by Unknown
“If ye want Dory out of here alive, move back to the cot,” Ewan whispered.
Dory’s father pulled the scowling man with him to the dark corner.
“We’re back here,” Ewan yelled. “My wife! She’s fainted from fright.”
The tower guards reached them, short swords drawn. One of them glanced around but saw no one at the bars. “What are you doing in here?”
“When the storm came down on us, we ran into the nearest building, not knowing it was a prison,” Ewan explained.
“Why are you so far down in here?” the lead guard asked.
“I thought there must be a back way out into another, safer structure. So I wouldn’t have to risk taking her outside.”
“Has…” Dory’s weak voice started. “Has the twister gone?”
Ewan balanced her on his knee and brushed the hair back from her face. “I think so, love.” He looked to the guards and one of them nodded.
“My hat. Do I still have my hat? ’Twas a gift to match my costume.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “A lady’s worry. I’ll buy you a million hats if you like, love. But right now we must get you to safety.” He looked to the guards. “Thank the Lord you came for us. Can you lead us out?”
“Certainly,” one of them said. The leader frowned but turned.
Ewan carried Dory as he followed the six from the dark tomb. Several prisoners stood along the bars, watching. Would they report them? Tell the guards that they had been talking to Captain Bart and Will? Their eyes followed, but none spoke up. Did they fear the pirates so much?
As they stepped into the outdoor light, Ewan blinked against the brightness.
“My hat,” Dory said again and batted her eyes. “Can we look for it on the way out?”
She struggled to right herself, and he let her slide down, but she leaned heavily on his arm. “Love, we need to be going. These fine men saved us.”
She turned her smile on them, and they seemed to freeze. Even disheveled Dory was an angel. Light brown hair shot with strands of gold, curled around her delicate face. Lips full and kissable. Eyes that sparked with a gentle spirit that he knew could leap to flames as quickly as the wind shifts. Perfect lips that tasted of the mint she liked to chew. Cheeks that flushed easily with anger or the passion he’d only glimpsed. The total effect was devastating and the guards were no match.
“Thank you, kind sirs. You’ve saved us,” she said breathlessly.
Silence ensued while the magic of her praises puffed up their chests. Suddenly a group of roosters stood before his little witch, pirate, heiress… and wife.
“’Tis our duty to protect and save, m’lady,” said the leader of their escort, completely tricked by her flattery.
She laid delicate fingers on his arm. “You are very brave men. Husband, you should take notice of how fine a man can be.”
Ewan frowned to follow her act. “Duly noted, wife.”
“Now, m’lady,” the guard said. “You can’t expect all men to be as brave as tower guards.”
“So very kind,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced of his suggestion. Could the guard puff up anymore? If stuck with his blade, the guard would shoot off like a pricked bladder.
Ewan took Dory’s arm. “It’s best we leave.”
She nodded to the guards, who then escorted them back to the entrance and out. He walked slowly to give her time, her brisk pace significantly reduced. Had the healing taken that much from her?
“Good day,” Dory called with a delicate wave as they headed down the street.
“Sorry ye’ve lost yer hat,” Ewan said as helped her toward their horses.
“What?”
“Yer hat.” He patted her uncovered head.
“I hated it anyway.”
“I’ve caught you, you little beggar!” A woman’s shrill voice stopped them. It came from the street that trundled alongside the tower moat.
“By the devil,” Dory swore beneath her breath and changed direction toward the voice.
“Dory?” He followed, supporting her arm. She still looked pale as she walked into the center of the commotion.
Ewan recognized the woman from supper at Hampton Court the night before as Pembroke’s wife. She pointed and shrieked for a constable as her husband held the boy Dory had met earlier by the collar.
“Thief! Thief! This miscreant was picking my pocket!” she yelled for all to hear, her nasally voice as grating as steel being ground on a stone wheel.
“Oh, there you are!” Dory called over the woman, and rushed toward the boy. “You foolish boy, you’ve picked the wrong pocket.”
