by Anne Herries
‘Morwenna?’ he asked, still half-asleep. ‘Are you well?’
The silence was somehow menacing. His spine prickled and some inner instinct warned him that all was not as it should be. Cursing, he left the bed, pulled on his breeches and shirt and went downstairs, his feet still bare. It was almost light now and he could hear a shutter banging somewhere to the rear of the house. Perhaps that had woken him.
‘Morwenna? Where are you?’
The silence was frightening him. She ought to have heard him by now. She should be answering him, coming to find him. Damn it! Why had she left him sleeping? Had she gone to the kitchens in search of a drink?
He turned towards the back of the house and then saw something at the head of the stairs leading down into the kitchen. It was a slipper, Morwenna’s slipper. Now the chills were chasing down his spine and he was fully alert. Had she turned dizzy and fallen down the stairs?
‘Morwenna,’ he shouted and ran down them. ‘Morwenna—where are you?’
The kitchen was empty save for a cat purring on a rush mat before the stove, which was still warm from the previous night.
‘What is it, my lord?’ The footman came stumbling into the room, half-asleep, still pulling on his coat. ‘I thought I heard something. Is anything amiss?’
Rupert showed him the slipper. ‘Your mistress may have been abducted. Raise Mistress Janet and search the house.’
‘The lady gone?’ John the footman stared at him. ‘The house was locked last night, my lord.’
‘I heard a shutter banging.’
‘There is one that does not fasten properly in the back lobby.’
‘Show me,’ Rupert commanded. ‘If someone entered that way, they came for her. I can only think of one man who would dare so much.’
He followed his servant to the back of the house, where, sure enough, the shutter was hanging. The hinge had been forced and it hung loosely, swinging in the breeze that swept in from the river that lay behind the house. The gate was opened, its lock broken. Running out into the lane, Rupert saw fresh horse droppings and then a short distance further along the road another slipper to match the one he still held.
His horse was in the mews, too far away to fetch it and still have hope of catching her. Morwenna had been snatched while he lay sleeping. He could only think that her brother had done this, but why? Was it merely that it offended his pride to think of his sister as Rupert’s mistress—or something more sinister?
Cursing himself for being a fool, Rupert returned to the house. He wanted to set off in pursuit, but which way to turn? Where would Michael take her?
He was at fault. Had he taken Morwenna to his home and left her in the care of his mother she would have been safe, but he knew that the Dowager Marchioness would not have accepted the woman he loved. This house with just two servants was not properly protected. It had suited him well enough when he stayed here alone or with friends, but he should have realised that Morwenna might be in danger from her brother.
What were Michael’s intentions? Did he mean to flee to France and take his sister with him or was he looking for revenge?
Rupert’s thoughts were whirling as he returned to the house. He had only himself to blame for this mess. Had he married Morwenna, her brother would not have snatched her away. Yet was it his honour Michael meant to avenge or something else?
Rupert knew that certain things had been afoot the previous night. After the letter to William Parker, 4th Baron Monteagle, warning him not to attend the State Opening of Parliament, certain measures had been put into place. For months now the men whose task it was to protect the King and his ministers had been aware of plotters who wished to sweep away the King and place his Catholic daughter Elizabeth on the throne in his place. Rumours of a revolt had reached the ears of important men, but it was not until recently that they had realised to what lengths these desperate men might go. Rupert was aware that it had been Lord Henry’s intention to search the cellars beneath the Houses of Parliament. Had something been discovered? Had the plotters been taken or disturbed at their work?
‘Is there any sign of her, my lord?’ the footman asked as he returned. ‘She is nowhere in the house.’
‘I think her brother may have taken her,’ Rupert said, raking his hair back with frantic fingers. ‘For what reason I cannot be sure. Unless he means to lure me into a trap.’
‘What may I do to help you, sir?’
‘You may go to the mews, saddle my horse and have Mistress Janet put me up a change of clothing. I may have to leave town.’
‘Yes, my lord. I am sorry. I should have had that shutter mended.’
‘Yes, you should, but I should never have brought her here.’
Rupert took the stairs two at a time. For days now he had been haunted by indecision. His affair with Morwenna had started lightly. He had hardly thought where their relationship was going for his family would not accept a marriage with the sister of a traitor. Michael Morgan might be only a small part of the conspiracy, perhaps no more than a tool for obtaining the gunpowder and spiriting away men who might otherwise have been caught and punished by the law.
Rupert was well aware of the unrest in various parts of the country. Catholics of all walks of life were dissatisfied with the religious intolerance under King James’s rule. He had friends who met and spoke of change, but most were hopeful that it could be brought about in a peaceful manner. However, it was known that there was a hard knot of dissenters at the heart of England, men who would stop at nothing to bring down the King and his friends and set up Catholic rule again.
Rupert had been drawn in because Lord Henry was one of the investigators and a friend of his family. He had never thought when he left London for Cornwall on a daring adventure that he would find a woman he could admire and value so much.
Damn it! His feelings went much deeper than admiration. At first he had taken his need to touch and kiss her as being merely lust, but then he had begun to realise he wanted more. He was not certain he understood how he felt, because love was something he had never experienced. At least, this kind of love was new to him—a love that burned deep in his guts and made him aware of pain.
