Ruled Britannia Read Online Free

prove fatal in real life. He sprang from the bed and threw on his clothes by the dim light those embers gave.
    Drawers. Upperstocks. Netherstocks. Shirt. Doublet with slops. He didn’t bother fastening it—that could wait. Hat. Cloak. Boots. Too cursed many clothes, when he was in a hurry. Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy footsteps—these beefeating Englishmen were ridiculously large men. A quick kiss for Maude, not that she deserved it, not when she’d tried to get him killed.
    Lope threw open the shutters. Cold, damp air streamed into the bedchamber. “ Adiós ,” he whispered. “ Hasta la vista .” He scrambled out the window, hung by his hands from the sill for a moment, and then let go and dropped to the street below.
    He landed lightly and didn’t get hurt, but his left foot came down with a splash in a puddle of something that stank to high heaven. A rough male voice floated out the window he’d just vacated: “What the Devil was that? And why are these shutters open, Maude? Art mad? Thou’lt catch thy death.”
    Much as Lope would have liked to, he didn’t stay to listen to Maude’s excuses. He didn’t fear fighting her husband, but an adulterer had no honor, win or lose. Instead of using the rapier at his hip, he hurried round a corner.
    Behind him, the Englishman said, “What’s that?” again, and then, “ ’Swounds, woman, play you the strumpet with me?”
    â€œOh, no, Ned.” Maude’s voice dripped honey. Oh, yes, Ned , de Vega thought. He didn’t hear whatever else she said, but he would have bet she talked her way out of it. By all the signs, she had practice.
    Whatever Lope had landed in, it still clung to his boot. He wrinkled his nose. Had the Englishwoman’s husband chosen to come after him, the man could have tracked him by scent, as if he were a polecat. When he stepped on a stone in the roadway, he scraped his heel and sole against it. That helped a little, but only a little.
    He looked around. He’d gone only a couple of blocks from Maude’s house, but in the fog and the darkness he’d got turned around. How am I supposed to find my way back to the London barracks, let alone to Westminster, when I don’t think I could find my way back to the bedroom I just left? Madrid boasted far more torches of nights.
    Lope shrugged and laughed softly. He had a long, bony face that seemed ill-suited to humor, but his sparkling eyes gave those bones the lie. One way or another, I expect I’ll manage .
    To make sure he did manage, he drew his rapier. London had a curfew, and he was out well after it. That wouldn’t matter if he came across a squad of Spanish soldiers patrolling the streets. The only Englishmen likely to be out and about, though, were curbers and flicks and nips and high lawyers: thieves and robbers who might have a professional interest, as it were, in making his acquaintance. If they also made the acquaintance of his blade, they wouldn’t bother him.
    Down an alley, a dog growled and then started to bark. The rapier would also keep him safe against animals that went on four legs. But a chain clanked, and the dog yelped in frustration. Lope nodded to himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about that, anyhow.
    He picked his way westward, or hoped he did. If he was going in the right direction, he was heading toward the barracks, which lay not far from St. Swithin’s church. Who St. Swithin was, he had no idea. He wondered if Rome did.
    He heard footsteps from a side street. His right hand tightened on the leather-wrapped hilt of the rapier. Whoever was going along that street must have heard him, too, for those other footsteps stopped. Lope paused, listened, muttered, “The Devil take him, whoever he is,” and went on. After a few strides, he paused to listen again. A woman’s sigh of relief came to his ear. He smiled, tempted to go back and see who shewas,