Post by Shades on Mar 23, 2006 12:04:25 GMT -5
The boy scowled and gave one last twisting attempt at escaping. Margaret glanced at the entrance to the courtyard, wondering if it was wise to linger. Apparently he thought the same thing and thought of a more expedient method of getting information.
"Whatever they are paying you, I'll pay you more to tell us."
"Don't believe you," muttered the boy.
"No? How's this?"
"This" was a gold watch inlaid with jewels visible even in the darkness. The boy made a grab for it before it was jerked away. "Tell me."
"It was a wealthy man, in fine clothes," the boy fluttered his hand in their direction to indicate the kind of clothes he meant. "A foreigner. He did not say his name."
"Foreigner? From where?"
"Don’t know, I didn't understand his language."
"Are there others?"
The boy nodded grimly. "Many. But most like they followed your carriage. They've found it empty now I’d wager, they'll double back."
"You were to kill us?"
"Her," he jerked his head toward Margaret. "You, if possible. Not the Marechale or Madame if lady left with them."
"Were you told why?"
He shrugged. "They pay me in gold, I ask nothing."
"How astute of you," he released the boy, dusting off his hand on his cloak. "You've been enormously helpful," he actually gave him the watch. "You'd better make yourself scarce before your compatriots find you've sold them out."
Seeing that he was free, and the bargain had been kept, the boy gave them a skeptical look, as though not really believing it, and then ran from the courtyard, disappearing into the fog.
"You knew we would be followed, that's why you sent the carriage on?"
"I thought it possible, and wise to be cautious. But the boy was right, if they've found the carriage empty they'll double back. Come."
The fog seemed to be thicker as they set out again from the small courtyard, and she could feel his hand against her back now. Without incident they made it about half the way to the palace, and with the rush of adrenaline starting to ebb, she was starting to be cold and tired when he suddenly stopped again. Ahead of them the cobble-stoned street dipped beneath a small bridge where wagons could pass over the natural hollow the road ran along. On the other side of the bridge she heard the faint sound of horses stirring. He indicated stone steps leading up the side of the road to pass over the bridge. "Go up and around, and I'll meet you on the other side," he whispered.
Knowing it was not the time to argue, she scrambled up the slippery steps and across the muddy bridge. Looking down, she saw three horses standing tied, and guessed their owners were waiting under the bridge for them to pass. She quietly dropped down from the bridge behind the animals, patting one of them soothingly as it stirred, and straining to hear anything from the other side.
She expected it when the sounds of the melee reached her. Men shouting, metal clashing against metal and against stone, the "thwunk" of a blade making contact followed by an angry howl of pain. She heard his voice, laughing "is that the best you can do?" and thought it was just like a man to enjoy an assassination attempt.
He stepped out of the shadows brushing off his cloak with the air of a job well done, a cut over his left eye was bleeding freely but otherwise unhurt and laughing. A groan and a string of obscenities emerged from the bridge behind him and he seized her hand.
"This way!"
Caught by his infectious amusement, it seemed less an escape and more a game as they dodged through the fog among narrow alleyways and around rickety buildings along the Seine. She could hear the sounds of pursuers, never far behind but making a great deal of noise as they clamored over the cobblestones and low walls between the close set houses and courtyards. Making a small jump from a low wall and scrambling over a crumbling slate roof, he dropped into a courtyard below and then caught her around the waist and swung her down. She leaned against the wall, doubled over with laughter and a stitch in her side from running.
"Well, not exactly noble steeds, but they'll serve the purpose."
Three horses were tied up in the courtyard, looking old and lazy and not particularly inclined to be of service.
"We're not going to steal them?"
"Of course not, we're going to borrow them." He tossed her reins found hanging on the wall. "How well do you ride my dear?"
"Better than most."
