Fugitive Countess

by Anne Herries

  ‘Anton?’

  Hearing Marietta’s voice, Anton slipped the ring on his finger and turned to her. She was smiling at him sleepily, and as he hesitated she pushed back the covers, inviting him to return.

  ‘Do not leave me yet, I beg you.’

  ‘I shall not leave you,’ he murmured against her ear. In his heart he knew that he would never want to leave her. Love was not necessary when she could give him such pleasure!

  He breathed in her perfume, the wonderful scent of her skin, her essence. She needed no other, for her own scent was intoxicating. Already he could feel himself hardening, feel the heat building, pooling deep in his belly. He wanted her again. He would never have enough of her.

  ‘I shall never leave you, little one.’

  ‘Anton…make love to me,’ Marietta cried as he began to kiss and suck at her breasts. Her body arched towards him as he slid his hand between her thighs. She was ready for him instantly.

  ‘My precious, wonderful woman,’ Anton said, hardly knowing that he spoke. ‘So warm and lovely. I want you more than I can tell you.’

  He plunged deep into her, feeling her wetness as she took him in. She arched and whimpered beneath him, abandoned and wild with desire as they moved together. He had never known such pleasure in a woman. She was beyond anything he had ever dreamed.

  Marietta woke again and saw that Anton was dressing. It was dawn, and the first rays of light were beginning to creep into the room.

  ‘I slept so long,’ she said. ‘I did not mean to sleep at all.’

  ‘We both slept,’ Anton told her, and bent to kiss her once more. ‘If I stay longer everyone will know I spent the night with you. I must leave, or you will have no reputation left.’

  ‘Do I have any to lose?’ Marietta asked, and sat up. Her long hair tumbled over her breasts and fell across her face. Her skin was flushed, her body pliant and sensuous, a feeling of well-being stealing over her. ‘It matters little to me, Anton. If the King spares me I shall be proud to be known as your mistress—for as long as you wish.’

  ‘My mistress…’ Anton looked at her. ‘You have the right to more, Marietta. You are of gentle birth.’

  ‘I was the wife of a nobleman of France, but it brought me little happiness. Last night you gave me more than all the jewels my husband heaped on me. I shall be content as your mistress—and when you tire of me I shall ask for nothing more than a place to live. For my son I ask much more.’

  ‘You love the child, and would see his fortune and rank restored to him.’ Anton nodded. ‘You have my word that I shall do all I can for him. As for the rest…we shall speak of this when the King has made his judgement.’

  Marietta saw the ring on his finger. ‘You wear my husband’s ring?’

  ‘I was trying to discover its secret. He did not show you?’

  Marietta knelt up in the bed, her body pink and warm from sleep. ‘Does it have a secret? He never spoke of that to me, though once he said a good friend gave it to him. I wondered why he chose it above all others.’

  ‘Perhaps it is merely sentiment,’ Anton said, and tugged at the ring. ‘It went on easily but now it will not come off.’

  ‘You must wet your hand with soapy water. If the water is cold it will make it easier, and the ring will slip over the knuckle.’

  ‘Yes, I shall do so when it must come off. For the moment it is safe enough on my hand.’

  ‘Why is it so important?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Anton told her. ‘I am leaving now, to order breakfast and prepare the men for our journey. You should dress and come down for we must be on our way soon.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Marietta sighed as he closed the door after him. He was still determined to take her to London to the King. Had she hoped that he might change his mind after spending a night in her arms? She had given him pleasure, but his will was still strong. A little chill slid down her spine.

  Anton desired her, but his duty to the King still came first.

  Anton glanced at the woman riding just ahead of him. She sat her horse well, and pride was in every line of her body. What would he do if the King condemned her to a terrible death?

  Wild thoughts of delivering the ring but not the lady had been running through his mind. He could send her to Spain, where he had friends and she would be cared for until he came for her. Surely he had done all that his royal master had asked of him?

