Tallie's Knight (30 page)

“Magnus, you must
stay in bed! The physician said—”

“Damn that blasted
leech. I have no intention of idling—”

“But you are not yet strong
enough—”

Magnus flung back the
covers and swung his legs to the edge of the bed. He sat there a moment, then
shakily stood up, gripping the carved wooden bed head for support.

Tallie, despite her
anxiety, found herself smiling. Carlotta’s late husband had evidently been much
shorter than Magnus, for his nightshirt dangled well above Magnus’s knees. The
length of hard, hairy leg looked incongruous beneath the embroidered linen. She
bit her lip and tried to look cross.

“You are not supposed
to be up this soon,” she said severely.

“Nonsense. I feel
perfectly well. And besides I am bored—”

“But—”

“And damnably lonely,”
he finished, giving her a heated look.

Tallie blushed. This
time she could not stop the smile which quivered on her lips. She, too, had
been lonely in the bed next door. It was amazing how quickly one could become
accustomed to sharing a bed. Only a few months ago she had been unable to imagine
it as anything but an intrusion, an inconvenience, an invasion of her privacy. But
now she would not wish to fall asleep anywhere except in her husband’s warm, strong
arms. She’d missed his warmth, missed the wonderful feeling of belonging, the
feeling of safety she felt when she fell asleep in his embrace. She loved
waking up in the night and finding his long hairy leg wrapped around hers,
loved resting her cheek on his smooth, hard chest and hearing his heart
thudding steadily under her ear, loved the way he sometimes woke her in the
morning. “Morning, sweetheart…” knowing that it was the prelude to a splendid
bout of lovemaking.

She loved those
mornings best, watching his sleepy eyes focus, then darken into that brooding,
storm-cloud grey that meant he wanted to make love to her. The look never
failed to thrill her. And the feel of his unshaven jaw scraping sensuously
against the softness of her skin. A pleasurable shudder passed through her.
Yes, she had been lonely in her bed, too.

“Fetch me that robe,
would you?” Magnus said. “It’s chilly.”

The man was
impossibly stubborn! She didn’t want to assist him, but he was clearly going to
get up whether or not she agreed, and it was cold. Reluctantly she went to do
his bidding, but before she reached the hook where the robe was hanging he took
a few steps and wavered dangerously.

She raced back to his
swaying form.

“I told you it was
too early to venture out of bed,” she scolded. “The physician said you must
rest for another few days and regain your strength before you try to move. If
you try too soon, you could have a relapse.”

“Damned quack!”

“He saved your life.”

“What would a blasted
village leech know?”

Tallie, incensed by
his stubbornness, abruptly let him go and stood back. Magnus swayed. His knees
started to buckle. She gave him a tiny push and he collapsed onto the bed,
swearing.

Hiding a triumphant
smile, she bent to lift his legs back into the bed, but with a jerk Magnus
pulled her on top of him.

“That’s more like it,”
he growled in soft satisfaction, and planted his mouth on hers.

Tallie gave up the
struggle. It was bliss to be back in his arms again, and a kiss wouldn’t tax
his strength too much, surely. She kissed him back with all the fervour in her
heart. Oh, she loved this stubborn man so much. His kiss deepened, and hazily
she felt his hands seeking to undo the fastenings of her gown.

“Madonna mia! Stop
that at once! It is not the time!” It was Carlotta in the doorway.

Magnus swore. Tallie
tried to pull back from his embrace, but he refused to let her go. Trust his
strength to come back now, she thought, embarrassed.

“Signora Thalia, Signor
Magnus, you must stop it now! Basta! Enough!”

“Out, damn it,
signora! Now!” snapped Magnus. “A man and his wife are entitled to… to —Confound
it, Tallie, what’s the Italian for privacy?”

Carlotta ignored him.
She hurried over to the bed, scolding in an under voice and tugged Tallie off.

“Quick!” she
whispered. “Fasten your gown. And as for you, Signor Magnus—” She broke off and
began to smooth the covers over him.

“Blast you, woman—”

“Hush!” Carlotta
snapped. “It is the Father.”