With the sounds of their pursuers coming from above, they didn't even bother to saddle the horses. More reliable than they looked, his horse sprang toward the gate as soon as he put spurs to it, but she found her slippers somewhat less effective. Finally, in danger of being left behind, she gave it a firm jab with her dagger. It squealed in protest before bolting for the gate, and a light flared in the window above them.
"Go, go!" he urged, kicking the gate open. The courtyard they had ended up in was not far from the bridge where they had started out, and spotting them, their followers ran toward their own horses, hoping to catch up. A moment later, a shout caused them both to rein their horses around, in time to see two of their assailants go flying through the air from horseback, with twin screeches of surprise.
"What the-" he began, turning to stare as she fell into a fit of laughter yet again.
"I might have unbuckled their saddles and unhooked their reins while you were mucking around under that bridge," she finally managed, with an air of innocence. He stared at her for a moment as though he'd never seen her before.
"My God, you're brilliant!"
Whatever she had expected from the night, it had not been a wild, breakneck ride through the twisting streets of Paris. She could not help but wonder what had happened in the short time, surely less than an hour, since they had left the party. She was seeing a different side of him than the reserved, calculating, slightly dangerous side she knew. Overcome with genuine laughter rather than sarcasm and irony, perhaps this was what he had been like before the responsibilities of church and state had fallen on him. Never before, at least to her, had he shown such athleticism and physical charm. She remembered vaguely coming upon him in the courtyard, teaching William to fight. She should have known he would enjoy the exertion of a fight, the adventure of a chase, but she had never known him like this. It was then that Margaret realized what it meant to want someone.
They rode into the safety and blazing torches of the palace courtyard. With practiced ease he dismounted and then swung her down again, sending a chill through her with an arm around her waist. He tossed the horses to a sleepy groom, telling him where to return them to in the morning, and to pay the owner for the inconvenience if he had even noticed they were missing.
They fell into Mary's apartments still flushed with laughter and exertion, still buoyed by the tension of being pursued and the euphoria of a clean escape. While an hour ago she had been hoping to just collapse into bed in exhaustion, Margaret now felt like she couldn't come down.
She didn’t know how it happened, they crashed into each other. His hands, absently almost, pulled the pearl clips from her hair, loosing it over her shoulders. His fingertips traced along her collarbone, any part of skin he could touch while she felt the laces of the formal gown loosen under his hands.
Still they were in the sitting room, but she felt the door to her bedroom against her back, laid her hand against the lock and it fell open. He caught her from falling back, closing the door behind them and locking it.
It was only then that her mind registered what she was doing, and she drew away from him for a just a second, long enough to see him, perhaps just to see that he was as lost as her. His eyes looked very dark in only the faint moonlight through the window. He spoke softly, barely more than a breath. “Don’t think, you can’t reason this…”
She gasped slightly at the pressure of his mouth. The drift of his hands. The world seemed to loosen, to dissolve as hands slid over her skin. She felt a sigh escape her, slid her hands up his arms, his skin was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. It steadied her. She wasn’t afraid…not anymore.
The coolness of laundered sheets against her skin. His body pressed over her. She drew in a shuddering breath. His hands…it was wonderful…she’d never felt like this before.
She could sense his restraint; he was as gentle as he could be. She heard him whisper “I’m sorry” when she drew in a sharp, harsh breath in pain. She bit her lip, gripping his shoulders.
She might have cried out, she wasn’t sure. He was so close. She had never been this close to anyone; he was around her, inside her. She moved against him, and…oh God…she felt lost in a haze of heat, pain, and pleasure. She knew then that he was right, there was no room for reason, there was no room to think, only to feel.
It was nearly morning before he let her sleep. He did not wake her when he left, but she stirred slightly and murmured his name, and he kissed her forehead and said “Sleep a little longer Marguerite."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There the first 15 chapters i'll update tomorrow with the other five, and by the way to everyone who is owndering i am a historian nut, and I'm actually gunna write a story about this long about Godfrey du Buillion I do believe is how u spell it, or perhaps the 9 orginal Kights Templar, haven't chosen yet.
