Читать книгу The King’s Buccaneer - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 12

NICHOLAS WINCED.

He had been laid up all the previous day, and while his foot still hurt, he could move around. So before the sun rose, he was standing at his post outside the Duke’s door, almost motionless.

Marcus’s door opened and he emerged into the hall, motioning for Harry to follow. A moment later, Martin’s door opened and Briana and Martin came through. The Duchess said, ‘How is the foot, Nicholas?’

He managed a wry smile as he said, ‘I’ll live. It’s a little tender, my lady, but I can get around.’

Martin said, ‘Accidents happen. You’re not going to be much use for running errands; go back to the Housecarl and see if he can find something you’re suited for today.’

Nicholas said, ‘Your Grace,’ and limped off.

As he wandered through the halls toward the servants’ wing, where Samuel had his office, he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. The Sixthday game had been a debacle. As he had brooded over it all day, lying on his pallet, he realized he had looked like a fool.

Over the years, being the youngest son of the Prince of Krondor had forced Nicholas into many situations where he would rather have held back; there was no escaping public scrutiny when protocol dictated one be upon the balcony at a festival, or in attendance at court. But in most areas, Nicholas preferred to let others, like Harry, take the lead. In football, Nicholas had developed a justified reputation as a wicked defender, able to steal a ball and pass it off before the other side knew what had happened, but when it came to scoring, he always let others take the glory. Two days before had been the first time he had ever propelled himself to the fore, demanded the ball at every opportunity, and attempted to dominate by force of will alone. And every step of the way Marcus had shadowed him.

There had been scant satisfaction in realizing that he had been as effective at blocking Marcus’s efforts as Marcus had been at blocking his; the game had been more or less a stalemate, save for the injury done his foot, which finally allowed Marcus to score.

As he gingerly moved down a flight of stairs, Nicholas was more sensitive to his birth defect than usual. Like most of those born with such a deformity, he had adapted to it and compensated for it without much thought. Being Arutha’s son had saved him from much of the childhood taunting children of lower rank would have had to endure, but he had still experienced some of it, as well as more than his share of stares and whispers. But today was the first day he felt as if his foot was a true handicap. Had it not been for that, he was certain, he would have bested Marcus. He swore softly, being angry with everyone, himself most of all.

He reached Samuel’s office door and said, ‘Housecarl?’

Samuel motioned him to enter. Nicholas had been in the office only a half hour earlier and had been told there were no unusual duties. The Housecarl looked around as if seeking inspiration, then said, ‘I have nothing that needs doing, Squire. Why don’t you return to your room and rest that injured foot?’

Nicholas nodded and departed, not feeling very much like lying abed another day. He returned to his room and threw himself onto his straw mattress. Having slept most of the previous day, he felt little like resting, and the straw itched. Besides, he was hungry.

After a few minutes he heaved himself off his pallet and headed for the kitchen. By the time he reached it, the smell of food in the hallway had his mouth watering. Magya was busy supervising the kitchen staff, walking behind the cooks like a general overseeing her troops. She smiled at Nicholas and waved him over.

‘Are you feeling better today, Squire?’ asked the old woman. Tending toward the plump, she nevertheless moved about the kitchen quickly and efficiently, despite her age and weight.

‘Yes, but not quite fit for duty, according to the Duke.’

She chuckled. ‘But fit enough to be hungry?’

He smiled back. ‘Something like that.’

Patting his shoulder, she said, ‘I think we have something we can spare before the Duke and Duchess break fast.’

She pointed to a tray, which Nicholas picked up. She spooned out a thick porridge that was bubbling in a pot, sprinkled some cinnamon on it, put a large dollop of honey in the middle, and poured milk over it all. She placed the bowl on the tray, cut a slab of hot bread and a thick slice of ham, and motioned for Nicholas to carry it over to a small table in the corner.

Megar entered with two kitchen boys following behind, each carrying a basket of eggs. He waved the boys about their tasks and came over to sit at the table with his wife and Nicholas, who had taken to the old master cook, a large man with an open smile and kind manner, the first time they had met. ‘Morning, Squire,’ said Megar, a friendly smile on his open, lined face.

