Kathryn Kramer (3 page)

As if nothing at all had happened, the masque proc
eeded and Nicholas nearly collided with several of the masked and costumed performers as he strode from the hall.  He was consumed with fury to have been made the butt of such a lewd tale.  Surely the Queen would hear him out and listen to his avowal of innocence.  She must!  After his anger cooled, he would seek the queen out, and if he were careful in his reasoning, he might well turn the tables on Lord Stafford.  That was his only thought as he ran headlong into a young woman standing in the shadows.  The many costumes balanced precariously on her arm flew every which way, littering the hallway.  Hastily, she bent to pick them up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you.  Here, let me help you."  Nicholas was not so enraged that he fo
rgot his manners.  Stopping, he picked up some of the costumes and handed them to her.

"I...I should have been watching where I was going." 

The voice was muffled as the young woman took the clothes from him and retrieved her bundles, tucking them securely under her chin.  Her cloud of dark hair fell in disarray, hiding her face yet, Nicholas could have sworn she was staring at him.  He felt the heat of her gaze.  At another time he might have paused in conversation or at least offered up a smile, but not tonight.  The sting of his humiliation was too fresh in his mind.

"Yes, you should have been more careful," he said instead.
Women,
he thought.
Were they not always the plague of a man?
  With a shrug of his shoulders he hurried away, walking up the stairs to his chamber. 

             
"So, here you are, at heel like the queen's boon hound."  The voice was shrill.  Blocking his way, Morgana stood poised upon the steps. "I would have hoped that you might have sought me out as we planned."

Tall, achingly lovely  with eyes as blue as a summer sky and hair of lightest sunshine, she was tempting.
  Enough so to entice a saint . For a moment Nicholas nearly forgot himself until he vividly remembered the humiliation he had recently suffered.

"Have you not caused me trouble enough, woman?" he growled.

"I?"  Morgana buried her face in her hands, collapsing in a flood of tears

Damning his temper beneath his breath, Nichola
s touched her shoulder gently, promising that he would do his best to set things to right.  Not only
his
name had been slandered. 

"We must...talk..... Tonight in my chambers,"  Morgana managed to say between her sobs.

"In your....."   Each time she caressed him with her eyes it became all the more difficult to keep his wits about him, yet in the wake of what had happened it would be a foolish and scandalous thing to do.  "Morgana, we must use caution." Nicholas spoke slowly, trying to maintain his calm.  "God's teeth, but what you suggest would bring the walls down upon our heads!"

Her voice was scornful through her tears.  "Do yo
u think I fear my husband, a wizened old man who is thrice my age?  I tell you, sir, that I do not."

"The queen, woman, the q
ueen!  You know she loathes scandal." 

Seductions had to be circumspect
, for Elizabeth would brook no stain upon the reputation of her court.  Had she not banished the Earl of Pembroke from sight for getting Mary Fitton with child?  How much angrier would she be were Morgana to flaunt her longed-for liaison with Nicholas?  Particularly now that it had been brought to light. Nicholas had to convince her to give up this mad scheme.

"The queen.  The q
ueen!" she chided.  "An aged, bewigged old harridan who has never had a man in her bed.  What does she know of love?"  Her eyes flashed fire as she cast him a petulant frown.  "I only know that I love you, that  I must have you.  Wouldst you sentence me to a life of loneliness without you just to please Elizabeth?"

"Morgana......."  Even after what had happened,
and though his reason told him to send her away, he could not keep his loins from stirring at the sight of her, so elegant and feminine.  A seductress if ever there was one.  The soft swell of her bosom rose above the square neckline of her bodice, the stomacher that she wore emphasized her small waist.

"Oh, what I would not give if I were free." Morgana's hands moved towards him imploringly, then fell to her side.   Her voice at first but a whisper had grown shrill and louder in volume.   "
Free
of the bondage of that old man.  Free to marry you."

"Marry?"  It was the farthest thing from his mind.  "Let us have no talk of marriage when you
are
wed." 

"But not for long were I to have my way."  Morgana's beautiful face was distorted by her expression.  "Nicholas......" 

Several men and women  passing by raised their brows.

"I repeat, Morgana.  We both stand precariously on the brink of destruction." The situation was steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable.  What had he gotten himself in to?   "We must
not
talk here." 

She pursed her lips and thought for a long drawn out moment.  "
Then meet me at ten o'clock at The Black Unicorn," Morgana said behind her hand, obviously pleased with her plan.  "The inn across the Thames." 

He knew that inn.  It was in the area
of the theaters and the bear and bull baiting arenas.  A place of mischief and thievery.  Hardly a place for a lady.  He opened his mouth to protest, but before he had the chance, Morgana had run to her own room and slammed the thick wooden door.

