by Trish Morey
Rob caught her scream with his mouth, taking it deep inside him and answering it with his own ecstatic shout. She felt the warmth of his release in her, and the way his back arched like a taut bowstring under her hands. His head fell back, his neck muscles corded with the force of his pleasure.
‘Anna, Anna,’ he groaned. Then he fell to the bed beside her, their arms and legs still tangled, their breath laboured in the humid, perfumed air around them.
He lay on his stomach, his face hidden from her along with his emotions. Anna struggled to catch her breath, to catch herself as she tumbled back down from the sun. Her whole body trembled and the force of her feelings almost frightened her. She wanted to laugh and weep all at the same time.
Beside her, Rob’s breath slowly grew steadier, his legs heavy on hers, and she thought he slept. She knew she should sleep, too—dawn would come soon enough, and the party would resume. Something had been said about riding out to go hawking, and she needed energy for such exercise. Yet even though she felt heavy with exhaustion, spent with passion, her mind soared and fizzed, and she knew she would not sleep yet.
She slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Rob. If he woke, if he spoke to her, she would hardly know what to say to him. Her feelings were so tangled and knotted inside her that she didn’t know what she felt. She no longer knew how to protect herself.
She caught up her chemise from the floor and took it with her to the half-open window. The night breeze felt wondrously cool on her bare, heated skin, and she let it wash over her like a cleansing tide. The moon glowed down on the slumbering garden, turning it into a shimmering, silent fairyland.
She liked the silence—the way it blanketed everything in a mysterious peace. It was never quiet in Southwark, and almost never peaceful. It slowly calmed her heart, and she breathed it all in deeply. She closed her eyes and let the peace inside.
She heard the rustle of bedclothes behind her, and the soft sound of Rob’s bare feet as he crossed the floor, but she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t dare, for fear the silent spell would shatter.
He gently swept her hair from her back and let it fall over her shoulder as he kissed the nape of her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. He drew her back against his body, the two of them naked as the night curled around them.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ he asked softly, as if he also feared to shatter the spell.
‘Not yet. I wanted to look at the moon again. It always seems to hide behind the clouds and dirt in Southwark—unless you are with me to coax it to appear.’
‘Hart Castle is a pretty place.’
‘Very pretty, indeed. Edward and Elizabeth are fortunate.’
‘Have you ever wanted a home like this?’
Anna laughed. ‘Of course I have. But that would be like wishing to possess that moon. A house like this—it is not for a woman such as me: a poor widow, the daughter of a man whose coin comes from theatres and bawdy houses.’
‘Nor for a poor, wandering actor like me,’ Rob said ruefully. ‘Yet surely it’s good to have aspirations and dreams, no matter how moon-mad? To have something to desire? Don’t you think?’
Anna shivered as she felt his warm mouth nibble at her neck and drift lower, over her shoulder and her naked back. His hands crept up to caress the soft underside of her breasts and her eyes drifted closed. Just as she started to fall back against him she felt his whole body stiffen and his head came up.
‘Anna, what is this?’ he said roughly.
And she remembered. The scars—the marks no one had ever seen. How could she have forgotten long enough for him to find them? It was as if a sudden cold rain doused the dreamlike night.
She drew away from him and tugged the chemise over her head, as if hiding them could make them vanish. ‘‘Tis nothing.’
Rob took her arm and turned her to face him. He wouldn’t let her turn away. ‘They are whip marks.’
‘Aye. A gift from my husband. But they are old.’ And the memories felt more distant with every minute. Robert made her feel new, reborn.
‘It does not matter how old they are,’ he said, and she heard the hard, sharp edge of anger glinting through his words like a sword. ‘He hurt you—he left scars on your skin.’
‘It is a wife’s lot,’ Anna said bitterly, repeating what everyone had told her when Charles had got drunk and beat her—even her father. Despite the sadness in his eyes then, he had sent her back to her husband. He’d said he had no choice.
