Devil May Care

by Unknown

  Ewan spun as soon as the “yes” parted from her lips, his own sword blocking the demon captain’s lunge. With a quick feint and turn, Ewan countered with a twisting jab that sent O’Neil’s cutlass clanging against the rock floor. The look on the pirate’s face was a mix of raw fury and shock which blended into revenge. Bloody devil! Ewan had just made an enemy for life and he didn’t even know it.

  “How dare you come in here armed?” Cromwell yelled, standing up from his desk. From his piercing stare at Ewan, she assumed he wasn’t angry at O’Neil for coming in armed. Cromwell threw his hand out toward the open door where several guards lay in heaps. “And you’ve murdered innocent men, just doing their duty!”

  Ewan took a step toward the man’s desk and threw his sword across it. The blade skidded over the wood and parchments, coming to a halt, the tip an inch before the advisor’s stomach.

  “No blood marks my blade. Your men still breathe,” Ewan said evenly. “Though they are sadly lacking in their training. ’Twas like trussing up lambs.”

  Margery snorted in the corner.

  “Now what the bloody hell is going on here?” Ewan insisted.

  Cromwell recovered from the near stab wound by grabbing Ewan’s blade and setting it down in his seat, out of reach. Blast, that show wasn’t a good idea! Impactful yes, but not strategic. He’d surrendered his sword, and O’Neil was already retrieving his blade.

  “Ewan, O’Neil has his blade back.”

  “O’Neil?” Ewan asked and turned toward the pirate. “Julian O’Neil, pirate captain of the Raven?” He looked the man up and down and raised one eyebrow. “More muscle than I thought, but just as poor with a sword.”

  Dory could see the blood rising in the captain’s face. Ewan was baiting him, and without a weapon.

  “Muscle?” Cromwell asked.

  Ewan shrugged. “I wouldn’t think a man would need much strength to abuse and trade little children.” He gave O’Neil a look like he didn’t deserve even the title of man. “But since ye look fit, perhaps ye’d be man enough to face a Highlander.”

  “Ewan, no!” Dory said. “He doesn’t play by anyone’s rules.”

  Ewan smiled without taking his eyes from O’Neil. “Good, neither do I.”

  “There will be no facing or fighting,” Cromwell said, waving his hand. “Your wife is being taken to the tower, charged with witchcraft. And you are being charged with attacking English subjects.”

  “I can dispatch this brigand to hell right now,” O’Neil said and held his sword, point out.

  “Agreeing to a fight right after ye find out ye’re not allowed,” Ewan said and shook his head, tsking. “’Tis a coward’s boast.”

  O’Neil lunged. Ewan sidestepped and brought his elbow down on his wrist, making the sword clang on the stone floor again.

  “Stop it!” Cromwell called and motioned to the guard who still had blood gushing from his nose.

  “Ye cannot seem to keep a hold of that thing,” Ewan said and drew Dory behind him on the other side of the room.

  Cromwell was all but jumping, his fists against his sides. “I said stop it! O’Neil, step down or our deal is void.”

  “What deal?” Ewan said, and Dory felt his muscles tighten instantly. No one answered. “What deal?” he repeated, his voice low and full of grit.

  “That is between Captain O’Neil and myself,” Cromwell said and tried to reach Dory with a threatening glare. But Ewan kept her tucked behind him, his broad, tall body even larger in the cluttered room.

  “O’Neil will take me away rather than me going to the tower and being put on trial,” she said to Ewan’s back. “And I fear my maid will suffer with either option.”

  Ewan surveyed the entire room. Hopefully he saw the sword hanging on the left wall and the decorative lance in the corner to the right. Dory was taking a full inventory.

  “There will be no deals,” Ewan declared. He looked at Cromwell. “We’ve already gone over the matter with the taster.”

  “The pigeon died,” Cromwell countered.

  “The pigeon was old,” Ewan said. “The lad was nervous, fainted with fright when the wine tasted old. Your wine here has a nasty quality.”

  Cromwell pointed at him. “You should be thankful that you haven’t been charged with trying to poison the king. Treason brings a painful death.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Ye’re trying to find someone to blame while the true assassin still roams the same halls as yer king.”

