They gasped in unison, their faces turning up to her. “Dr. Witherspoon? That kind old man?” Lucy asked.
Francis grabbed Lucy’s hand. “His son was killed in Charles’s army when he sent them up into Scotland. I wonder if he…” Her gaze moved to Cat while her hand covered her lips. “If he could have poisoned Charles in retribution.”
The doctor had visited the healer in the tent. Perhaps he, too, had acquired Wolfsbane or some other poisonous herb. As a doctor, he would have had easy access to the king, especially during his illness. That bloody king had sent people on both sides of the border to their deaths. It was a wonder he reigned for so long without someone poisoning him before.
“Is the doctor dead?” Lucy asked.
“He was unconscious when we left him in the garden. I do not know what has become of him.”
Francis’s hand laid flat against her throat. “Was Lady Stanton out there? In the gardens?” she whispered.
Cat tilted her head to the side. “How would ye know about that?” she asked, suspicion heavy in her tone.
Francis dropped her hand, leaning forward as if telling a secret. “Her father sent her off before dawn this morning. I saw her climbing into one of their small coaches, and the maids in the kitchen said she was heading to their country estate.”
How had Esther Stanton escaped being sent straight to the Tower?
Francis stood. “We should see what has happened and who has been arrested.”
Lucy stood with her, looking to Cat. “Thank you, Lady Campbell, for the start of the lessons.” She sniffed, pulling a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Straightening, she tucked it away. “I would like to learn to throw a dagger. It seems that the court has become even more dangerous.”
Cat nodded, already going to the clothes press. “I will as long as we remain.”
“We?” Francis asked, and Cat stopped, a blue gown in her hands.
“Lord Worthington and me.”
Lucy and Francis looked at each other before returning to stare at her, a glance of pity on Lucy’s face. “I am not certain that Lord Worthington will be able to return you to your school for some time. One thing that we did hear this morning is that the king has made him head of the King’s Guard here in London.”
“’Tis an honor,” Francis added. “His noble heritage will be clear from any suspicion of treason toward the crown.”
“He has already accepted the position?” Cat asked, the cuts on her knuckles stinging as she realized she clutched the gown in her curled fingers.
“In this political climate, he would be a fool not to,” Francis said. “The position is protection for the whole Worthington family.”
“I am not certain he could refuse it with James hunting traitors now,” Lucy added. “But I am sure he will find a suitable companion to take you safely north.”
Cat couldn’t speak, her words stuck somewhere in her chest with her pounding heart. She managed to nod and turned back to her gown. When the door shut behind the ladies, Cat rested her face in the folds of the blue day costume. I should not care. The man had lied to her. There are things you do not know about me. My past…
He had seduced her. I am only a woman and ye are only a man. No pasts to haunt us. No futures that seem impossible. Just…now.
He was an Englishman.
The one who’d ordered the charge at Bothwell Bridge.
Friggin’ hell, I should not care.
But she did.
Chapter Nineteen
Princess Ekua’s room was in a different tower, closer to the duchess’s quarters. Had she heard what was going on within the palace?
Cat lifted her skirts to hurry up a back stairway she’d seen servants use. She paused at the top as she glanced down the corridor toward Ekua’s bed chamber. Armed men stood outside, the door thrown open.
“She is not inside,” one said, and two more filed within, probably to hunt under the bed and in the clothes press for the poor woman.
Had they already checked with the duchess? Cat pushed off the stone wall, running back down the steps to fly toward the other end of the corridor to climb the main steps to Catherine’s bed chambers.
Thankfully there were no guards near her room at the top of the stairs. Yet. Cat grabbed the doorframe as she flew to it, her knuckles rapping on the door. Tap, tap, tap… She continued until she heard some movement within.
“Who is there?” It sounded like the duchess.
“Cat,” she said, her lips close to the door. “Lady Campbell. Your Grace, it is important I find Princess Ekua.”
