The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(129)

"You are so brave," she sighed, when Coby finished, then added coyly, "I wish I had a man's heart."

"You have," Coby assured her, meaning any woman could do as much. Too late she realised how it must have sounded to the impressionable girl. "I– I meant that you are braver than you know."

"I wish it were so." Meg came and sat next to her on the bench. "There is a madman in this house. The screaming and moaning – it would chill the blood of the very Devil."

"Really? Who is he?"

"I don't know, nor care to. He was brought here a few days ago. Mistress Sheldon says he's a distant cousin of my lord Grey, but I cannot see the likeness. And then last night another arrived out of the blue, and him the very image of the first. Though if he is mad also, I have not seen it."

"You have seen both of them?"

Meg nodded. "I have to take them their meals three times a day. Fair turns my bowels to water, the mad one does."

Coby hid her triumphant grin by taking a gulp of ale. "How would it be if I came with you? That would soothe your fears, surely?"

"Oh yes!" Meg cried. "I could not be afraid with such a bold hero at my side."

"It must be almost two o'clock," Coby said. "When do you take their dinner?"

"By my troth, I had quite forgotten the time," Meg said. "Mistress Sheldon is taken to her bed with one of her megrims, and I have had so much to do–"

"Come then, let's get it done, then perhaps I can help you with your work." She shook her head sadly. "I have no master now, and know not what I am to do."

Meg scraped debris off two of the plates and set about ladling them with more of the leftovers. Coby took a pitcher and drew ale from a barrel by the door, smiling to herself. This was all going even more smoothly than she could have hoped.

The girl led Coby back into the main house via the right-hand door, through a dining hall where an elderly steward dozed over his tankard, down a gloomy corridor and into a small parlour overlooking the river. To Coby's surprise, Meg put the plates down on the table, took the pitcher from her and caught her by the hand.

"Come, kiss me," she murmured, slipping her arms around Coby's waist.

Coby hesitated. She needed to keep this girl sweet if she was to help Master Catlyn, and after all, what harm could one kiss do? She bent her head and nuzzled Meg's neck, unsure of how to proceed. She had seen men and women kiss often enough, but how to go about it?

Meg sighed and turned her head, brushing her lips against Coby's. After a moment's awkwardness their mouths found one another and worked together in languorous, instinctive pleasure. So, this was what kissing felt like. But now what? Should she break off, or was it too soon?

She thought about how she would want Master Catlyn to kiss her. Hooking the girl about the waist she pulled her closer and caressed the nape of her neck with her free hand. Meg moaned in the back of her throat and slipped her tongue between Coby's lips. Coby stifled a squeak of surprise then hesitantly returned the favour, tracing the girl's sharp, uneven teeth with her own tongue. Meg pressed her belly against Coby's hips – and stopped as she encountered the hardness of the pigskin prick in Coby's breeches.

Coby released her with a muttered apology. Unabashed, Meg wriggled back into her embrace and whispered in her ear.

"Would you die for me, hero?"

Coby winced at the innuendo, but it gave her an idea.

"Not here," she replied. "There is perhaps some more private place where we may… converse undisturbed?"

Meg grinned. "Now?"

"Go now, and wait for me. I will deal with your madman, then come to you."

She felt guilty about duping the girl, but it was for her own good. Better to weep over being cruelly deceived than be punished for helping the prisoners to escape. Besides, the little strumpet had been the one to start this.

"I mustn't," Meg said. "Mistress Sheldon will have my hide–"

"I will take the blame," Coby told her. "I did seduce you, did I not?"

Coby kissed her again, giving one soft buttock a squeeze for good measure. It always seemed to work for Master Eaton.

"I'll be in the middle stable," Meg breathed in her ear, "in the loft over the bay mare's stall. The madman is in the chamber above this one, he and his twin both. Do not tarry, my love, I beg you."

Coby waited for her to leave, then with some difficulty picked up both plates and the pitcher and carried them out into the passageway. The pewter-ware rattled together in her grasp, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Footsteps and voices sounded at the far end of the cellar, and warm lantern-light sent shadows lurching across the walls. The rats scattered in panic. Craning his neck around the pillar, Mal could see Blaise and at least three of Suffolk's retainers. Two of them were carrying a heavy iron brazier and another, whom Mal recognised as the man Ivett, had a small sack. Mal gave Sandy's hands a reassuring squeeze. Their palms were damp from long contact, but now fresh sweat pricked in his armpits. He didn't like to think what uses Blaise might find for hot irons.

The brazier was placed next to the pillar, about a yard from Mal's bound right hand. Ivett half-filled it with charcoal from the sack and struck flame with flint and steel. Whilst the man worked, Blaise walked round the pillar, scanning each captive's face in turn.