What if Morwenna had gone willingly? She had given herself so sweetly as she lay in his arms the previous night. Surely she would not leave without a word?
No, she had been stolen away and by her own brother. How could Michael do such a thing to her? Where had he taken her and what did he plan?
The thoughts went round and round in Rupert’s head as he dressed and shaved, cutting his chin in his haste. He swore as he dabbed at the trickle of blood with linen soaked in cold water.
Where should he look first? Michael might have taken her on board his ship. Would he head for Cornwall or for France?
What would Rupert do in his place? If he suspected that the plot had gone awry, that his friends were being sought, where would he run? Or did he think himself safe? If he were not involved in the actual plot, but had been used to convey the goods …
Hearing pounding at his front door, Rupert ran down the stairs as the maidservant opened it.
‘Lord Henry sent me,’ the man said. ‘You are to come at once, my lord.’
‘What is it? I have no time.’
‘It is important. Lord Henry insists you are needed, sir.’
Swearing beneath his breath, Rupert grabbed his hat from the stand, then barked an order at his footman, who had returned with his horse.
‘I shall return within the hour. I shall need you to take a message so be ready.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Still furious at the delay, but knowing it could hardly matter, because Michael was already too far away to be followed, Rupert left the house with Lord Henry’s man. He knew that something important must have happened or he would not have been summoned at this hour. He was on fire to begin his search for Morwenna, but in truth there was little he could do, for nothing would be gained by running around town like a headless chick
en.
In his own mind he was certain that Michael had taken Morwenna, which meant she might even now be on her way to Cornwall or perhaps France. Rupert would need to employ agents to help him search for her. Lord Henry might have some idea of where Michael was hiding out. He could gain nothing by refusing to speak to his father’s friend and might gain much.
In his first panic he had been ready to ride off in search of her, but now he realised that he needed help. It might take weeks or months to find Morwenna if she had been taken out of London.
His heart felt as if it were in the grip of a strong hand, being squeezed so tight that he could hardly breathe, and his head was pounding. If anything happened to her, he did not think he would forgive himself.
‘We discovered Fawkes guarding the gunpowder,’ Lord Henry said excitedly as Rupert was shown into his parlour. ‘There were six and thirty barrels. Enough to blow the House of Lords to pieces. None would have survived such a blast.’
‘Good grief. Are all the plotters taken?’
‘No. Most will have fled by now. We know Robert Catesby is one of them: also Thomas Wintour, John Grant, Sir Ambrose Rookwood, Digby, Thomas Percy and others, I dare say. We shall have them soon enough, for Fawkes has been arrested.’
‘You say Fawkes was guarding the hoard?’
‘Aye. He had ten years’ military experience on the Spanish peninsula during the Dutch revolt. We believe he may have been selected to do the wicked deed, though I do not think him the ringleader myself. They will have the other names out of him before many hours have passed.’
‘The plotters will flee London as soon as they hear he was discovered.’
‘We shall pursue them with all speed and arrest them. It was for this reason I sent for you. I wish you to take a party of men and join those appointed for the pursuit.’
‘Forgive me, sir. In this I must disappoint you, for I have other business.’
Lord Henry frowned, clearly annoyed. ‘I want you there when the men are taken. There are certain others who may escape because they have friends in high places and I know I may trust you. I would not have the little fish caught while others carry on their misdeeds.’
‘Michael Morgan has taken his sister, kidnapped her because of her association with me. I must find her and rescue her before I can do as you ask.’
‘This is a matter of the highest importance. What can this woman mean to you?’
‘More than my life, sir,’ Rupert said grimly. ‘You know that I would serve you in this if I could, but I must search for Morwenna.’
‘You are but one man. I have agents who may know the whereabouts of this girl. Do as I ask you, Rupert, and I will engage to find the girl. Return to me when the plotters are taken and I shall know where the girl is being held.’
Rupert stared at him, his emotions churning. How could he leave Morwenna to the mercy of her brother? Yet where did he begin to look for her? He had already acknowledged in his own mind that it might take weeks to find her.
His gaze narrowed. ‘You give me your word that you will set your agents to finding Morgan? I believe he may have taken her either to Cornwall or perhaps to France.’
‘If he knows the plotters are taken, he will try to get to his ship,’ Lord Henry said. ‘I ask again, what is this girl to you?’
‘I intend to wed her as soon as I find her.’
‘Then I give you my word to find her, or her brother if she is dead.’
‘Dead?’ The word was like a knife thrust in his breast. He had suspected Michael meant to trap him, to exact some kind of revenge, but wouldhe kill his own sister? ‘He will find no profit in her death. I should pursue him to the ends of the earth and kill him.’
‘He was involved in the plot to kill his Majesty and all his lords at the opening of Parliament. Michael Morgan’s life is forfeit when we find him.’
‘She must be safe first. You give me your word?’
Lord Henry frowned. ‘I shall order it so, but when a rat is caught in a trap he may turn on that which is nearest to him.’
