Eleanor considered this seriously. She did seem to be putting on weight at an alarming rate—but twins?
‘Well—we shall have to wait and see, William, but—two babies? You are pleased?’ she asked demurely, trying hard to blank Martin from her mind and what this would do to him and their marriage, for she knew William would never walk away and leave his child or his children and forget them.
‘Need you ask? I am delighted—in fact,’ he said, leaping out of bed and walking over to a small table by the window and filling two goblets with wine, ‘let us drink the health of our child—or two, whatever the case may be.’
Turning back to her, about to hand one of the goblets to her, he froze, unprepared for the stunned expression on her face or the horror that stared out of her eyes. ‘Eleanor? Are you not well? What is it?’
‘Your—your back?’
A small shiver that had nothing to do with him being naked ran up William’s spine, and then, sighing heavily, he placed the goblets back on the table. Wrapping a scarlet velvet robe around his powerful body, he came to sit beside her on the bed. ‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it?’ he murmured, taking her hand.
‘But—but what happened to you?’ The flesh on his back was a hideous mass of scars and welts caused by a whip. She swallowed hard and, squeezing his hand with both her own, she looked at him. ‘William, don’t you think it’s time you told me exactly where it was you disappeared to for the three years you were absent—and what monstrous cruelties were inflicted on you to cause such disfigurement?’
‘I have never spoken about it. Only Godfrey knows the full story. He was part of it.’
‘Did you not go to Geneva, which was where many Protestants escaping persecution went?’
He shook his head, a bitter twist to his mouth. ‘Geneva! There was no such luxury for me.’
‘Then—where did you go?’
‘Let’s just say I went to foreign parts—through no choice of my own.’
‘Why? What do you mean? Are you saying you were banished by the Queen after all?’
‘No. By Atwood—not Mary Tudor. One thing I soon realised was that where Atwood leads, there follows a long trail of treachery and disaster.’
‘Did you know him well before you met Catherine?’
‘No, in fact we had never met. I got to know Catherine when I visited friends in Clerkenwell. They had a daughter, Margaret. Catherine and Margaret were close friends. I approached Atwood to gain his permission to court Catherine. He had no objections—in fact, he was enthusiastic about a union between us.’
‘You—fell in love with Catherine?’
He considered her words carefully before he replied. ‘I thought I did—at the time. It was later that I began to realise that what I felt for her wasn’t love. Catherine was—suitable—eminently suitable to be my wife. We suited each other, yet when we were apart I didn’t yearn for her—in fact, there were days when I didn’t even think about her. Thoughts of her didn’t twist my gut—which is what happens when I am apart from you.’
‘What happened to change that?’
As William rested his back against the bed head, his features became set and grim, his eyes hard with remembrance. ‘I got to know Atwood for what he really was, and I didn’t like what I saw. He was ruthless and would go to any lengths to achieve what he wanted. Anyone who stood in his way was removed—forcibly, if necessary. One of his ventures was to lend money for astronomical interest. An acquaintance of mine borrowed money off him. When Atwood called in the debt and my acquaintance was unable to repay it, Atwood claimed his property.’
‘And what happened to your acquaintance?’
‘He killed himself, leaving a young wife and three children. I had approached Atwood on his behalf, asking him to reconsider and give him more time to repay the debt. He told me to go to hell.’ Bitterness twisted his lips. ‘At the time I had no idea how close to hell I was to get. Anyway, that was when our relationship changed and he began to have doubts about my suitability as a son-in-law—especially when I began to question his nefarious, more often than not illegal methods of making money.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘When I stepped in and tried to prevent him marrying your mother, knowing how your father despised him, that was the final straw. Atwood knew I was on his back and that I wasn’t going to go quietly. The more persistent I became, the more furious he got. One night I was set upon and beaten senseless by a band of ruffians. When I came to—with broken ribs and a broken leg—I soon realised I was a prisoner on a vessel named George bound for the Americas.’
