Game Of Seduction

Chapter 14

'Go out and enjoy yourselves, for we have work to do at court. If you hear anything of interest be sure to report to me in the morning. It's important we get a good idea of what the people think of what's happening here.'

'Yes, Sir.' Walt says dutifully. 'Aren't you coming, Brad?'

'No. Signor Espera, Brad and I have things to discuss. I trust you will be able to keep these lads firmly under your control.' Sir Francis informs him.

'Why's he keeping us under control?' asks Ray.

'Because frankly, he's the most sensible member of the group.' retorts Brad, quick as a whip.

Ray pouts. 'If I wasn't in such a good mood, I'd be offended by that statement, you know, Brad.'

Walt doubts his team leader's faith in him. Trombley is at best a law unto himself. God help him if he decides to get into a fight with any of the natives, and as for Ray-

I'm thoroughly screwed aren't I? He thinks.

Paris, town centre

The group find themselves a decent tavern down by the Rue de la Vannerie and commandeer a table close enough that Walt can start to eavesdrop on the Parisian's conversations. Unsurprisingly, the royal family and the impending wedding are the main subjects for discussion among the common people. He kind of enjoys it; his first chance to mingle with the men and women of the town. To rub shoulders, breathe the same frowsy muggy air and learn what they know.

'It's just asking for trouble inviting all these Huguenots here for the wedding. Henri should have known better than to bring them here.' says one man, nursing a pint of ale fresh from the cool cellar.

'He was hardly going to come by himself, was he? The lad has a damn sight more sense than to walk alone into a hornet's nest like court.'

"Dunno how he can bear to ally himself with such a corrupt family . Every time he looks at the Queen Mother, does he not remember Jeanne d'Albret and her fate?'

'What can he do? The King and his mother want peace, so peace is what he'll get.'

'It won't last-' replies his friend with a dark look. "It never lasts."

"What a time to be having a wedding! When people in the street cannot buy good wheaten bread to fill their bellies. Nothing but that awful rye rubbish, if you can scrape the coins together. Our coins we slaved for are worth nothing but tin! But the great and good must parade past us in pearls and silks !"

"Hush, you mustn't talk like this, neighbour Caviche." tuts another man, wiping the froth off his moustache. "It does no good to resent your betters."

Caviche smirks nastily. "They ain't my betters!"

"Your drunk mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Caviche. Be wise."

"Be wise, Mouchon? Because I see and say what you're all too scared to comment on? The king is a weakling, ruled by his mother or Coligny in all things. You could understand it when he was a child but he's a grown man now. Anjou is a p*****t; Alençon is a rash fool, warped and bitter in mind."

"Misshapen jealous little runt. Evil-minded too." Added another woman by the bar with a sour face.

"Lock him in the cellars, he'll get us all arrested for sedition if we aren't careful!" urges one of his friends. "He can't be trusted to come out with a word of sense once he's had a skinful of brandy. You ought to do something about him, Mouchon."

"He was first at the barricades during the riots. I saw him!" claims one man by the fire. "Down by the ruins of Phillipe de Gastine's house back when all that trouble brewed."

"Hush, let's not talk of that." Mouchon says hurriedly.

Walt is carefully listening to Caviche's bitter rant. He might be drunk as a lord, but he is voicing the resentment of the common people. They are simply scared that one day someone important will over hear and know how they truly feel about their betters.

The door opens, and two masked women walk in, wrapped in velvet cloaks. They seems familiar with their surroundings, the landlord rushing up to greet them. The taller woman shrugs off her cloak with an elegant movement, revealing long dark hair that shines almost deep chestnut in the firelight. She bends to unstrap her chopines. The other woman picks them up and places them by the door.

"She's staring at us, I'd swear it." Walt says draining his tankard of wine.

"Who is?" Ray perks up, after having a shot of Calvados. His eyes shine bright in the tavern light. Walt idly wonders whether his mouth tastes of the sweet liquor, the flavour of tart yet sweet apples on his lips and has to quash that thought very swiftly indeed. He takes a draught to mask his interest, his lips feeling parched.

Walt waves his tankard towards the masked women at the bar. "Them."

Ray lets out an appreciative whistle before turning back to needle Walt goodnaturedly. "You sure you're not imagining it? You know a sweet virtuous man like you might have trouble holding your drink. Might be mistaken."

"f**k you and your smart mouth, Ray." Walt says without any heat.

