Читать книгу The Alchemist's Daughter - Elaine Knighton - Страница 13

Three months later

Ainsley Hall, England…

L ucien slouched in his great chair, absently watching his servants clear away the remains of the night’s dinner. Venison—heavy—and ripe as old cheese. Such leftovers would probably choke the paupers who received them.

He missed the foodstuffs of the east. Fruit and rice and pulses. Fare that did not immediately put one to sleep. But, he was indeed grateful for what he had. None of his people were starving this winter. The hall was festooned with greenery and folk were in a state of pitched excitement, for tomorrow began the Christmas revels.

For weeks the celebrations would continue, the Feast of Fools being the highlight for those whose chief pleasures were drunkenness, dung-tossing and bawdy displays of dubious wit. The festivities would no doubt leave him exhausted, when he had much to ponder in the privacy of his solar. And such privacy was a rarity. Indeed, even now, Lucien felt a presence at his back.

“My lord.”

Mauger, his not-to-be-denied seneschal. An impeccable man sent years ago by Lucien’s late father, to keep an eye on him. One who had appointed himself advisor, bodyguard and chief nag.

Aye, who needed a wife with one such as he at hand?

“Sir Mauger. How may I be of service to you?”

The impressively large seneschal came ’round to face him and bowed. “Really, my lord Lucien, don’t mock me thus.”

Lucien smiled thinly. “How can I do otherwise? Even your plea for the betterment of my manners comes forth as an order. Dare I hope you will be chosen King of Misconduct for the Epiphany Feast?”

Mauger shook his head, making his dark curls bounce, and raised his eyes heavenward, his palms together. “I must pray for patience, Lord Lucien, for as much as I love thee, I’d see you improved as your father, God rest him, wished.”

“One might think if I have not improved sufficiently yet, I never will.”

Mauger put his fists on his hips. “What you must improve is your attention to the ladies who attend the revels, my lord. Your duty is clear, as is mine to remind you of it. You must produce an heir. Your uncle Conrad and lady-mother are as set upon it as was your father.”

Lucien shifted in his seat and avoided the seneschal’s flinty gaze. As much as Lucien loved his parents and still respected his uncle, their plans for him had not taken into account his own desires. “Plenty of time for that.”

“There is not. Children take years to grow, and often don’t survive. You must start now, Lucien, and your lord father charged both me and Lord Conrad to see that it comes to pass.”

“Oh, and what do you intend to do? Chain me to some hapless female and instruct me step by step?”

Mauger stared at Lucien, his eyes frankly challenging. “If you refuse to cooperate, then I’ll secure for you a suitable bride. Upon your uncle’s and lady-mother’s approval, of course.”

“Not mine?”

“If you force me to such action, your approval is forfeit.”

Lucien rubbed his unshaven chin with the back of his hand. “From your tone, Mauger, one might think you nursed a grievance against me.”

“You nearly got yourself killed in Acre—and not in any noble, Christian cause! If you’d allowed me to go with you, no such misery would have taken place. And furthermore, had you returned in a timely manner, the marriage your father had already arranged would’ve taken place long ago and we’d not be having this discussion.”

Lucien allowed himself a small sigh. “Ah, so it is that old complaint—I left you behind! Nay, Mauger. I needed you here, and a marvelous job you made of it. Nary a revolt, nor a shilling lost, nor a lamb or cow unaccounted for.”

Mauger’s ruddy face darkened even further. “Your description of my worthy efforts sounds like an accusation, my lord.”

“Your worthy efforts make me nearly superfluous, Sir Mauger. I am apparently only required as a means to sire offspring.”

“Indeed, look at it any way you like. You’ve been home quite long enough to settle down. But there’s yet another matter of great concern, my lord.”

Lucien waved a hand toward a carved, leather-seated chair to his left. “Please, take a seat, Mauger. Had I known this would go on so long, I would have offered it immediately.”

The seneschal sat heavily in the chair that Lucien’s lady would have occupied, had he a lady. Mauger leaned forward and spoke in a lowered tone. “My lord Lucien, this unsuitable preoccupation of yours, this dalliance with sorcery—”

“Alchemy is not sorcery, Mauger. Only the ignorant believe thus.”

Mauger clenched his fists. “I am not ignorant, and it is sorcery, make no mistake. Any art that aims to bend the course of nature to one’s own will is magic. ’Tis blatant heresy, as well, Lucien, and you risk bringing ruin—aye, even damnation—upon yourself and your family by its pursuit!”

Lucien ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “I will not be threatened.”

“I’m doing no such thing! I am but warning you of how most clerics view such conduct.”

“I am fully aware of the Church and what it cares about, Mauger. As long as I am free of excessive wealth, and make no enemies of priests, bishops, abbots or cardinals, I have nothing to fear from them.”

“What of the king’s spies, then, Lucien? What of any visitor, with connections you know nothing about? ’Tis one thing for foreigners in outlandish places to dabble in alchemy, but quite another for a young man of good repute to do so right here in the English countryside.”

Lucien gripped the arms of his chair, then rose. The seneschal did likewise and they met eye-to-eye. “Are you quite through, Mauger?”

“Nay, my lord. I am, though loath to do so, going to put a certain pressure upon you, in your own best interests. If you don’t give up this obsessive study—and apply yourself to finding a bride—I shall inform your uncle and mother of the situation. Then we’ll see.”

Lucien’s heart constricted, as if in the grip of an iron fist. It would be the death of his mother, should she learn of what he did in the wee hours, even though it was for her ultimate benefit… “What I would like to see, Mauger, is the two of us engaged in single combat, that I might be rid of your cursed interference once and for all!”

Mauger looked truly shocked. “You wound me, my lord, indeed you do. So little gratitude. Someone has to look after you, as you refuse to look after yourself!”

Lucien took a deep breath and crossed his arms. He knew that Mauger would no more give up this battle than a dog would a bone, for Mauger would carry out Lucien’s father’s wishes to the letter or die in the attempt.

“Nothing will keep me from my studies, Mauger, and you might as well face that right now. If and when I so choose, I will find myself a bride, not you or anyone else—so you had best leave off this well-intentioned persecution.”

“Aye. But—”

“Nay. I am no longer the stripling you could browbeat into submission. You will say nothing to my uncle—or my mother—about alchemy or any other pursuit of mine that is none of their business. Or yours. If you value my respect—and if you wish to remain here as seneschal—you will agree.”

Mauger gave him a long, appraising look, as if measuring the strength of his resolve. “I see. I can only assume that you, being the son of your father, will do the right thing. But—if, and when—you must choose the correct woman, Lucien. Not one you can easily set aside while you mix your—”

“Enough! Do not presume too much, Mauger. I am yet lord of this manor, so by God do not push me. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed.” Mauger spit on his palm and offered his hand to Lucien, who tried to hide his distaste for the ritual as he followed suit. Mauger’s face creased into a grin. “Lucien the Fastidious, that should be your name.”

“And yours should be Mauger the Meddler.”

“You’d best be off then, to the tonsor for a shave, my lord, and—”

“Aye, so I will do. No more advice, Mauger. Let me do this my way.”

“Of course, my lord.” Mauger smiled, bowed as low as his girth allowed him, and Lucien knew his troubles were just beginning.