Eleanor paled visibly, appalled by what she was hearing. ‘And my stepfather was responsible for this—this act of wickedness?’
William nodded his head slowly. ‘I could not bear to speak of it before—to remember what it was like when I woke up on that ship from hell.’
‘Tell me.’ Wrapping a sheet about her, Eleanor tucked her feet beneath her and faced him, waiting for him to speak.
He drew away from her, leaning against the bed head, forcing his mind back to that ship he had wanted to forget. He did not speak at once, but sat for a while, his head bowed, as if meditating. Then he raised his head again with the air of a man who has come to a decision.
‘It is a difficult and shocking tale, but no harm can come of you hearing it.’ Because of the intrigues of a greedy, ruthless man, he had been abducted, knocked senseless and sent halfway across the world from where, Atwood must have thought, he would never return. The brutality of the men who held him, the conditions under which he was forced to live, would have broken a lesser man. Only his determination, his own iron will, his quick and active mind, his obstinacy, had brought him back to England to confront the man responsible for his misery, to make him pay and to demand answers.
Sensitive to his mood, Eleanor wrapped her warm fingers around his hand and gripped it hard, giving him strength. ‘William, I don’t want to remind you of your sufferings. It is painful for you to speak of them, I can see that. I only want you to explain a little of what happened so that I can understand.’
Raising his hand, he gently touched her cheek and smiled. ‘I can imagine your bewilderment—the questions you must have put to yourself.’
‘Then help me to understand.’
Clearing his throat, he shifted slightly, watching her face for her response to what he would tell her. ‘Lured by the riches to be had in the New World, Atwood had already commissioned the private vessel, a rover operating out of London, to conduct an independent operation on his behalf. The vessel was well armed, the captain—Lew Paxton his name was well schooled in prize hunting on the high seas—he was also such a fearsome-looking figure that imagination cannot form an idea of a fury from hell to look more frightful. He was large and powerful and bullied his men. He also had a violent temper and a fatal inability to earn the respect of his crew.’
‘What was it like? Was the captain cruel to you?’
‘Savage and cruel beyond belief. Spawned in evil, he and his men lived to commit their evil. Bloodlust shone in their eyes.’
‘But why did he do such terrible things? What possible reason could he have…?’
‘Because he enjoyed it. He liked to hurt people, to hear them scream. That was sufficient reason for him.’
William closed his eyes, the sounds and the pictures still in his head. The cries, the endless screams—and then worse. Silence. And then there was the fear that had been in him, and when he was free prevented him from looking back.
‘I knew, each time a man was flogged or some other unbearable torture was applied to his body, that I could do nothing. I was powerless—helpless.’ He sighed, opening his eyes. ‘I prefer not to offend your sensibilities with the details, Eleanor, so I ask you not to press me,’ he said quietly, his usually bright eyes dull, his mouth held tight. ‘What I will say is that through my severe treatment at Paxton’s hands, I had every expectation of each day that dawned being my last. When I
left that ship I vowed that one day I would confront the men who put me there.’
‘My stepfather?’
‘And one other.’
Silent and wide-eyed with horror, Eleanor stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. An immense pity welled up from the bottom of her heart towards this man whose sufferings at last she was beginning to understand.
‘Where did you meet Godfrey? Was he on the same ship?’
‘No. I met him when we reached South America, when the ship launched a strike against a Spanish vessel close to Maracaibo on the coast of Venezuela. Godfrey, who had left home to become a soldier of fortune when his family fell on hard times, was on that ship. The commencement of these hostilities provided ample employment for every sort of seagoing ruffian. They raided and plundered one another’s vessels for goods and hostages—the latter to be held for ransom or used as slaves.’
‘Was Godfrey a slave?’