"Wait, she's coming this way."

Behind the dark velvet half-mask her eyes are watchful, a knowing smile on her face.

"May I join you?" she asks, with a sweet smile curving that full pink rosebud of a mouth. She's holding two bottles of white wine. He can see the condensation on the glass bottles and it makes his mouth water. "I'd like some company tonight."

Walt isn't sure and flashes a warning look at Ray. He isn't paying attention to him, charmed by the beauty of the mysterious masked woman, all porcelain skin and pink full mouth.

"Certainly." he says, ignoring Walt's kick to the shin underneath the table. The other woman opens the bottles and starts to pour a generous amount into each of the goblets.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Ray?" he frowns.

Ray's smile is all teeth. "Don't worry 'bout me, Walt." He turns to her. 'Please join us, my lady."

She brushes the dust off the bench and sits down, spreading her skirts in a graceful gesture. Walt notices how she sits close to Ray, boldly invading his personal space. Walt notices that he doesn't seem to mind, and the thought needles him more than he'd like to admit right now.

"What brings you to our fair city?" she asks, idly running her fingers up and down the stem of the glass. "Three Englishmen far away from home?"

Walt is nudging him furiously in an attempt to get him to shut up and not reveal their true purpose especially to a stranger.

"We're on business." he snaps, his voice terse before Ray can speak.

"Business... How very intriguing-" she drawls, making the words sound like a s*x invite. 

Walt can sense her eyes travelling up and down the length of his body, blatantly checking him out. A small, languorous smile starts at the corner of her mouth. Evidently, the lady likes what she sees.

She orders more wine from the landlord in a clipped aristocratic voice which gets Walt's attention, despite the amount of alcohol he's consumed. He's pretty convinced that if Ray wasn't thinking solely with his pintle right now, it would be setting off his suspicions as well. It's a voice accustomed to being obeyed at once, a voice of privilege and charm. The landlord Mouchon hastens to obey, head bowed.

Who is she, Walt wonders, and what does she want with us?

He catches a waft of jasmine, honeysuckle and musk, an expensive and sensual blend that makes him want to bury his nose in her pearly flesh. From the dark blue and silver brocade of her low cut dress, he realises she must be wealthy, especially with the sumptary laws of her country; a lady in waiting out at night or a merchant's woman out for a cheap thrill and some s****l danger. Perhaps she's a courtesan, a high class p********e scoping for custom before the wedding.

As the wine arrives at the table, Walt notices the wine is of a finer vintage than the slop the landlord had been giving them all night and passing it off as his best. He even provided some simple food for the table, some bread, butter and cold meats. Obviously a well known and favoured customer.

Trombley's of no help whatsoever, passed out in a puddle of wine and drool on the table. Walt is convinced the bugger is snoring. He isn't in the mood to drag him back home and face the icy disapproval of Ursula Walsingham. He has to stay here, he tries to convince himself. Who knows what trouble Ray will get himself into if he isn't here to keep an eye on him?

To her credit the masked lady isn't bad company. She's quick witted with an opinion and quip for any situation that comes up. Not the delicate flower she might appear from first sight. Walt notices a chased silver scabbard on her girdle, a pretty delicate thing. Deadly too, probably with a wicked sharp point on it. He wonders how well she knows how to use it.

Her finely shaped pale hand lies boldly on Ray's codpiece and she gives a little squeeze that elicits a soft groan from Ray. Things have just got a whole lot more interesting.

"There's only one thing I want at the moment-" she purrs, her tongue running briefly over her pink plush lower lip."You're a man of some intelligence, I'm sure you can work it out."

Ray's dark eyes are wide with shock and delight, as if he can't quite believe his luck.

"Come outside for a moment, my sweet foreigner." She says, her voice pitched low and seductive.

Ray nods dreamily, almost as if his wine has been spiked with aphrodisiac.

"Are you nuts?" hisses Walt. "What the f**k, Ray?"

Ray gives him his most charming smile, but Walt isn't remotely mollified.

"You don't even know her! What are you doing?" he says, surprising himself with his own vehemence.

"What rattled your cage, Walt? Are you mad 'cause I'm about to get some?"

Walt is irritated but he attempts to keep his cool, ignore the fact that Ray always knows how to get to him.

"You don't know who she is! She could be anyone!"

Ray smiles maddeningly at him; Walt resists the urge to shake him until his teeth rattle.