Chapter Three

A sudden wind chilled his body as Nicholas took leave of the bargeman and stepped ashore.  Looking over his shoulder
into the darkness, he carefully ascertained that no one had followed him, then made his way on foot towards the inn.  He knew it was a three-story, half-timbered whitewashed building with a thatched roof and boxed windows that looked over the Thames, but tonight he could see only the light of the lantern fires illuminating from the windows.

The sounds of drunken laughter, singing,
and boisterousness carried on the wind told him that the inn was filled with patrons.  The huge wooden sign had come off its hinge and was banging against the outer wall as Nicholas approached the door.  Once the inn had been splendid, but now it was run-down, its roof and support beams rattling from decay.  He wondered again why Morgana had chosen this particular inn and appeased his apprehension by reasoning that in her way she had been wise.  There would be far less chance of meeting any of the courtiers in such a place.  But thieves were another matter so Nicholas rearranged the pouch of coins under his doublet.

Opening the creaking door
, he found himself face to face with a man of enormous girth who beckoned him inside.  With a flaming red beard and a patch over his eye, the man looked like a pirate but seemed cordial enough.  With a gap toothed smile, the innkeeper showed him to a table in the corner of the taproom.  It was murky inside and smelled of grease, sweat and smoke from the kitchen fires.  Stale wine and ale from the tables assaulted his nostrils.  This was definitely not the kind of place to meet a lady and he was resolved to get this meeting over with quickly and then send Morgana home.

"What you be needing, lovey?"  The shapely young tavern maid quickly accosted him, making it very clear by her expression that more than serving drinks was on her mind.

"A tankard of ale!" he replied curtly, waving her away.  He had enough worry on his mind without having to be concerned about an amorous serving wench.

"Are you sure that will be all?"  Lifting her skirt well above her ankle
, she gave him a view of her shapely leg.

"Yes!" 

Startled by his gruff answer, the girl dropped the hem of her skirt then quickly scurried away.

             
Having at last accustomed his eyes to the dim light, Nicholas let his gaze roam over the contours of the room, searching for any sign of Morgana's slim form.  Seeing no sign of her, he supposed that he was early and thus settled himself back on the bench.  The rushes on the floor were in dire need of changing, and the room stank of stale ale, but at least he was sheltered from the wind.  For the time being, he was comfortable and content.

Wisely
, Nicholas had changed his garments before setting out for the inn.  He wore an olive-green doublet with plainly cut sleeves and a sleeveless jerkin of brown leather with standing collar.  Thigh-high brown boots were fastened by straps to the waist of his buff-colored trunk hose and under-doublet.  Attached to the belt on the left side, he had worn his sword just in case there was any trouble.  He looked very little like a nobleman now, but then it was not his purpose to attract attention.  He did in fact blend in well with the chattering crowd of apprentices and sailors.  Few of the patrons had noticed one more man in their midst.

"Your ale, sir."  Still hopeful of his attentions
, the barmaid lingered just a moment or two after setting down the tankard.  "Anything else?"  Nicholas shook his head, though he did give her an extra tupence.  "Thankee, Sir."  Sauntering off, she gave him a bold wink over her shoulder.

"Have I reason to be jealous, Nicholas?"  Morgana's voice came from out of the darkness, startling Nicholas for the moment.  He had not seen her come in.  "Are all women helpless before your charms?"

"Morgana!"  Turning around, he saw her swathed in black to blend with the night.  A hooded cloak covered her fair-haired head.

She placed her index finger to his lips, her voice lowering to a whisper. "We must hurry!  There is little time.  I have procured two horses from the hostler here.  We can ride to
Hereford, Northampton and on to Scotland."

"What?"  Run away with her and throw away everything he had worked so hard to attain?  No woman, no matter how lovely, was worth such a price.  He looked at her incredulously.  "Are you mad?"

Her manner was overtly seductive.  "No, I am in love."  Winding her arms around his neck, she looked deep into his eyes.  "I can not live without you, Nicholas.  I won't."  Her intonation rivaled any actor's.  "If that means running away with you, then I will do it.  I will do it most gladly." 

Standing up,
Nicholas stared at her, torn between astonishment and anger. "So that is why you wanted me to meet you here."  And he had so foolishly been acquiescent to her whims.

"Precisely.  Owen Stafford's prank has
made me a marked woman.  But even if it had not, I would have made the same decision."   Standing on her tip toes, she pressed her body closer to his.  "Oh, Nicholas!"

Nicholas felt his resolve weakening, but as he noticed two ruffians looking their way
, he stiffened and drew away.  The brown-haired man's eyelid had been scarred so that he had a perpetual wink and the other man was missing an ear.  He  recognized the extremely unpleasant characters, Will Frizer and Tom Banter.  Thieves.  Swindlers.  Worst of all cutters, hired murderers, who for much less than a shilling would slit any man's throat. 

"Let's get out of here,"  Nicholas rasped.  "We can talk outside,"

Quickly, he took Morgana by the arm, trying to lead her towards the door.  Instead of obeying him, she clung to him tightly as a wild-eyed man pushed his way into the room.