‘No. He was employed as a mercenary by the Spaniards and was taken hostage. His obstinacy irritated the captain and he lost no time in punishing this recalcitrant addition to his ship. He also saw Godfrey, because of the sheer size and strength of him, as a challenge—someone to be subdued. The beatings were brutal affairs, personally administered by Paxton, who took delight in thrashing prisoners to within an inch of their lives.’
‘Was—was he responsible for what happened to your back?’ Eleanor asked in a small voice.
‘Yes. At this time life on board ship became a grim struggle for survival. There were internal rivalries and disputes between the captain and crew, and tropical diseases began to take their toll. It was when we were off Panama that a mutiny took place. When the captain was indisposed, eight members of the crew launched an attack.’
‘Were you one of them?’
He nodded.
‘The leader?’
Again he nodded. ‘And Godfrey. When the captain and his second mate became ill, I incited the mutiny and took over command of the vessel. Paxton had his throat cut while he slept—and no,’ he said when her eyebrows arched in question, ‘I didn’t do it.’
‘And what happened next?’
‘After plundering a Spanish galleon heading for Spain, laden with heavy chests of silver ingots and gold coin stowed amidships we headed for home.’ Suddenly he grinned, his teeth gleaming white in his swarthy face. ‘The Queen was well pleased when presented with the treasure—not so the Spanish Ambassador who demanded compensation for the plunder on the Spanish vessel, but his protests were ignored.’
‘And is that how Godfrey came by his riches?’ She laughed when William cocked a quizzical eyebrow. ‘The manner in which he flaunts his riches, one cannot help but notice and question as to how he came by them. And he never was your servant, was he, William?’
‘Godfrey is his own man, Eleanor, and, contrary to what everyone believes, he is not my servant—oddly, that’s the impression he likes to give, which I always find amusing, but that’s the way he is. We became close on board ship. Ours is an easy friendship not often met.’
‘William, if it was not Catherine that brought you back to London from Staxton Hall, then what was it?’
‘A ship called Resolve.’
‘Why? What does that ship mean to you?’
‘When I was beaten and bundled aboard the George, Atwood was behind it, that I do know, but I want to know who he paid to do it.’
‘And where does the Resolve come in to it?’
‘The Resolve and the George sailed together. When I left London for Staxton Hall, I left instructions that I was to be informed as soon as the Resolve was sighted in the Thames. The captain of the Resolve, I feel sure, knows who took me on board.’
‘And if you find out who it was?’
‘He’ll regret ever being born.’
‘Have you any notion as to who it might be?’
His eyes narrowed and glittered. ‘I have my suspicions.’
‘Will you share them with me?’
‘I’d rather wait until I’m certain.’
‘Very well,’ she said, leaning towards him and brushing his lips with her own. ‘And now I must go. I will have been missed. I must have been gone over two hours.’
William’s dark brows drew together. ‘Go?’ A small voice deep inside him began to gnaw at him.
‘I have to. Martin is bound to question me about my absence.’
William’s face whitened, the rush of furious blood under his skin draining away at the implication of her statement. ‘I doubt he will have noticed. Besides, he is no longer important.’
‘He is still my husband, William—despite what we have just done. It is a dangerous game we play.’
‘This is no game I play, Eleanor.’
She sighed deeply, drawing away from him. ‘We must wait.’ She was aware that William was not a patient man and that he would not be stopped when his mind was set on something, and he was set on having her and his child, which was what she also wanted more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t just leave Martin.
‘Wait? Eleanor, stop this, stop it at once.’ His voice was a snarl of jealous outrage. He was a virile man and extremely masculine. Before he had made love to her she had been untouched and pure, a woman who had never known a lover’s touch, and he was as certain as he could be that Martin Taverner had not even looked at her with the same desire that he had—a desire that could melt the bones and the flesh and cause all coherent thought to take flight.
‘God in heaven!’ he said, flinging himself off the bed. ‘Can’t you understand that I want you with me, that I want to protect you?’
‘Who from? Martin? He won’t hurt me.’ Getting off the bed, she began struggling into her clothes.
