Read Online Prisoner of the Flames (Leisure Historical Romance) by Dawn MacTavish - Free Book Online
Authors: Dawn MacTavish
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afraid.”
“It is I who am sorry, for involving you in my conceited cause. I will not see you chastised for my vanity, nor Uncle Aengus, either.”
“You do not want to fight this battle,” the magistrate said, answering his own question.
“I do not want to fight
any
battle in this land, seigneur, least of all a raid upon unsuspecting civilians. It is uncivilized.”
“The times are uncivilized, and I think, considering that we are both ingredients in the same stew here, we might dispense with formalities. I am Michel, and you are Robert,
consenti?”
“Agreed,” said Robert. “Will the one raid satisfy them, do you think, or have I signed on for the duration of this senseless bloodlust of Christian against Christian?”
“Only time will tell.”
“Then I must conclude my business with Doctor Nostradamus now—before this raid. Perhaps if they see that I am in earnest…that I really have come to seek his counsel—”
“Ah!” the magistrate interrupted. Reaching into the pocket of his gown, he produced the sheepskin the servant had handed him earlier, untied the ribbon wrapped around it, unrolled it, and read, his sharp eyes flitting over the lines of a script that looked both regal and primitive to Robert. “Your audience is granted this midnight,” he said, perusing further, “—at the ruins. It is encrypted, thus, I read between the lines. Could he have known the cardinal and Louis de Brach would come on the heels of it? He must have. I told you he had uncanny sight.”
“That is from Doctor Nostradamus? I thought the Queen Mother—”
“No, no, I only said that to dupe them. They would not dare tamper with a royal missive—at lease, I hoped not.”
“You were very convincing,” Robert said, through a guttural chuckle.
“A latent talent for performing in the mystery plays, I fear. I have always wondered what the life of a bard would be like. I do believe I’ve just had a taste.”
“I am to be watched, I take it.”
“I would count upon it, which is evidently why he has chosen the ruins over his rooms in the city for your meeting.”
“He has more faith in my ability to elude pursuers than I have,” Robert responded.
“It will take the general time to mobilize his spies. It would be best that you set out at once—now—in daylight, when you can see if you are being followed. The ruins stand on a knoll in the valley to the south that borders a copsedense enough for you to conceal your mount. Come, while I have my steward prepare a food pouch and a skin of mead for you to sup upon while you await your interview. I will draw you a map.”
“And if I am followed despite all your precautions?” The magistrate smiled. “If Doctor Nostradamus has gone through this much trouble to bring you, my friend, you may rest assured that you will reach him safely.”
Five
R
obert reached the ruins at dusk and tethered his bay gelding
in the forest close by. Taking stock of the structure and the land around it, he surmised that it had once been a keep used for defense. Its elevated vantage gave a panoramic view of the surrounding land. Now only the attached smokehouse and parts of the walls were still standing, and what remained seemed to be held together by the climbing woodbine that nearly covered it.
The inside was strewn with rubble, where the keep had collapsed in upon itself, and once he’d satisfied himself that he hadn’t been followed, he decided to wait and eat the food Montaigne had provided. Out of the view of any who might venture near, he relaxed, removed his helm, and opened the provisions sack.
There was a skin of spiced wine, a small loaf of cheat made with bran, a slab of butter wrapped in a grape leaf, and a generous wedge of nut-sweet hard cheese unlike any he had tasted at home. It was delicious, and he ate ravenously, washing it all down with the wine. Afterward, he stretched out alongside the highest wall and watched the moon rise full and round and brilliant.
“It is I who am sorry, for involving you in my conceited cause. I will not see you chastised for my vanity, nor Uncle Aengus, either.”
“You do not want to fight this battle,” the magistrate said, answering his own question.
“I do not want to fight
any
battle in this land, seigneur, least of all a raid upon unsuspecting civilians. It is uncivilized.”
“The times are uncivilized, and I think, considering that we are both ingredients in the same stew here, we might dispense with formalities. I am Michel, and you are Robert,
consenti?”
“Agreed,” said Robert. “Will the one raid satisfy them, do you think, or have I signed on for the duration of this senseless bloodlust of Christian against Christian?”
“Only time will tell.”
“Then I must conclude my business with Doctor Nostradamus now—before this raid. Perhaps if they see that I am in earnest…that I really have come to seek his counsel—”
“Ah!” the magistrate interrupted. Reaching into the pocket of his gown, he produced the sheepskin the servant had handed him earlier, untied the ribbon wrapped around it, unrolled it, and read, his sharp eyes flitting over the lines of a script that looked both regal and primitive to Robert. “Your audience is granted this midnight,” he said, perusing further, “—at the ruins. It is encrypted, thus, I read between the lines. Could he have known the cardinal and Louis de Brach would come on the heels of it? He must have. I told you he had uncanny sight.”
“That is from Doctor Nostradamus? I thought the Queen Mother—”
“No, no, I only said that to dupe them. They would not dare tamper with a royal missive—at lease, I hoped not.”
“You were very convincing,” Robert said, through a guttural chuckle.
“A latent talent for performing in the mystery plays, I fear. I have always wondered what the life of a bard would be like. I do believe I’ve just had a taste.”
“I am to be watched, I take it.”
“I would count upon it, which is evidently why he has chosen the ruins over his rooms in the city for your meeting.”
“He has more faith in my ability to elude pursuers than I have,” Robert responded.
“It will take the general time to mobilize his spies. It would be best that you set out at once—now—in daylight, when you can see if you are being followed. The ruins stand on a knoll in the valley to the south that borders a copsedense enough for you to conceal your mount. Come, while I have my steward prepare a food pouch and a skin of mead for you to sup upon while you await your interview. I will draw you a map.”
“And if I am followed despite all your precautions?” The magistrate smiled. “If Doctor Nostradamus has gone through this much trouble to bring you, my friend, you may rest assured that you will reach him safely.”
Five
R
obert reached the ruins at dusk and tethered his bay gelding
in the forest close by. Taking stock of the structure and the land around it, he surmised that it had once been a keep used for defense. Its elevated vantage gave a panoramic view of the surrounding land. Now only the attached smokehouse and parts of the walls were still standing, and what remained seemed to be held together by the climbing woodbine that nearly covered it.
The inside was strewn with rubble, where the keep had collapsed in upon itself, and once he’d satisfied himself that he hadn’t been followed, he decided to wait and eat the food Montaigne had provided. Out of the view of any who might venture near, he relaxed, removed his helm, and opened the provisions sack.
There was a skin of spiced wine, a small loaf of cheat made with bran, a slab of butter wrapped in a grape leaf, and a generous wedge of nut-sweet hard cheese unlike any he had tasted at home. It was delicious, and he ate ravenously, washing it all down with the wine. Afterward, he stretched out alongside the highest wall and watched the moon rise full and round and brilliant.
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