by Anne Herries
He stood aside. Deborah swept past, the wide skirts of her sumptuous gown swaying with indignation. It was as well for her peace of mind that she did not turn her head to look back, for the sheer delight and mischief in Nicholas’s eyes would have added to her sense of frustration. How many times had she longed to be free of all the restrictions placed on a woman? How often she had wished herself a man, and never more so than now. Oh, that dreadful man should suffer if she but had a sword to run him through!
Deborah was no stranger to swordplay, or to a man’s costume. Her father had indulged her in whims others might find strange. He had been amused to see her strut and playact in her role as a youth, and had delighted in her skill with the rapier.
‘I vow I could wish for no finer son,’ he had told her once when they had practised the art of fencing together and he found himself disarmed. ‘But this must be our secret, Deborah, for the old tabbies would speak you ill if it were known you had behaved so immodestly.’
‘I care naught for the spite of tabbies,’ Deborah had replied confidently. ‘But as you ask it, Father, I shall be discreet. What we enjoy in private shall remain so.’
‘You are always my good daughter,’ her father had teased, a smile curving his mouth. ‘I must be on my guard for ’tis certain you will want something—a new gown, perhaps?’
‘How should I want a new gown when I already have so many?’ Deborah asked, then a little smile flickered in her green eyes—eyes that had caused many a young village lad to dream of her in vain. ‘But there is one thing you might do for me—if you wish?’
‘Of course, daughter. What is it now? Would you have me give more of my gold to master parson—or open my kitchens to every beggar in the whole of Northumbria?’
‘It is just Mistress Donovan. She is a widow now, Father, with three small children. All I ask is that she may remain in her cottage until she can find a man to take her husband’s place.’
‘Of course, child. She is a comely good woman. I dare say a man can be found to wed her before I am entirely ruined by lack of rent or labour.’
‘Oh, Father!’
Deborah had laughed at his gentle mockery of her good works. Yet she was not moved to laughter by the wicked teasing of the Marquis de Vere, though in her heart she could not find him guilty of malice. When he smiled he did not look so very harsh, but there was mettle in him. She thought that he might make a fearsome enemy, and a little chill ran down her spine. For a moment it was as if a dark cloud had passed over her and she was afraid of something, but of what she could not be sure. It was just a sense that her life of sweet content was about to change forever.
She shook her head as if to clear it of such thoughts. Sarah had turned her way and she lifted her hand to beckon her to her side.
‘It is time we were leaving,’ she said as her cousin came up to her. ‘I have had enough of the Court for one day.’
‘Oh, must we go?’ Sarah dimpled as a young man smiled at her from across the crowded gallery. ‘I have found our visit vastly amusing, have you not, cousin?’
‘It is interesting to see so many gathered here in the hope of a smile or some notice from His Majesty,’ Deborah replied. ‘Though his appearance was so brief that most must have been disappointed.’
‘Oh, the King…’ Sarah pulled a laughing face. She was well aware that she had aroused the interest of more than one gentleman that day. ‘It is not His Majesty’s attentions that I care for, cousin.’
Deborah noticed the young man who was staring so hard in their direction and smiled inwardly as she saw the flush in Sarah’s cheeks.
‘Come, Sarah,’ she urged. ‘Master Henderson will find his way to our lodgings if he wishes to further his acquaintance with our family.’ So saying, she took her cousin’s arm and began firmly to steer her towards Sir Edward, who was now waiting for them.
The bold-eyed marquis seemed to have disappeared and Deborah was relieved that there would be no more encounters with such a wicked rogue. She wondered that he even dared to appear at Court, for if there were any justice His Majesty would surely hang the fellow.
‘What would ye have of me now, rogue?’ James I of England and VI of Scotland eyed the younger man with amusement. Disfigured by childhood weaknesses and birth defects, he liked to see charming, handsome faces about him and his partiality led to many complaints about his favourites.
‘Why, nothing, sir,’ replied Nicholas. The son of an English gentlewoman and a French nobleman, only a genuine liking for this man some called fool kept him at court. He had estates in France that needed his attention, but James had asked for him and he had come in answer to the summons. ‘I believe you had some need of me?’