A key turned, and the door swung inward. Cat rushed inside to see Catherine fully dressed in black and Ekua dressed in blue silk. The princess clasped her hands before her, a worried frown on her face.
“Why are guards searching for Princess Ekua?” Cat asked as the duchess locked the door.
“Lady Stanton begged to leave this morning in exchange for delivering a name of the person who asked her to buy poison,” Catherine said, her eyes meeting Ekua’s. “She said that Princess Ekua poisoned Charles and has been attempting to poison Queen Mary, to rid her of an heir, and King James.”
Ekua’s lips pursed tight. “What motivation would I have for such a thing?” she asked, her exotic accent rolling across the words, anger making them fiery. “I care not for your England,” she said, looking to Catherine. “I have asked to leave numerous times, before and after my brother left for Scotland.”
“Perhaps not being allowed to leave is the given motive,” Cat said, her heart thumping as she glanced to the door. “We must get ye away from Whitehall.”
The duchess nodded quickly, her gaze going to Ekua. “The Stantons are powerful at court. If James believes her, you are certainly in danger. The fact that James let her leave this morning instead of sending her to the Tower with Dr. Witherspoon and Iain Padley means he must think she speaks the truth.” Pain flashed across the duchess’s face at the mention of her contact.
Cat met her dark eyes. “Ye can’t trust anyone.”
“I never truly have,” Catherine answered in the Portuguese accent that she still spoke with even after all her years in England.
The sound of boots hitting the wood planks of the corridor as men ran past, caused them all to turn to toward the door. “I must change into something less…cumbersome,” Ekua said.
“Of course.” The duchess looked to Cat. “Where will you take her?”
“She must sail home,” she said, looking to the princess. The woman’s dark eyes shone with unshed tears, and she nodded.
“I will find her warm clothes,” Catherine said. “You find Lord Worthington.”
She shook her head, holding back the thought of him. It would only weaken her. “Lord Worthington has been asked to head up the King’s Guard. I will find her safe passage on my own. We will flee to the docks.”
“’Tis too dangerous,” Catherine said. “You must request his help.”
Cat met her stare. “Ye heard I was informed about Nathaniel leading the men at Bothwell Bridge,” she said. “He commanded the men who killed my father.” Her words didn’t have the bite that they had before.
Catherine passed the sign of the cross before her and murmured a prayer. For Cat’s father? Catherine studied her. “You are furious with Lord Worthington for this.”
She didn’t answer but turned to where Ekua had flung open Catherine’s wardrobe in the other room. Cat rushed toward the clothes to help her. The duchess followed. Catherine caught her arm. “Anger makes us do foolish things. It eats one’s soul up.”
She turned to the dethroned queen. “I have dealt with anger. I will keep the princess safe. Alone.”
“You have been angry a long time,” Catherine said softly. “Long before you found out that Lord Worthington followed the orders of his king, unknowingly hurting your family. Lady Campbell… Catriona… With whom are you truly furious?” she whispered.
An ashen face with fixed open eyes flashed into Cat’s mind, and
she pushed the memory away. “I am angry with people who kill my family. I am angry with those who keep secrets and plot for their own purposes. I am angry at God and death for taking people too soon. And I am angry at ye for delaying us,” Cat finished with a huff.
Catherine’s brows drew together. “All of that fury is a heavy burden to carry. It weighs on you. Forgiveness is freeing.”
Cat pulled away from her, turning to the press of clothes. “Do ye have trousers for her to wear, under her skirts to stay warm on the ship?” She lifted the hem of her petticoat. “Like these.”
Catherine whisked over to a chest across the room, lifting the inlaid lid to remove some thick hose that were similar to Cat’s training trousers. “These will keep her warm. I had them made after returning from the Highland Roses School.”
She pulled out a little sack and brought it over to Ekua. “And this coin will pay for the passage I should have granted months ago. I too want to go home, to Portugal.” She weighed the pouch in her hands. “As much as I will miss you and your talents for music and company, you must have the freedom I strive to find.” She tucked the sack into Ekua’s hand, wrapping the woman’s fingers around it. “I know how it is to have no power to decide your fate.”