Rob was the first person ever to show such anger over how she had once been treated, and it made her feel sad all over again—and heartened.
‘Nay, it is not,’ he said, that fury even harder and brighter. ‘How dare he do this to you? If I had been there …’
‘If you had been there?’
‘I would have killed him,’ he said, and there was the solid ring of truth to those stark, simple words.
‘I had no knight to ride to my rescue then,’ she said, her throat dry with the tears she had held back for years. ‘But I confess—I felt nothing but relief when he died.’
Rob drew her closer, slowly, gently, until she could rest her head against his chest and close her eyes. There in his arms, in his protective silence, she at last felt those bitter days of the past drop away and free her from their hard talons. They were gone, really gone, and she was here now with Robert.
Rob Alden was a dangerous man in many ways. She knew that well. He served Walsingham, which meant great secrecy and peril, and he brawled and fought—she had seen the wounds of that. He also threatened to invade her guarded heart, to make her care about him, want him in ways beyond the bedchamber—ways he couldn’t be hers. But he was not cruel in the way Charles Barrett had been. He took not the slightest pleasure from her pain, and in that she could be safe with him.
Rob softly kissed the top of her head and she felt him smooth her hair. Gentle, soothing movements, so at odds with that cold fury in his voice—I would have killed him.
‘How could your father have married you to such a villain?’ he demanded.
‘My father could not have stopped such a headstrong, silly girl as I was,’ Anna said with a laugh. ‘Charles was handsome and charming—though not as charming as you, Rob Alden. And he promised to take me away from Southwark, give me a new life. I was foolishly certain I knew what I was doing. But when we married and I left my father’s house it all changed.’
Rob took her hand and led her to sit down on the edge of the bed. She shivered, though whether from the night breeze or the old memories she couldn’t tell. He wrapped his doublet around her shoulders and she drew it close to her. Its soft, fine folds still smelled of him—clean mint and dark spice.
Strangely, even that made her feel safer. Wrapped around with a new armour that kept the past away.
He sat down beside her. ‘He was not what you thought?’
Anna shook her head. ‘In London he was charming and full of good humour. He flattered me and I was silly enough to let him. But once I was his wife he became so jealous and angry. He did not like me to leave the house, and when I had to go to market he made me bind my hair tight and leave off my London-style dresses.’
‘And wear grey,’ Rob said roughly.
‘Aye. I could never be perfect enough, modest enough for him, though. And then he would hit me.’ Anna pulled the doublet even closer over her shoulders. ‘Fortunately we were not so long married. When he was buried, I sold what I could and used the coin to return to Southwark for good. I told my father we wouldn’t speak of it, that our lives would go on as if I had never married. I’ve never talked about it—until now.’
‘Then you honour me with your secrets, Anna.’ Rob slid behind her on the bed and wrapped his arms and legs around her to hold her close. He gently urged her to lean back against him, to let him hold her.
At first she leaned away, still caught by the old memories, the thin bonds that still held her to the past. But then she sighed and relaxed into his ar
ms, and it was as if those last bonds snapped and she was really free.
Rob gently rocked her in his embrace, soothing her, and she closed her eyes. She hadn’t felt so warm, so content, in a very long time—maybe never. She knew very well Rob could never be truly hers—not to keep. He was a vagabond actor and writer with troubles of his own, not likely to love a woman such as her. But he had given her the gift of listening to her, really listening, and had helped free her from those old ghosts.
He had shown her some men were not like Charles Barrett. For that she would always care for him.
And worry about him. As she ran her hand slowly up and down his muscled forearm she felt the rough, jagged line of a scar marring his skin. It reminded her of the perils of his life, and she shivered again to think of his constant danger. Of what a blank world it would be without him in it.
They both had scars to bear.
‘I wonder you have never found yourself married, Rob,’ she said. ‘Many of the players have wives.’
Rob gave a humourless laugh. ‘Because wedlock sounds such a fine state to you, Anna?’