  Yet it would not sit well with his honour to lie. If he told Henry the truth he could well find himself in the Tower, his head on the block. Marietta would be alone, with no one to help her, and she might be sent back to England to face justice, or worse still to France. Even if they managed to escape the King’s justice, others might somehow hear of it and condemn her. Only with the King’s pardon could she be free.

  No, he would not disobey his King, for that way lay dishonour and despair for them both.

  He would plead Marietta’s case, use all his influence. Perhaps his father and uncle would add their voices to his if he asked it of them. Henry must listen, for Marietta was innocent of any crime. Anton would never believe her guilty of murder. She was too warm and beautiful to harm anyone.

  Had she bewitched him? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered the night he had passed in her arms. She was beautiful, warm and desirable. He had felt things that he had thought dead in him…desire, warmth…love?

  Anton’s smile dimmed. No, he would not give her his heart. He had been hurt once, and only a fool offered himself to the fire twice.

  The feeling of despair swept over him, causing his expression to become severe, his mouth to set in a hard line. Even when Marietta turned her head to look at him Anton could not smile in response. He had good cause to know that women were faithless. When he lay with Marietta he had come close to giving her his heart and soul, but now the doubts were creeping back into his mind.

  Why had she invited him to lie with her? Was it because she hoped that he would help her escape the King’s justice? Would she have lain with any man to gain her own way?

  He tried to rid himself of the unworthy thought, but it worried at him like a wild dog at a dead sheep, tearing at his guts. Somehow Marietta had got beneath his skin. Even though the doubts had returned to torment him, he could not wait for the night, when they would lie together once more.

  Marietta had seen the harsh expression on Anton’s face. How could he look at her so if he cared for her? Had the night they spent together meant nothing to him?

  Holding her head high, she fought off the tears that threatened. She would not let anyone see that she was unhappy. Anton had made love to her so sweetly, yet now he looked through her, as if their night of love had never been.

  Pride came to her rescue once more. She had learned to bear so many things. Anton’s indifference was just one more. Perhaps he believed that she had bewitched him…that she was a witch. He desired her, but she had not touched his heart.

  Turning her head to glance at Miguel, she surprised a look that came close to hatred in his eyes. Why did he look at her so?

  On the ship she had sensed that he was angry. What had she done that he should look at her that way? Miguel became aware of her gaze and smiled. Perhaps she had misjudged his look? Perhaps her fear made her see shadows everywhere?

  She turned her head away, her heart aching. The journey seemed long and the day was cold, wind blowing into her face and whipping her hair into tangles. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, as much to hide her face as to keep out the cold. It would shame her if Anton realised that she was breaking her heart for him. Let him think her a wanton if he would!

  When at last they stopped at an inn to take refreshment, it was Miguel who came to assist her from her horse. His hands were firm about her waist as he lifted her clear, his fingers bruising her flesh beneath the thin gown. She looked into his eyes and saw a spark of something she did not at first understand.

  Breaking from his hold, she mo
ved towards the inn, her head held proudly. She had recently seen that look in another man’s eyes—the Bastard of Rouen had looked at her with a mixture of desire and resentment.

  Surely Miguel did not feel anything of that nature for her?

  Could a man want a woman and yet dislike her at the same time?

  Marietta shuddered. She had known what her fate would be at the mercy of the Bastard. Was Miguel another such man?

  No, surely not! He was Anton’s friend and his confidant. He would not lust after her because he must know that Anton had spent the night with her.

  Was that the reason she had seen anger in his eyes as they rode? Was he jealous because he wanted her for himself? Or was there another, deeper reason for his hatred? He must believe her a witch!

  Perish the thought! A man like Miguel would not hesitate to see her put to the test. She dared not think what might happen to her if Anton abandoned her.

  Perhaps it was all imagination? Miguel had treated her with nothing but the respect due to a lady. Her experience at the Bastard’s hands had made her too suspicious. He was Anton’s friend and he had helped rescue her from the Bastard of Rouen. She must stop seeing enemies at every turn.