Grudgingly, William went to help her, and when she was fully clothed he placed his hands on her upper arms and looked deep into her troubled eyes. ‘Eleanor, you are mine,’ he said with great gravity, ‘and so is the child you carry. I mean to have you both. I will not allow what we have to be forced into a corner that no one must see. I am not a man to accept it.’
‘I don’t expect you to,’ she whispered. ‘I am only asking that you be patient a while longer.’
Cupping her face between his hands, he began to kiss it, placing his tender lips on her cheeks, her eyelids, her brow, her mouth. ‘You know about desire, Eleanor,’ he murmured huskily, his warm breath mingling with her own. ‘I have shown you, and how much I desire you. What you and Martin Taverner have has nothing to do with it. Your marriage is ridiculous, an absurdity. He must be told.’
‘I know.’
‘We will tell him together.’
Before Eleanor could prepare herself for his next onslaught, he had pulled her to him. His mouth fell savagely on hers, crushing her lips so fiercely she could swear she could taste blood. Once again she felt the strength of him. Her heart was pounding, her body pliant, unresisting, straining against him, his breath sweet and warm. Sagging against him, she felt the woman in her respond to his maleness.
William sensed the change in her and his lips softened, moving along her jawline to the fleshy lobe of her ear, which his teeth nibbled gently before his mouth found hers once more.
‘You don’t want to go back to him, do you, Eleanor?’ His arms loosened and he looked down at her passion-filled face. ‘To that sham of a marriage?’
She was dazed, her eyes unfocused. ‘You know I don’t, but for now I have to,’ she whispered, drawing away from him. ‘We must consider Martin’s position in all this. Think how humbling it will be to him if everyone thinks I have left him for you, and that I married him while carrying another man’s child. I must show some loyalty. I owe him that at least.’
‘I can see it’s a difficult moral dilemma for you,’ William said drily, ‘but in this case I find my loyalties are entirely with you.’
‘Please don’t try and stop me going back to him, William. We will work it out somehow, I promise.’
He felt some reluctance in letting her
go, but he could scarcely keep her with him just now. She would be safe enough, he thought, with a husband who had no mind to bed his wife.
Eleanor’s eyes rested on the exposed part of his shoulder for a moment, at the small knot of puckered scar tissue that seemed to have crept up from his back, but she showed no sign of disgust or any further curiosity, nor did she when she pressed herself against him for one last kiss and snaked her arms around him and placed her hands on his back when she bade him goodbye, though William knew she must feel the healed welts beneath his robe with her fingers.
‘You’re right, you’ll have to go back—for now,’ he said, brushing her hair out of his face.
‘And we will sort this out, won’t we, William?’
He didn’t answer right away, but bent his head. Eleanor could feel the tension of his body knotted in the joints, rigid in his bones.
‘I hadn’t thought ever to be jealous of a man like Martin Taverner—a man who has no use for women—for which I thank God,’ he whispered at last. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible until I learned that you had married him.’ His fingers touched the softness of her cheek. ‘One way or another I will get you back, but until I do, the thought of you as that man’s wife will be like a worm eating away inside me.’
Eleanor gathered him tight against herself, placing her head against his chest where his heart was beating furiously. ‘Then console yourself with the knowledge that because of how he is, he will not touch me, and in that I am protected.’
When she left him she felt as if she were walking on air and a smile would settle on her lips, a smile that told her she loved him—and, oh, yes, love him she did, with her whole heart. This she did not deny.
Martin, in a happy mood as he sauntered along the dim corridors of the Palace, was unprepared for what was about to happen to him when a tall man stepped out of the shadows.
‘Traitor,’ Richard Grey hissed, feeling for his dagger, smiling unpleasantly, and without uttering another word he swung his fighting arm up in the air. The blade rose in an arc like a bright streak and he plunged it in four heart thrusts.
Forbidden Lord Page 23
