Lady Fortune (26 page)

Unfortunately, he’d picked the wrong night for lightning. It was still and clear, and it would take the wrath of a very angry god to strike him with a thunderbolt, no matter how much he deserved it.

He also hadn’t brought enough wine. He’d underestimated his capacity, and there wasn’t much left. He’d have to wrestle Bogo for it. Bogo was twenty years his senior and able to consume prodigious amounts and still stay on his feet, but tonight Nicholas needed oblivion far more than Bogo did.

“Doesn’t rhyme,” Bogo pointed out.

“I know.”

“You need a rhyme for life,” he added helpfully. “Wife rhymes with it.”

Nicholas reached around him for a rock and chucked it at him, missing. Bogo merely laughed.

Nicholas rose to his feet, only slightly unsteady. “I’m leaving,” he announced with great dignity.

“And where are you going?”

“To find Julianna.”

“You’ll get back on the horse?” Bogo seemed no more than curious.

“No,” said Nicholas, sitting back down in a heap. “You go and bring her to me.”

“Right,” Bogo said. “She’ll be glad to come.”

“Right,” Nicholas echoed. “Glad.” And he slid cheerfully into oblivion, where he could dream of Julianna.

It was fast approaching another dawn, and Julianna wanted to weep. But she had long ago moved past the point of tears, and exhaustion was little excuse. The branches tore at her face, ripping the linen coif from her head, but she simply kept climbing, one step after another, following the abbot.

Not that she had any choice in the matter. He’d tied a rope around her wrists to ensure she didn’t try to escape, and the rough hemp rubbed against her skin until it was raw. The only relief was to keep up with him, and she did the best she could, despite the long skirts that got in her way.

She had heard Brother Barth’s shocked intake of bream when the coif was ripped away, but he’d said nothing, following her up the narrow path, and she had no idea whether she could look to him for help or not. She no longer cared.

All she cared about was whether Nicholas would be waiting on top of this endless mountain. And whether the abbot would kill him.

She stumbled, falling hard to her knees on the rubbled path, and let out an involuntary cry of pain, though she bit back her second one when the abbot hauled her to her feet with the rope. “Make another sound, my lady,” he said, “and I’ll have Gilbert bind your mouth. We’ll have no warnings. Do you understand me?”

His pale eyes glittered down into hers, and for the first time Julianna understood true madness, a far cry from the fool’s games and tricks. She didn’t make the mistake of answering, but simply nodded dutifully. If she thought it would do any good, she would have screamed a warning, but any sound she might make would be swallowed up in the thick woods that surrounded them.

A faint smile curved the abbot’s thin lips. “Good. You’re learning obedience. And I know just the place for you when this is over. The Sisters of Redemption take in wantons to work in the laundries. There you will learn true humility.”

Julianna bowed her head, to hide the hatred in her eyes.

* * *

He heard her cry out. In his sleep, Julianna was crying, and he was torn into complete wakefulness, the benevolent fog of wine vanished with the coming dawn.

The wind had picked up, the moon had set, and the sun was rising in the east. A new day.

Bogo lay sleeping, his loud snoring at war with the song of the lark. The chalice stood on the large stone in front of him, and Nicholas moved toward it, getting his first good look at what he’d sought. What he’d sacrificed for.

It wasn’t nearly as pretty as Julianna, he thought dispassionately. A simple chalice, made of dull gold, studded with large stones. The earl had a dozen of finer quality. So, in fact, had his father’s household.

But this was a magic chalice. It could heal the sick and make a fool mute—or so Julianna had thought. It could strike down the unworthy, and he was feeling about as worthless as a human being could feel at that moment. His body ached, his head pounded, and whatever passed for a heart had been torn from him, the gaping wound dressed with only a stained scrap of linen shift.

He opened the last of the wine and poured some into the blessed chalice. If Saint Hugelina wanted to pass judgment on him, so be it. He reached for the chalice, wondering if he was reaching for death or life.

“Don’t touch that!” The voice thundered across the clearing, ripping Bogo from his sound sleep so that he sat up, cursing, in time to see the noble Abbot of Saint Hugelina appear in the dawn-lit clearing.

He could see Gilbert behind him, see the thin stiletto near his delicate hand. There were others behind him, coming up the trail, and Nicholas tensed, gloriously ready for battle. He’d been wanting to hit someone for a long time. Wanting someone to hit him as he so deserved.

“You brought Gilbert, priest,” he said. “Are you certain that was a wise thing to do?”

They were in the clearing now, and he could see Brother Barth toiling behind them, his girth slowing him down.

“I wouldn’t have found you without Gilbert’s help. He is a true son of Christ.”

“He is a true son of a bitch, and he’s probably planning to cut your throat and take the chalice back to the king,” Nicholas said affably. Gilbert’s bland, boyish expression didn’t change. “I imagine he wouldn’t think twice about killing all of us, if need be. He’s a very practical young man, aren’t you, Gilbert?”

Gilbert merely nodded.

“Of course, this does present a small problem,” Nicholas continued. There was someone else following behind Brother Barth, but in the shadows he couldn’t make out who it was. Someone in skirts, with close-cropped hair.

“And what problem is that?”

“This isn’t just any chalice. It has magic powers.”

“I know that,” the abbot said irritably. “Why do you suppose we’ve been chasing around after it? It’s a holy relic, and the ungodly who try to take it will perish. Which means you!”

Nicholas smiled sweetly. “Perhaps. Are you willing to test it?”

“I’m not willing to do anything…”

“Take the chalice, Father Paulus, if you deem yourself worthy. If lightning doesn’t strike you, perhaps you might even drink from it. After all, you’re a sinless man, unlike the rest of us.”