"This isn't a joke, Ray." He grits out.

"I'm not professing undying love for the wench, Walt. I'm out in Paris, I'm not working tonight and I just want to get my d**k wet. Is that a problem?"

Walt knows that Ray isn't going to listen to him, not with the mood he's in. "Well, don't expect me to get you out of this scrape. You're on your own."

Ray doesn't even look back as she practically drags him out of the door by his prick.

This is not going to end well, thinks Walt wearily. And I'm meant to be the responsible one. The wine still lies on the table, half full. Walt sniffs it, and dips a finger into the goblet flicking his tongue out to taste. No adulteration as far as he can tell.

Walt staggers outside to see what Ray is doing and stumbles into a petite flame haired woman standing outside the tavern, leaning against the wall with a bored and world weary expression in her dark, bold eyes. She recognises him from the table and beckons him over.

"Are you with him?" she asks in a jaded voice.

"Who?" Walt asks.

"The man with her in the alleyway."

"Where are they?" he asks, urgency spiking his voice.

Her grin broadens, revealing dimples in her cheeks. "You mean you can't hear them from here?"

He takes the hint and follows the sound .

'Hey! It's fine. Don't thank me for the tip!' she yells behind him with a raucous bawdy laugh.

At first he can't see them down the alleyway, then his eyes get accustomed to the gloom.

Ray's leaning against a doorway, his breeches pulled hastily open. Walt tries and fails not to stare at his friend's d**k. The masked woman is on her knees; one hand on Ray's hip pinning him to the doorframe, the other between her own thighs, her midnight blue and silver brocade skirts hastily rucked up high around her legs. She licks at the head, teasing the sensitive underside, taking it slowly into her mouth as if it were a honeyed plum. He can't take his eyes from the scene in front of him, and though he feels guilt watching his friend in such a private moment, he is incredibly turned on, his own length uncomfortably stiff in his breeches.

Ray's head is thrown back, an expression of tortured ecstasy on his face, dark eyes fluttering shut as he f***s her mouth without mercy.

He's so captivated by the scene he doesn't realise exactly when his hand strays into his breeches and grasps hold of his erection until it's done.

Surely I won't go to hell for one touch; he tells himself, knowing even as the thought occurs it is a lie. There's no way this is going to be one touch.

His hand moves quickly on his prick desperately seeking some kind of completion. He knows he's f****d on so many levels; getting turned on watching his best friend being sucked off in a Paris alleyway by a mysterious w***e. Wishing it was him down on his knees, mouth open, letting him slide his d**k between his lips. Feeling the weight of it on his tongue. Walt knows that he's wanted him for so long, but he couldn't say anything. Fearing he'd spoil everything if he spoke, if he told the truth.

She pulls away from his d**k, looking up at him from behind the mask. Ray makes a sound of sheer naked want, curling his hand round the dark silk of her hair to keep her in place.

"I want you to come. All over me. Please?" she gasps, pulling down the front of her dress until it hangs open; revealing her pale, pert breasts with the rouged pink n*****s spilling out of her stays. Her hand is stroking him slow, hard and dirty, aiming him at the pale expanse of her t**s.

"Stain me. Mark me. Please." she groans, sounding almost as tortured as he is.

Ray groans low in his throat, wiry body taut with impending c****x. Walt's almost right there with him. He has to force himself to keep his eyes open, not to miss a second as Ray comes with a groan and a curse all over her chest and neck. He bites his lip to keep from making noises and revealing himself as his o****m hits.

Walt closes his eyes for no more than a couple of seconds, mind blown. When his eyes open she's standing in front of him, cupping his face in her small pale hands and taking his mouth with a savage hunger.

"You love the taste, don't you?" she says when they break apart for breath. "You crave his prick as much as I do."

He nods, helpless with his own desire and shame, yet tremendously excited. Tingling with that weird sensation that inflames his senses and sends him half crazy. He does want her, with a sudden hunger he's not felt for a w***e for months.

"Lick me clean, then."

He does, lapping up every bit of come and sweat from her breasts, feeling her shudder and gasp underneath him as his tongue moves over her n*****s.

"I want, oh God, I want, so much." She's incoherent with lust. "Don't stop." she curls her leg round his thigh, pulling him closer.

She grinds against him, kissing him deeply. "I want you both. Tonight. We'll get a room." she says in between swopping frantic kisses with Walt and slipping an exploring hand into his breeches.