‘Mayhap.’ The King frowned. He had to look up to this giant, who towered above most men at Court, and he disliked the crick in his neck it gave him. ‘Sit on that stool by me, laddie. I give ye the royal permission. Aye, I might have need of your services. This foolish venture of my son has cost me dearly, and I do not know what will become of it all in the end.’
‘You mean Prince Charles’s marriage to the Infanta of Spain? I thought it was Your Majesty’s own wish?’
‘Aye, I have thought it for the best. You know I do not want war. These miserly Englishmen will vote me no money for peace, let alone war. The marriage might have brought a lasting peace between our two countries, one that would go on when I am dead—yet I confess I am uneasy. Buckingham and my son went incognito to Spain, thereby placing themselves too securely in the hands of the Spaniards. ’Twas foolishness and against my orders—though you will keep that to yourself, Nicholas. I will not have Baby criticised by others. You hear me?’
‘Yes, sire. Nothing you confide in me goes beyond this chamber.’
‘Aye, I know it. I trust ye. The negotiations for the marriage go apace and all seems well—but I fear that I do not hear all that goes on in the council chambers of Spain. I have been forced to make concessions, though I do not like them—nor do they please these stiff-necked Englishmen. There are rumblings, laddie…rumblings. I cannot grant too much favour to Catholics or my crown may fall, but Spain would suck the last drop of blood from my poor old body.’
Nicholas nodded. He had heard rumours of the way Buckingham had conducted himself at the Spanish court, preening his feathers and generally giving himself airs. The Duke believed he was secure as James’s favourite, but there had been murmurs against him and it was plain the King was anxious about what was happening behind the scenes.
‘Buckingham has perhaps been a little unwise,’ Nicholas said carefully. ‘Yet the good that may come of this marriage is perhaps worth the expenditure of your jewels, Majesty…which reminds me. I have a gift for you somewhere, sire—silver and gold from the New World.’
‘Treasure you stole from Don Manola, I’ll warrant.’ Humour sparkled in James’s eyes, a humour seldom seen by any outside the few he favoured with his confidence.
‘His ship was over-heavy in the water and like to sink,’ Nicholas replied, an answering gleam in his own eyes. ‘I did but relieve the captain of his burden and send him safe on his way. Besides, he had stolen the treasure from its rightful owners. I see no crime in robbing thieves, sire.’
‘The Don’s emissary would have me hang you,’ said James. ‘But though some would have it otherwise, I am not a fool.’
‘The wisest fool in Christendom,’ Nicholas murmured beneath his breath.
‘Your grandfather, Sir Nicholas Trevern, was a good friend to me at a time when it seemed my life might lie in the balance. During those dark days I was forced to suffer indignity and oppression, but a puppet in the hands of those who would rule in my stead—and though a young child, your mother was like a sister in her kindness to me,’ James went on. ‘For their sakes I would spare you did I not love you for your own.’
‘You are generous, sire.’
‘Whist, no such thing! At times I love too well and some take advantage of me, but never you. I want your loyalty, Nicholas. Fe
w have your knowledge of the Spanish and their ships. I pray for peace, but this business troubles me and I sleep little. I suspect Spain of demanding too much and I fear some misunderstanding that will lead to war between us. They have long coveted our crown.’
‘I think you are wise to be cautious, sire. Queen Bess gave Spain a bloody nose and it has not been forgot.’
‘I know it,’ James sighed. ‘I would have Baby back home safely, Nicholas. I must take care and seem to acquiesce in all things until he returns—with or without his bride.’
James was a man who loved good company, feasting and hunting. Nicholas thought he might have lived content had he been born a country gentleman. The flattery of others had exploited a weakness in the King, but the man was sound.
‘You know you have my loyalty. I choose to live in France, but the land of my mother’s birth is dear to me—and I would serve you if I can.’
‘Bring me word,’ James said, ‘if you hear anything of importance. I would be warned of any ill news before it is too late.’