“What father? I haven’t
got a father,” retorted Magnus angrily. “Damn it, woman, what the devil do you
think you are doing?” He tried to fend off the hands that were busily buttoning
his nightshirt to the neck, but Carlotta would have none of it.

“It is the Father!”
she hissed. Footsteps sounded on the landing outside and she turned, smoothed
her dress with quick, anxious hands and waited, a deferential smile on her
lips.

“Hell and the devil
confound you, woman, I told you I haven’t got a fath—” The door opened and an
elderly priest in a long black robe entered. He paused on the threshold, took
out a small vial and sprinkled a few drops of liquid around the room, murmuring
in Latin.

“Holy water,”
whispered Carlotta, crossing herself.

Magnus closed his
eyes in resignation and Tallie stifled a giggle. What if the priest had just
walked in on them? Thank heavens Carlotta had come in first. But what was he
doing here anyway?

“How do you do?” the
priest said in slow, rusty English. “I am Father Astuto. Carlotta tell me you
make the difficult…” he frowned, then his brow cleared, “convalescence.” He
bowed, clearly delighted at having remembered such a complicated word. “I come
to entertain you with English conversation. I speak the English well, no? So we
shall converse.”

He placed his vial of
holy water on the bedside stand, pulled up a chair and sat facing Magnus with
such a look of pleased and proud expectancy that Tallie was hard put to it to maintain
a straight face.

Magnus groaned and
rolled his eyes.

“You are in pain, my
son.” Father Astuto laid a thin, veined hand on Magnus’s brow. “Do not try to
talk. Repose yourself and I will talk to you of my life and my travels. It will
be of great interest to an Englishman. I was born in the small village of—”

A smothered choke of
laughter escaped Tallie. Magnus opened one eye and glared balefully at her.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she hurried from the room. Behind her, Father Astuto’s
voice droned on.

“Coffee, Signora
Thalia?” said Carlotta, following her down the stairs.

“The Father, he will
stay at least three hours.”

“Th… three hours?”
quavered Tallie.

Carlotta nodded.

“Three, possibly
four.” She gave Tallie a sly glance. “That will keep your husband quiet, no?”

Tallie’s jaw dropped.
She stared at her hostess incredulously. “You mean?”

“The Dottore said he
must stay in bed, yes? And who better to keep him there than Father Astuto? He
loves to practise his English. He will come every morning for the rest of the
week.” Carlotta winked. “And if your husband doesn’t sleep for the rest of the
afternoon, then Father Astuto is losing his touch.”

“Carlotta, you are
brilliant!” Tallie exclaimed. “I couldn’t keep him from over-exerting himself,
but Magnus is too polite to argue with a priest… especially such a sweet old
man. How splendidly devious!”

And she laughed until
tears ran down her cheeks.

Finally she sat
drinking Carlotta’s strong, milky coffee. Magnus was recuperating safely and
she had no need to worry about him anymore.

And with Carlotta and
Father Astuto’s help he would be out of the way for at least a week. This was
the opportunity she hoped she might get.

A chance to trace the
last footsteps of her mother.

“Signora Carlotta,”
she said slowly. “My parents are both dead.”

“Ahh, you poor child—”
Carlotta began, her broad face crumpling in sympathy.

“They died in Italy,”
Tallie interrupted the flow.

“What? In Italia? No.”

“Yes, somewhere
between Turin and the mountains.”

“Eh? Near Torino, you
say?”

Tallie nodded.

“Yes, but I’m not
sure where, exactly. Near some small village. There was a coach accident. It
was about seven years ago. Did you hear of anything like that happening around
here?”

Carlotta frowned.

“You say your mamma
and your papa died in this accident?” She shook her head slowly. “I do remember
something about an Englishman’s coach… It was near the village where my husband’s
sister-in-law’s uncle lives, but I do not remember anything about an English
lady in the coach. And I would know, yes, for English ladies are not common in
these hills.” She patted Tallie’s hand sympathetically.

“I am sorry, child.”

Tallie felt the
excitement inside her grow. It was as the letter had said. Her mother had not
died in the coach accident with her father.

“But you do remember
a coach accident where an Englishman was killed? About seven years ago?”

Carlotta nodded.

Tallie took a deep
breath.