‘I made a foolish choice. I see that now. But my father often speaks of my mother tenderly.’ She had to learn to make better choices now, to see things for what they were. Not always wrapped in warm, comforting night as she was now.
‘My parents, too, had a harmonious union. But I didn’t inherit their easy tempers. I’m too full of anger to make a good husband.’
Anna closed her hand over Rob’s, holding him close. ‘You use your anger to defend those weaker than yourself, never to bully them! I see that time after time.’ He had changed her life entirely, all because of the wonderful life force of who he was. She would never be the same again.
‘It is true that if your husband was alive now he would have to fear for his existence,’ Rob said. That anger was still there in his voice, but banked and solid. ‘Bullies should be thrashed in the streets and thrown into the Thames.’
‘My bloodthirsty side agrees with you wholeheartedly,’ Anna said with a laugh. ‘Were you bullied as child, Rob? Is that what makes you so quick to fight now?’ She found she wanted desperately to know this—to know more about him. To know every thing, all he kept hidden in his heart.
‘Nay, not I. Even as a child I was too eager with my fists, and the village lads avoided me. But there was someone I cared for who was hurt.’
‘A sweetheart?’ Anna asked, her heart aching at the deep, heavy sadness she sensed in his voice. It was as if for a single instant the dark core of his heart was opened to her and she glimpsed his hidden self. Just as she had dared show him hers.
Then the moment was over, as if a door had slammed shut, and Rob kissed her temple with a reckless laugh. ‘Just someone who is long gone from my life, fairest Anna. But, as you urge me to marry, I say you should be the one to choose a spouse. Not all men are as your late husband, and you deserve a kind companion who will look after you.’
Anna smiled sadly, thinking of Henry Ennis and his attentions. He seemed good enough—if a bit too eager, and burningly jealous when she looked at Rob. But Henry could never be the man for her. That bittersweet feeling lingered like a faint, lost perfume that faded with every passing tick of the clock. ‘Not I. I’m happy with my life as it is,’ she said, staring out into the night beyond the window. It was deepest dark out there and perfectly quiet, without even a bird’s song. ‘It’s a long while until morning.’
‘What shall we do with so much time?’ he asked teasingly. He bore her down to the bed and lay down on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow as he lazily studied the length of her body. His fingers deftly toyed with the ribbons of her chemise, his touch brushing her nipples through the thin linen.
A new sort of shiver took hold of Anna—a warm feeling deep in her belly of desire reborn. She had to hold on to Rob, on to her feelings for him, as long as she could. She had to relish the passion that sprang so easily between them, and remember it for the rest of her life.
‘I can think of a few things …’ he said deeply, seductively, and leaned over to kiss her mouth hungrily. It was a long time before she knew anything else but him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HENRY Ennis stopped at the end of Seething Lane, trying to catch his breath. He felt as if he had run all the way from Southwark, his chest tight and his throat aching. He loosened the high collar of his doublet with sweating hands, but still that heavy cloud pressed down on him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, but even as he thought to run away from his resolved task the door opened. One of Walsingham’s men stood there, bearded and grey-faced in his black robe. He gave Henry a humourless twist of a smile.
‘Master Ennis, at last,’ he said. ‘Secretary Walsingham has long been expecting you since he received your most intriguing message.’
Henry was forced to step into the dimly lit hall, and the door clanged shut behind him. He swept his cap from his head and twisted it between his hands as the man led him towards the stairs.
This had all seemed such a fine idea when his father’s old friend Thomas Sheldon had approached him with his proposition: gather bits of information from his fellow actors and pass them on to Sheldon, and sometimes slide coded passages into pages of the play he was writing. It was so simple, and gained him a few extra coins.
It had seemed even better when he’d realised the Queen’s Secretary would also pay for such nuggets of intelligence, and his coffers grew. Walsingham and Sheldon both paid for information that flowed both ways. He’d even dared to think that with the extra money he might marry Anna Barrett.