‘My ship is being provisioned and made ready,’ Nicholas replied. ‘I sail for Spanish waters within three days and will return ere long. Be assured that I shall glean what news I can—but is it certain that things go ill with the contracts?’
‘I have no firm confirmation yet, merely whispers and innuendo,’ James replied. ‘But I feel something dark and heavy in my heart. Now, away with you, laddie. The night is young. Have you no wench waiting for you?’
Nicholas laughed. ‘Why should I have but one when there are so many beautiful young women in London?’
‘They say you have only to glance at a wench to have her itching to warm your bed,’ said James, chuckling. ‘I vow it would be a shame to disappoint the lasses. Away now and do your duty.’
Nicholas bowed and walked respectfully from the King’s apartments. His smile faded as he left the palace and began to make his way towards the river, where he intended to summon a boatman. He was lodging at an inn down river and had promised to meet with Henri Moreau, his friend and able lieutenant. They had much to discuss before they put to sea once more.
Attacking Don Manola’s ships afforded Nicholas little satisfaction these days. After the death of Isabella Rodrigues, to whom Nicholas had been betrothed, his first thought had been to take revenge on her murderer. Now, almost two years on, he still had not managed to take Miguel Cortes prisoner. He had been told that the Don’s son cowered at home, afraid to put to sea lest Le Diable should take his ship and his miserable life be forfeit.
Nicholas had cursed the man who had raped and killed the beautiful young woman because she had refused him in favour of another. What woman would willingly become the bride of that monster?
Miguel Cortes might have the face of an angel, but his soul was twisted and evil, as black as hell. Nicholas knew that the Don’s men called him Le Diable, because he outran and out-fought their ships with ease, but he had never taken life wantonly, never tortured men or animals for pleasure, sparing his enemies whenever possible: there was only one man he wished to kill!
Nicholas had never taken an unwilling woman, though there had been wenches enough to warm his bed. Of late, though, Nicholas had found little satisfaction in pleasuring tavern wenches. His feelings for the lovely Isabella had been those of a gentleman for a woman he admired and respected. He had liked and cared for her, believing that such a virtuous woman would teach him the gentle ways of love.
It was Isabella’s very vulnerability that hurt Nicholas so much—that such a sweet child should have suffered so terribly at the hands of a monster! He had been told that she had screamed and begged for mercy on her knees before she died, but none had been granted.
Miguel Cortes deserved to die. Justice demanded that he pay the penalty for his dread crime! And die he should. Nicholas had sworn it and he would find a way—even if he had to pry the sniveling coward from his hiding place. Isabella’s pleas should not go unanswered.
Unbidden, on the scent of summer flowers, the memory of a young woman’s face came to Nicholas’s mind. He smiled as he recalled the spirited way she had parried his teasing. It had been obvious that she was unused to Court manners, which could be coarse and bawdy, for most women attending that day would have responded very differently to his flirting.
The King had spoken truly when he said Nicholas had only to look at the ladies of the Court to have them panting for his loving.
He was not sure why he had found Mistress Deborah Stirling so intriguing. She was beautiful, but so was her cousin Sarah Palmer. It was the obliging Mistress Palmer who had furnished him with the details of her cousin’s name and person.
Mistress Stirling was in the market for a husband. Her father was a gentleman of whom little was known at Court, though it was said he owned a goodly estate in the north—and that he was Catholic. Not something he flaunted at Court, being more discreet than many of his kind who screeched of betrayal and broken promises and made their position all the worse.
Nicholas too had been raised a Catholic, yet he had denied his faith these many months. What kind of a god would let scum like Miguel Cortes flourish when poor Isabella lay in her grave unavenged?
Not for much longer! Somehow Nicholas would find a way to tempt that monster from his lair—and then he would kill him with his own hands.
Dismissing his wayward thoughts of a girl with fire in her eyes, Nicholas put his mind to the task ahead. Henri had news for him. Perhaps at last the means to take his revenge had come within his grasp.