“Carlotta, can I
trust you?”

Carlotta frowned, and
drew herself up as if insulted. “But of course—”

“No one, not even my
husband, knows this secret,” Tallie said hastily. “Especially not my husband.”

Carlotta’s eyes
gleamed.

“I swear by the robe
of the Holy Virgin, I keep your secret to the grave,” she said, crossing her
breast quickly. She spat into her palm and offered it to Tallie, who shook it gingerly.

“I thought my parents
died together in the coach accident, but a few years ago I received a letter
which said that my father was killed but my mother died a week before, in a
small village.”

Carlotta frowned.

“I have not heard of
this.” Tallie continued in a rush. “The letter said she died giving birth… to a
little boy. It said that my father believed my mother had been unfaithful and
that he would have no foreigner’s bastard foisted onto him.” She fixed her eyes
on Carlotta. “The letter said he left the baby behind in the village where my
mother was buried.”

Carlotta looked
stunned. She shook her head in disbelief at such goings-on.

“Carlotta, don’t you
realise? All my life I have been without a family, with no one in the world who
belongs to me. No one who loves me.”

“But your husb—”

Tallie waved that
aside. She didn’t need to burden Carlotta with the knowledge that while Magnus
might act possessively towards his wife, he did not love her.

“It’s not the same.
But perhaps, in some small village not far from here, there is a small boy who
also believes he belongs to no one. But if the letter is right, and there is
such a boy, he has a sister —a sister who wants him, who will love him.” Her
eyes sheened with tears. “I want to search for him, Carlotta, and I need your
help.”

“But why not wait
until your husband is well?”

“He mustn’t know.”

“But why, cara?” I
know we told you that we were Signor and Signora d’Arenville, but the truth is,
in England, my husband is a great lord, from a proud and ancient family. It was
bad enough that he chose a nobody for his wife, but what do you think his
feelings would be if the nobody wanted to search for her bastard half-brother?”
Tallie shook her head. She loved her husband, but she was not blind. He had
chosen a nobody because she would cause him the least amount of bother.

And the only child
Magnus was interested in was an heir to carry on his family name. Certainly he
would have no interest in a bastard child of unknown parentage, possibly half-foreign
and raised in a small and probably dirty peasant village. She could just
imagine what he —and everybody else— would say. But if she found her brother
first, Magnus was not the only one who could be stubborn.

“Do you honestly
think my husband would help me? Or would he hurry me back to England and thus
prevent a scandal?”

Carlotta’s eyes were
sombre. She nodded.

“I will help you, cara.
I know of these great proud lords. If we can, we will find your little brother.
But are you sure Signor Magnus would deny him shelter?”

“Shelter, no,” said
Tallie with feeling. “In an orphanage or school, perhaps. Or he might pay a
tenant to keep him. But if I do have a little brother, I want more for him. I
never had a home of my own, but I will do everything in my power to ensure my brother
has one. And if my husband doesn’t like it…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I do
not know what I will do… but I will not give up on my brother —bastard or not.”

“John Black and
Monique and Carlotta’s nephews and I will travel to Turin with your letters of
credit and introduction, and you’ll stay here with Carlotta.” Tallie patted the
reticule containing the letters. She was dressed for immediate travel.

“But—” Magnus
glowered at her from the bed. He was not at all happy about her travelling
without him. But Tallie was determined.

“Magnus, you know it
is the only possible thing to do. We cannot all go, for then Carlotta will
think we mean to run out on her, when she has already been to so much trouble
and expense on our behalf. And besides, I’ll be perfectly safe with Carlotta’s
nephews and John Black —and if you cannot trust him, who can you trust?”

“Yes, but—”

“Would you prefer I
stay behind, then —by myself? While you risk your health and possibly your
life? Or perhaps it suits you to continue to allow a lone widow to support us
and our servants. To be sure, she has not yet begun to dun us, so perhaps—”
Magnus looked frustrated.

“No, of course I do
not wish it. It galls me past bearing, but—”

“Very well, it is agreed,”
Tallie said decisively. “You need not worry, Magnus. I am not at all tempted to
take your purse and continue my journey. I have no intention of abandoning you.”