by Unknown
“So you won’t leave,” Alec said in Gaelic.
Ewan answered with a shake of his head.
Alec scratched at his beard. “Well then,” he switched back to English, “Searc and I will be going alone. I will let Caden know what’s kept ye down here, though Meg has been just as anxious as Rachel.”
“Tell him not to come,” Ewan added, knowing his friend would want to help. “Henry’s looking for traitors. If Meg comes down with Caden, Henry might try to imprison her for her father’s crimes.”
“I can’t leave,” Searc said, his voice soft, though his eyes were hard.
“You could both go,” Dory said from where she’d returned to the edge of the bed.
“Da, you can go home, but I’m staying,” Searc continued. “There’s too much going on here—”
“Go and be safe,” Ewan said to Searc.
“Are you saying that England is too dangerous for a Highlander?” Searc asked in Gaelic.
Ewan grumbled. “Henry is looking for someone to dump his fury on, his blame for losing all those heirs. Who better than a Scot?”
“Another reason to stay and help you,” Searc argued.
Alec rubbed his chin while he looked at his son. Searc stood straight. Had the boy grown in the last two weeks? He certainly seemed older.
“Ye have your stubborn mind set, lad,” Alec said. Searc didn’t answer, just stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ye’re as bad as yer mother.”
Ewan would have laughed at the ridiculousness of Alec Munro calling anyone else stubborn, but Dory was pacing, a frown pulling her gently arched brows together.
“Perhaps I’ll stay in London for a spell until ye have this mess cleared up,” Alec said and Searc’s shoulders relaxed a small bit.
“I said, you can go,” Dory repeated looking at Ewan.
Ewan’s gaze met hers. “I know ye haven’t yet adjusted to the idea of me claiming ye,” he said slowly, waiting for another explosion of lightning, but it didn’t come. Hell, he hadn’t adjusted to it, either. “But I have claimed ye, and therefore leaving ye is not an option.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but a hard knock on the door stopped her and set the room in silent motion. Alec slid into the press among blue and green costumes and Searc faded into the shadows of a dark corner. Ewan walked to the door, his ready sword in hand.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Open the door, Brody.” Cromwell’s voice penetrated the thick wood. With a quick glance to make certain only he and Dory were visible, Ewan unbarred the door.
“The king was nearly poisoned,” Cromwell said as he stepped inside.
“I understand the taster is well,” Ewan countered.
“We set some of the wine in the courtyard and a pigeon died upon drinking it,” Cromwell said.
“How terrible.” Dory cringed. “But the boy was fine. Perhaps he was just nervous and fainted.”
Cromwell’s pinched face snapped to Dory. “I have heard through rumors that you’ve been heard calling upon the devil. You touched the boy. Did you call him back with a promise to Satan?”
Ewan’s hand tightened around the hilt. “Do not throw accusations at my wife.” His words were low, but the threat was evident. “If ye wish us to leave court, then order us thus. Otherwise, assist us in finding the true traitor instead of creating fabrications based on foolish rumors.”
Cromwell’s eyes seemed to pop even farther from his apple-like face. Tension clogged the room as the second most powerful man in England weighed the strength of the situation.
“Lord Cromwell,” Dory said softly, once again playing the demur, innocent. “I most assuredly do not consort with Satan and wouldn’t know the first thing about making a pact to save a servant boy. I understand your great concern for the welfare of the king, but do consider the… outlandishness of your words.”
Softly spoken but still cutting. Cromwell’s gaze returned to Ewan. “I will be watching you closely.”
Ewan held open the door without uttering a word. Those with obvious strength and wisdom didn’t need the last word. With a flash of his short cape, Cromwell strode out.
“Ye seem to have a powerful enemy,” Alec said as he reemerged, his frown as vicious as a Highland blizzard. “’Tis good we are staying if ye ain’t leaving.”
Where had Cromwell heard of Dory’s powers? Or was he just grasping at superstition? Alec moved toward the door and pressed his ear against the wood.
