Lois Greiman (19 page)

The guard called Allard bowed. “Your Majesty,” he began, and his tone was actually pained. “You cannot trust this boy.”

“And I do not,” she said solemnly. “I trust you to keep me safe from him.”

He bowed again, looking pale.

“The princess has spoken,” Paqual declared, and turned brusquely toward the baron. “Lord Landow.” His smile was almost earnest now. “It seems you will be entertaining a small houseguest.”

The nobleman nodded as if it did not matter to him either way. “I will take my young ward then and be on my way,” he said, and turned into the crowd.

Paqual motioned toward a city guard. “Take the boy to
Landow,” he said, but Allard stepped forward in his stead and took the boy’s arm in a firm grip. No one argued.

“I will accompany them,” Megan said.

The crowd sounded as if it could not possibly bare another shock.

“Your Majesty!” argued Paqual. “Surely you do not intend to—”

“I will ride in my own coach, of course,” she said. “But I no longer feel up to celebrating. Indeed…” She forced a rough laugh and held out her hand. It shook without any acting on her part. “I am quite unnerved.”

“Then I shall accompany you,” said Paqual.

“No. Please.” Stepping forward, she laid a gloved hand on his arm and smiled into his face. “I need you to be there in my stead as you so often have.”

He was weakening. “But Your Majesty—”

“I know I ask a great deal of you, but we dare not offend Lord…” For the briefest moment she could not find his name. Was Paqual looking at her oddly? Panic swelled up in her again. She brightened her smile. “There you see,” she said. “I can barely remember Lord Melville’s name after such an ordeal. I would be little good there.”

His expression softened. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he said, and bowed.

“’Tis clear why my uncle valued you so,” she said, and, turning away, escaped back to her carriage.

W
ill sat his steed in absolute silence.

“It was the right thing to do,” Nicol assured him. “I could hardly take the lad to Newburn. Can you imagine Mrs. Melrose rearing a child?” He almost shivered at the thought.

Will said nothing. Indeed, he gave no indication whether he had heard, and Nicol, already out of sorts, chaffed at the silence.

“They were going to cut off the boy’s hand, for God’s—”

“Who is she?” Will’s voice was deep and low, barely audible in the waning light.

“What?” Nicol asked.

Will turned toward him. Perhaps he was drunk, but perhaps it didn’t matter. His eyes were steady and dark. “Who is she, Cole?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Will turned forward again, watching the businesses fade to houses. “When I first saw her in the woods I believed she was the princess. I believed you had finally lost your mind and
taken her as your lover. But it seems even you are not that foolish.”

“You’re drunk, Will,” Nicol said, and the baron sighed.

“Usually,” he agreed. “Who is she?”

“Once you get some sleep you’ll realize—”

“I stepped forward when you asked,” Will said coldly. “I am, it seems, even taking the ragged urchin into my house. The least you could do is tell me the truth.”

Their gazes clashed. “Forget what you think you know, Will. ’Tis safer that way.”

“Safer,” Will said and laughed, but the sound was harsh. “You think I care to be
safe
?”

“It was a long time ago, Will,” Nicol said. “Two years. ’Tis time to put their deaths behind you. Forget—”

But in that second the baron reached out and grabbed Nicol by his lapel. “Do not suggest that I forget.”

Nicol watched his face, watched the pain and regret chase like demons through his eyes, but the baron finally dropped his hand and his gaze.

“The princess is safe,” Nicol said. “That is all I can tell you.”

Will remained silent as he pulled his mount to a halt. Up ahead, Landow House loomed high above shabby gardens. Behind them the guard dismounted, dragging a tattered boy with him, and behind that the princess’s carriage rolled to a halt.

Will turned his gaze back to Nicol and swung down from his saddle. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“As do I.”

Striding to the carriage, Nicol bowed as Megan was handed out of the conveyance, but she gazed past him toward Will. “My lord Landow,” she said, “where do you plan to keep the child?”

She held her gown just so, ignoring Nicol entirely, acting
as if he weren’t even there. He had taught her that cool disdain, had taught her how to walk, how to talk.

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” said Will, and bowed, “I fear I’ve had little time to formulate a plan, but I shall find him a room.”

She gave him an approving nod and motioned to the guard. “Bring the boy to the house,” she said, and, pacing past Nicol, made her way up the footpath toward Will’s door.

Perhaps it was her high-handedness that incensed Nicol, or perhaps it was the thought of her risking her identity in front of Paqual, risking everything. He fell in beside her, his strides long, his ire burning. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

If she felt the least bit of consternation for his tone, it didn’t show in her expression. “I am not exactly sure, my lord,” she said, “but some might say I am saving a life.”

“By risking your own?”

