forward, and they took off. We were too far away to see who it was.”

Parker looked along the bank. Caught the quick movement of someone ducking down. “Perhaps we might yet find out.” He kept his voice low, stood smoothly and flicked out his knife.

Harry started, his eyes widening, and drew his own knife from his boot. Parker pointed to where the ground sloped down towards the river.

Beside Susanna, Peter Jack stirred, rising up, and Parker hesitated. Shook his head. “Stay here with my lady.” He waited until Peter Jack had his knife out before he turned away.

A hand caught his arm, and he looked down at Susanna. She said nothing, her eyes glinting in the light of the lantern they had brought with them, and he wondered how he had lived before she came into his life. Truly could not understand or imagine it.

He lifted a hand to his mouth and open and closed his fingers and thumb together.

She gave a nod.

“We need to get him home and send for the healer.” She spoke evenly, clearly. “We’ll need to move him carefully.”

He saw her glance across at Peter Jack—still unsure, by the frown on his forehead, if he should be pleased to be appointed her guard or sorry to be left out of the action—and she flourished her hand to get him to reply.

Their conversation filled the night, and he moved to the river.

The bank sloped down at a gentle pitch until it was in line with the wooden dock, then dropped off sharply to the river. The tide was out, and most of the bank was exposed.

Parker dropped to a crouch.

Harry snaked past him and Parker let him go, following as quietly as he could. The most likely place to find their watcher was under the dock itself, and Harry knew the best approach. He’d bedded down under Old Swan’s wooden boards until only a few months ago.

Slowly, slowly, they crawled closer, until Harry was flat on his stomach, right beside the opening.

He looked back and Parker lifted a hand, signalling him to wait. He gave a nod, rising carefully into a crouch.

In a sudden rush of movement, silent but for the quick in and out of his breath, their prey burst from the narrow gap and took Harry down with an elbow to the face.

Harry cried out in a voice sharp with pain, and Parker leapt, slamming into the man, his arm coming round for a punch to the ear at the same time.

The man gave a keening, grunting exclamation, which cut off as they hit the ground hard, the wind sucked right out of the bastard.

Parker jabbed in another blow, to the ear again, and then they were rolling, flipping weightless for a moment, and Parker braced as they fell into the cold waters of the Thames.

Because the tide was out, Parker was able to find his footing, and haul the man up. He’d swallowed water, and he came up whooping and choking, limp.

Peter Jack stood on the bank, hand out, and with a massive effort Parker threw the man up onto the grass and took Peter Jack’s hand, grateful for the help.

When he was standing again, he rubbed the water out of his hair and eyes, shivering. The day had been warm, but now a cool breeze blew down the river.

It was too dark to see who it was at his feet.

“Parker.” There was a sharp edge of panic in Susanna’s voice.

“I’m safe.” He turned, looking up the bank. Susanna was silhouetted, nothing more than a black shape behind the lantern she held. She picked her way carefully down.

She reached out a hand and touched his arm, as if to be sure he truly was well. “We must hurry. Harry is badly hurt, now, too . . .” She went very still as the lantern light illuminated the man’s face.

“You know him.” It wasn’t a question.

She shook her head. “It can’t be.”

“Who is it?” He found it hard to speak, his clothes clinging to him, wet and icy cold.

“Jan Heyman. He’s a . . . friend.” She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, her face white. “He plays flute for the King.”

* * *

Susanna was crouched next to Lucas when Maggie walked into the kitchen. The healer didn’t knock, and Susanna saw her eyes widen at the sight of Parker, sitting close to the fire, a blanket draped around him.

He’d taken off his wet clothes, put on new, but even in his dry clothes, he still shivered. He lifted the cup of mulled wine Mistress Greene had made him to his lips, and his teeth clattered against the side of the mug.

“Not you this time, eh?” Susanna saw Maggie take in Lucas laid out by the fire and Jan and Harry. Jan was still in his wet clothes and he was hunched over himself, shivering as hard as Parker. Parker had tied his hands and feet, and particularly his hands jerked awkwardly with each shuddering breath he took.