“There should be food waiting in my room,” Searc said. “I asked Charissa to bring me some.”
Alec pulled away. “I’ll get a bite and find my way out before dawn. But I’ll be close.”
“And I will stay here at court,” Searc announced with a lighter voice at having won this round with his father.
Ewan nodded as Searc took a peek out the door and waved his father out, silently slipping along the dark corridor.
Ewan turned after barring the door. Dory had moved to the table where a lamp burned. She spread out the copies of Boswell’s letters that Cromwell’s page had brought and peered down at them as if the traitor’s name would jump out if she looked hard enough.
He walked up behind her, close enough that she’d feel his presence, not enough to touch her. A few curls had tumbled down from her woven hair to rest with the ribbons cascading with the rest of her free flowing waves. If he touched the mass he knew it would run like silk through his fingers. If he buried his face in it, the subtle smell of flowers would infuse him, sinking in to tie him tightly to her.
He backed up a half step. “I think we should dine in our rooms from now on.”
“I’ve trapped you here,” she said.
“Court intrigue has done that,” he replied.
“You could have left, but now you feel responsible for me. I don’t want that.” Her voice was heavy, full of guilt… and something else. Regret?
He stepped forward until his face hovered just above her head and inhaled fully. “I’m not trapped, lass.”
“You are here because I had to free my father and Will. You’d already be home if you’d not met me.”
And you’d be dead. Ewan’s stomach lurched at the thought of Dory, pale with death or burnt. He breathed deeply, her living warmth a balm against the unthinkable.
“But I did meet ye.” Life would never be the same. “And instead, I’m learning the art of surviving English court with the bonniest lass I’ve ever met by my side.”
She turned and even though he towered over her, he didn’t step back. She tipped her head up to reach his gaze. “Sweet words, but I’ve heard plenty of sweet words.”
Of course she had. Her beauty probably attracted every male within sight of her. He frowned.
“Words don’t mean much,” she added.
“Some do,” he said. Would she know he referred to his earlier oath? His claim on her? He snaked his hand behind her back. “Dory, I chose to help ye, and I still choose to. I know ye don’t need my help,” he added quickly, “but ye have it.”
She blinked rapidly. “I’m glad for it, though I don’t deserve it. My father was a traitor and apparently a horrible man. My mother… well I don’t know.”
He caught her chin with one finger, nudging it upward. “Yer father is a great sea captain who rescues children from slavery. Yer mother fought to keep ye safe when she knew she wouldn’t make it. Both brave, both strong and wise. I see nothing to be ashamed of.”
Her body was rigid, as if she didn’t accept his words.
“The sins of the parent do not transfer to the child.” Or so he’d been told over and over again. He didn’t talk about his parents, never, not since the day Caden’s father had taken him in, made him a cousin to his son. He’d kept his name, but that was it. All other ties to the Brodys were severed.
“I know what I speak of. My father… I am not him.” His mouth dried and he shut it tight. The memories of the man, his sneering face, it flooded him with rage.
Dory glanced
at her shoulder where his hand gripped, apparently too hard.
He dropped it and stepped back. “I better give Alec some ideas of where to stay near the court.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, and he tried to ignore the slight drop of hurt in her voice.
“Ye need to sleep.” He banished the ghost of his past back inside and forced a grin. “If I stay, ye won’t be sleeping, lass.” Before he could register her response, he turned and headed to the door.
…
Fog billowed around Dory even though she pushed at it with her magic, a wind that only tugged at her hair, whipping it across her face. The red-gold curls hardly moved about the girl’s heart-shaped face as she ran. What was her name?
“Little girl! Stop!” she yelled inside, but her words were whispers, barely breaking through her lips. All she wanted to do was catch the child, hug her close, love her, save her.
She yelled once more and the girl stopped, finally. She turned and Dory paused, staring at deep gray eyes and suddenly blond curls, the same tipped nose and stubborn chin. It was her. She gasped but the noise iced to a hitch in her throat as a man stepped from the fog and grabbed the young version of herself.