P.S. sorry about choping up the chapter it was over 25k words so it wouldnt let me post.
"Whatever they are paying you, I'll pay you more to tell us."
"Don't believe you," muttered the boy.
"No? How's this?"
"This" was a gold watch inlaid with jewels visible even in the darkness. The boy made a grab for it before it was jerked away. "Tell me."
"It was a wealthy man, in fine clothes," the boy fluttered his hand in their direction to indicate the kind of clothes he meant. "A foreigner. He did not say his name."
"Foreigner? From where?"
"Don’t know, I didn't understand his language."
"Are there others?"
The boy nodded grimly. "Many. But most like they followed your carriage. They've found it empty now I’d wager, they'll double back."
"You were to kill us?"
"Her," he jerked his head toward Margaret. "You, if possible. Not the Marechale or Madame if lady left with them."
"Were you told why?"
He shrugged. "They pay me in gold, I ask nothing."
"How astute of you," he released the boy, dusting off his hand on his cloak. "You've been enormously helpful," he actually gave him the watch. "You'd better make yourself scarce before your compatriots find you've sold them out."
Seeing that he was free, and the bargain had been kept, the boy gave them a skeptical look, as though not really believing it, and then ran from the courtyard, disappearing into the fog.
"You knew we would be followed, that's why you sent the carriage on?"
"I thought it possible, and wise to be cautious. But the boy was right, if they've found the carriage empty they'll double back. Come."
The fog seemed to be thicker as they set out again from the small courtyard, and she could feel his hand against her back now. Without incident they made it about half the way to the palace, and with the rush of adrenaline starting to ebb, she was starting to be cold and tired when he suddenly stopped again. Ahead of them the cobble-stoned street dipped beneath a small bridge where wagons could pass over the natural hollow the road ran along. On the other side of the bridge she heard the faint sound of horses stirring. He indicated stone steps leading up the side of the road to pass over the bridge. "Go up and around, and I'll meet you on the other side," he whispered.
Knowing it was not the time to argue, she scrambled up the slippery steps and across the muddy bridge. Looking down, she saw three horses standing tied, and guessed their owners were waiting under the bridge for them to pass. She quietly dropped down from the bridge behind the animals, patting one of them soothingly as it stirred, and straining to hear anything from the other side.
She expected it when the sounds of the melee reached her. Men shouting, metal clashing against metal and against stone, the "thwunk" of a blade making contact followed by an angry howl of pain. She heard his voice, laughing "is that the best you can do?" and thought it was just like a man to enjoy an assassination attempt.
He stepped out of the shadows brushing off his cloak with the air of a job well done, a cut over his left eye was bleeding freely but otherwise unhurt and laughing. A groan and a string of obscenities emerged from the bridge behind him and he seized her hand.
"This way!"
Caught by his infectious amusement, it seemed less an escape and more a game as they dodged through the fog among narrow alleyways and around rickety buildings along the Seine. She could hear the sounds of pursuers, never far behind but making a great deal of noise as they clamored over the cobblestones and low walls between the close set houses and courtyards. Making a small jump from a low wall and scrambling over a crumbling slate roof, he dropped into a courtyard below and then caught her around the waist and swung her down. She leaned against the wall, doubled over with laughter and a stitch in her side from running.
"Well, not exactly noble steeds, but they'll serve the purpose."
Three horses were tied up in the courtyard, looking old and lazy and not particularly inclined to be of service.
"We're not going to steal them?"
"Of course not, we're going to borrow them." He tossed her reins found hanging on the wall. "How well do you ride my dear?"
"Better than most."
With the sounds of their pursuers coming from above, they didn't even bother to saddle the horses. More reliable than they looked, his horse sprang toward the gate as soon as he put spurs to it, but she found her slippers somewhat less effective. Finally, in danger of being left behind, she gave it a firm jab with her dagger. It squealed in protest before bolting for the gate, and a light flared in the window above them.