Nicholas said, ‘Have you seen Ghuda and Nakor? I’ve not caught a glimpse of either since the game.’

Megar and Magya exchanged glances. ‘Who?’ asked Megar.

Nicholas described them. ‘Those two,’ said Magya. ‘I’ve seen the short fellow talking to Anthony a few times in the last week. The big soldier went out with a patrol, for the fun of it, he said. Left yesterday morning.’

Nicholas sighed. They weren’t real friends, but he knew them better than anyone in the castle save Harry. While the cook and his wife were nice enough, he didn’t know them well and knew that they were only sparing a few moments out of courtesy, and that as soon as he was finished eating, they’d be about preparing the rest of the day’s meals.

As Nicholas ate, they talked. They inquired how he was adjusting to life in Crydee, and then about this trip. At mention of Pug, they both smiled wistful, half-sad, half-pleased smiles. ‘He was like our son,’ said Megar. ‘He was our fosterling, you know, so many years ago.’

Nicholas shook his head to show he hadn’t known, and Megar started telling him a little of Pug, and of Megar and Magya’s own son, Tomas, who had been Pug’s closest friend. As the story of their lives unfolded – a mixture of reminiscence and spirited argument about who remembered what correctly – a picture formed in Nicholas’s imagination.

He had heard tales of the Riftwar from Amos, and once in a while his father could be persuaded to reveal something of his own part in it, but Megar and Magya’s simple retelling was by far the most compelling he had heard. The manner in which they related everything that occurred in their own references, how many buckets of water the kitchen staff carried to the walls, how many extra rations needed to be cooked, how they made do without this or that, when meals were cold because the cooking staff was tending the wounded – all wove a far more vivid picture in Nicholas’s mind than even Amos’s most colorful boasting.

Nicholas asked one or two questions, and suddenly a picture of Pug as a boy emerged. Nicholas smiled as Megar explained at great length how difficult it was for him as a child, being the smallest boy for his age in the keep, and how Tomas had become protective. By the time the stories were finished, Nicholas had eaten all that had been put before him. Magya’s eyes were shining as she explained how Tomas had looked on the day he had become a man, at the Choosing – that ancient rite where all the boys are given over to the masters who would train them.

There was something familiar about the name Tomas, but Nicholas couldn’t quite make it fit. He said, ‘Where is your son now?’

Instantly he regretted asking, as a look of sorrow passed over both their faces. He thought the young man must have died in the war.

But to his surprise, Megar said, ‘He lives with the elves.’

Suddenly Nicholas made the connection. ‘Your son is the Elf Queen’s consort!’

Magya nodded. With resignation she said, ‘We don’t see him much. We’ve had one visit since the child was born, and we get a message from time to time.’

‘Child?’

Our grandson,’ answered Megar. ‘Calis.’

Magya brightened. ‘He’s a good boy. He visits once or twice a year. He’s more like his father than those elves he lives with,’ she said with conviction. ‘I often wish he’d come to live here at Crydee.’

The conversation died, and Nicholas excused himself and left through the door to the courtyard. He recollected what his uncle Laurie had told him about the last days of the Riftwar and what bits Amos had told him. Tomas wasn’t human. At least, that was the impression Nicholas had been left with; he was something else, related to the elves, but different. Nicholas thought that if he had human parents, especially ones as warm and open as Megar and Magya, he must have been much like the other keep children. What could have changed him? wondered Nicholas.

Nicholas wandered over to the Princess’s Garden, faintly hoping to find Abigail and Margaret there. Given the hour, they were probably in the hall, dining with Duke Martin, but Nicholas hoped anyway.

Instead of the young girls, Nicholas was astonished to find Nakor and Anthony, lying flat on their stomachs, staring at something under a stone bench.

‘There, you see?’ said Nakor.

‘That one?’ asked Anthony.

‘Yes.’

They dusted themselves off as they rose. Nakor said, ‘You must be sure it is the one with those tiny flecks of orange. If they are red, it is deadly. If it is any other color, it is useless.’