Cat watched the exchange. How could the duchess remain so calm and regal even when she’d been treated terribly? First by a family who’d married her off to a foreign king, second by a people who’d found her accent, customs, and religion suspicious, and then by a husband who’d flaunted mistresses before her throughout their marriage. The woman continued, despite it all, to be serene, strong, and effective.
“Does fury not eat at your soul, your grace?” Cat asked. “The fire that burns inside when you remember those who wronged you, who still wrong you, lying and plotting to further themselves and see you dead or exiled and forgotten?”
Catherine held up another pair of woolen trousers, shaking out the wrinkles. “Não,” she said in Portuguese with a calm shake of her head. She turned to meet Cat’s gaze. “I let anger infest me when I first came to the English court, but when I realized that it did nothing to those who hurt me, I strived to rid myself of it.” She leaned in close as if imparting a secret. “Anger only harms the angry person.” Her brows gathered. “It is best to figure out what or who truly has hurt you, and then forgive them.”
Cat swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. “What if they are dead?” she whispered.
Catherine laid her hand on her arm. “Especially then. There is nothing other than forgiving that can be done, else you spend your life hauling around the burden of hate. A life cannot be joyous under that weight.”
Joyous? Had Cat ever experienced joy? Her breath caught as she remembered the feeling of laying with Nathaniel, the stroke of his hand as he kissed her freckles, the feeling of being safe and cherished. His smile. The warm, light feeling had made Cat feel as if she could fly.
She felt caught in the duchess’s stare, the sincerity in her eyes and tone holding her for several heartbeats until Ekua came up to them, throwing a cloak over her slim shoulders. “I am ready,” she said, and Cat pulled out of Catherine’s light grip. Time was running out.
The duchess ran over to her wardrobe. “Lady Campbell. A cloak for you, too.”
“Thank ye,” she murmured as she threw it around her shoulders.
“Do you know the way to the docks?” Catherine asked.
“I came from them,” Ekua said. “My brother and I.”
“I have a horse,” Cat said. “And I almost know how to ride her.”
…
“Nothing was found in the African princess’s bedchamber,” a guard said to King James. Nathaniel stood in the king’s private salon with the members of James’s soon-to-be reinstated parliament.
Only James’s most faithful guards, the ones who had been with him through his time in Edinburgh, stood near the doors of the room, muskets at the ready.
“And Lady Stanton’s rooms?” Nathaniel asked.
“She is not involved,” her father said, his voice booming.
“Of course she is involved,” Nathaniel said. “Or does she have the habit of meeting conspirators in the gardens at two in the morning for other reasons other than plotting treason? She confessed outright, or was she just acting on your orders, Lord Stanton?”
“Slander,” Lord Stanton yelled.
“Enough,” James yelled even louder. “The traitors will be discovered. Since I allowed your daughter to journey to your country estate after giving the name of the traitor who had her buy poison, for now, Lord Stanton, you will be held at the Tower, although she may join you shortly.”
“Your majesty,” Stanton began, his head bowed. “We are loyal—”
“Highly doubtful,” James cut in.
Stanton’s eyes bulged. “If you would call parliament together, your majesty, and halt the work on the queen’s Catholic chapel inside Whitehall, your people and government will fully support your rule.”
“They will support me regardless, as it is my God-given right to rule,” James said, his voice still loud and his face burning with anger. “My brother allowed you all to stray too far, giving you freedoms that ended up costing him his life.”
Stanton, despite his intrigue and plotting, was right about the need for James to recapture the loyalty of his people, but there was no swaying the furious, sleep-deprived monarch. A battle with him now would only lead to one’s head rolling from one’s shoulders.