Making up her mind, she breaks away from him looking back at them with a wicked smile beneath the mask.

"Well, what are you both waiting for?"

She hasn't wasted any time. By the time Ray and Walt re-enter the tavern, she has given the landlord a handful of gold and swept up the stairs followed by the red-haired maid who merely graces them with an insolent knowing smirk. Walt gets the strong feeling that this has happened more than once and it's part of a routine for the maid.

"Don't mind Henriette, she's just mad she doesn't get to share this time." the woman's voice floats down the stairs carelessly.

This time? thinks Walt. He can't help but be intrigued by her off-hand comment. 

She shimmies out of her blue and silver brocade dress and it falls to the floor in a decadent heap. Quick hands unhook her stays as she peels the restrictive garment off and casts it to the floor. She slips her chemise off revealing her body fully in the firelight.

Her body is as pale and pampered as her complexion, all soft white thighs and gently curved belly. He sees a red raised mark near the top of her thigh which looks like a bite mark marring the milky-pale perfection of her flesh. He moves to touch it but she diverts his hand and moves it towards the dark damp silk of the pelt between her thighs.

Who would deliberately mar such beauty? Walt thinks briefly as she lies sprawled out on the straw filled pallet and beckons Walt to her. Her eyes meet his from behind the mask, unflinching and direct. "Come to me, my handsome stranger."

Walt looks unsurely at Ray who settles down to watch the show.

"Don't be shy, Walt. I got some. I want to see you with her." He looks up at his friend and he can't resist pressing a kiss against his mouth, his tongue sliding against the seam. "Please, Walt. For me."

She turns to him with a temptress smile behind her mask, turning her attention from her fascinated observation of their embraces."I just want you to please me, both of you, all night long. Can you do that for me?" she purrs.

He relents. Why object to one debauchery when he's already committed a dozen tonight?

"You have such a lovely body." She sighs softly, her hands and mouth exploring his flesh as he kneels above her. She leaves a faint trail of carmine kisses on his light golden stomach. "So athletic and strong…I can't wait to unwrap you both. Like a present, just for me."

She kisses him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth. Walt pulls away, running a tender thumb over her kiss-bruised lips.

"Take your mask off." he says suddenly.

She recoils for a second before getting herself under control. Walt is convinced she must be a lady-in-waiting or an aristocrat. That has to be years of training oneself to hide all strong emotion. To present a pretty façade to the rest of the world, like a fragile doll. Whoever asks if a porcelain figurine has feelings?

"Why?"

"I don't like the idea of sleeping with a woman when I don't know her name. What she looks like."

She tries for flippancy, thought it doesn't convince either of them. "Most men like the idea of an anonymous swive. Less complicated. Why spoil things ?"

"Call me old-fashioned but I'm not like most men."

She shakes her head. "You're making a mistake."

"What do you have to hide?" he coaxes her, guiding her soft pale hand down to his prick. 

She wraps it round him, giving him a curious stroke that makes him shudder. "You know I want you so very much. I'm hardly going to change my mind because you removed your mask."

"You really want to know?" she asks, sounding terribly young and unsure.

"I do. Don't be afraid to reveal yourself to me." he cups her face, kissing her one more time. "I won't hurt you."

She reaches round to untie the strings and the mask comes away in her hands.

"My name is Margot." she says with a defiant tilt of her chin. She looks him straight in the eye, defying him to back away, to reject her now that he knows her true identity. "Satisfied, now? Got a tale to regale all your friends with? Now you can walk away and leave-"

Walt stares at the girl. Even with most of the carmine kissed off her full mouth she's lovely beyond measure. His fingers trace along the slope of her nose, a touch long for perfection. The cheekbones, high and refined. The dark determined arch of her brows.

"You're so godamn gorgeous. Why would you think that I would ever reject you?" he says softly, stroking the soft youthful curve of her face in the lamplight. He kisses her again, persuading her to open up to him, telling her without words she can trust him, breaking down her defences.

The stubborn lines of her mouth soften under his as she kisses him back. She looks up at him, dizzy with newly ignited desire. Dark blue eyes with those straight dark lashes like long lush spikes, soft and hazy.

"My name is Walter." he says simply.

She slides her arm round his neck, pulling him closer. He can feel the soft rounded weight of her breasts against him.

"Walt." she repeats with a beguiling smile.