Anthony took notice of Nicholas and bowed slightly. ‘Highness.’

Nicholas sat upon the bench they had just been peering under, taking the weight off his foot. ‘Squire,’ he corrected.

Nakor grinned his lopsided grin. ‘For the present, Squire, but Prince always. Anthony knows this.’

Nicholas ignored the observation. ‘What were you two doing?’

Anthony seemed embarrassed. ‘Well, there’s a small mushroom-like growth that you can find in dark, damp places –’

‘Under the bench,’ injected Nakor.

‘– and Nakor was showing me how to identify it correctly.’

‘For magic potions?’ asked Nicholas.

‘As a drug,’ snapped Nakor. ‘To induce sleep – if prepared correctly. Very handy when you have to cut an arrow out of a soldier, or remove a bad tooth.’

Nicholas indulged himself. ‘I thought all you magicians have to do is wave your hand and put someone in a trance.’

Anthony shrugged, as if to say that he wasn’t much of a magician, but Nakor said, ‘See, that’s what comes of letting children grow up uneducated.’ He opened his bag and took out an orange. ‘Want one?’ he asked.

Nicholas nodded and Nakor tossed the fruit to him. He gave another to Anthony. Then he handed the bag to Nicholas. ‘Look inside.’

Nicholas examined the large rucksack. He found it simple: black material, feeling like common felted wool. A leather drawstring had been sewn around the mouth of the bag, and a wooden frog and loop served as a clasp. The bag was empty. Handing it back, Nicholas said, ‘There’s nothing in it.’

Nakor reached in and withdrew a writhing snake. Anthony’s eyes widened and Nicholas scooted backward on the bench, until he hit the wall behind. ‘That’s a viper!’

With a wave of his hand, Nakor said, ‘This? It’s just a stick.’

In his hand was a simple piece of wood, which he put back in the bag; then again he tossed the bag to Nicholas. Nicholas examined it closely and said, ‘It’s empty.’ he handed the bag to Nakor. ‘How did you do that?’

Nakor grinned again. ‘It’s easy if you know the trick.’

Anthony shook his head. ‘He does some very impressive things, yet insists there is no magic’

Nakor nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll explain it to you someday, magician. Pug knows.’

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the walls above the courtyard and said, ‘I’ve been hearing a lot about Pug today, it seems.’

Anthony said, ‘He is something of a legend here. At Stardock, too. He left before I joined the community there.’

Nicholas said, ‘Well, you can’t have been a member for long; he’s only been gone from there about eight years.’

Anthony smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’m a very junior magician. The masters felt –’

‘Masters!’ snorted Nakor. ‘Those overblown fools Korsh and Watoom!’ Shaking his head, he sat down next to Anthony. ‘They were the reason I left Stardock.’ He pointed to Anthony as he looked at Nicholas. ‘This boy was quite gifted, but he is what those fools call a “lesser” magician. If I had stayed, I would have made him one of my Blue Riders!’ Grinning at Anthony, he said, ‘I sure made some trouble there, didn’t I?’

Anthony laughed, and Nicholas saw him look as young as Harry and himself. ‘That’s the truth. The Blue Riders are the most popular faction at Stardock, and there are some very bitter fights –’

‘Fights!’ exclaimed Nicholas. ‘Magicians fighting?’

Anthony said, ‘Student brawls, really. There are some older apprentices, who call themselves the Hands of Korsh – though he doesn’t care for that – who often start trouble in the taverns at Stardock. No one causes serious damage – the masters wouldn’t allow that – but it can result in a cracked head now and again.’ He sighed, remembering. ‘I wasn’t there long enough to become seriously involved with all that politics. I was having too much trouble with my studies. That’s why they sent me here, at Duke Martin’s request, because I’m not much of a magician.’

Nakor shook his head and made a face. ‘If you’re not much like them, that’s a good thing.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to the woods to look for some things. I’ll see you at supper.’ He pointed to Anthony. ‘Put some salve on the boy’s foot, so it’ll be better tomorrow.’

Anthony said, ‘I have some things that might help.’

Without further word, Nakor scampered from the garden, leaving the young magician and Squire alone.