  Marietta’s thoughts were confused and fearful as she forced herself to eat a little of the bread and meat, and drink the ale provided. The future loomed dark and dangerous. Her instincts told her that even if she escaped the King’s justice she would not be safe.

  Why was she so cursed? Would she never find the happiness she craved?

  When they finally stopped for the night, Marietta was bone-weary. Alone in her room, she brushed her long hair and undressed, getting into bed. She had locked her door, because she was not sure that Anton would come to her and she did not wish anyone else to walk in as she slept.

  She lay for a long time, listening to the wind in the eaves. Somewhere a shutter was loose, and every now and then it shut with a bang. Her eyelids seemed heavy, closing even though she tried to stay awake, listening for Anton to come. For a long time Marietta struggled against the weariness but in the end she fell asleep.

  She did not hear the soft knock at her door, or Anton’s voice as he asked if he might enter. The latch was lifted but the door did not open, and after a moment or two he walked away.

  Waking with a start as a loud knocking brought her from her strange dreams, Marietta jumped out of bed and went to the door. It was morning. She must have slept all night! A tavern wench had brought her water to wash, and some bread and honey to break her fast.

  ‘The lord said that he wants to leave as soon as you are ready, lady.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall not keep him waiting long.’

  Marietta dressed quickly, washing her face and hands. She combed her long hair back from her face, securing it with jewelled clips. Eating some of the bread and honey, she hastily gathered her things.

  Had Anton come to her room after she had fallen asleep? She had meant to stay awake for him, but the journey had tired her too much.

  She went downstairs to the hall and saw that Anton was standing there, talking to Miguel. Both men turned to look at her, but neither of them smiled. They looked so serious! She feared that they both expected the worst—that she would be hanged as a murderess.

  ‘Forgive me if I have kept you waiting,’ she said. It took all her pride and courage not to give way to tears. ‘I was tired and slept deeply.’

  ‘No matter,’ Anton said, and his tone was harsh, his manner shutting her out as if that night of passion had never existed. Why did he not smile at her? Did he think she had locked her door against him—or was he accepting that she would soon be a prisoner in the Tower? ‘We should reach London this evening—unless we are delayed.’

  Marietta looked from one to the other. ‘Is there some reason why we might suffer delay?’

  ‘Miguel thought he saw men lurking in the woods when he went to the stream to wash. I do not think it can be Rouen’s men, for I doubt he could have caught up with us so soon, but it is a reminder to be on our guard. There are always rogues and bands of roaming beggars ready to set upon the unwary traveller.’

  ‘You think he will come after me?’ Marietta studied their faces, wondering at their grim expressions. Was it because they were expecting to be attacked that they looked so grim? The hurt inside her eased a little as she realised that Anton was not angry, but anxious. She had misjudged him.

  ‘He needs you if he is to gain control of your husband’s fortune. I expect he will come.’ Anton’s expression softened. ‘Do not fear him, Marietta. We are a match for the Bastard’s men—but we must keep a strict watch lest he take us by surprise.’

  ‘I see…’ Marietta’s pulse raced. ‘What am I to do?’

  ‘First we must get you to court,’ Anton said. ‘Come, lady, we must leave. It is possible that Rouen’s men might catch up to us if they had a fast ship and rode all night.’

  ‘I am a great deal of trouble to you, sir. You must wish that you had never set eyes on me.’

  ‘You speak foolishly,’ Anton replied. ‘I deal in what is real. Whether I wish it or not, you are here and my responsibility. I must get you safely to court.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I have told you I shall plead your case. You must have faith, lady.’ Marietta swallowed hard, because the closer they got to London the more anxious she became. ‘I am a man of my word, Comtesse. Whatever happens, I shall do my best for your son.’

  ‘Then I am content…’ Marietta hesitated, then, as he came to help her mount, ‘Forgive me. I meant to stay awake but you did not come.’