“You mock me!” Father Paulus shrieked.

“Of course I do,” he replied.

“No rhymes,” pleaded a faint voice, and Nicholas froze as he recognized the small, limping figure that appeared in the clearing behind Brother Barth.

Her thick blond hair was little more man a shaggy cap to her beautiful face, and her brown eyes were full of dull misery. There was a mark across her face, the sign of a man’s fist, and her hands were tied in front of her, the rope held loosely by the friar.

The rage and fear that swept over him was blinding, crippling, and seemed to last forever, but when he opened his eyes he realized that only a moment had passed. “Untie her,” he said in a dangerously calm voice.

“She won’t escape the judgment of the Lord,” Father Paulus said.

“You are not the Lord,” Nicholas said. “Who did this to her?”

“She brought it on herself, with her wantonness. Though I imagine you had a hand in her downfall. She’ll endure a public whipping and spend the rest of her days in a convent, just as she wanted. Of course, I doubt anyone will pay a dowry for her to be a holy sister, but she’s fit for servitude.”

“Untie her, Father Paulus,” Nicholas said gently. “I won’t ask again.”

The abbot’s eyes narrowed, but he was no fool. He nodded to Brother Barth, who hastily began to untie the knots around Julianna’s slender wrists.

She wouldn’t look at him, and he could be glad of that. If she looked at him, he might strangle the abbot with his bare hands, and Gilbert as well, and then all would be lost, including any hope of his soul. He waited until her hands were free and she had collapsed in a small, weary heap in the fallen leaves. He took a deep breath and smiled.

“Come take the cup, Father Abbot,” he offered.

Father Paulus turned to Gilbert. “Go fetch it.”

Gilbert started forward eagerly, but as he approached the altar-like stone, he slowed, and even Nicholas could read the expression on his usually blank face.

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Gilbert,” he said in a soft, crooning voice. “If your heart is pure, then the cup is yours. The saint would never punish the righteous.”

Gilbert had stopped. In truth, though he was old in the ways of sin, he was still no more than a boy, and a superstitious one at that. “What heart is pure?” he said.

“Not yours, my boy. Take the chalice.”

Gilbert reached out for it, and his hand was trembling. The hand that dispatched death so neatly and tidily was shaking as he reached for the Blessed Chalice of the Martyred Saint Hugelina the Dragon. And then it fell to his side again.

“No.” He turned and looked at the priest. “I’ll kill for my king, and gladly. But I won’t the for him.”

And a moment later he was gone, vanishing into the woods as if he’d never been there in the first place.

“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me,” Father Paulus said calmly. “I have no hesitation in acting in the cause of righteousness.”

“Then come take the chalice.”

The priest started forward, and Brother Barth held out a restraining hand. “Father Abbot, are you certain you should do this?”

“Do you doubt my faith?” Father Paulus demanded shrilly.

“No, Father,” Brother Barth said. “Only your goodness.”

The priest yanked his arm free. “Give me the cup,” he said.

They faced each other across the stone, but the abbot’s hands didn’t tremble as he reached out for the chalice. He grasped it in both hands, then let out a harsh groan.

For a moment Nicholas half expected to see him burst into the flames of the damned, but nothing happened. The priest looked down into the goblet and laughed. “It will be mine,” he whispered. “All the power, all the glory, will be mine.” And he drank from the wine that Nicholas had poured, then threw his head back and laughed to the brightening sky. “Mine!” he cried. “All mine…”

Brother Barth moved with the swiftness of angels, catching the chalice as it slipped from the abbot’s lifeless fingers. Father Paulus collapsed on the ground, rigid, unmoving, his eyes wide and staring.

“Praise be to the blessed saint,” Brother Barth whispered. “God has made his judgment.”

Nicholas moved around the stone to reach down and touch the abbot. He half expected the evil old man to rear up and grab him by the throat, but in truth, he was dead. Nicholas had seen far too many people the in his life not to recognize death, but he’d never seen it happen so swiftly. Or so justly.

He rose. “He’s dead all right,” he murmured, eyeing the chalice uneasily. He’d yet to touch it, and was suddenly glad. If the abbot was a sinner, God only knew what that made him. But he wasn’t prepared to the. Not here, not now.

Julianna had risen on unsteady feet, and she was looking at him now. He crossed the clearing, afraid to touch her, afraid of the despair and hatred he would see in her eyes.

She looked up at him. “I told you if you left me I would kill you,” she said in a raspy voice. “Where’s a knife?”

He had one. He’d thought he’d have to use it on the priest, but the saint had decreed otherwise. He pulled it from his boot and handed it to her. “Go ahead,” he said, pulling open his shirt.

The scrap of cloth fell to the ground between them, the embroidered roses and the stain of blood unmistakable.

She held the knife loosely, staring down at the scrap of cloth he’d carried next to his heart.

“Do you love me, fool?” she asked softly.

“I’d be mad not to.”

Her smile was slight, doubting. “They say you are mad.”

“Butyou know that I’m not. You look like a shorn lamb.”

“Gilbert’s work.”

“I’ll cut his throat when I see him next. You have only to say the word.” He wanted to touch her so badly, his hands ached with the need.

She shook her head.

“My lord…” Bogo said, and Julianna jerked her head around in surprise. Nicholas had little doubt that Bogo had addressed him by his tide on purpose, and he made a mental promise to break his teeth for it.

He considered ignoring him, but reasoned it would only make things worse. “Yes, Bogo.”

“Brother Barth and I are going to take the abbot’s body back to the abbey for proper burial,” he said.