  “I am not charging you with treason,” Cromwell said. “Only attacking Englishmen. But Lady Wellington has used her black arts to heal people.” His eyes shifted to O’Neil. “The captain has provided an extensive list of magical evidence.”

  “And ye believe him? A slave-trading pirate?”

  “I am a trader, not a pirate. Although you can add the pirate charge to Pandora as well. I’ve witnessed her unsavory actions while at sea on the Queen Siren.”

  “Shut your lying, rancid mouth,” Dory said as she rose on tiptoe to peer over Ewan’s shoulder.

  “Enough!” Cromwell flapped his hand at the platoon of soldiers standing outside the door. “Fresh men are here to take you to the Tower. You will be questioned, and then I will decide if you should stand trial or be traded to O’Neil.”

  “What do you get out of it?” Dory asked Cromwell. “I’ve done nothing to anger you, nothing to hurt your position or the king. What does O’Neil have that you want?”

  “I do not have to answer questions posed by a witch, a pirate, or a woman, and especially since you happen to be all of them at once.”

  Dory’s fingers wound around Ewan’s upper arm. She leaned closer into him. “We can fight them better if I’m outside.”

  “Put that away,” Cromwell admonished O’Neil, who still held his sword.

  O’Neil strode across to the corner and grabbed Margery. He looked straight at Dory and drew a dagger near Margery’s neck.

  “Anything stronger than a spring breeze, and this delicate flower dies.”

  “Move,” Cromwell commanded, and Ewan drew Dory with him through the throng of blades outside the door. Two guards remained in front while eight walked behind, followed by Cromwell and O’Neil, who dragged poor Margery. What a gruesome little parade they were, traipsing along the corridor of Hampton Court.

  William Spencer stood solemnly, shaking his head as they passed. He ran a handkerchief under his nose. No help from him. Even he would stand by while a near child was dragged at knife point through the halls. Cromwell was apparently more powerful than common decency.

  Ewan kept her moving forward, his rock-like arms leading her next to him. The armor and boots made quite a racket on the stone despite the many lush rugs thrown along the way.

  Dory scanned the walls as she walked. Perhaps there was a weapon she could wield? But against ten armed men plus O’Neil and his blade aimed at Margery’s jugular? Her stomach gripped so hard for a moment she thought she might vomit. She caught sight of Beatrice Pembroke sniffing, her little red lips tied tightly into a frowny bow. Dory looked away and caught site of the open throne room.

  Henry sat there laughing at something, bending his neatly trimmed head toward a woman in blue. Her blond hair sat perfectly coiffed around a brocade headdress in the latest fashion. He glanced up at the noise, a frown slicing through the flirtatious grin. There was no surprise in his gaze, just condemnation. Dory already knew the outcome of any trial, just by the look he cast.

  Dory shifted her eyes to the blonde, who turned to see what was going on.

  “Pandora?”

  Jane, sweet, too-generous-with-her-clothes, Jane, sat there with the mightiest, most judgmental man in England and maybe the world. She stood, eyes questioning, and Henry followed her. “You know this woman?”

  Cromwell had stopped the guards when his liege stood.

  Jane smiled at Dory and Ewan. “Aye, your majesty, she helped me when I was ill at Wulfhall. Can she join us?” She apparently hadn’t taken in t
he escort they had.

  Cromwell opened his mouth, but Henry raised his hand to keep his advisor silent. Cromwell looked like he could explode right there. His face turned red and his cheeks puffed full.

  Dory smiled at Jane and dropped her gaze to the lovely gown she’d chosen. “Thank you very much.”

  “You sent her clothing?” Henry asked.

  Jane’s creamy complexion turned pink. “A few in payment for her help. She is a talented herbalist.”

  Jane’s eyes took in the guards and the pink bled away from her cheeks, leaving a pale, sickly complexion. Dory noticed that the room behind them was not empty as she’d thought, but set for a meal with at least a dozen courtiers watching in silence.