Nicholas was the first to speak. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known a stranger person.’

Anthony said, ‘I’ve met a few strange ones at Stardock, but no one to rival Nakor.’

‘Was he one of your teachers at Stardock, before he left?’

Anthony shook his head and sat in the spot Nakor had just vacated. ‘Not really. I’m not sure what he was doing there, except causing trouble for Watoom and Korsh. The story is he showed up one day with a letter from Prince Borric and some claim that Pug told him to come to Stardock. He stayed about three or four years, and did some strange things, mostly converting a lot of students to the notion that everyone could learn magic – or what he calls “tricks” – and that magicians were not very bright for not being able to understand this.’ Anthony sighed. ‘I had problems of my own at the time, and didn’t pay too much attention. I was a new student and saw Nakor only two or three times, around the island.’

Nicholas said, ‘Is it true that they sent you because you weren’t very good?’

Anthony said, ‘I suspect as much. There were many more gifted students than I, and no small number of accomplished master magicians living at Stardock.’

Nicholas’s face darkened. ‘That’s close to an insult, you know.’

Anthony’s face flushed. ‘I didn’t.’

Nicholas said, ‘I don’t mean to belittle you, Anthony. You may be more talented than you think. At least, Nakor says you are,’ he added quickly. Both knew it sounded a weak attempt to smooth over the remark. ‘But the King’s brother requested a magician, to fill a post once held by Pug’s teacher. They should have sent one of their best.’

Anthony stood up. ‘Perhaps.’ His manner was stiff, caught between embarrassment and insult. He flushed a little as he said, ‘Stardock doesn’t feel it owes much allegiance to the Kingdom, I’m afraid. If Pug were still there, that might be one thing, him being a cousin to the King and all, but as it is today, Korsh and Watoom have a great deal of influence among the masters and they are from Kesh. They’d like to keep Stardock out of politics on both sides of the border, I think.’

Nicholas said, ‘That might not be a bad idea, I guess, but it’s still rude.’

Anthony said, ‘If you come with me, I have some salves that may hasten your recuperation; at the least, they won’t cause any problems even if they don’t help.’

Nicholas followed the young magician. Glancing around the garden, he again regretted that the girls were nowhere in sight.

The weeks passed with surprising speed. Each day was full of duties from dawn to dusk, and Nicholas discovered that the hectic pace was to his liking. Being busy kept him from brooding, a trait inherited from his father. The strenuous routine of constantly being on the move, of having to pitch in with much of the physical labor, was hardening his youthful frame as well. Always fit from riding and sword practice, he was now gaining strength to go with his speed. After his first day hauling arms and armor out for cleaning and having to lug it all back into the armory, he thought he was going to die. Now he could carry twice the load and feel little strain.

The work seemed to agree with Harry, too, though he reveled in complaining whenever he had the chance. In the three weeks since coming to Crydee, both boys had found little time to spend with Margaret and Abigail, though Harry had found a bit more than Nicholas. He delighted in playing upon Nicholas’s anxiety over the young lady-in-waiting, sometimes teasing him to the point of anger. But most of their time was caught up in the seemingly endless routine of the court of Crydee. So far the only time Nicholas had found to pay court to Abigail was on Sixthday afternoons, and to his chagrin Marcus was always nearby.

The people of Castle Crydee took on individual identities to the boys from Krondor. The kitchen staff was friendly, the other servants respectful and distant. The younger serving girls viewed Harry with a mixture of amusement and wariness, while a few watched Nicholas with open admiration, attention he found somewhat disquieting. Swordmaster Charles was interesting but always formal in speech and manner. Faxon was open and friendly, and Nicholas found him a good listener. Nakor and Ghuda were rarely in evidence, always seeming to find something in town or the nearby woods to occupy their time. Slowly the alien quality that had overwhelmed Nicholas upon first arriving was wearing off, and while Crydee would never feel like home, it was becoming familiar. And Abigail occupied more of Nicholas’s thoughts than any girl he had previously known. On those rare occasions he could find her without Marcus hovering by she was warm and attentive, and left him with conflicting feelings that he was making a total ass of himself and that she really cared for his company.