She's sprawled wantonly on the pallet, long dark hair streaming out over the pillows like a river of inky-black silk. Walt can't believe she would so willingly give herself to both of them for the night with no shame.

Walt's fingers slide deep inside her, while Ray sucks on her clit. She gives a helpless groan, hips moving involuntarily to their rhythm. She's literally sobbing with pleasure.

'Don't stop. Please don't stop-' she gasps out, her words disintegrating into a helpless jumble of pleas and sighs.

He feels her tighten around his fingers and changes his angle very slightly, aiming towards the front wall of her slick quim. She seems to like that a lot by the breathless quality of her groans and the dampness seeping down into his palm.

She pulls him back up to meet her, sliding her tongue into his mouth craving the taste of herself on it.

"I can't wait." She says. "I need you inside me, Walt. Please."

Ray moves off the bed. "Be my guest, Walt."

"You don't need to be gentle." She says, her voice ragged with lust. "Just do it."

He hitches her legs up and apart, the better for thrusting deep into her. She clings on to him, matching him thrust for quickening thrust. It's hard fast and forceful. There's a selfishness in the way they both chase their own pleasures.

He doesn't know her. There's an emotional barrier she keeps between them, like an invisible pane of glass despite the intimacy of what they are doing. He can't help feeling a slight impression of dissatisfaction like he's being used as her own personal s****l plaything. The thought courses through his mind perhaps she is thinking of someone else entirely and using his body to sate her longings.

She presses her hand to her mouth as if to suppress a name slipping out in the heat of the moment. Walt doesn't have time to think about it before his c****x wipes every other thought from his mind for that moment.

She lays back, briefly sated, her dark hair damp and clinging to her. A satisfied smile curves round her mouth, making her look slightly cynical yet sensual. Walt's surprised that if she is a w***e she seems to enjoy it and revel in her passion, rather than be cold, clinical and focused on gold, like most w****s of his brief acquaintance. "I feel like I'm alive. For at least a little while. At last." She whispers, still coming down from the high of her o****m.

Walt wonders what she means by that. What kind of life does she lead that she seeks relief and oblivion with strangers? Has she any idea of the danger she courts?

Walt's been in many situations, but this is definitely one for the books.

He has one hand on Margot's hip guiding her back and forth onto his prick. Her long dark hair slips to the side, exposing a faint red welt on her shoulder. The long line of her back between them as she leans forward, her small waist flaring out to her rounded arse. 

The contrast of her pale soft flesh and his rough hands holding her as he thrusts into her.

His hand slips round to between her thighs, seeking the firm damp pearl at the apex. The three of them are pressed together in a hot tangle of limbs, Ray's lips at her breast. She squirms and writhes between them, overloaded with sensation, greedy for more pleasure.

"Oh Yes." She sighs as she registers his touch. "Just a little bit harder. Ah yes, that's it. Perfect. Don't stop, either of you!"

Ray reaches out and touches his forearm, his dark eyes wide open as he watches his face. Hungry for the sight of him.

Walt can't help himself. He loses control as he watches Ray's face.

"So close. Jesus Christ, Walt. Whoever would have thought?"

Walt has a realisation shocking in it's sudden clarity. It's Ray's touch that made me see stars. All the emotions I don't feel for her, I feel for him. It's Ray that I want. 

Oh Lord, I'm so screwed, aren't I?

Next morning

Henriette knocks on the door and pushes it open. Her face doesn't even twitch at the sight of the three of them sprawled together in a lascivious tangle of bare limbs.

"My lady?" she says softly, shaking her awake.

Margot prises herself away from Walt's sleeping embrace and raises her head, long dark hair all rumpled and messy.

"What?" she mumbles, cracking one eye open.

"Nançay is here. We must leave, ma cherié. It will soon be daylight."

She makes a noise of protest and buries her face in Walt's shoulder.

"Come on, my lady." Henriette insists, shaking her a little. "You know we cannot be late."

She gets up then, making a reluctant effort to wake up, waking up Walt. He blinks sleepily at the intruders, as she kisses him and Ray goodbye.

'Thank you-' she breathes into his ear.

Nançay quickly hooks her back into her ruined finery. Finding her chopines carelessly kicked off in a passion and wrapping her cloak round her. It's way too early to work out why that blond arrogant French lord Brad had clashed with is here in the room, thinks Walt as he prods Ray awake.