Everyone spun to stare at Dory. Even rumpled and minus her cap, she commanded attention as she stepped without hesitation into the fray. Dory pulled the stunned boy from the man’s grasp and bent to look him in the face. His long lashes blinked over wide eyes. The lad’s delicate features scrunched up in dismay as Dory wagged her finger with each word. “I said plum skirts, not peacock.”
Another guard from the tower ran out. “What is this about?”
“This… this boy,” Lady Pembroke started.
“Made a mistake,” Dory finished. “You see, I’d heard about the ferocious pickpockets here in London and wanted to know how to defend myself.”
She indicated Ewan, who stood as immobile as the rest. What the bloody hell was she concocting? She’d warned the boy earlier to leave the tower vicinity. Apparently the suggestion hadn’t found purchase in the lad’s foolhardy head.
Ewan scanned the crowd but didn’t see the gang’s leader, Randolph. Abandoned.
“You see,” Dory continued while hauling the boy up against her skirts. “I hired this lad to pick my pocket so I could distinguish what was an innocent brush-by and what was a thief. He mistook my lady Pembroke for me.”
Dory smiled and nodded as if her explanation was the most logical thing in the world.
No matter what the tale, Ewan wouldn’t let her stand alone, so into another of Dory’s dramas he jumped.
“My wife is rather practical and likes to take care of herself rather than relying on my firm arm to protect her from the likes of pickpockets.” He gave her a disapproving glance. “I do not always support her methods, but yes, the child was hired to pick her pocket.”
At that he took out an English shilling and pressed it into the child’s dirty hand. The boy’s fingers curled around it like it was his last morsel of bread. It probably was.
Lady Pembroke shook her coiffed head. “I’ve never heard of anything so… so—”
“Progressive,” Dory supplied and nodded. “I like to keep current on thoughts regarding public safety, don’t you?” she asked the tower guard.
Ewan watched the boy try to squirm away from Dory, but she held tight to him. Ewan leaned down to the lad’s ear. “Keep still, else she give ye up after all.”
“Uh, aye, of course,” the guard said. “Though I do advise you to keep yourself inside away from the city thieves. There are more of them every day.”
She nodded and tsked. “’Tis a shame. The poorer people become, the more determined they become to live by all means possible.” She smiled again. “What would you do if you were starving to death?”
Delicate eyebrows rose over her dazzling eyes as she took in every single person standing there in judgment of the lad. No one made a move; they couldn’t, not when they were caught in her spell. Could it be a spell? Nay, it was her words and her smile that held them.
As if releasing her audience, Dory grabbed the boy’s wrist and turned.
“Good day,” Ewan said and followed her swish back to their horses.
Once away, Dory pulled the boy with her to the edge of the moat and knelt down to look him straight in his smudged face. “I told you before that you would find yourself in the tower if you kept picking pockets here. You’re fortunate for my help, else that guard would have carried you inside.”
“Thank you, m’lady. Can I go? I promise I won’t steal
no more.”
Dory snorted. “You’ll steal because you have no other way to survive. Hunger makes your belly twist and you will yourself to sleep so the pain ceases for a time.”
How did she know that feeling? Ewan’s gut tightened at the thought of her weak and hungry. Would her Captain Bart allow that sort of torture?
Dory straightened. “Keep the coin Ewan gave you to yourself. Don’t share it with this Randolph, who seems to have abandoned you.”
“He couldn’t do anything,” the boy defended. “It’s everyone for themselves around here.” The lad’s soft voice was almost melodic like a lass’s. How old was he anyway?
Dory unclipped a small silver thimble from the charms attached to the belt that Ewan remembered Lady Seymour giving to her. Dory pressed trinket into his other hand.
“If you get tired of giving most of what you steal to Randolph who up and abandons you, come to Hampton Court and give this to the watchman. Tell him that you work for Lady Pandora Brody, and I will find honest work for you.”