Nearly a month after the reception dinner, Nicholas and Harry dined with the Duke’s court once again. Since they were members of the household, it was not an unexpected event, but it was the first time since they had come to Crydee that the boys had been free enough from duty to eat at the same time as everyone else. They sat at the foot of the table, removed enough from the Duke and his family that only faint snatches of conversation reached them. Not only was the household in attendance, but several important members of guilds and crafts from the town were seated at the Duke’s table, while some visiting merchants and traders were seated around the hall.

Nicholas sat staring across the hall at Abigail, who seemed to be listening somewhat distractedly to something Marcus was telling her. She glanced at Nicholas with regularity and occasionally flushed and lowered her eyes when he caught her gaze.

Harry said, ‘The girl likes you.’

Nicholas said, ‘How do you know?’

Harry grinned as he sipped at a goblet of wine. ‘She keeps looking over here at you.’

‘Maybe she thinks I look funny,’ Nicholas said with a note of fear.

Harry laughed. ‘Given how much you and Marcus resemble each other, and that you’re obviously the only two chaps she pays the least bit of attention to, I’d say she has a preference for a certain type.’ Tapping his friend upon the shoulder, he said, ‘She likes you, dummy.’

Dinner passed with the boys engaging in trivialities with the two young men who sat beside Nicholas. One was a gem dealer seeking to underwrite an expedition into a region of the Grey Tower mountains; he claimed there were gem deposits still untapped by dwarves or human miners. He was to be disappointed, Nicholas knew, for the Kingdom made no claims over the Grey Towers beyond the foothills; the gem dealer would have to treat with Dolgan, the King of the western dwarves, at village Caldara, a week’s travel or more inland.

The other man was a traveler from Queg, a merchant in fine silks and rare perfumes, who had occupied most of the girls’ afternoon showing them his wares, which was why Nicholas had not caught sight of them all day. Margaret was more given to hunting leather and simple tunics, like her mother, it seemed, though she wore the proper gowns and jewelry in court; but Abigail and most of the daughters of the town’s richer merchants had purchased enough of the merchant’s fineries to guarantee him a profitable trip before he visited Carse and Tulan on his way home.

The merchant was named Vasarius, and something about him irritated Nicholas. Perhaps it was the way Nicholas had caught him staring at Margaret and Abigail, in a manner Nicholas could only consider covetous. When Nicholas caught him at it, he merely averted his eyes from the girls, or smiled at Nicholas as if he were but glancing around the room.

After dinner the merchants gathered before the Duke and his lady and a short period of socializing followed, before they were escorted out of the castle. Nicholas noticed that while the other merchants were attempting to get Martin’s attention, Vasarius was chatting amiably with Charles and Faxon.

Nicholas was on the verge of saying something about this to Harry when Marcus approached. ‘We’re going hunting tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You two begin laying out everything we’re going to need. Have a couple of servants go with you.’

Nicholas nodded, while Harry barely suppressed a groan. They hurried off and motioned for a couple of the servants to follow. Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and noticed Abigail watching his departure. She waved to him, wishing him a silent good night, and Nicholas turned to see Marcus looking at her with a sour expression. Smiling slightly, Nicholas felt better than he had since coming to Crydee.

It was late when Nicholas and Harry finished organizing the equipment for the hunt. They would be gone only two or three days, but there would be a half dozen in the party – Martin, Marcus, Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, and Nakor – so a fair amount of equipment and provisions needed to be readied. After a minute of standing around in confusion, not knowing where to begin, the boys had allowed the experienced servants to take charge and had mostly observed, save when it came to choosing weapons. Both squires knew they were responsible for those choices, and by now both had a good idea of what Martin and Marcus would require. Like his father, Marcus was an excellent bowman and favored the longbow.

When everything was ready, Nicholas and Harry returned to the banquet hall. Nicholas left his friend and went up to the Duke. Martin finished his conversation with one of the local merchants and said, ‘Yes, Squire?’

Nicholas said, ‘All is ready for tomorrow, Your Grace.’