“Efforts should be made to secure the queen’s safety,” Nathaniel said, as appropriate to his new appointment as Head of the King’s Guard, although he had not officially accepted the position. “Doctor Witherspoon and Iain Padley have been locked in separate cells at the Tower, far from one another. There will be no opportunity for them to concoct a story together.”
The bodies of the dead guards, Matthew Hunt, and Wallace Danby had been dragged inside and were likely to be beheaded and buried in the traitors’ graveyard, their lands and assets taken by the crown.
“Find Princess Ekua,” James yelled. “I want her taken to the Tower.”
“There is no reason to suspect the princess. There was nothing of consequence found in her chambers,” Nathaniel argued once again, which earned him a brutal glare. “Lady Stanton flung her name out in desperation to be allowed to leave Whitehall.”
James’s fist pounded down on the arm of his throne. “Princess Ekua is known for her mysterious ways, her African religion being very different from the true religion of Christ. The queen’s ladies have found her mixing herbs and teas for the duchess, and if my brother was indeed poisoned, all the likely suspects must be detained and questioned.”
Nathaniel’s gut remained tight. With suspicion swirling about like a hurricane, guilty traitors and non-guilty victims would be thrown together, likely dying by the ax or the noose no matter in which group they truly belonged.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his mind focused on the king rather than striding through the palace to Cat’s chambers to make certain she was unharmed. “I will find the princess,” he said.
James flicked his beringed fingers toward him, and Nathaniel pivoted on his boot heel.
Before the door closed, he heard Lord Stanton. “Lord Worthington and Lady Campbell could be traitors.”
James snorted loudly. “Traitors who tackled and skewered those who wished to shoot me in the garden? Actions show the heart of a man, not words.”
Nathaniel didn’t bother to listen further. At least the king believed them to be faithful to the crown. Although, if the king continued to antagonize the country to civil war, the Worthington family would not be able to stand with him.
He broke into a jog through the halls. Cat might be with the princess, but where would that be? Down the corridor, Nathaniel watched the oil paintings tick by until the one with the unicorn stopped him. Rap, rap, rap. “Cat,” he called but heard nothing. Turning the knob, his gut tightened as he entered. She hadn’t locked her do
or. A quick glance around and under the bed, showed the room to be empty except for the floral scent that she wore. The sweet spice made his jaw harden with missing her. Where was she?
Running the corridor and up the central staircase barely burned off the energy firing through his blood. He halted before the duchess’s chamber where her late husband’s manservant, John Padley, stood, his face in his hands. As Nathaniel stopped, the old man looked up, worry in his eyes. His son, Iain, had been dragged to the Tower. John straightened, using a large white handkerchief to mop his nose before tucking it back into his trousers. “I had no idea of his plans,” he said. “His treasonous plans.”
Nathaniel set his hand down on the man’s shoulder. “Some say traitor, when in a year’s time, Iain may be viewed as a patriot, fighting for the good of England.”
“Unless he goes quickly to the block.” The man stared hard at him. There was no honest rebuttal that would make him feel better. Sensing this perhaps, the man nodded, and Nathaniel moved past him to the door, knocking. “Duchess,” he called. “Duchess, it is Lord Worthington. Much has occurred.”
The sound of a key turning in the lock made him take a step back, and she opened the door. “Yes, Lord Worthington,” she said, her glance sliding past John, the only other person in the hall. “You may enter to speak to me.”
Shutting the door behind him, Nathaniel gazed about the room, but she seemed to be alone. “I’ve come to find Princess Ekua. Has she been here?”
“Yes, but she has left. With Lady Campbell,” she said, keeping her voice hushed.
“Left? Lady Campbell?” he repeated. His gaze roamed the richly furnished antechamber as if answers were hidden in the shadows.
Catherine’s mouth tightened, and her entire face pinched. “She should have asked you to help her. Two women alone, riding to the docks.” She shook her head. “But she is still angry with you. She feels betrayed, and I fear it will make her act rashly.”
The Wicked Viscount Page 27
