Still laughing, Justin caught her hand in his and brought it up to his mouth. "Get to know me better," he said, "and I'll share all my guilty secrets with you, demoiselle."
Claudine was no novice to courtly campaigns; she knew exactly when to advance, when to retreat, and when to hold her own ground. "I'll keep that in mind," she said nonchalantly, but she allowed her fingers to rest a moment longer in Justin's grip. By now they had reached the Tower keep, and their flirtation was — if not forgotten — put aside until a more opportune time. "Are you here to see the queen, Master de Quincy?"
Justin nodded. "I wanted to let Her Grace know that I will no longer be staying at Holy Trinity priory. For the foreseeable future, I'll be at the alehouse on Gracechurch Street. My stallion went lame this afternoon and I had to leave him with a farrier till he heals. I also have a letter for the under-sheriff of Hampshire." He hesitated, loath to admit that he did not know how to go about engaging a courier; he'd never had reason to send a letter before. "I hoped that the queen's clerk might know of a man who is Winchester bound."
"There is no need to wait for a traveler heading that way. The queen will dispatch a royal courier with your letter. And I will tell her that you are now lodging on Gracechurch Street, if you wish. Unless you need to see her yourself…?"
Justin shook his head. "I have no such need." The very fact that Eleanor would admit him without question was reason enough not to abuse so rare a privilege.
"She will see you if you ask. But I suspect she craves no company this day but her own," Claudine said. "You see, we had troubling news this noon… about her son."
"Richard? Or John?"
"Not the king." The corners of Claudine's mouth curved, ever so slightly. "The Prince of Darkness. John has left London without a word to the queen and apparently in great haste."
Justin blinked. "Where did he go?"
"As yet, no one knows. I can only tell you what the queen fears — the worst. It is always dangerous when John is close at hand. But it is even more dangerous when he is not."
10
LONDON
February 1193
London was too noisy for late sleepers, and Justin awoke early the next morning. Dressing hastily, for the room was frigid, he then opened the shutters to see what sort of day awaited him. The sky was the color of pewter and clogged with clouds. But there was some brightness to be found below in the yard, where a small child was playing with Shadow. Justin assumed this was Lucy, Nell's little girl, and he watched their antics with a smile. Mayhap he was closer to finding a home for Shadow than he'd first thought.
He was in the stairwell when he heard an odd sound, a sharp cry, cut off too soon. The common room was empty, still claimed by night shadows. But the kitchen door was ajar and as he approached it, there was a thud and another muffled cry. Quickening his step, Justin pushed the door open.
A stack of firewood had been dumped onto the floor, a chair overturned. Across the kitchen, a man had Nell pinned against the wall, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other tearing at her gown. Nell was all but hidden by his bulk, for he was strapping and beefy, not overly tall but as broad as a barrel. Overpowered and half smothered against his massive chest, she continued to struggle, squirming and kicking as he sought to pull up her skirt. His back was to the door, and he was so intent upon subduing Nell that he'd not yet realized they were no longer alone.
Justin was reaching for his sword hilt when his gaze fell upon a sack of flour, half full, on a nearby table. Snatching it up, he was upon the man before he could sense his danger, yanking the sack down over his head and shoulders. Blinded and choking, the man released Nell and reeled backward. Before he was able to free himself of the sack, Justin kneed him in the groin and he went down as if he'd been poleaxed, writhing in the floor rushes at Justin's feet.
Nell had sagged against the wall, gasping for breath. Her veil was gone, her hair in wild disarray, her face and gown streaked with flour. But she recovered with remarkable speed. Grabbing a heavy frying pan from its trivet, she was about to bring it down upon her assailant's skull when Justin caught her arm, blocking the blow.
"He is not worth hanging for, lass!"
She was not easily convinced and he had to take the pan away from her. When he did, she kicked the prostrate man in the ribs, called him a slimy toad, and kicked him again. Drawing his sword, Justin leveled it at the man's heaving chest, then reached down and jerked off the sack. Nell's attacker moaned in pain and pawed at his eyes, blinking and sneezing and then cowering at sight of that menacing steel blade. "If you fetch a rope," Justin said, "I'll tie him up and go for the sheriff."
Nell glared at the cringing man. "No," she said. "Just get him out of here."
Justin was not surprised, for an accusation of rape was not easy to prove. "Are you sure? I'd testify to what I saw." But when she shook her head, he did not argue, prodding the man to his feet with the point of his sword. He encountered no resistance, and within moments, shoved the man through the alehouse door and out into the street.
People turned to stare at this apparition and began to laugh, for not only did he look as if he'd fallen, headfirst, into a vat of whitewash, he was bent over at an odd angle, scuttling sideways like a crab. Already an object of ridicule, he was then made one of scorn, too, when Nell yelled after him, "If I ever see you again on Gracechurch Street, whoreson, I'll geld you with a dull spoon!"
Midst hoots and jeers, the man fled. Nell continued to rage, cursing her assailant with imaginative invective, fuming over the ripped sleeve of her gown. But she'd begun to tremble, and did not protest when Justin urged her to come back inside. Settling her before the hearth, he prowled about the kitchen in search of a restorative.
"It is too early for ale and there is no wine. So cider will have to do," he said, pouring her a full cup.
Nell gulped it gratefully, entwining her fingers around the stem to steady them. But then the cup jerked in her hand, splattering cider onto her torn sleeve. "Lucy!"
"She saw nothing," Justin assured her. "She is outside, playing with the dog."
"Thank God," she said softly. But after a moment, her anger came back, this time directed against herself. "How could I have been so careless? I'd bought firewood from that swine twice before, and each time he was sniffing about my skirts like a dog in rut. But I just took him for the usual prattling fool, paid him no mind. I ought to have known better…" She shook her head so vehemently that the last of her hair pins escaped into the floor rushes. "Most men are ones for taking what they want, and God rot them, but they get away with it, too!"
"Not this time."
She stopped in midtirade to stare at Justin. After a long pause, she nodded slowly. "No," she agreed, "not this time. I suppose I owe you."
Justin shrugged, pouring himself some cider. "I do not mean to meddle," he said, "but surely there must be safer work for a woman — "
"Truly?" Nell fluttered her eyelashes in mock surprise. "And here I thought it was either this or starve!" She relented then and gave Justin a quick, forced smile. "I do not have much practice in saying thank you. I am grateful for what you did. But do you really think I need to have the dangers pointed out to me? If you live with polecats, friend, you are bound to notice the stink!"
She rose before he could respond, crossed to the window, and unlatched the shutter. "I want to make sure," she said, "that my girl is in no need of care."
He joined her at the window. "She is right taken with that pup, Nell. It seems a shame to separate them…"
Nell turned to look at him, and then grinned. "I owe you, but not that much!" she said, and Justin grinned back, for the first time getting a glimpse of a woman he could like.