“Ewan!” she screamed and sat up straight in her bed as a fist pounded on her door.
Damn, she hadn’t barred the door. A quick scan of the room showed no Ewan. Four guards strode inside. She felt her knife under the pillow, but knew it wouldn’t do much good against four men.
“Lady Wellington, you are under arrest for dealing in the black arts,” the leader announced. “You are given a brief time to dress and you will be escorted to Lord Cromwell’s office.”
Dory threw back the covers, barely caring that she was only wearing a thin white chemise. “Where’s my husband?”
The guard glanced at her, his eyes widening and then looked away. “When we find him, he will join you.”
Find him? Could he have left with Searc and his father? The thought disappeared as quickly as it had flashed in. Blasted hell! He wouldn’t leave her! Would he? No!
Dory slapped her bare feet against the stone floor as she walked, head held high despite her near-naked attire, to the press. She took the gown from the night before and a heavy cloak. The guards turned their backs but wouldn’t leave the room while she hastily stepped into the kirtle and shrugged into the bodice.
“I have no way to lace my stays,” she said.
The leader snapped and another guard opened the door. Dory caught sight of several more in the corridor. Did they think she needed a platoon to arrest her? The guard caught the arm of another and pulled her in. Charissa.
She wore a pinched brow and a frown like a shield, militant and firm. She walked quickly to Dory, tripping once on her long skirts. “They said I could help you,” she said. Dory pulled her first into a hug and kissed the top of her head.
“Charissa, I’m sorry.” She bent down to look her in the eyes. Dory didn’t sense any physical hurts, but usually the emotional pains were worse. “Were they mean?”
“My true name is Margery,” she whispered. “Just plain Margery.”
Dory smiled at the trust the child offered her. “There is nothing plain about you.” The girl smiled sadly and Dory straightened. “Could you lace these for me, else they parade me down the hall half undone.”
“I won’t leave your side,” the girl promised.
Dory squeezed her hand but knew that she’d do anything not to involve the girl.
“Enough talk,” the guard said. “Cromwell is waiting.”
“Cromwell is waiting,” Dory mimicked in a whisper, making Margery smile despite the fear in her eyes. Dory took the girl’s hand and they walked together to the door. “I think this maid should go back to Tilly.”
“No,” Margery said and looked at the guard. “I stay with my lady.”
“Both of you, walk.”
Dory sighed internally. It wasn’t easy saving people.
Where was Ewan? If he didn’t leave, had he stayed the night somewhere else? Jealousy squeezed her gut. Captain Bart had always warned her that men were never loyal to their women. Whoring bastards at heart, we are. Surely the guards would have looked in Searc’s room. If he wasn’t there, where could he be?
She raised her chin. She could take care of herself if needed. Though not until they were outside where she could command the weather. That would of course seal her execution for witchery. Blast! Damned if she did nothing, damned if she fought back.
“Where is Lord Brody?” Margery whispered.
Dory shrugged.
They passed Searc’s room. The door was ajar. No one was inside. Had Searc and Alec gone into town to find his father a place to stay? Maybe Ewan was with them. Perhaps he’d remained in town with them.
They passed the curtained alcove but Ewan didn’t jump out. She had to stop waiting for him to rescue her. You can only depend on yourself. Captain Bart’s words haunted her and a part of her, deep down, feared he was right.
The guard rapped on Cromwell’s door and then ushered them in. Dory glanced quickly around the dark room. There was a man in the shadows behind Cromwell, but he didn’t have Ewan’s tall, broad build. Blasted man! Where was he?
“Lady Wellington,” Cromwell said from his desk, then sighed like he was overworked and bored, but had to deal with this complication. He looked up at her as she stood as if waiting for a bow or curtsy. He’d had her hauled out of bed. He’d get neither.
Cromwell frowned, making her want to smile, but she forced an irritated, straight gaze. No, she wouldn’t quake. In fact, the more scared she felt, the meaner she looked. Right now she probably looked ready to slice the king’s advisor stem to stern.
