Manfred shook his head. “Believe me. If they had caught you, the abbot would have been the first person to be shocked that you were there. It was a set-up, I tell you.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Erik, stubbornly. “I have opposed him, true—in a relatively minor matter—but surely that’s not worth the effort and money such a plot would take. He could just send me home.”
Manfred grinned. “Heh. I’d be sent off on the next boat. Just think. No Uncle Erik to ride herd on me.”
Erik didn’t say anything. Francesca was there. But he smiled and shook his head. His duty was to protect Manfred. There were certain steps he would have to take if the abbot tried to send him away. A signet ring to be used. In dire emergencies.
“Well, the thought of my running wild has shut Erik up. He’s even forgotten he’s come to hale me away for guard duty. Goodbye, my sweet. Until tomorrow.”
Francesca shook her head. “Not until Thursday, Manfred, as you well know.”
A look of pouting hurt spread over Manfred’s face. “I wish you’d give this up. I thought you loved me.”
She smiled, and patted his cheek. “And I do! But not exclusively.”
He put his bulky arms around her waist and drew her close, his face growing sulky.
Francesca gave him a quick, easy kiss, but her hands were on his chest gently pushing him away. “Please, Manfred. You could not begin to afford keeping me for yourself, and you know it as well as I do. So enjoy what we have.”
“But . . . Francesca,” he pouted.
“Thursday. Build up your strength.” Her next kiss was firm, and dismissive.
* * *
On their way back, observing Manfred’s clumping steps from the corner of his eye, Erik found himself fighting down a smile. For once—ha!—even the happy-go-lucky imperial prince seemed to have met a woman who confounded him.
Perhaps sensing his companion’s humor, Manfred shrugged thick shoulders. “What can I do?” he demanded, in a tone which was half-amused and half-exasperated. “Next to Francesca, all the other women in this town are just . . . boring.”
His still-young face seemed, for just a moment, even younger than it was. “It’s not fair! I’m being ruined for a normal life of whoremongering.” Blackly: “You watch! Before you know it, she’ll be reading to me in bed.”
Erik held his tongue. But he finally decided Francesca was right. Maybe some young girl out there—some eventual princess—would thank her for the training she was giving Manfred. He was far too used to getting his own way; with women as much as anything else. Being stymied and befuddled was undoubtedly good for the royal young lout.
As a guardian and a warrior-mentor, Erik still regretted the incident that had led Manfred into consorting with Francesca. Because of the debt between them, he hadn’t been able to deal with it as decisively as he usually would have. But . . .
Yes, there was truth in what she’d said. He simply couldn’t watch the young hellion twenty-four hours a day. Manfred was as safe with Francesca as in the Imperial embassy . . . from which Manfred had found at least three unofficial exits. If he could leave, then anyone could enter too. Erik had pointed this out to the abbot, to be told that the rite of enclosure precluded it. All Erik could say was that the rite appeared—as testified by Manfred’s presence in the Casa Louise—to be ineffectual.
And, he supposed, just as he was seeing to some aspects of the education of the future Duke of Brittany and possible heir to the Holy Roman Emperor’s throne, Francesca was also. Erik blushed a little. These were certainly areas he was ignorant of. And besides that, she was knowledgeable about other things which Erik knew little about—such as the political intrigue that seemed to be the heart of the Venetian Republic. The Italians seemed to relish it. It left him puzzled and with a feeling of distaste. But this was what Manfred would have to deal with when Erik went back to Iceland and thence to Vinland.