‘Good. I have no further need for you this evening, Squire. We leave at first light.’

Nicholas bowed and departed, leaving Martin to his guests. Harry was likewise on his own, from all appearances, as he hurried across the hall to Nicholas. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I thought I’d turn in. It’s an early start tomorrow.’

‘Lady Margaret mentioned that she’d be taking a stroll through the Princess’s Garden.’

‘Well, there you go,’ said Nicholas. ‘Now’s your chance.’

Harry grinned. ‘Abigail went with her.’

Nicholas grinned in return. ‘What are we waiting for?’

With a signal lack of decorum, the boys hurried out of the Duke’s great hall just a stride short of a full run.

As the boys leaped the three steps to the Princess’s Garden, Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles. Margaret’s was confident and amused; Abigail’s was shy and pleased.

Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of courtly dignity. Grinning self-consciously, Nicholas said, ‘Good evening, ladies.’

‘Good evening, Squire,’ replied Margaret.

Abigail spoke softly. ‘Good evening, Highness.’

The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to Margaret. The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to speak at the same time. The girls laughed and the boys had the good grace to look embarrassed. Again there was a silent moment, then Harry and Nicholas began to speak again.

Margaret said, ‘I know you two can’t seem to live a moment apart, but why don’t you come over here with me, Squire Harry.’

Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.

Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden to another bench, where they sat. Softly Abigail said, ‘You seem to be adjusting to living with us, Highness.’

Nicholas said, ‘It’s “Squire” here, my lady.’ He flushed a little and said, ‘I … think I like it. Some of it.’ He stared at her, amazed at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like. Her skin was clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured. He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous in the faint light of the torches upon the wall. Her hair was gathered back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a cascade of golden silk. He glanced down and said, ‘Some things I find a great deal more appealing here than others.’

She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, ‘Is His Grace overworking you? I hardly ever see you in the castle. We’ve spoken little more than a dozen words in weeks.’

Nicholas said, ‘I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father’s court and being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go on all the time in Krondor.’

‘I would have thought that a wonderful life,’ she said. Her tone was disappointed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more thrilling than being presented in your father’s court, or the King’s court.’ Her eyes were wide and her expression earnest as she spoke. ‘The great lords and beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands – it all sounds so wonderful.’ She positively glowed to Nicholas’s eyes as she said this.

Trying not to sound too blasé, Nicholas said, ‘It’s often colorful.’ In fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore. But he was sure Abigail didn’t wish to hear that, and at this particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last thing he wished. She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last moments he had forgotten to breathe. ‘Perhaps someday you can visit Krondor or Rillanon.’

Her expression turned from wondering to resigned. ‘I’m the daughter of a Far Coast Baron. If my father has his way, I’ll be pledged to marry Marcus soon; I’ll be an old woman with children before I have a chance to visit Krondor, and I’ll never see Rillanon.’

Nicholas didn’t know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she spoke of marrying Marcus. At last he said, ‘You won’t have to.’

‘Have to what?’ she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

‘Marry Marcus if you don’t want to,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s not as if your father can command you to.’

‘He can make it very hard for me to say no,’ she said, lowering her eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly long.

Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her hands in his own. Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them with the other, he said, ‘I could …’

Softy, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, ‘What, Nicky?’

Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, ‘I could ask my father –’

Abigail said, ‘Nicky, you’re wonderful!’ She reached out and put her hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.

Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed. He had never known a kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant. Her lips rested perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses. His head swam as he began to return the kiss. He felt his body warming as he drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands. She moved in such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.

Abruptly she pulled away. ‘Marcus!’ she whispered and before Nicholas could gather his wits she was gone. He blinked in confusion, feeling as if someone had poured icy water over his head. A moment later, Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the ones by the football field. Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss he had not heard his cousin approach.

When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression darkened. ‘Squire,’ he said coldly.

‘Marcus,’ answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.

‘I don’t suppose the Lady Abigail is here.’

Nicholas discovered that he didn’t like the way in which Marcus was looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him mention her name. ‘She’s not here.’