"What's the matter with you? Let a man get some f*****g sleep, will you? I'm f*****g worn out after last night. Man, that Margot wore me out. Gorgeous filthy wench-" mutters Ray, trying to grab the counterpane and failing.

"Ray, we have a visitor."

His dark eyes fly open and widen. "I know you." He says slowly, looking at Nançay. "We met at Lord Henry Norreys's. You don't like Protestants."

Nançay nods briefly in acknowledgement. "Go, Henriette, and wait for me downstairs. I want to have a quick word with these gentlemen here."

She curtseys rather perfunctorily to him and leads Margot away who's still yawning.

"Sounds ominous." Ray observes as the women leave.

Ray and his f*****g smart mouth is going to get us beat up one day. Now is not the time to be sassing an armed man when you're lying in bed naked with another man.

"Shut up, Ray. Seriously." Walt mutters.

"Did you hurt her?" Nançay asks tersely. His blue eyes have a dangerous gleam in them.

"Hurt her? Of course not, why would we hurt her? We might be foreigners, but we're not complete savages you know." Ray actually sounds offended at the thought.

"She made it clear that she wanted us both for the night. And what's it to do with you, anyway?" Walt says rather warily.

Nançay seems satisfied with their protestations."It's my job to keep her safe." he says shortly. "I've been shadowing you most of the night."

Walt blushes at what Nançay must have seen down that alleyway.

"Really? Because you aren't doing a great job of it at the moment."

"Ray!" Walt claps a hand over his friend's mouth.

"He didn't mean to offend. He just has little control over his mouth." Walt says hastily, trying to keep the peace. "It's just that she's very young to be wandering the streets of Paris sleeping with strangers. Don't her parents know where she is?"

For a moment Nançay drops the tough façade and Walt realises he looks plain weary, dark circles under those blue eyes as he suppresses a yawn. He's probably been up all night searching for her. Following a wild headstrong girl like Margot around making sure she didn't get into trouble cannot be an easy job.

He watches Walt carefully from the window seat. "Didn't she tell you anything about herself? Anything at all?"

"Nothing. I guessed she might be a rich girl or a lady-in-waiting by the quality of her dress but I didn't ask her too many questions. She didn't want to talk of herself and I didn't push her."

Nançay curses quietly under his breath."It's not your fault." He gives a short sharp sigh of exasperation. "Damn, what a mess!"

"Who is she then? Why is it such a godamn mystery? And why do you have to protect her?" asks Ray peppering him with questions.

Nançay gives him a look of consternation. "I can't tell you."

"Can't tell us?"

He doesn't answer but Ray thinks about the words the Frenchman used- he can't-. He starts to get a clue."It's more than your job's worth to tell us. You work for her family."

Nançay nods gratefully. "It's not for me to say who she is. Do you understand? All I can do is thank you for not hurting her and ask you not to breathe a word of this to anyone if you can help it."

Walt and Ray swop glances. It's too damn early in the morning for such a mystery.

"Do I have your word?" he presses, his hand straying to his sword.

Walt puts his hand forward, eager to make peace. "You have my word, monsieur."

"And you?"

By the gleam in his eye Walt can see that Ray still has questions he wants answers to. Perhaps now is not the time though, when they are lying without a stitch on and unarmed.

"And mine." Ray says reluctantly. Walt knows him too well to believe he's going to let it lie, by any means.

"Good. I must leave now, before we are missed. God speed to both of you." He gives a courtly bow and leaves.

They find Trombley stretched out on a settle, blinking painfully in the early morning light.

"Where the hell have you been?" he complains, grunting as his head gets jolted by the movement. "I feel like I'm dying here. I have the worst hangover ever."

"Well, you were putting it away at quite a rate last night. I'm not surprised you feel a bit rough this morning." Ray says, quite reasonably for him.

"Damn, have you guys been having adventures without me? That's not fair!" he grumbles back, practically pouting. "I bet you went and got into a fight with a bunch of townsmen. That's just cruel."

"No one asked you to attempt to drink the tavern dry. I told you to f*****g pace yourself, lad. Anyway we've got to get back before Ursula goes nuts, so gird your loins up and suck it up like a man. We're going back to base."

Trombley groans. "f**k, I can't deal with that irritating bint at the moment. I swear; if I have to listen to her shrill whining voice in my ear going on about how I'm an immoral boy destined for the torments of hell fire I won't be responsible..."