  ‘The hour was late. I had much to do.’

  A little pulse flicked in his throat. Marietta was not sure if he was angry or the victim of some strong emotion.

  She smiled tremulously as he lifted her effortlessly to the saddle, and for a moment he smiled at her, making her heart lift.

  ‘Do not give up all hope. Henry is a fair man, and he likes beautiful women. He may find in your cause—and then he will bring his influence to bear on your son’s behalf.’

  ‘Thank you…’ Marietta’s voice was no more than a whisper.

  She glanced at Miguel. He was standing close enough to hear what had been said, and as he returned her look she saw something in his eyes that worried her.

  Why did he look at her that way? She could not decide whether he disliked her or felt some resentment because she preferred Anton. Perhaps it was just imagination. Miguel had given her no reason to believe that he felt either desire or hatred for her.

  Anton was striding away, mounting his own horse. His manner to Miguel showed that he trusted and relied on him, thought of him as a friend. Marietta was misjudging him, just as she had mistaken Anton’s mood earlier, thinking he was angry when he was merely anxious.

  Her fear about what would happen in the King’s court had made her too sensitive. She must trust Anton and his friends, for there was nothing else she could do.

  London was a sprawling and dirty city. The narrow streets were choked with filth: rotting food, excrement and dead rats lying at the side of the road. No one cleared the rubbish away, and consequently the smell in some parts of the city was foul, disease carried in the air. The houses were mostly of timber, with overhanging top storeys that made them look as if they might topple over and fall down. Some of the larger houses belonged to merchants; they had brightly painted signs that showed which guild they belonged to—the guild of shoemakers, metalworkers, cloth merchants, bakers, tailors, goldsmiths or physicians.

  There was so much noise, and the roads were clogged with wagons and horses, the iron rims on the wheels clattering over cobbles. Men drove sheep to market, costers plied their wares, calling out to the people who passed by on foot or on horseback. Dogs barked and fought over the offal they found lying in gutters, and the fashionable ran to avoid the slops tossed out from bedroom windows; many held pomanders to their nostrils to block the foul odours.

  When Anton’s train finall
y came to a halt in the courtyard of an impressive house, Marietta looked about her curiously. It was far more modern than her husband’s castle or her father’s manor in France. There was an undercroft for the horses and servants, but the upper storeys had paned windows of dull grey glass crossed with lead.

  ‘You must be tired,’ Anton said, as he came to her. His hands clasped her waist, lifting her from the saddle effortlessly. For a moment her breath caught, for she sensed strong feeling in him, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. ‘I shall send word to the King that you are here, but I do not think he will see you until tomorrow at the earliest.’

  ‘Is this your house?’ Marietta asked, looking about her.

  ‘It belongs to my grandfather, Lord Melford. You will be safe here and may rest in peace.’

  ‘Thank you. I am tired, but not—’ She broke off as she saw Miguel staring at her. ‘I must spend the night in prayer. If God has mercy, I shall be exonerated of all the accusations made against me.’

  She turned away and went into the house. A woman in a grey gown and white cap came to greet her.

  ‘My master sent word. Your chamber is ready, my lady. I dare say you would like some good hot broth after such a journey.’

  Marietta thanked her. The woman seemed kind and uncritical. Perhaps she had not been told that Marietta was to face a trial for her life.

  Marietta found the house welcoming and comfortable. The furniture was good solid English oak, as was the panelling on the walls of the bedchamber she was shown to. At once she noticed how much warmer the wooden house was than the damp stone walls of the older inns. Her husband’s castle had always been cold, even on a summer day, but this had a comfortable feel.

  The crimson velvet hangings about the tester bed matched those at the window, edged with gold braid and draped back with twisted threads of gilded rope. The floor was also of wood, and partially covered with a red and gold carpet. Marietta had always thought carpets too precious to be used on the floor, for they were costly and often used to adorn tables or hang on walls. She thought that the Melford family must be very wealthy.