“Is it my life you worry about, my lord?” she asked. “Or hers?”

He knew she meant Tatiana’s.

“Yours would be the first forfeit,” he said.

“Or yours,” she countered

“I hope that’s not a good enough reason to sacrifice your own.”

“They were about to cut off his hand,” she hissed.

“He’s a thief.”

“So, you condone their behavior?”

She stopped dead in her tracks. He forced a smile and bowed as if they exchanged some witty bit of repartee. “No,” he said, and, daring to take her elbow, turned her back toward the house. “I do not condone it, but you might have been found out.” The source of his anger burst out finally. “Dammit, girl, this is no fine game we play for your entertainment. This—”

“You think I believe this a game?” She jerked her head to the rear, eyes blazing. “You think
he
believes this a game?”

He tried to formulate an answer, but she was still enraged.

“The boy is starving. Do you know what that’s like, Viscount?” She said his title with sharp disdain, silencing him. “Have you felt the bite of hunger? Do you know what you would do to be rid of the pain?”

Anger burned through him, but it was washed with guilt now, with chagrin. He reached for her elbow again. For a moment he thought she would jerk away, but she allowed him to usher her down the walkway in silence.

Will passed them, swinging the door open and bowing them in.

“My—” An elderly woman stopped in her tracks, her eyes as round as her face.

“Your Majesty,” Will said, “may I present Mrs. Angler, the keeper of my house?”

The plump little woman looked as if she might keel over backward. Instead, she sank into a curtsy from which she had difficulty recovering. Behind her, a half dozen other servants were piling up like bent lettuce leaves.

“We will be having a guest, Mrs. Angler.”

It didn’t appear as if the good woman’s eyes could go any wider, but Nicol had learned sometime ago that appearances could be deceiving.

“Not her—Not—” Angler stuttered.

“No. Not Her Majesty,” Will said, and, bowing to Megan, motioned her toward a chair in the nearby morning room.

She brushed past them, wafting lavender scent and an air of dismissal, but she did not take the seat indicated. “Mrs. Angler,” she said, and inclined her head ever so little, “there will be a child staying here at Landow House with you.”

“A—A—”

“A young boy,” she said. “Can you care for a young boy?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It will be my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

“He will need a place to sleep. New clothes, and…” She glanced at Nicol. Beneath the elegant gown, her back was actually arched in regal demeanor. Perhaps he had seen her angry before, but now her eyes were afire. “And a tutor I think. Lord Newburn will pay for these things.”

“Yes, Your—”

“Your Highness,” Will interrupted and bowed. “If I am to be the boy’s guardian, I should be the one to pay the bills.”

She stared at him. “Thank you, my lord, but that is not necessary. Lord Newburn will be happy to see to those costs.”

Lord Landow inclined his head, but did not smile.

Megan shifted her gaze back to the housekeeper. “The lad will require a meal immediately.”

“Yes. Yes, Your Majesty,” stuttered Mrs. Angler, and, turning breathlessly to the servants behind her, sent them scurrying off in a dozen different directions.

“Lord Landow.” She turned to the baron, her expression as cool as etched glass. Nicol watched in fascination. When he created a monster, he sure as hell did so with panache. “Might you have somewhere we could speak to the boy?”

“My wife had a tea-room,” he informed her, and led the way down the hall.

“My ladies,” she said, speaking to the wide-eyed duo behind her. “You may remain here. I shall return shortly. “Allard, take the boy to the tea-room.”

Stern-faced and silent, the guard herded his unwilling ward down the hallway after Will. Megan followed, and Nicol followed her. The boy shuffled stiffly inside. His pants, Nicol noticed, were several inches too short, showing pale bony ankles and amazingly filthy feet. Pulled away from his shoulders by the guard’s fist, his misplaced coat revealed a tattered tunic and collarbones sharp enough to cut glass.

The boy stilled as Brigitte entered the room. She walked to
the far side and turned to face him, and he squirmed a little under her gaze.

“What is your name, lad?” she asked.

A myriad of emotions charged across the boy’s dirt-streaked face. There was not a single one Nicol could identify, but in a moment the lad dropped his head toward the floor and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry.” The words were the tiniest whisper. He went limp and hung suddenly from Allard’s fist like a shriveled winter pear. Caught unawares, the guard tried to catch his balance and pull the boy back onto his feet, but the lad twisted about, covering his face with grimy hands. “Don’t ’it me. Please don’t ’it me.”

Megan was silent for a moment, then, “Release him, Allard.”

“But—”

“Release him,” she repeated, and the guard did so, letting the boy spill to the floor. “You may retire to the hallway and shut the door, but keep watch there until I join you.”

