Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

Nathaniel watched from across the street for a minute or three. He debated going in. Wasn't any reason he couldn't. Warren had never publicly told him to stay out. Wouldn't have really mattered if he had-at least Nathaniel didn't care about Zachariah's feelings on the matter.

Rachel's, on the other hand, mattered more than anything.

He raked fingers back through his hair and put a smile on his face before wandering across the street. He opened the door and a tiny bell jingled. Two people, a man and a woman, looked over. New off a boat. They studied him with surprise and interest, but they never glanced toward Rachel.

Locals would have.

She was engrossed in making an entry in a ledger book at the back counter. Nathaniel loved seeing her that way, concentrating. She wore her dark hair gathered into a bun, but wisps escaped at her temples. Full lips slightly parted, the pink tip of her tongue at the corner of her mouth, delicate fingers tracing along a page to the left. She wrote on the right page with a fluid and efficient motion as beautiful as a deer gliding through the woods.

Then she looked up, her hazel gaze meeting his eyes. She smiled brilliantly for a heartbeat, then caught herself. Her smile shrank. She set her pen back in the inkwell. She tugged at her grey dress, then came from behind the counter. "It is so very good to see you, Mr. Woods. Have you come for more trade scraps?"

"I have." He nodded to the couple admiring a silver service and crossed to the back corner near the rack with bolts of cloth. Next to it sat a box with scraps-too small for quilting in most cases, or oddly shaped and unsuited for much of anything.

"The box is almost full." Rachel smiled at him. "How much will you need?"

He smiled, his heart pounding faster. "I reckon I'd gladly take it all. I have gold." He fished in a pouch and pulled out three gold pounds, holding them above her outstretched palm. "This be enough?"

She nodded and caught the coins.

Oh, how he wanted to place each one in her hand, just to let his fingers brush her palm. He knew her flesh well, both as she had caressed him, and he had caressed her. He felt clumsy at times, for she was so small and soft, and he rangy, his hands calloused, his thumbnail usually rough and darkened beneath with blood.

She closed her hand, letting a fingertip touch his thumb. Just a tiny touch. No one watching could suggest impropriety or intimacy, no matter how strongly they suspected. And yet, for him, it was rain in a drought.

He nodded. "I don't reckon I can be taking it right now. Is there a better time?"

"This evening, if you wish. I shall bundle it up for you."

"Thank you most kindly."

The door's bell jingled again. "You can be leaving now, Woods."

Nathaniel turned. "Rufus, you're a-looking more vertical than the last time I seen you. Your brothers, on the other hand, is looking twice as stupid."

"Nathaniel…" Rachel laid a hand on his elbow.

"Don't you be worrying, ma'am. Ain't nothing going to happen in your store. That right, boys?"

Rufus nodded solemnly. "That's right."

Nathaniel turned back to Rachel. "It will be fine."

"I don't want you hurt, Nathaniel."

"I don't reckon I will be. Got to be coming back for them scraps." He nodded. "Good day to you, ma'am."

The door's bell jingled again and a man came in, pushing past Rufus. The larger man took offense, and grabbed the smaller man by the shoulder. The smaller man spun, a dagger appearing in his hand, the point drawing a single droplet of blood from Rufus' throat.

"Mister Woods, if you would do me the honor of an introduction to your friends. I like to know the names of men I will kill."

Nathaniel smiled. "Count Joachim von Metternin, that there is Rufus Branch."

"And the other two?"

"You don't need to be knowing their names. I'll do the killing on them."

"I think I shall come to appreciate the egalitarian notions of Mystria." The Count smiled over his shoulder at Rachel. "And you would be Mrs. Warren, the owner of this shop?"

Rachel curtsied. "How may I help you?"

Von Metternin grabbed a handful of Rufus' tunic and tugged him around so he could face Rachel without moving his dagger. "My mistress, the Princess Gisella, has heard of this thing called a 'picnic.' She is desirous of hosting one. So she will need a dinner service for twelve, table, chairs, all the necessaries for this. And if you know a kitchen which can prepare the correct foods, I should be thankful."

He glanced up at Rufus. "And you, my fine friend, shall I be killing you, or finding a use for your brawn? I shall need these goods carted to the place and taken away again. A crown per man for a day's service."

Rufus nodded while his brothers rubbed their hands together.

"Good. The bargain holds as long as I do not see you again until the appointed day and time. Otherwise, I shall have to kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Rufus gave Nathaniel a glare, then departed with his brothers.

"I reckon I owe you thanks, Count Joachim."

The Kessian shrugged, slipped the dagger back into the sheath on his forearm. "I have a service to request of you, too. And you, Mrs. Warren."

"Yes, Count Joachim?"

"This evening, the both of you shall attend dinner with my mistress and me. For the sake of propriety, our dinners must be chaperoned and I, quite frankly, have tolerated all the boring people I can abide. This evening it would have been Bishop Bumble and his family, save that his gout is acting up. If you should be so kind."

"A pleasure, sir." Rachel smiled.

"I shall send a carriage for you. No fancy dress. My mistress would get to know Mystria's people for who they are, not who they pretend to be." He clapped his hands. "This is wonderful. She shall be very happy. And then, tomorrow, Mr. Woods, you shall lead her to meet her husband, and all shall be well."

August 25, 1763

Prince Haven

Temperance Bay, Mystria

P rince Vlad waved as Nathaniel rode up to the estate. He and Kamiskwa had just finished supervising Mugwump's feeding. The Altashee had remained down by the river, tickling fish out, while the Prince had changed in anticipation of the Princess' arrival. He wore a blue velvet jacket with gold trim over a fresh white shirt, pants to match jacket, white hose, and black shoes with gold buckles.

"How far back of you are they?"

"Well, 'bout an hour. Maybe more. I set out before they had fully commenced coming." Nathaniel dismounted, flipped open a saddlebag, and handed the Prince a note sealed by Count von Metternin. "He said this would explain it all, and that you ain't got no worries."

The Prince accepted the note. "Will you tell me of her?"

Nathaniel smiled. "I was swore not to, and I keep my word on things confidential."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I reckon we're going to have us a conversation." Nathaniel turned the horse over to a stablehand, having shucked his sheathed rifle from the saddle-scabbard. "The Princess said you was to wait for her in your laboratory. She respected what the Count tole her about you. That's where she's fixing on meeting you."

Interesting. Though the Count had not seemed horribly fixated on protocol, Vlad had assumed Princess Gisella would be. She'd certainly been schooled in it. She was being sent to him as an instrument of diplomacy, so all that truly mattered was that conventions be observed. If she is not concerned with them, what does concern her?

"And you will share no observations with me?"

"Nope. I do as I is told."

"I would be more inclined to believe you if you were not clearly so pleased with the situation."

Nathaniel grinned. "I might be taking some satisfaction in it."

"And on this matter you and I need to discuss?"