  Understanding of her precarious position must have hit Jane. She’d just admitted that she not only knew Dory, but had been helped by her, and had sent her clothes like a friend might have. The woman glanced at Cromwell and blanched. So she’d probably just realized that Dory would be questioned about her relationship with Jane, and that she might be forced to divulge that Jane had known issues with fertility.

  “Lady Wellington has helped you?” Henry said as if figuring this new information into the strategy always playing within his mind. It all hinged on how he really felt about Jane. If the rumors were true, Jane was favored to be Henry’s next queen. She was reputed to be pure in body and spirit, very pious and mild. Everything his current queen was not. If Henry truly wanted to marry her, nothing could tarnish her reputation or she would have to be put aside. Aye, it all boiled down to what was going on in that man’s mind.

  Henry turned his gaze to Jane, who looked like she was about to faint away. He patted her hand and smiled. “Don’t fret, m’lady. What do you know of this woman?”

  Jane swallowed and nodded. “I know her as Pandora Brody, and married to him,” Jane said, nodding to Ewan. “He’s a Scot and traveled with another.”

  Ewan bowed gallantly to her. “Lady Seymour, so good to see ye again.”

  A slight frown marred Henry’s face, but then he turned to face Jane. “Her name is apparently Pandora Rebecca Wellington-Wyatt-Brody,” Henry said slowly and met Dory’s gaze again. “A most complex lady.” His eyes sparked and a half-grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Cromwell.”

  “Yes, your majesty?”

  “There has been a misunderstanding.”

  “Yes?”

  “A friend and… helper to my fair Lady Jane is a friend of this court.”

  “Her husband attacked the guard.”

  “Was anyone killed?”

  Cromwell hesitated and then shook his head.

  “Well then, I believe that they both may attend our small dinner here.”

  “Your majesty…” O’Neil stepped up. “It is my understanding that this woman has been accused of—”

  “Enough,” Henry’s roar cut over O’Neil’s plea. “Why do you hold a blade to that child’s neck?”

  Several women, including Jane, gasped as they all noticed Margery.

  “Are you afraid she will attack you, best you, even though she is unarmed and half your weight?”

  Dory hid her relieved smile.

  “This girl is Lady Wellington’s maid.” O’Neil lowered the blade, sheathing it as Margery hustled over to Dory. “I was but escorting her with her mistress to the—”

  “I’ve heard enough from you, sir,” Henry said, again covering any mention of Jane’s friend going to the Tower. “Who are you?”

  All eyes turned toward the pirate captain.

  “Captain Julian O’Neil of the Raven.”

  “And why are you here at my court?”

  Would the stupid man again bring up Dory and her relinquished crimes?

  O’Neil’s face froze as he thought of a plausible excuse. “I… The ship needed repairs. While at port I heard about your tournament set for day after next. I would like to try my hand at the joust.”

  “You would?” Henry asked.

  “Perhaps,” Cromwell chimed in, “he could ride against the Scot, if the Highlander is of tough mettle.”

  “Are you, Scot?” Henry asked. “Or do you prefer to tuck tail and run for the hills like your brethren?”

  Ewan’s deep brogue answered with strength that Dory knew must mimic the mountains surrounding his homeland. “I will meet the slave trader on any field of battle.”

  “Slave trader?” Jane leaned a bit into Henry, who took the opportunity to shelter his fragile woman.

  “Very well then,” he said, and kissed the top of her head and took her hand. “Lord Brody will ride against Captain O’Neil in the lists. Meanwhile, Lady Wellington and her husband may join us for dinner.” He looked to O’Neil. “And you will not touch the child again.” His sharp stare softened when Jane whispered something to him.

  Ewan nudged Dory a bit so that they could walk into the room, all eyes on them. Margery took a place behind them.

  “Go now,” Henry said to the rest outside the room, and Cromwell motioned for the guards and O’Neil to move along.

  Dory hesitated in the doorway. They’d gone from prisoners to honored guests so fast she felt dizzy. Perhaps now would be the time to faint. Ewan guided her to the table farther down, but Henry waved them closer.

  “I fear I am improperly dressed for the occasion,” Ewan said and eyed the court garb across the table. She’d forgotten the roll-out-of-bed wild look he had upon bursting into Cromwell’s office. Which reminded her that he hadn’t come back to their rooms last night.