"Go, go!" he urged, kicking the gate open. The courtyard they had ended up in was not far from the bridge where they had started out, and spotting them, their followers ran toward their own horses, hoping to catch up. A moment later, a shout caused them both to rein their horses around, in time to see two of their assailants go flying through the air from horseback, with twin screeches of surprise.
"What the-" he began, turning to stare as she fell into a fit of laughter yet again.
"I might have unbuckled their saddles and unhooked their reins while you were mucking around under that bridge," she finally managed, with an air of innocence. He stared at her for a moment as though he'd never seen her before.
"My God, you're brilliant!"
Whatever she had expected from the night, it had not been a wild, breakneck ride through the twisting streets of Paris. She could not help but wonder what had happened in the short time, surely less than an hour, since they had left the party. She was seeing a different side of him than the reserved, calculating, slightly dangerous side she knew. Overcome with genuine laughter rather than sarcasm and irony, perhaps this was what he had been like before the responsibilities of church and state had fallen on him. Never before, at least to her, had he shown such athleticism and physical charm. She remembered vaguely coming upon him in the courtyard, teaching William to fight. She should have known he would enjoy the exertion of a fight, the adventure of a chase, but she had never known him like this. It was then that Margaret realized what it meant to want someone.
They rode into the safety and blazing torches of the palace courtyard. With practiced ease he dismounted and then swung her down again, sending a chill through her with an arm around her waist. He tossed the horses to a sleepy groom, telling him where to return them to in the morning, and to pay the owner for the inconvenience if he had even noticed they were missing.
They fell into Mary's apartments still flushed with laughter and exertion, still buoyed by the tension of being pursued and the euphoria of a clean escape. While an hour ago she had been hoping to just collapse into bed in exhaustion, Margaret now felt like she couldn't come down.
She didn’t know how it happened, they crashed into each other. His hands, absently almost, pulled the pearl clips from her hair, loosing it over her shoulders. His fingertips traced along her collarbone, any part of skin he could touch while she felt the laces of the formal gown loosen under his hands.
Still they were in the sitting room, but she felt the door to her bedroom against her back, laid her hand against the lock and it fell open. He caught her from falling back, closing the door behind them and locking it.
It was only then that her mind registered what she was doing, and she drew away from him for a just a second, long enough to see him, perhaps just to see that he was as lost as her. His eyes looked very dark in only the faint moonlight through the window. He spoke softly, barely more than a breath. “Don’t think, you can’t reason this…”
She gasped slightly at the pressure of his mouth. The drift of his hands. The world seemed to loosen, to dissolve as hands slid over her skin. She felt a sigh escape her, slid her hands up his arms, his skin was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. It steadied her. She wasn’t afraid…not anymore.
The coolness of laundered sheets against her skin. His body pressed over her. She drew in a shuddering breath. His hands…it was wonderful…she’d never felt like this before.
She could sense his restraint; he was as gentle as he could be. She heard him whisper “I’m sorry” when she drew in a sharp, harsh breath in pain. She bit her lip, gripping his shoulders.
She might have cried out, she wasn’t sure. He was so close. She had never been this close to anyone; he was around her, inside her. She moved against him, and…oh God…she felt lost in a haze of heat, pain, and pleasure. She knew then that he was right, there was no room for reason, there was no room to think, only to feel.
It was nearly morning before he let her sleep. He did not wake her when he left, but she stirred slightly and murmured his name, and he kissed her forehead and said “Sleep a little longer Marguerite."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There the first 15 chapters i'll update tomorrow with the other five, and by the way to everyone who is owndering i am a historian nut, and I'm actually gunna write a story about this long about Godfrey du Buillion I do believe is how u spell it, or perhaps the 9 orginal Kights Templar, haven't chosen yet.
P.S. sorry about choping up the chapter it was over 25k words so it wouldnt let me post.