Until that hope had been shattered. He rubbed at the wound on his leg, and his hatred of Robert Alden, born when they were both newcomers to Lord Henshaw’s Men, vying for the same roles, and nurtured over the years as Alden’s star rose and Henry’s stalled, flowed even hotter. When he’d seen Anna smile at Alden so tenderly, he’d snapped. It had been the final straw.
Why, then, was he so nervous? His hands were damp, his head pounding. He had to be strong now. Follow through on his plans. Soon his tormenter Alden would be gone from his life, and Anna would smile only at him.
He followed the man up the carved staircase and along a long, narrow corridor to a chamber at its end. Henry had never been so far before. Usually his messages were taken and his money handed over in the entrance hall. He didn’t like this walk at all. But he had to carry on with his plan now.
He had no choice.
The door opened and he was ushered into a small chamber piled with papers and heavy with the smell of ink and herbs and close air. Walsingham’s assistant, Master Phellipes, a sallow-faced, ferretlike man, was carefully steaming open wax seals by the window. It was said he could tamper with seals so well no one was ever the wiser that they had been read. Walsingham himself sat behind a desk with a ledger open before him.
‘Ah, Master Ennis,’ he said. ‘I trust your leg is healing?’
‘It is, Master Secretary,’ Henry answered, swallowing past the nervous knot in his throat. Of course Walsingham would know about the fight at the White Heron.
‘Excellent.’ Walsingham sat back in his chair and studied Henry over his steepled fingertips. ‘Now, tell me how you know the traitor we seek within the White Heron …’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘SHALL I race you across the park?’ Rob challenged as he led Anna down the stairs of Hart Castle towards the open front doors.
Anna laughed, trailing behind him. ‘You would win most handily, I fear. It’s been a long while since I was on a horse, and then it was only a docile old mare that carried me to country markets.’ She tugged on his hand, forcing him to stop and face her, and whispered, ‘In truth, I’m a bit nervous about this excursion today. What if I fall off and make a fool of myself in front of everyone?’
Rob didn’t laugh at her, as she’d half feared he might. He seemed to be afraid of nothing at all. He held her hands tightly in his and raised them to his lips for a ge
ntle kiss.
‘You needn’t fear falling, Anna,’ he said. ‘‘Tis no wild hunt, racing through stream and bramble as the Queen enjoys. It’s just a day of hawking in the sunshine, and a picnic. I’ll be nearby, and so will Edward—we won’t let anything happen to you.’
She smiled at him. ‘You are quick in a fight, I know, Robert. Yet I doubt you are quite quick enough to fly to me in time to catch me, should my horse take a notion to throw me.’
Rob leaned closer and whispered in her ear, ‘I have talents you have not even seen yet, fairest Anna. If we but had time, I would demonstrate …’
Anna watched, fascinated, as he tilted his head and skimmed his lips in a soft, tantalising kiss over her cheek. Lower and lower, close to her mouth, until her own lips parted on a sigh.
But he drew back in a flash and tugged again at her hand, leading her towards the door. ‘I fear duty calls us, my dear,’ he said.
‘You are a wretch, Robert Alden,’ she declared. ‘I will have my revenge on you yet.’
He laughed. ‘I look forward to it.’
The party was gathering on the gravelled driveway in front of the house, a milling crowd of people, dogs and horses in the pale, misty morning light. Pages circulated amongst them with trays of goblets filled with warming spiced wine against the chilly morning.
Anna carefully smoothed her skirt and straightened her hat. She wore her own grey skirt and doublet for riding, but she had a new tall-crowned red-velvet hat and red leather gloves much like the riding ensembles of the other ladies. At least she would look well enough when she went tumbling to the ground, she thought. It was strange how Robert made her feel so very confident and carefree when she was with him. So very unlike herself.
Elizabeth stood with Edward and a russet-clad man holding a hooded hawk at the edge of the crowd. She waved at Anna and broke away to hurry over to her, her green and gold riding clothes bright and summery in the grey mist.