  Dory’s gut tightened and her smile faded. He hadn’t answered her question, either.

  “Where were you?” she asked under her breath as Henry made some bigoted comment about Scots sleeping with sheep. Jane remained silent and pale.

  “Aye, pray tell why your wife is properly attired, but you are… not,” Richard Pembroke asked from farther down.

  Ewan took a drink of the wine already sitting at the seat. When the titters died down and people stared at him for an answer, he shrugged and cast an embarrassed look toward her. “I would not speak about my whereabouts this morning in front of my wife.”

  Henry laughed and thumped the arm of his chair. “Fathers, guard your daughters.”

  Dory stared hard at her goblet and then drank. Had he truly been with another woman? She cut a sideways glance at his tussled appearance. He hadn’t come back to their room and hadn’t told her where he’d been. Aye, there hadn’t been time to talk, but clearly he wasn’t in Searc’s room when they passed.

  Sitting there with the tittering looks of pity cast her way, Dory’s confidence in Ewan’s claiming of her seemed to be fading. Men will lie to get under your skirts, Panda. Don’t you forget it. Captain Bart’s warnings rang in her ears incessantly.

  The rest of the meal dragged on with tasteless sips and chewing. Her mind gnawed like a shark on the faces and names of the women she’d seen at court. Which one had lured him away from her? Certainly not Beatrice Pembroke. Did the Pembrokes even have a daughter? Maybe Searc and his father had taken him whoring in town. Even though she’d been raised by men who quite openly satisfied their base needs in brothels, the thought of Ewan visiting one both turned her stomach and tightened her jaw.

  Conversation continued around her, but she paid little attention except when directly asked. The topics were light, and no mention was made of their near arrest.

  Dory felt a little hand squeeze hers under the table. Jane was next to Henry but diagonally next to her.

  “I am pleased the gown fits,” she said.

  Dory gave her a polite smile, though she was surprised she was able to produce anything pleasant during the torturous meal.

  “Thank you again.” Dory lowered her voice. “You saved my life.”

  Jane looked at her lap. “And you mine,” she whispered so low, Dory wondered if she’d heard correctly.

  That was the end of their conversation and probably their friendship. If Jane was going to be the next queen of England, she had to di
stance herself from anyone and anything that could bring shame to her name. Henry had saved her today, but if he tired of her at all, she would be on her own. Yes, court was more dangerous than the jungle.

  …

  Bloody long dinner! Finally, the food was being taken back and people had begun to rise and chat. Ewan stretched his cramped legs under the table, and wished again that he could just carry Dory out of there. Och! How did anyone live like this on a continual basis? Pompous, plotting wolves ready to turn on any weak member of the pack.

  Henry walked with Jane on his arm. Ewan turned to Dory, who had been very quiet through the meal. “Let us retreat to the room.”

  She stiffened. “You can return to whoever you were swiving last night,” she seethed. “I’m leaving at nightfall with Margery.”

  Ewan circled her upper arm and steered her through the hall. The child followed, probably still shaken. He turned to her and smiled. “Come now, lass, let’s meet back in our room to figure out what our next step shall be.”

  But as sure as God and Hell, he was not letting Dory just walk away from him.

  He must have held too tight, for she tried to yank her arm from his grasp. He let her, not wanting to bruise her. She took Charissa, or Margery—he shook his head—by the hand. His long strides kept up with Dory’s near trot. He could just about see the fury rolling off her and heard the thunder outside. What did O’Neil think every time he heard a storm? That Dory was near and mad?

  She ushered the girl into their room and tried to shut the door, but he was right there to stop it. He entered and let the bar thunk into place. The girl jumped while Dory flew to the press, whipping through costumes.

  “Ye are not going anywhere tonight, and certainly not without me,” he said calmly.

  She snorted and yanked out the riding habit that had been cleaned.

  He walked over to her. “Sometimes I think ye would just rather be mad than listen to reason.”

  She stopped and glared at him. “Perhaps the whores in port don’t mind when their… their swiving partners move on to another woman. I’m not a true lady, but I’m not a whore and you said you’d claimed me.”