Marcus glanced around. ‘But unless you’ve taken to wearing her cologne, she was here moments ago.’ With narrowed gaze he said, ‘Where is she?’

Nicholas stood. ‘Over there, I think.’

Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up with him. They both crossed to the other side of the Princess’s Garden, where they found Harry sitting on the bench. The Squire from Ludland was flushing furiously.

Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.

Marcus said, ‘I suppose you were entertaining my sister.’

Harry’s flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Looking off toward the castle-in the direction the girls had obviously gone-he added, ‘She is a most remarkable girl.’

Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both. ‘I hoped you two would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven’t. Well, here’s how it’s going to be.’ Pointing at Harry, he said, ‘My sister can take care of herself, but she’s slated for bigger things than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl.’

Harry’s face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept his silence.

Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, ‘And you, cousin … Abigail doesn’t need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her behind when he goes home. Is that clear?’

Nicholas stepped forward, ‘What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn’t have duties for me, is my business. And who Abigail chooses to spend her time with is her business.’

Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were separated by Harry, stepping between them. ‘It won’t do anyone any good if you two start brawling,’ he said, his anger making his voice hard and scolding. Looking as if he would welcome any excuse to brawl himself, he turned a challenging gaze at Marcus. ‘The Duke would be displeased, wouldn’t he?’

Marcus and Nicholas both looked at Harry in momentary surprise, then locked gazes. Marcus said, ‘We leave at first light, Squire. See that everything is ready.’ He turned and marched away, his back as straight as a poll arm.

Nicholas said, ‘He is going to cause trouble.’

‘You’re the one who’s already caused trouble,’ answered Harry.

‘She doesn’t love him,’ said Nicholas.

‘Oh, she told you this?’ asked Harry.

‘Not in so many words, but –’

‘Tell me on the way to our rooms. We’ve got to be ready for tomorrow.’

As they walked, Nicholas said, ‘She doesn’t want to stay here with Marcus, that’s certain.’

Harry nodded. ‘So you think you’ll take her back to Krondor?’

‘Why not?’ said Nicholas with an edge of anger in his tone.

‘You know why,’ answered Harry. ‘Because you’re going to marry some Princess from the court of Roldem, or a Duke’s daughter, or a Princess of Kesh.’

With anger in his voice, and the memory of Abigail’s kiss still fresh in his thoughts, he said, ‘What if I don’t want to?’

Sighing, Harry said, ‘What if your King commands you to?’

Nicholas’s jaws tightened, but he said nothing. He ached with frustration, the frustration of the interrupted embrace and the frustration of wanting to plant his fist in Marcus’s face. At last he asked, ‘What did Margaret do that got you so flustered?’

Harry blushed again. ‘She’s … amazing.’ He drew a deep breath and blew it out theatrically. ‘She started by asking me how the men in Krondor kiss, then asked me to show her. One thing led to another.’ He stopped as if catching his wind. With red cheeks, he said, ‘She got very bold, and …’ He paused, then blurted, ‘Nicholas, she asked me if I’d ever been with a woman!’

‘She didn’t!’ exclaimed Nicky, half laughing, half groaning.

‘She did! Then …’

‘What?’

‘Then she asked me what it was like!’

‘She didn’t!’

‘Will you stop saying that. She did.’

‘So what did you say?’

‘I told her what it was like.’

‘And?’

‘She laughed at me! Then she said, ‘When you know what you’re talking about, Squire, come let me know. I’m curious.’ Then she went back to kissing me, and moving around against me so I thought I was going to burst! Then Abigail came running over and said Marcus was coming, and they hurried off.’

‘Amazing,’ observed Nicholas, his anger and frustration vanishing before his astonishment at his unusual cousin Margaret.

‘She’s that,’ Harry said.

‘You still think you’re in love?’ Nicholas asked jokingly.

‘My stomach hurts worse than ever, but …’

‘What?’

‘Your cousin Margaret is really scary.’

Nicholas laughed and bade Harry good night. As he returned to his own quarters, he lapsed into a memory of soft lips, warm perfume, and the most incredible eyes he had ever beheld. His body warmed at the memory. And his stomach hurt like mad.