Chivalry in Modern Times, Crispin Hayrood
CATHERINE HADN’T seen Ambrose since the execution of Lady Anne the day before. Fear for Ambrose had kept her awake all night. They had only looked at each other, but she knew that wouldn’t stop Boris or Noyes acting against her, or more probably against Ambrose. Mixed with her fear was the lingering shock of the execution. Catherine wanted to forget it, but it was impossible. She also remembered the signs Lady Anne had made, and the more Catherine thought about it, the more convinced she was that she couldn’t be mistaken. Lady Anne had been trying to communicate something to Catherine in her last moments of life: a kiss with her right hand and a fist with her left, then “boy,” then something else that she hadn’t managed to see, accompanied by that look to her father. Did that mean it was all to do with the king?
When Catherine was dressing she asked Sarah if she knew the meaning of the kiss-and-fist sign. Sarah, always the most logical and practical of her maids, answered, “Pairing a kiss with another sign changes the meaning, though a kiss is never normally paired with a fist. But if her hands were broken perhaps she couldn’t make the sign properly.”
“But, even so, it could only mean she was trying to say “breath’ or “air.’”
“Perhaps she meant it as two messages,” Sarah suggested.
“Yes,” Tanya interjected. “A kiss to Ambrose and Tarquin, and a fist in the groin to the rest of you. Sounds about right to me.”
It didn’t sound right to Catherine at all. But she had no more time to think of it. She was desperate to see Ambrose. She hadn’t dared send him a message for fear of interception, but she had to warn him about Noyes and Boris. Still, she had to act as normally as possible and go through her usual routine. She went to breakfast, ate sparsely and quickly, then walked to the stables, speeding up as she turned the corner, out of sight of the castle. Sarah and Tanya were accompanying her, but if she could reach the stables ahead of them she’d have time to speak to Ambrose alone.
Catherine glanced back. Her maids hadn’t yet turned the corner, and it occurred to her that they were being deliberately slow. They knew she admired Ambrose, though perhaps even they didn’t know the extent of her addiction. That was how she thought of her feelings. It couldn’t be love. She hardly knew him, even though he had been part of her guard for two years, but the brief times they had had together meant that all she wanted was more. Surely that was an addiction? She’d read of such things—some people felt the same about wine. But, whatever it was called—love, addiction, obsession—she couldn’t stop thinking of Ambrose. And last night too she’d thought of him, remembered the tears on his face and thought how she’d love to gently kiss those tears away. Her maids definitely didn’t know that.
Catherine entered the cobbled courtyard. Ambrose was standing alone beside her horse, Saffron, and he turned to her as she approached. He stared, almost frowned, before bowing. Why had he done that? Was it to do with her? The execution? Everything?
“Your Highness,” he murmured.
Ambrose took hold of the reins, patted Saffron’s neck, and bent to hold the stirrup steady for Catherine’s foot. His hand on the stirrup was tanned and clean and smooth, though his knuckles were grazed and scabbed. She had purposely not worn her riding gloves, and now she lowered the fingertips of her left hand onto Ambrose’s hand, gently touching the scabs and then the back of his hand where she pressed more firmly. Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her skin was on Ambrose’s skin. This was not allowed. Not seemly. Not done.
Ambrose had gone as still as stone, though his skin seemed almost to burn.
Catherine leaned close to his bowed head and said, “It’s impossible for me to say how I feel about Lady Anne, Sir Ambrose, except that I am sorry for her suffering—and for yours. But I fear Noyes aims to bring you down next. And I would despair if you met the same fate as your sister.”
Ambrose looked up into Catherine’s eyes.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied in a low voice. “I appreciate your kindness and concern. However, my concern is more about your brother than Noyes at this precise moment. Please put your foot in the stirrup and appear exceptionally keen to go riding. Prince Boris is here.”
Catherine quickly looked up to see Boris coming out of the stables, his eyes on her.
“You’re alone with this man, sister?”
Catherine forced a smile. “No, of course not. My maids are with me; they dawdle a little. See?”
To Catherine’s immense relief, Sarah and Tanya appeared from round the corner at that moment.
“They need a whipping to waken them up.” Though they were now almost running to Catherine.
Catherine mounted Saffron and said, “They’re just not so keen on horse riding as I.”
“Well, I’ll join you on your ride this morning. If you have no objection.” And Boris called for his horse to be brought out.
Catherine could think of numerous objections, but she said, “I’m honored to have my brother join me on my morning ride. Your company is the more precious to me knowing that once I’m married I’ll be denied this pleasure.”
Boris laughed. “Precious indeed.” And he swung himself onto his horse.
Peter, one of her other guards, led out horses for Sarah and Tanya.
“Your maids don’t need to join us,” Boris said.
“But they always ride with me.”
“Not today. I’m here to accompany you. I and these two fine knights.” He gestured to Ambrose and Peter.
Being without her maids on a ride was unheard of, though if she was with her brother there could be no complaint of impropriety. Still, she was sure Boris was up to something. She said, “My maids can amuse me when you tire of my company.”
“Tire of you, sister? That could never happen. You are endlessly fascinating. And I’m not waiting for them; as you say, they dawdle. Your men may guard the rear.” And Boris led the way out of the courtyard.
Catherine followed. Boris had caught her off guard, though thankfully it was only him; Noyes was nowhere to be seen. There was little she could do, but as she rode out of the courtyard she turned back and signed to Sarah and Tanya, Follow me.
They both signed At once in reply. Catherine smiled. Her maids gave her courage, but she had just made another slip in front of her brother. There had been so many recently: her unguarded remarks on marriage to Diana, looking too long at Ambrose at the execution, and now being found with Ambrose and without her maids. Still, perhaps the best form of defense was attack. She kicked Saffron on to ride alongside Boris.
“It’s a delight to have your company this morning, brother. In all my years I’ve not seen so much of you as I have since my betrothal. It makes me wonder if your own thoughts have turned to marriage?”
Boris laughed and spat on the ground.
“Surely you’d like children?”
“I’d like a quiet ride.”
Catherine sighed. “I warned you that you’d tire of me, and I was right—and we’ve hardly left the castle grounds. But, without my maids, I am your responsibility to amuse for the whole ride.”
“Oh, I plan to do that, sister.”
Catherine looked over at Boris. “What do you mean?”
Boris ignored her and kicked his horse on.
Catherine kept up with him, saying, “Well? Can you answer me?”
“All my activities for the last six months and indeed for today revolve around getting you wed to Prince Tzsayn, sister. That is the job Father has given me, and I intend to make sure nothing prevents the wedding from happening. Soon you will have a husband.” Boris turned to her and smiled. “Or rather he will have you. And my role is to ensure no one else has you first.”
Catherine stared at him. Had her brother really said something so coarse?