“You are charged with conjuring dark arts and cavorting with Satan.”
“We discussed this last eve, Lord Cromwell. I have never consorted with the devil.”
“Yet you’ve been heard to call him several times.”
Devil! She’d tried to stop using one of her favorite curses. A few had popped out.
“Truly, Lord Cromwell, a rash word cannot be enough to accuse one of such foul deeds.”
“No, but we have a witness of your perfidy against God.”
“And what liar have you conjured up to swear to my witchery?”
The man from the shadows stepped forward, his light brown hair catching the fire glow from the oil lamps. The smile on his mouth was the same from her dream, sending a knife of panic through Dory’s gut. He walked straight toward her like a jungle cat that knows it has you. She could almost picture him licking his lips, his tail flicking.
“Hello, Pandora. I almost didn’t recognize you in skirts.”
One of the guards snorted at the implied comment that she wasn’t in the habit of wearing clothing.
“So, O’Neil, am I a prostitute then, or a witch? Make up your mind,” she said evenly over the thunder outside that mimicked her heart.
He glanced at the window and smiled knowingly. “There are just too many choices, my lady.” He looked at Cromwell. “You best keep her inside or you may feel her anger with a lightning bolt to the head.”
Dory managed an exaggerated eye roll and prayed that Cromwell wouldn’t miss it. “Really? A lightning bolt?” she said with as much dry mirth as she could muster. She breathed slowly, wishing she’d snuck that blade into the office with her. Or would it just be better to faint, play the wilted damsel in distress and hope Cromwell had some feeling in his paunchy body?
As she contemplated which would be better, a blade she didn’t have or a fainting spell that she’d never been able to produce on command, the bastard captain walked to stand in front of her. “I’ve made a deal with Lord Cromwell.”
The sound of his smooth words raced spider-like chills up her spine. A deal with Captain Julian O’Neil was a deal with the devil himself, and neither would help her in the least. The man was obsessed with having her. She said nothing, just stared at his cruel, laughing eyes.
“I will
take you from England, never to return.”
“And how does that deal benefit me?”
“Did I say it benefitted you? Actually it benefits me.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I suppose you will get to live a bit longer.”
But he wouldn’t. Not once she was at sea. The man wasn’t a fool, and he knew something of her magic. He must have a plan for controlling her. Her eyes narrowed.
“I’d rather die than be your slave,” she said dryly. She glanced toward Cromwell, who just watched on in silence. Didn’t the man have any compassion? What had she ever done to him?
O’Neil laughed again, a rich baritone that made her skin crawl. “Ah, but would you also give up your precious charge?” His face turned toward Margery, who raised her chin and fisted her small hands as if ready to fight.
Dory exhaled long and silent. “Leave the maid with Tilly to learn the trade of a lady’s maid, and I will go with you without struggle.”
O’Neil looked ready to counter when a crash outside the room penetrated the wooden door. The lead guard grabbed Dory’s arm, and she couldn’t help the rumble of thunder outside. Two more crashes outside the door made them all turn.
“Get the bloody hell out of my way!” came the thick Scottish brogue. Another crash like the sound of a body hitting the Tudor shield on the corridor wall followed.
Dory smiled, her gaze riveted to the door. “Captain O’Neil, I don’t believe you’ve met my husband.”
The latch lifted with more of a punch than a release, and Ewan charged into the room. His shirt was unlaced and untucked, his jaw unshaven and his hair seemed as wild as the death in his eyes. He took one look about the room like a man taking inventory then headed straight to Dory.
“Let go of me,” Dory warned the guard, but the heel of Ewan’s hand met with the man’s face before he could choose the suggested option. The guard reeled backward with a howl, grabbing his obviously broken nose.
Ewan grabbed Dory’s shoulders, staring straight into her eyes. “Are ye well?”
“Where have you been?” she countered and felt tears foolishly sting her eyes.
“Are ye well, woman?” he demanded.
Dory saw O’Neil draw his sword in her periphery. “Yes, now watch out.”
