Amanda McCabe - NOTORIOUS in the Tudor Court

“I have a very hard skull.”

“And so you do. Thick-headed, indeed.” She stepped closer to the rope, reaching up tentatively to test its strength. “Why, it’s as thin as my embroidery silks.”

“It’s harder to find your balance if the rope is too wide.”

“Truly?”

“Would you like to try it? It would not be easy in those heavy skirts, but you could surely stand.”

She looked toward him, her eyes wide. That impression of youth, of wonderment, still clung about her, and Nicolai was surprised to notice she could not be more than two and twenty. What could have happened to such a girl, so lovely and graceful, so full of a wonder she hid even from herself, to run her to such a hard life, to the shadowy, sinful existence of a spy and assassin?

He suddenly had the overpowering desire to take her in his arms, to hold her close until whatever those hardships were faded away and she was only that young girl again. His cursed protectiveness. It always got him into trouble.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “I can help you.”

But she stepped back from the rope, tucking her hands into her wide sleeves. She laughed cynically, and he could see the veil fall again over her eyes. “Nay, Monsieur Ostrovsky! I am sure you would let me drop at the first opportunity. I am too fond of my neck to see it broken on these paving stones.”

He let his own hand drop, and turned away to fetch his doublet and boots. “How very suspicious you are, mademoiselle. ”

“One has to be, to survive.”

Nicolai shrugged into his doublet, fastening the tiny pearl closures. The room had suddenly grown very cold. “What do you do here, Mademoiselle Dumas? Are not all the ladies attending on the queen today?”

“I was, but they have joined the Spanish ladies for a stroll in the garden. And I received a note from the Master of the Revels summoning me here. Lady Penelope Percy says he wants to cast me in one of the pageants.”

Ah, yes, the pageant. Nicolai had forgotten about it for a blessed five minutes. “I should have known you were the French angel.”

“The French angel?”

“It seems one of Henry’s attendants suggested that a lady of the French party, one who was ‘beautiful as an angel,’ should be given a role as a diplomatic gesture.”

Marguerite laughed. “I know little of acting.”

“Oh, mademoiselle, I beg to differ. You played the Venetian whore to perfection.”

Her lips tightened, but other than that she betrayed no emotion. “I suppose I could always come to you for advice, Monsieur Ostrovsky. I’ve seldom met such a consummate player as you.”

“I am at mademoiselle’s disposal if you ever need advice, as always.” Nicolai reached back for his hair, tied with a narrow black ribbon to keep it out of his face while he worked, and started to plait it. It was such a bother, the thick fall of it halfway down his back.

Marguerite’s eyes widened and she took a step closer to him. “It does seem such a shame to confine it,” she murmured.

“It is tangled, and I haven’t the time now to see to it properly.”

“Here, I will help you. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s a proper toilette. ”

“I would wager you are good at many things, the least of which is wielding a comb.”

A smile twitched at her lips. “I was told only this morning that my embroidery is rather fine. Now, sit here, and I will see to your hair before you hurry on your way.”

She gestured toward a stool, which Nicolai eyed warily. “You will just take the chance to slit my throat, I fear.”

Marguerite laughed, a clear, sweet sound. “Indeed I will not! I will appear as avenging angel when you least expect it, Monsieur Ostrovsky. At this moment I am only a woman who appreciates masculine beauty.” She turned back the edges of her fur-trimmed brown velvet sleeves. “See, I have no daggers today.”

“Except for what might be hidden in your garters,” Nicolai said, quite beguiled against his will. Beguiled by her smile, the glow in her eyes.

“You shall not be allowed to search there, sirrah! Come, I give you my word, no sneak attacks today.”

Nicolai slowly sat down, holding himself tense, ready to spring up if she made any lethal movements. She merely stepped behind him, her hands gentle as she untied the ribbon and spread his hair over his shoulders.

“Any lady would envy such hair,” she murmured, running her fingers through the strands, untangling them slowly, massaging his scalp as she went. “You do not use a lemon juice solution on it? Or saffron?”

Nicolai laughed. “Why would I squeeze lemons on my hair? I am not a baked salmon.”

“To brighten it, of course. Many ladies do, you know.”

“Do you use such things?”

“Not usually.”

“Nay. You would use your dark arts to capture moonbeams to colour your hair, and sunsets for your cheeks.”

“Shh, Monsieur Ostrovsky! You give away my secrets.” She hummed softly as she worked, a low, gentle lullaby that emphasised the quick, light movements of her fingers.

Nicolai slowly relaxed, lulled by her voice, her touch, the scent of her exotic lily perfume that seemed to curl around him in a silken net. He would hardly have guessed, after Venice, after their encounter in the garden last night, that she possessed such softness. What endless facets she had, like the fine emerald set in her dagger.

How very easy she must find it to winnow secrets out of men, who were so vulnerable to gentleness and sweetness. And he was a man like any other. His body stirred at her touch, becoming hard and hot, and he longed to fall into her arms, bury himself in her complex beauty and never emerge again.

Was this truly what she wanted, then, what she worked for? His complete eradication? If so, in that moment he would have happily given it to her.

Her fingertips lightly skimmed over his temples, his cheekbones, down his throat to rest on his shoulders. “There, Monsieur Ostrovsky, you are quite tidy now.”

“You are indeed most gifted at the toilette, mademoiselle, ” Nicolai muttered, slowly coming back to the hard ground, to himself. It was a bit like emerging from the spell that overtook him on the tightrope.

“And a woman of my word, too, yes?”

“My throat does seem to be intact.”

Marguerite laughed. “For now, monsieur. ”

Nicolai stood and gave her a bow, his hair falling forward like a shining length of silk, all knots removed. “I am most obliged to you, mademoiselle, for sparing my poor life one more day.”

“I do not have time to deal with you properly,” she said, sounding quite surprised as she seemed to recall her original errand. “I must find Sir Henry…”

“No need, Mademoiselle Dumas, for he is here,” Sir Henry’s voice called from the doorway, where he had thrown back the curtain. Nicolai turned to find the Master of the Revels standing there, the crook of his arm filled with scrolls, a page behind him laden with russet satin costumes. “I am very glad to see that the two of you have already met.”

“Already met?” Marguerite said.

“Ah, yes, for Master Ostrovsky has generously offered to supervise the great pageant of The Castle Vert, ” Sir Henry said, obviously eager to be on his way. “And you, Mistress Dumas, must take the most important role, that of Beauty, for I see now that you are perfect for it. I am sure the two of you will work together marvellously well! Master Ostrovsky will tell you all about it, as I fear I must now take my leave. The play for tonight, you know.”

As Sir Henry hurried away, Nicolai smiled at Marguerite, who watched him with narrowed eyes. “Well, mademoiselle, ” he said. “It seems we are to be colleagues…”