The Warrior's Princess Bride. Meriel Fuller

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      ‘But your husband…?’

      ‘I have no—’ Tavia stopped suddenly, remembering the lies she had told Ferchar, that the English soldier, Benois le Vallieres, was her husband. ‘Ah, yes,’ she muttered, lamely.

      ‘He didn’t look too happy when he led you away.’ Ada linked her arm through Tavia’s and led her towards the window embrasure, away from the knot of industrious ladies. ‘What did you say to him to change his mind?’

      ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’ Confused, Tavia scrabbled to make some sense of the princess’s words. How in Heaven’s name did she know all this?

      Ada laughed. ‘I watched everything from an upstairs window; he’s a handsome fellow, your husband.’

      ‘Aye, and very lenient, once you know how to handle him.’ Tavia smiled, hoping that she would never have to ‘handle’ that man again. Two encounters had been more than enough for her.

      ‘Then I hope I am as lucky as you seem to be in your marriage.’ A secretive coyness spread across Ada’s face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Which may be sooner than everyone thinks.’

      ‘Oh?’ Tavia replied, vaguely.

      ‘I feel like I can tell you this, Tavia,’ Ada spoke in a hurried undertone, excitement making her stumble over some of the words. ‘You’re a stranger, yet I know we will be friends, and I know I can count on your discretion…?’

      The question hung on the princess’s lips, warranting some sort of answer. Tavia felt awkward, unwilling to be drawn so quickly into the princess’s confidence. Aye, at this first meeting, she liked the maid, but friends? It was too soon to make that judgement. A quiet desperation lurked around Ada’s eyes, her neediness like an empty bucket that Tavia doubted she could fill. Not knowing how to reply, Tavia smiled lightly.

      ‘Ferchar will be my husband. He loves me, dotes on me…and I love him.’

      ‘I’m happy for you.’ Ada’s words meant nothing to her.

      ‘He’s so strong, so decisive, a natural leader.’ Ada’s voice rose a notch, hissing slightly with undisguised elation. ‘Why, he even picked out this gown for me this morning!’ She smoothed her hand over the soft wool of her skirt.

      ‘He makes a good regent,’ Tavia agreed, startled by Ada’s curious dependence on Ferchar.

      ‘He’d make an even better king!’ Ada blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth, before clutching weakly at Tavia’s sleeve. ‘I’ve said too much. Forget my words, Tavia!’ She glanced hurriedly around the room, checking to see if they had been overheard.

      So that explained Ferchar’s over-protectiveness of the Princess Ada, thought Tavia. He wanted the maid for himself, for a wife, and wanted to keep her safe. He had obviously already gained Ada’s undeniable loyalty; the girl appeared infatuated with him, despite him being at least twenty winters older than her.

      ‘Your words are forgotten, my lady,’ Tavia replied brightly. ‘Do not think on it again.’

      Underneath the magnificent wooden arches of the great hall at Langley Castle, Benois stabbed his jewelled eating knife into a piece of cured ham and put it between his lips, chewing thoughtfully. Below him, in the main body of the hall, his soldiers ate alongside the peasants that worked in the castle fields, hungrily devouring the huge platters of food that seemed to emerge continually from the kitchens.

      ‘Ah, Benois, back already!’ Lord Langley, a well-known supporter of King Henry, bounced up the stairs to the top table. ‘How are you enjoying our hospitality?’ He slapped his friend companionably on the back.

      ‘It’s much appreciated, Langley.’ Benois leant back in his chair. ‘After all those nights spent in cold tents with less than agreeable food, I thank the Lord that you are on our side.’

      ‘And fortunate that I own a castle on the English side of the border that’s not many miles from Dunswick.’ Langley grinned, lifting a slice of chicken on to his plate.

      ‘That, too.’ Benois laughed, the taut skin of his face stretching over his high cheekbones.

      ‘So, what did you find out? They obviously didn’t realise who you were.’

      ‘Hmm! I was lucky. Although one person did recognise me.’

      ‘Who on earth? No one knows you in Scotland!’

      ‘No one, it seems, apart from one completely annoying, interfering, god-forsaken maid!’ Benois replied. A pair of blue eyes shining from a luminous, pearl-like face swam into his memory. ‘She nearly wrecked the whole plan!’

      ‘But how in God’s name did she know you?’

      Benois sighed, breaking off a chunk of bread from the round loaf on the table. ‘The maid was captured by my men in our earlier raid on Dunswick. I caught them just in time. She remembered me from then.’

      ‘Unlucky,’ Langley surmised. ‘But you still managed to avoid being caught.’

      ‘Aye, although the wench nearly stabbed me with one of my own arrows. The woman is a termagant!’

      Langley tipped his head back and roared with laughter. ‘I like it. The magnificent Brabanter mercenary floored by a woman.’

      ‘Nearly,’ Benois corrected, smiling. He remembered the supple feel of the girl’s body against his own as he had wrenched the arrow from her hand, crushing her easily into him, stopping her struggles.

      Langley observed him closely. ‘From your expression it seems the encounter was not entirely unpleasant.’

      ‘It was certainly surprising.’ Benois grimaced. ‘It’s not every day you find a woman wanting to become a royal bowman.’ He tucked his eating knife back into his belt. ‘Or boasting of her expertise as if she were a skilled marksman.’ He wondered how she had fared in the contest.

      ‘She sounds perfectly intriguing,’ Langley replied. ‘I should like to meet her.’

      ‘Unlikely. Once they discover she’s a woman, she’ll be sent packing.’ Why did he even care? He pushed his plate away, annoyance creasing his brow. Why did the infuriating chit suffuse his thoughts so?

      ‘So what did you find out?’ Having loaded his plate while standing up, Langley flung his rather portly frame into the carved oak chair next to Benois, grabbing a hunk of bread to chew ravenously. ‘Lord! I’m starving.’ Crumbs of bread scattered over his chin and down the front of his tunic.

      Benois traced one fingertip along the polished wood of the table. ‘The Scots intend to spirit Princess Ada away from Dunswick tomorrow morning, so that we have no chance of kidnapping her.’

      ‘And your plan is…’

      ‘To be there before they leave.’ Benois’s lips curved up into a slight smile. ‘The King and his regent were discussing the plan right above me, as I was waiting to shoot.’ He shook his head, ‘You’d think they would be more careful.’

      ‘Do СКАЧАТЬ