Demon Knight

'That's not quite the comfort I was hoping for. Now you say yes?'

'Now not quite so sure.' He stumbled and recovered.

'When did you last sleep?'

'Don' 'member. Weeks.'

'Well, you can have a nice, long, quiet night tonight.'

At the end of a corridor she had not visited before, Hamish opened a door. There was a very large four- poster bed in it, a table with some refreshments, chairs and chests, another door leading perhaps to a dressing room. There was more crude humor. The door closed. There was silence. She had been left with one candle and one useless husband. She slid the bolt.

Longdirk walked across to the bed and laid a shoulder against the nearest post. He leaned, arms dangling limply, and the whole great bed creaked in alarm.

'Demons!' he muttered. 'I… have… never… so tired. In my life.'

Lisa fought for a grip on her temper. This was her second marriage in two days. Her first husband had been murdered in front of her eyes, her second was a physical wreck, and she was chained for the rest of her days to a lowborn bastard serf she despised and detested.

She had done nothing to deserve this!

'I am not going to undress you. You stink. Take your boots off and lie down. And stay away from me until you're respectable.'

He peered around the post at her, struggling to make his eyes focus. 'You compre… comp… un'ershtand… have just witnessed one of the great sleight of hands of all times?'

Carrying the candle, Lisa went across to inspect the other room. There was nothing in it whatsoever, just bare floor. She came back out again and closed the door. Longdirk was still on his feet, but barely so, propped up by the bed.

' 'S Hamish,' he mumbled. 'Mashermind the whole think.'

'If you're not going to go to bed, will you please turn your back while I undress? I am not accustomed to an audience.'

'Should hope… hope not. Have to keep secret. 'S part of the deal, understand? Not even your mother.'

No, she did not understand. He did not smell of wine — everything else but not wine — so he must be just stupefied by fatigue. If she blew out the candle, he might fall down and go to sleep on the floor. She was tired. She wanted to sleep, and if she had to be married, then she would rather deal with the implications tomorrow.

Now he had twisted farther round, wrapped on the post like a gigantic vine, and he was peering blearily at the outer door. 'Who lock it?'

'What?'

' 'Snot right!' the new suzerain announced. He pointed a finger.

The bolt slid aside.

Lisa choked back a scream. Gramarye!

' 'S betterer!' he announced, and yawned ferociously. 'Can't wait,' he mumbled. 'Congratulations, Queenie. Wish you ever' happiness.' He straightened up with a huge effort and staggered over to the other door.

'That doesn't go anywhere,' she said.

Ignoring her, he went in and closed it behind him.

She waited for him to emerge.

The outer door clicked shut, making her spin around.

'Hamish!'

He slid the bolt again, laid down his lantern, crossed the room, gathered her into his arms, and choked off her protests by putting her mouth to other uses. Her ribs creaked in his embrace, her back would break, his body was hard against hers; it was like being roped to a tree trunk. The world spun madly. Lips and tongues. She pawed at the back of his head as if to make him kiss harder yet.

'Married!' she muttered when he let her speak. 'Mustn't! I'm a married woman. Must not! Oh, Hamish, Hamish!' If he let go, she would fall in a heap. If he didn't, she would weep in his arms.

He pulled his head back so they were nose-to-nose instead of mouth-to-mouth. 'You didn't look!' he said in delight.

'Look at what?'

He was too close to see properly, but why was he grinning like that? 'Look at what you were signing, you muffin! I didn't knock over the candle until… You didn't look, did you?'

'Don't you dare laugh at me!' she shouted. 'Why are you laughing? My husband's in there, and he'll be out again in a—'

'No, he won't. No, he isn't.'

He kissed her again, even longer. She melted. He squeezed harder. She melted more. Oh, Hamish!

'Oh, Hamish!'

'Toby doesn't need a bed. He always sleeps on the floor. And he's not your husband anyway. You didn't read the contract, you silly duckling. You didn't watch who signed where!'

She was trying to kiss him again, but he turned his face away until the importance of what he had said sank in.

'Urk?'

'…except in public. You must not tell anyone, ever, promise? It won't be easy. He needs your public persona, but he can't marry you, Lisa, because the hob, his demon… Well, he can't.' Apparently Hamish meant this, for his face was all earnest angles and sharp planes.

'He only wants me so he can claim to be King of England!'

Hamish snorted, still holding her so tight she could barely breathe. 'That's what I meant.'

'Isn't that using me, politically? What you said he never would do?'

'You want to be my wife or not?'

'Yes, but—'

When he released her mouth the next time, she mumbled, 'Will Longdirk make obeisance to the prince tomorrow?'

'I doubt it. If he does, he won't mean it. He's going to pack Sartaq off back to Sarois very promptly. He's been useful, but we don't need him anymore.'

'So I'm not the only one he uses? And you?' She refused another kiss, struggling to see Hamish's eyes when he answered.

'Yes, me. He used me, too. But he offers fair payment. You made Toby King of England tonight, darling, but he's going to make you Queen of Europe before winter. When you have children, make sure they look like you.'

'What?' That was too much too soon. 'Queen of Europe? But… But… Who did I marry tonight?'

'I'll show you who!'

With an unexpected move, Hamish tumbled them onto the bed together.

REALITY CHECK

There has never be anything quite like Renaissance Italy, and nothing I could make up would ever match it. Until now this series has admitted no historical characters later than 1241, but alert readers may have noticed a couple of notable Florentines managed to get themselves mentioned. They would both have been around town at the time, two stars in a galaxy of geniuses.

Longdirk's world is lagging a little behind ours. Mobile cannon were introduced into Italy by Charles VIII of France in 1494. Improvements in firearms soon made armored knights obsolete. The age of the great condottieri, which had begun with the (largely English) White Company in the mid-fourteenth century, ended with the death of Giovanni of the Black Bands in 1526.