She never looked back at Ewan, just kept her focus on the boy’s eyes. She was making unrealistic promises, but the lad probably wouldn’t come anyway. He’d trade the thimble for more food, hopefully for himself. It could feed him for weeks.
The boy nodded and Dory smiled. “You have purpose in this world, and it isn’t just trying to scrape by. You are more than this, much more.”
The words were like candies to the starved child. The dullness in his eyes faded as spirit fought to return. “Thank you, m’lady.”
She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead as if she were his mother. “Be safe.”
The lad ran off.
“Ye don’t know his name,” Ewan mentioned as they watched him melt into the crowd.
Dory shrugged. “I’ll learn it if he comes. Otherwise… there are just too many names to ask.” Her words trailed off sadly.
…
Ewan opened the door to their room and glanced inside. Nothing seemed amiss, and he let Dory enter. She slumped on the edge of the bed. The wind and rain had rumpled her riding habit, and splashes of discolored, foul-smelling stains marred the hem of the skirts and her leather boots.
“Ye need to get out of that costume,” he said. She didn’t argue. She hadn’t said anything, not since the Tower. He should be furious with her. She had to have caused those tornados and hail. The day had been clear before Dory had needed a distraction, and he hoped the sudden change of weather wouldn’t be linked back to Dory.
He worked her arms out of her jacket and ignored how her flesh rose above the tight neckline with each even breath. She flopped onto her back on the bed and stretched her feet out before her.
He grabbed one and unlaced the boot, sliding her ever-ready sghian dubh from its hiding spot. “Ye’re a mess,” he said, his voice gruff, and set the blade on the inlaid table next to the bed. He cleared his throat. “And ye broke your pledge not to use magic.”
She threw an arm over her eyes. “There were extenuating circumstances, and none of it can be traced back to me.”
“We bloody hell better hope not.” He rolled her over and deftly released her ties.
“You do know how to get a lady out of her clothing,” she grumbled. “Will took much longer to unlace me,” she added.
A rock slammed into his gut. “Will, the Will in the prison was yer maid? He undressed ye?” Tension gripped the muscles of his shoulders and arms.
“There were no females on board.” She shrugged against the fur throw under her. “And when Captain Bart started to insist I wear proper women’s clothing, someone had to help me with the laces. The captain said it wasn’t his position. The crew would talk.”
“And the crew wouldn’t talk about that hulking man undressing ye?”
Dory pushed up and turned to frown up at him. “Will was raised as my brother. Nothing improper occurred.” She made a little movement of her head. “Well, almost nothing.”
Fury boiled up and out with his words. “What. Did. He. Do?”
Ewan had seen the man in the dark cell. He was what many lasses would think of as handsome, even covered with filth and overly long, dirty hair. And he was certainly old enough to see Dory as the full-grown woman she indeed was. The threat in the man’s voice when he spoke to Ewan was more than just brotherly concern.
Dory pushed up on her elbows as he loomed over her. Her frown turned to a glare, making part of Ewan glad she was recovering, though it was a very little part and was overshadowed by his impatience.
“What did he do to ye?”
“He tried to kiss me once, and it got out of hand, but I let him know I wasn’t interested.”
His body tensed. “Out of hand?”
“I took care of it.”
“How could ye possibly convince a bull like that that ye weren’t interested?” he asked with a near growl.
Dory sat completely up, her ripe bosom pressing forward against the thin linen of her chemise so that the small nubs protruded. He forced his gaze back to her flashing eyes.
“I stabbed him,” she said succinctly. “Right in the problem.” She glanced toward Ewan’s groin, which was currently his problem as well.
“Stabbed him in…”
She nodded, her gaze finally withdrawing from below. He grimaced. How the hell was the man still alive?
“Then I of course healed him. But he got the point.” She smiled then. “Quite a sharp point at that.”
Ewan sat on the edge of the bed. The fury that had mixed with growing heat now faded as the grotesque scene played through his mind.
“I told you I can take care of myself.” She scooted off the side and padded to the fire that someone had recently stirred.