“Your Highness, please, I do not think—”

And then she smiled. Perhaps Allard had never seen the princess smile, and perhaps one should be prepared for such a shock, for he seemed stunned by its brilliance.

“I appreciate your loyalty,” she said. “Indeed, it means more to me than I can say, but I am certain I will be safe so long as you guard the far side of that door.”

It took the poor fellow a moment to regroup, longer still to nod and retreat, but soon the room was empty except for the four of them, an interesting quartet of miscreants. A whimpering thief, a drunken baron, a princess who was not, and himself—perhaps the biggest fraud of them all.

Megan turned her attention to Will, then snapped her gaze to Nicol, and he knew immediately what she considered.

Nodding once, he didn’t bother to glance at the baron.
You can trust him,” he said simply. “With your life and more.”

She turned back to the boy. He was half-sprawled on the floor, his skinny legs curled under him, his hands splay-fingered in front.

“Stand up, lad.”

“Please, Your Majesty…” he pleaded, and managed to get himself even lower, but she cut him off before he’d finished the thought.

“Who do you work for?”

His head came up with a snap. “Work for?”

“Yes.” She was still the princess, her bearing regal, her tone precise, and yet there was something a bit different about her, elegance with an edge.

“I don’t work for no one, m’ lady. I wouldn’t never steal, not if I could make honest coin.”

“So you steal ruby necklaces on your own? Who sells your goods for you then?”

His mouth opened. “I don’t know what you mean, m’ lady.”

“So you intended to keep a bauble worth a thousand sentrons for yourself?”

“A thousand!” His tone was awed. “God’s teeth, I didn’t ’ave no way a knowin’ it was worth such a fortune. A thousand sentrons. I could buy me old da a decent room for that. I could…” A single tear wended its way down his cheek, leaving a trail through the grime. “I could afford ’is medicine and get ’is job back at the—”

“Oh for God’s sake, cease!” she demanded, and rose rapidly to her feet.

The boy’s jaw dropped again.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

He did so and though his expression was still woeful, there was a glint of caution in his eyes.

“What’s your name?” she asked again.

He paused just a moment. “Some call me Jack.”

“What does your master call you?”

“Me master?” He shook his head, scowling as he did so. “I don’t ’ave no—”

“Allard,” she called.

The door opened with a snap.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Take the thief to Lord Paqual. Tell him—”

“Nim!” the boy said.

She turned with cool aplomb back to him. “What say you?”

The boy’s gaze darted from face to face, but his back was stiff now, his expression hard. “They call me Nim.”

She nodded.

“My apologies, Allard,” she said, and turned back toward the guard. “You are excused once again.”

He looked momentarily confused and less than happy, but he retreated, closing the door behind him.

The room was absolutely silent.

“Sit down,” she ordered.

The boy didn’t move, but watched her narrowly as she took a seat near the window. It was then that Nicol wondered about her position. Had she placed herself there on the off chance that the lad would try to escape in that direction? Did she plan to stop him herself? Moving across the room, Nicol took a seat not far from hers.

They watched the boy in silence. He remained as he was, staring at them, his jaw set. It was a strange vision, what with that one tear track down his cheek.

“Why Nim?” she asked.

“What are yer plans fer me?” he countered.

“Where are your parents?”

He glanced toward the window, seeming to calculate his odds before answering. “I ain’t got no parents.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Wherever I wants to.”

“What percent does your master give you?”

His gaze darted again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“He should be giving you half. When you see him demand fifty percent.”

“Fifty!” he scoffed. “Poke’d kill me if—” He stopped short. Silence fell into the room again. The boy went paler still.

“What difference does it make?” Her voice was very soft, and suddenly her face was the same. “If Poke doesn’t kill you, someone else will, lad.”

He jerked up his chin. “I ain’t called Nimble Jack fer nothin’.”

“And what if they called you One Hand Jack?”

He swallowed, pulled his gaze from hers, and hugged his arm unconsciously against his narrow chest. “They didn’t ’ave me yet.” There was bravado in his voice, but there was also the dead edge of fear.

“A one-handed thief would not be of much use to a man like Poke.”

“I’m better with one ’and than most is with two. ’E knows that.”

“You might have to start whoring.”

The boy’s eyes went absolutely flat as he slipped his gaze from hers to the men’s. “What kind o’ queen is she?”

Nicol shook his head. “A princess,” he corrected. “Perhaps you should listen to her.”

The lad’s eyes skipped back to her. His pale lips were pursed, but in a moment, he nodded solemnly. “What do y’want?”

She watched him for several seconds. “I would like you to grow to manhood.”

He narrowed his eyes even more. “I ain’t that kind,” he said. “Not even for a princess.”

Her face was solemn, her eyes sad. “How long have you been on the streets?”