Harry sat close to Parker, his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

Maggie went to Harry first, not Lucas, and although Susanna felt a small twinge of guilt, she was glad.

When had Harry replaced her brother in her heart, or if not replaced him, edged him aside?

“That cheek might be broken or cracked.” She beckoned behind her, and for the first time, Susanna noticed her little apprentice. Clemence always reminded her of a will-o’-the-wisp, with her delicate bones and her fine hair, white gold against the alabaster of her skin. The only point of colour on the girl’s face was her eyes, and they were a dark brown, shocking on her palette of white on white.

Despite the circumstance, despite her brother lying senseless at her feet, Susanna’s fingers clenched with the desire to pick up a charcoal pencil. Hungered to make that first mark on parchment. To sketch her.

Clemence knelt beside Harry now, her pale beauty a contrast to his dark hair and sun-darkened skin. She soaked a rag in whatever potion was in the bowl Maggie held out and lifted it to his face. He winced as she touched it to his cheek, gentle and light as a butterfly dipping into nectar.

She’d thought at first the girl was no more than eight or nine, but in the months she’d come to know Maggie and her assistant, she’d realized Clemence was at least thirteen, maybe older.

By the way he held himself, stiff and unsure, Harry knew it, too.

Susanna stared at them, and a picture grew in her head, like the roar of a crowd, coming closer. She forced herself to stay kneeling on the floor, but could not help looking towards the passageway and the study, where her bag with her paper and pens were kept.

“Which one next?”

She shook her head clear, and looked into Maggie’s direct gaze.

“My brother, here.” She shuffled back a little to give Maggie room.

Maggie said nothing, but her gaze slid to Jan, pale, with blue lips and shuddering body. Then she turned her focus on Lucas, and, like Susanna had done earlier at the dock, felt his head, her fingers moving with soft grace.

“There is no crack, or if there is, it’s too fine to feel.” She looked up. “He should wake. With a headache, and in need of some days in bed, but he should wake.”

The edge of uncertainty in her words forced Susanna to pull herself closer, a supplicant at the altar of hope. “But he may not?”

“Head blows.” Maggie shrugged. “Nothing is certain with head blows.”

Lucas lay still and pale, but there was a flash of movement to her left and Susanna found Jan watching her, his head bobbing as he shivered, his hair wet and sticking to his scalp. His brown eyes were hot with emotion.

She’d enjoyed Jan’s presence in Henry’s court, had smiled each time Jan spotted her, and lifted his flute to warble a little hello whenever she had entered a room where he was playing. “Lucas was your friend. I don’t understand.”

He didn’t answer, but his gaze slid to Parker and back to her. And he lifted his bound hands towards her. As if she would simply lean forward and untie him. As if her loyalty was somehow with him.

She stared at him, wondering if he had lost his wits.

A movement beside her made her turn, and she saw Maggie leaning back on her haunches, watching the exchange. “Parker and Peter Jack can carry your brother to a bed. You’ll need to watch him, try to wake him in the morning. If he opens his eyes, you call me and don’t let him go back to sleep.”

Susanna nodded.

“Now him.” Maggie gestured to Jan.

“He was the one who hit Lucas and Harry.” She saw Jan’s eyes widen at that, and his mouth opened. “Parker tumbled him into the river.”

“He hit my ear.” Jan spat the words as if he still had Thames water in his mouth. “If I’m deafened, I can’t play any more. I’m finished.” He breathed deeply. “And I didn’t hit Lucas. Are you mad? He sent word for me to meet him. I was just in time to see him attacked and then those . . .” he pointed to Peter Jack and Harry with a shaking finger, “ruffians arrived. I was afraid for my life.”

There was silence in the room.

Susanna tried to see Peter Jack and Harry as a stranger would. They were only just entering manhood. Still thin from their years living on the street, but at an age where they were growing taller every day.

There was an edge to them, especially Harry. But for all their tough looks, they were at least a head shorter than Jan, and thin and wiry to his more solid bulk.

She looked back at Jan and raised an eyebrow. He turned away, shivering.

“When you saw Susanna, why did you remain hidden?” Parker spoke from the hearth, his words cold and measured.