Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [132]
It was not only going wrong, it was going wholly wrong. Even his voice was different. Katelina said, “It may be hard to believe, but rape was not what I had in mind.” She paused. “Marriage, perhaps.” Had he locked the door?
The mask produced a low laugh. “You were ready to entertain a proposal of marriage with the man you thought I was! Rubbish, my dear demoiselle. I expect to marry you, but only after I have introduced you to the very particular delights of the condition. Then I think, without too much persuasion, you will be quite content to be my wife. I am,” said the owl, “a man, I am told, of exceptional powers. I am willing, since my son cannot please you, to put them all at your disposal.”
“Your son?” said Katelina.
The great cloak, as she spoke, was being thrown back. The courtier’s hands which had served her so skilfully rose to the amusing owl mask. The fingers, which had led her from dance to dance, which had taken that strong, considering grip of her clothing, gripped instead each side of the mask and lifted it carefully off. Underneath were the benign, mammoth features of Jordan de Ribérac.
He said, “Or do you dislike Simon so much? I sometimes wonder. But he, of course, is far too offended to make you an offer and, in any case, has a little feud of his own to settle first. Or thinks he has. He will find, I think, when he comes back that it has been settled for him. The churl still has two eyes, but he will remember me every time he looks in the mirror. I detest peasants and people who consort with peasants,” said the vicomte de Riéerac. “You will notice this, when you come to France. I could not breed on you otherwise.”
Claes. It was this man who had marked Claes. And what else was he saying? She put both hands on the chair before her. She said, “You want children to oust –”
He interrupted, smiling gently. “A single son: what a hostage to fortune! A wealthy man needs more than one heir.”
She said, “You have a wife.”
Jordan de Ribérac smiled. “There are many ways,” he said, “of getting rid of a wife. Whereas a child-bearing woman is beloved of man and of God, as we will prove, you and I, if God wills it. The door is locked and the porters are bribed, demoiselle Katelina. I shall undress, and you, if you will be so kind, will place a little more wood on the fire. There is a draught on this floor. I can feel it already.”
The door to the main house was locked. But the door in the opposite corner was not, and led to steps, and a yard, and a postern she knew how to get through.
She moved to the fire as if to mend it. He was undressing. He unclasped his overgown and began to drag his thick arms from the quilting. She waited no longer. She leaped for the small doorway, and took the stairs two at a time, hoisting gown, sleeves and underskirt out of her way as she went.
She heard him swear, and then start to follow. His footsteps drummed on the uppermost stairs as she plunged down the last steps and into the garden. Trees, tubs, the ill-fated fountain stood in her way. Beds of snow closed over her feet. She lost the postern door; found it; found the bolts had stuck in the cold. She hammered at them, hearing de Ribérac’s footsteps behind her.
The first bolt gave way; and then the second. She wrenched the door open and rushed into Steen Straete, brilliant with light, thronged with merrymakers. Those nearest turned and smiled, and she dropped her skirts suddenly. She was safe. There was no need to call for help. She had only to cross the square to reach the Hôtel de Veere where her parents were, and Gelis. She thought de Ribérac had been lying when he had claimed to have paid off her porters, but that could wait until tomorrow. There was no need to go back to the Silver Straete house tonight.
She moved into the crown of the street, among