Ewan just sat. Dory washed in the basin and pulled a simple gown from the press just as a knock came. Ewan rose and met Tilly, who carried a small tray of food at the door.
“My Lord,” the maid said with a curtsy, and brought the tray to a table before the fire. “My Lady, I heard you were back and thought you might care for a hot drink.” She straightened, her smile faltering. “I was also told to see you dressed for supper this evening.”
“By whom?” Ewan asked.
“Lord Cromwell,” Tilly answered. “Says you both are summoned to dinner by the king.”
Chapter Eight
2 February of the Year our Lord God, 1518
Dearest Kat,
I’ve heard you are ill. John seems worried. Let him take you from court for a spell. I don’t like how Henry watches you anyway. I’ll keep an eye on our contact. Be well, sweet Kat.
Forever yours,
Rowland
The great dining hall at Hampton Court glittered with hundreds of candles, their little flames dancing as if on the strings of the troubadour’s mandolin. The smell of beeswax and rosemary and roasted meat filled the room. The swish of silk and damask ebbed and flowed with hushed conversations and political whispers.
The king sat at the head of the grand table. Dory watched him bite into a glistening drumstick and wondered if the boy from the Tower had found some food. She glanced down the table filled with pheasants, pork, breads, and candied fruits, and her stomach twisted. Blast it! She could feed all the children in Port Royal with what was laid for just fifty or so here at court.
“Smile,” Searc suggested. “He’s looking at ye.”
Indeed, King Henry wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smiled at her. She returned his greeting and hoped it wasn’t as stiff as it felt on her lips.
Ewan leaned toward her ear. “See, he devours ye.” He sounded surlier than Captain Bart with an empty stomach. “Ye are too lovely in that gown.”
The dress she’d chosen was a violet-blue brocade with golden threads sewn across the bodice to look like ivy vines. It fit so close that she felt breathless, or was that from the penetrating eyes of the king?
“Ye should have a jacket,” Ewan mumbled and glanced at Searc.
“Don’t look at me,” Searc said. �
�I didn’t bring a jacket for her.”
“I’m fine,” Dory chided softly. Yes, the neckline was low but not overly so; a line of lace ran along the satin blue edge. It may tease, but it did cover.
Henry waved her to come closer and Ewan decided to include himself despite the small frown from Henry. Dory squatted low in the form of a curtsy like the crew of the Queen Siren had taught her. The memory helped her to smile when she rose.
“Your majesty,” she said.
Ewan repeated the words, though he spoke much louder.
Henry looked them both over and for the first time, Dory realized that her crumpled hat from the Tower was on the table before him.
“I trust you had a good visit to my tower,” Henry said.
“Yes, your majesty,” she said. “Though the weather was frightening. I see you found my lost bonnet.”
“I was told you were ill when you returned.” Henry plucked a berry out of the bowl.
“My wife was worn out from her fear of finding herself in a dungeon with tornados outside.”
“And I was quite distressed about losing my hat, as it matches my riding costume,” she added.
Henry slid the hat across the table to Dory and she picked it up. There was tension here, but she wasn’t sure what it was about. “Thank you, your highness,” she said. “Perhaps I can salvage it.”
Henry’s eyes glanced near the doorway where two armed guards stood. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her face flushed. Thunder rumbled nearby. There was danger here, and she felt it as plainly as if someone held a blade to her throat.
“Yer majesty,” Ewan started in the stilted silence. “Have ye had a chance—”
“I’ve read the letters,” Henry said, “and agree that Rowland Boswell was a traitor. His rotting corpse shall be hung so the birds can peck his bones clean.”
Dory shivered on cue—not from the gruesome image he painted, but from the obvious threat in the room. She snaked a hand to clasp Ewan. She sensed his blood racing and his muscles gripping as if waiting for the battle cry.
Henry picked up his knife and a plum. He toyed with it, the point turning into the soft purple flesh. “However, I’ve received some information today to make me wonder if there aren’t more traitors in my midst.”