Perhaps Miguel Cortes had at last been driven back to sea by his frustration at having been cooped up for so long. If that were not the case, then some plan must be found to make him leave the shores of Spain.
Chapter Two
The girl was lost in a mist…running from something that terrified her. She glanced over her shoulder, but could not see anything. Yet she knew if she stopped running it would catch her and then…
Deborah woke from her dream, shivering with fright. What could she have been thinking of to make her have such a nightmare? She usually slept peacefully and woke refreshed, but that morning the unease the dream had created seemed to stay with her as she dressed and went downstairs.
Was it that strange meeting with the Marquis de Vere the previous evening, that had prompted such dreams? No, how could it be? She laughed at herself. She had met the man but once and he could mean nothing to her. She would think of him no more.
They had come to London to enjoy themselves, and she meant to make the most of her visit. It was very unlikely that they would come again. Nor did she particularly wish for it. Oh, it was amusing at Court, and she liked to see the courtiers parading in their fine gowns, but there was too much backbiting and spite amongst them to please her.
She thought that, if she were to marry, she would like to live in the country with her friends about her. She tried to picture the man she might wed, but the only face that came to her mind was the Marquis de Vere’s. How very vexing! She was sure she did not wish to meet the rogue again.
‘Ah, there you are, daughter,’ Sir Edward said, coming out of the parlour as she reached the hall of the house where they were lodging. It was a fine house, sturdily built of brick and wood in the Tudor style, and situated near the river. Like most other houses in the street it had wooden shutters, which were firmly closed at night, and the windows were so tiny and so dark that they let little light inside. ‘I have been composing a letter to Don Manola. Señor Sanchez is to call for it this morning. Would you care to see what I have written?’
‘Thank you, Father.’ She took the letter and glanced through the elegantly phrased words. ‘I think it will do very well, sir.’
‘I shall send the small portrait I had done of you on your last birthday as a gift for Don Miguel,’ her father said, smiling at her with affection. ‘I have others and it is my intention to ask the artist to make another portrait of you when we return home. I shall want some keepsake when you leave me for yo
ur husband’s home, Deborah.’
‘Oh, Father,’ she said, her heart aching for the look of sadness in his eyes. ‘You know you will always be welcome in my home. I could not bear to part from you forever.’
‘Ah, my sweet child,’ Sir Edward replied. ‘I must not seek to hold you. You must be allowed to find happiness in a home of your own—but I admit that I shall miss you sorely.’
‘I am not married yet,’ she reminded him. She linked her arm in his, smiling up at him. ‘Now, dearest Father—pray tell me what you have planned for today?’
‘I thought we might take a little trip on the river,’ Sir Edward replied. ‘And then, after we have supped—a visit to the theatre?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Deborah smiled at him in delight, the remnants of her headache disappearing as she thought of the pleasures to come. ‘Yes, my dear Father. I think I should enjoy that above all things.’
She would forget the marquis and his impudence and she would forget her foolish dream. The next few weeks would fly by and then they would go home—whether or not they had found husbands.
‘Prithee tarry a little longer,’ Sarah begged as she poured over the fabulous wares of the silk merchant in Cheapside. ‘I cannot decide between the rose damask and the green brocade—which do you prefer, Debs?’
‘They would both suit you very well,’ Deborah replied with an indulgent smile at her cousin. ‘Why do you not order a length of each?’
‘But they are so expensive.’ Sarah stroked the soft materials under the indulgent eye of the silk merchant. ‘And I have already overspent my allowance. I do not like to ask my uncle for more.’
‘I have sufficient monies left to lend you some. Besides, my father would not think of denying you. Order both and let us away to the glovemaker. The hour grows late and I have bespoke a pair of gauntlets for Father.’
Sarah dimpled with pleasure, for in her heart she had wanted both silks. She gave her order to the merchant, who promised to deliver it within the hour to their lodgings, and, tucking her arm into Deborah’s, she willingly accompanied her cousin from the shop. The two girls walked farther down the street, then turned into another where the sign of the glovemaker swung to and fro in the breeze.
