The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

grinned. ‘Abigail went with her.’

      Nicholas grinned in return. ‘What are we waiting for?’

      With a signal lack of decorum, the boys hurried out of the Duke’s great hall just a stride short of a full run.

      As the boys leaped the three steps to the Princess’s Garden, Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles. Margaret’s was confident and amused; Abigail’s was shy and pleased.

      Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of courtly dignity. Grinning self-consciously, Nicholas said, ‘Good evening, ladies.’

      ‘Good evening, Squire,’ replied Margaret.

      Abigail spoke softly. ‘Good evening, Highness.’

      The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to Margaret. The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to speak at the same time. The girls laughed and the boys had the good grace to look embarrassed. Again there was a silent moment, then Harry and Nicholas began to speak again.

      Margaret said, ‘I know you two can’t seem to live a moment apart, but why don’t you come over here with me, Squire Harry.’

      Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.

      Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden to another bench, where they sat. Softly Abigail said, ‘You seem to be adjusting to living with us, Highness.’

      Nicholas said, ‘It’s “Squire” here, my lady.’ He flushed a little and said, ‘I … think I like it. Some of it.’ He stared at her, amazed at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like. Her skin was clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured. He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous in the faint light of the torches upon the wall. Her hair was gathered back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a cascade of golden silk. He glanced down and said, ‘Some things I find a great deal more appealing here than others.’

      She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, ‘Is His Grace overworking you? I hardly ever see you in the castle. We’ve spoken little more than a dozen words in weeks.’

      Nicholas said, ‘I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father’s court and being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go on all the time in Krondor.’

      ‘I would have thought that a wonderful life,’ she said. Her tone was disappointed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more thrilling than being presented in your father’s court, or the King’s court.’ Her eyes were wide and her expression earnest as she spoke. ‘The great lords and beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands – it all sounds so wonderful.’ She positively glowed to Nicholas’s eyes as she said this.

      Trying not to sound too blasé, Nicholas said, ‘It’s often colorful.’ In fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore. But he was sure Abigail didn’t wish to hear that, and at this particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last thing he wished. She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last moments he had forgotten to breathe. ‘Perhaps someday you can visit Krondor or Rillanon.’

      Her expression turned from wondering to resigned. ‘I’m the daughter of a Far Coast Baron. If my father has his way, I’ll be pledged to marry Marcus soon; I’ll be an old woman with children before I have a chance to visit Krondor, and I’ll never see Rillanon.’

      Nicholas didn’t know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she spoke of marrying Marcus. At last he said, ‘You won’t have to.’

      ‘Have to what?’ she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

      ‘Marry Marcus if you don’t want to,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s not as if your father can command you to.’

      ‘He can make it very hard for me to say no,’ she said, lowering her eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly long.

      Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her hands in his own. Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them with the other, he said, ‘I could …’

      Softy, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, ‘What, Nicky?’

      Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, ‘I could ask my father –’

      Abigail said, ‘Nicky, you’re wonderful!’ She reached out and put her hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.

      Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed. He had never known a kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant. Her lips rested perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses. His head swam as he began to return the kiss. He felt his body warming as he drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands. She moved in such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.

      Abruptly she pulled away. ‘Marcus!’ she whispered and before Nicholas could gather his wits she was gone. He blinked in confusion, feeling as if someone had poured icy water over his head. A moment later, Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the ones by the football field. Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss he had not heard his cousin approach.

      When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression darkened. ‘Squire,’ he said coldly.

      ‘Marcus,’ answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.

      ‘I don’t suppose the Lady Abigail is here.’

      Nicholas discovered that he didn’t like the way in which Marcus was looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him mention her name. ‘She’s not here.’

      Marcus glanced around. ‘But unless you’ve taken to wearing her cologne, she was here moments ago.’ With narrowed gaze he said, ‘Where is she?’

      Nicholas stood. ‘Over there, I think.’

      Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up with him. They both crossed to the other side of the Princess’s Garden, where they found Harry sitting on the bench. The Squire from Ludland was flushing furiously.

      Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.

      Marcus said, ‘I suppose you were entertaining my sister.’

      Harry’s flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Looking off toward the castle-in the direction the girls had obviously gone-he added, ‘She is a most remarkable girl.’

      Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both. ‘I hoped you two would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven’t. Well, here’s how it’s going to be.’ Pointing at Harry, he said, ‘My sister can take care of herself, but she’s slated for bigger things than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl.’

      Harry’s face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept his silence.

      Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, ‘And you, cousin … Abigail doesn’t need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her behind when he goes home. Is that clear?’

      Nicholas stepped forward, ‘What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn’t have duties for me, is my business. And who Abigail chooses to spend her time with is her business.’

      Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were separated by Harry, stepping between them. ‘It won’t do anyone any good if you two start brawling,’ he said, his anger making his voice hard and scolding. Looking as if he would welcome any