"Is he going to be alright on the back of that pony? He's still so pissed he might fall off. If he smashes his head on the cobbles, Brad will have our guts." asks Walt worriedly. 'You know how he loves his protégé –'

"I'm not pissed!" Trombley interrupts, a little too loudly.

Ray and Walt just exchange a glance.

"Where on earth did we find this f**k-up?" Ray remarks to no one in particular.

Walt sighs. "Come on, time to get home."

They make it back to the courtyard as the sun is rising. Trombley still clinging on the mane of his pony and looking a distinct shade of pale green.

"You are a mess Trombley, ain't you?" Ray can't resist needling him."Can't take your sorry arse anywhere!"

"Just get me inside and in the vicinity of a chamber pot before I spew everywhere." groans Trombley, too ill to attempt to verbally fight back.

Brad's in the courtyard tending his horses with Espera. He greets them with a smirk.

"Long night was it, boys?"

"You have no idea, Brad. Ouch!" Ray starts, before being nudged by Walt.

"What have you three been up to? asks Brad suspiciously. "Trombley stinks of booze. You both have rouge crushed round your mouths. Ray, you're practically hanging out of your breeches. You all look like you've been dragged through every gutter in Paris backwards." His smirk broadens. "Don't tell me you retards actually got some?"

"I'm going to be sick. Seriously, guys-" groans Trombley, nearly swaying off his pony.

Poke doesn't even attempt to hide the fact he's laughing his head off at them. "If you weren't such f**k ups, I'd almost be proud of you." He chuckles.

Brad shakes his head at the state of them. "Well, make sure you don't run into Mistress Ursula on your way in. She was asking the housekeeper why you weren't at morning prayers, and had your beds been slept in?"

Ray curses. "s**t. Perhaps you can give her some of your fabled charm Walt, and we'll be able to blag it. She loves you. You're her sweetheart."

Walt flushes at his teasing. "No, I'm not!"

"All you have to do is flutter your eyelashes at her and she'd probably lift her skirts and let you have a go on that wrinkled hairy snatch of hers-"

"Ray!" Brad hisses in warning.

"What?"

Mistress Ursula Walsingham stands on the doorstep looking down her nose at the sorry group. It's very possible she heard Ray's latest diatribe.

"Gentlemen, so glad you could join us, particularly as we're all going to Court today." She says in a deceptively sweet voice. "In an hour? You didn't forget, did you?"

"Damn, she so heard. She's going to tear strips off us. You and your big mouth, Ray-" mutters Walt.

Ursula Walsingham does not do sweet. The men of Walsingham's Recon Team privately joke that Sir Francis is a pussycat compared his wife. They never dare to say it to his face, as they respect and idolise him to a man, but secretly they are all convinced he is more than a little scared of her himself.

"Where in the Lords' name have you been?" She sweeps over them, sharp gimlet eyes narrowed in suspicion, her mouth pulled taut with disapproval."Harold James Trombley, you look dreadful." She sniffs at him, her long sharp nose wrinkling in disgust. "My God! You're pickled, man! You're not still drunk, are you?"

His blue eyes stare at her in terror. He resembles nothing less than a young boy caught with his hand stuck in a sweetmeat jar. "Me? No, Mistress Walsingham." He says out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to release any more drink fumes.

Ursula isn't remotely convinced. "I despair for your soul young man, I really do. And you, Master Person-" she says, turning the whiplash of her attention to Ray. "You were meant to be keeping an eye on him!"

"He's a grown man. He should be able to look after himself. I'm not his mother!" Ray ripostes right back.

Ursula clucks her tongue. "I might have known this reprobate is responsible for your debauchery. I bet you dragged poor Sir Walter into it as well."

"Where have you all been?" Sir Francis's quietly authoritative voice cuts through before Ray can reply. "You're not terrorising the men again, are you Ursula?"

"But, Francis-"

"I'll deal with this." he says curtly.

She gives them all a final filthy look as she goes back into the house.

"Sir-" Walt starts. "I can explain everything-"

Sir Francis looks amused. "I'll talk to you later. If you pull a stunt like that again in front of my wife, I'll leave you to her mercy next time. Luckily for you gentlemen today, I feel merciful. Now get indoors and make yourselves presentable. We ride for Fontainebleau in an hour and a half. We might not be Frenchmen, but that doesn't mean we can't make a good impression when we are presented to the Valois family. We aren't savages."

"Yes, Sir." They say as one.

Sir Francis cracks a small unseen smile as they leave for the house.