"God's breath, my husband!"  Morgana's cry was shrill with fear.  "He will kill me, Nicholas!  He has threatened as much."  Artfully
, she hid behind her would-be lover's muscular frame.

The room thundered with Lord Woodcliff's anger.  "You foul this place with your  wantoness, wife!  Didst you think I would not guess your intent and  follow you?"

Morgana sought to explain, but her shrill voice was little more than a frightened gasp.

"And now my eyes see the truth for myself.  You are caught in the act of a tryst with your lover."  Furling his brows, he turned flashing eyes upon Nicholas.  "Stand aside, sir.  I will have my wife."

"I will not let you harm her."  Nicholas's gentlemanly instincts were instantly aroused.  "She is innocent of betraying you."

"Innocent?" Lord Woodcliff snorted in indignation.  "It is a word that ill suits her.  But have no fear.  It is not she who tempts my sword, but you."  To emphasize his intent, Edward Woodcliff drew his blade.

"Edward, no!"

Nicholas echoed Morgana's words.  "No, Lord Woodcliff, I will not duel with you.  There is naught that you must avenge.  Your wife and I have done no wrong."  He would not be goaded into drawing his own sword against this man.  He
had acted foolishly before the queen but he was calm now.

"Then I call you coward!"

Nicholas flinched but he did not move.  Edward Woodcliff had once been a great swordsman, but now he was an old man.  It would be an ill-matched contest.  Let him rant, let him rage, Nicholas would not draw his sword.  "We have no quarrel.  I will not fight!"

"Then nevertheless I will draw your blood and mark you for the milksop that you
are."

Lord
Woodcliff lunged and only by the grace of God was Nicholas able to duck out of the way in time.  Even so, he was determined to keep to his word not to draw his sword.  Using an old wooden stool, he blocked Lord Woodcliff's blows again and again.  It was like a comic dance, a dastardly grotesque pantomime of sword thrusts and parrying.  Tankards were spilled, tables overturned, as even the fiercest onlookers hurried to get out of the way.  The quarrel had soon put the room in shambles.

Morgana cried out as her husband drove Nicholas up against a wall.  The look in his eyes boded no mercy.  "Edward, please.  I beg you.  Don't kill him."  Her frantic cry distracted the old lord just long enou
gh for Nicholas to pull free and with an oath he drew his sword.

What happened next happened so fast that it was little more than a blur as sword clashed upon sword.  Lunging blindly, Lord Woodcliff drove his sword point into an overturned wooden table.  Drawing back, he intended to free his weapon and lunge at Nicholas again, but the blow never came.  Instead his lips formed an endless grimace of agony.

"Lord Edward?"  In confusion
, Nicholas looked at the elderly man, not fully comprehending what had happened.  He watched wide-eyed as with a heavy thud the old lord tumbled to the ground.

"Is he dead?  He is......"  Morgana Woodcliff's voice was a breathless whisper, yet she made no pretense of mourning, nor did she rush to her husband's side. 

Nicholas did, only to have her words proven true.  Edward Woodcliff was indeed dead. "God's bones..!" Nicholas threw his sword to the ground. "He's dead....”

“
The old Lord is dead."

As crowded as the room had been, it now suddenly became empty as those who had witnessed the ghastly scene fled

Nicholas thought he was alone, then he heard someone behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Nicholas fastened his eyes upon the intruder in stunned surprise.  It was Lord Owen Stafford.

"So in just one night I am removed of two rivals," he said callously, nudging at Lord Woodcliff's body with the toe of his boot.  "How obliging of you, Sir Nicholas."

"You bastard!"  Nicholas started to retrieve his sword, but saw that Stafford had not come alone.  Nicholas was entrapped.  Two soldiers of the queen's guard moved forward like trained mastiffs to guard Stafford.  The expression in the men's eyes clearly showed that they marked Nicholas as guilty.  Searching the room for Morgana, Nicholas saw at once that she too, like the others, had disappeared.

"Lord Woodcliff found you with his wife and you killed him.  It is as simple as that.  Every lord at court knows of your hot temper, it is I fear
your one imperfection, Sir Leighton.  Even the queen witnessed you draw your sword in the hall."  

Never in all his life had Nicholas ever hated any man as much as he loathed his enemy now.  "You
stink of treachery, Stafford." Nicholas accused, knowing at that moment he could not let himself be taken prisoner, not by Stafford. If he were, there was every chance he would never live to place his case before the queen.

"Take him. Arrest him!" he heard
Stafford command. 

Overturning a wooden table
, Nicholas used it to block their path then boldly threw himself against the mullioned windows.  Bruised, shaken and suffering from cuts and scratches from the splintered and shattered glass, Nicholas nonetheless was free, at least for the moment.

"Follow him!  Don't let him get away."  The sound of shouting and the trampling of feet told him clearly that he was still in danger.  Picking himself up from the ground
, he used the moonless night as a cloak and stealthily made his escape.