‘Find him and leave the rest to me. I want your word on it, my lord.’
‘My word then, but bring me news of the traitors: who is taken and who lives and is imprisoned.’
Rupert inclined his head. He was on fire with impatience as he left Lord Henry’s house. He had given his word to join the hunt for the conspirators and must keep it, but first he would send his messages. Jacques would want to know his sister’s fate and he might be able to find his brother if Lord Henry’s agents failed.
‘You cannot keep me here against my will.’ Morwenna glared at her brother across the room. He had brought her to this bedchamber and dumped her on the bed, then locked her in, leaving her for hours without either food or water. ‘Do you think to starve me into submission?’
‘If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you.’ Michael glared at her. ‘Had things gone to plan you would be on board my ship and on your way to France by now.’
‘No! Take me back to where you found me. I shall not come with you.’
‘You will do as I tell you, Sister.’
‘You cannot keep me close for ever. I shall run away again as soon as your back is turned.’
Michael swore furiously. ‘If your interfering lover had not poked his nose into my business, you would not be here. Someone betrayed us and I think it was he and Jacques, I dare say, for he knew of the gunpowder.’
‘Gunpowder?’ Morwenna felt sick as she looked at him. ‘What have you done, Michael?’
‘I have helped certain men obtain the goods they needed and taken certain Jesuits to safety in France, no more. If there were more religious tolerance in this country, I would not have been involved. The King and his ministers have only themselves to blame. Besides, it is over, the plot discovered on the very eve …’
‘You were involved in treason?’ Morwenna was shocked. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling faint. ‘Michael, how could you? What was meant to happen?’
‘A group of Catholic gentlemen plotted to blow up the House of Lords at the State Opening. There would then have been a rising in favour of the Princess Elizabeth, who is a Catholic.’
‘She is but a child.’ Morwenna felt sick. ‘To kill so many and rouse a country to revolt. It’s wicked.’
‘Catholics have been tortured, burned and ruined. Our own father lost his estate because of iniquitous fines. Why should you care about people you have never met?’
‘I would have no one die in such a way.’
‘You are too soft-hearted,’ her brother growled. He sighed and ran his fingers through his fiery thatch. ‘I do not wish to harm you, Morwenna. Give me your word you will not return to him and I will allow you the run of the house. It is not safe to try for the coast yet, because they will be searching for the plotters on all the roads out of London. Far better to lie low until the hubbub dies down a bit.’
‘I love Rupert and I should not wish to live without him.’
‘Then you force me to keep you a prisoner,’ her brother snapped, his temper roused once more. ‘In time you will forget him. We shall tell people you are a widow and you may find a husband. I have money in France and it is my intention to settle there. Catholics are not persecuted there, as they are here.’
‘You seem to forget that my mother was not a Catholic and Jacques and I do not share your religion or condone your actions,’ Morwenna said. ‘You think to break my spirit, Michael, but know this—I shall love Rupert to my dying day and nothing you can do will change me.’
‘If he comes looking for you, I shall kill him and if you remain stubborn I may do the same with you. I shall not allow you to be that man’s mistress again. I wonder that you flaunt your feelings for him. You should be ashamed of what you have done. Have you no shame?’
‘I wish that I was his wife,’ Morwenna replied with quiet dignity. ‘But how can he marry the sister of a traitor? His is a proud family, Michael. They have supported the King of this country f
or centuries past. How could he desert all that his name stands for to marry a girl like me?’ Tears were on her lashes as she faced him proudly. ‘I love him and I will bear the shame of being his mistress gladly since I must. I would rather die than marry any other man.’
‘Stubborn wench.’ Michael glared at her, his temper simmering. ‘I’ll bring you water and bread, but you’ll get nothing more until you come to your senses.’
As he slammed out, leaving her alone, Morwenna sank on the edge of the bed, her tears running freely now, silently down her cheeks.
Surely Rupert would come for her. He would not simply allow her brother to snatch her away from under his nose, would he?
Yet how could he find her? She knew they were in London, in one of the narrow rookery of lanes that made up its dirtiest, darkest slums. Here beggars, thieves and hopeless wretches lived in hovels with rotting walls, windows without shutters or glass and broken roofs. The gutters were choked with the filth that was thrown into them: the contents of chamber pots, decaying fruit discarded by market tranters and other debris. Even the rats lay dead, their swollen bloated corpses stinking of decay. It was a place without hope.
Rupert would never think of looking for her here. How could her brother have fallen so low as to need to hide in such a place? His anger and disappointment had turned him sour and he had been led into such murky waters that he would never find his way back again. He spoke of a new life in France, but if they were searching for the plotters, how long would it be before he was taken? The thought of the punishment meted out to traitors made her feel faint and she feared for him.
And what would happen to her if he went out and left her here alone, locked into this tiny room without food or water?
For a moment the despair overwhelmed her, but then she brushed a hand across her eyes. She would not give way to despair. Rupert cared for her. He would search for her. He was searching for her even now.
‘Taken? Fawkes and others taken?’ Michael stared at the man who had carried the dread news. ‘They will torture them. No man can stand against such pain as they will inflict. We are all doomed.’
