by C. J. Archer
The muscles in his face rippled with pain. He folded his hands over his stomach and curled into a ball. He rolled onto his side toward her. "Why?" he said on a groan.
She stroked his forehead as the spasm eased and he stretched his body out again. His hands remained on his stomach.
"Why, Cat?"
"Shhh." She kissed the frown between his brows. "Rest now, husband. The wise woman will be here soon."
"I have to…go." He tried to push himself up, but Cat circled her arms around him and gently laid him down again. He did not fight her and relaxed into her embrace.
"You can't go anywhere," she told him. "Whatever it is you need to do will have to wait."
He turned his head from side to side as if trying to dislodge a nightmare. "Sorry," he murmured. "So sorry, Mary. Forgive me."
Mary? Cat's heart stilled. Even now, her jealousy reared. "Who is Mary?"
"Mary…Renny."
He must mean Widow Renny from Larkham. He thought of her now, as he lay dying?
She swallowed, but the lump in her throat was too huge. It felt like something clawed at her heart, tearing it into shreds.
But now was not the time for jealousy. She had to think of Hughe. Only Hughe, and somehow making him well again. She would do anything to return him to his old self. She would even settle for the fop and long absences, as long as he came to her bed whenever he wanted to make a child. She would take a few moments with him, if that was all she could have.
"Hughe, this is Cat." Her voice sounded full of tears. She fought through them and forged on. She had to know the answer. Had to know what to do next. She couldn't make him well, but she might be able to make him happier. Somehow that mattered very much. "Can you hear me?"
"Cat?" His eyes opened a little wider and focused on her. But just for a moment and then he closed them again, as if it hurt too much to do otherwise. He lifted a hand and let it fall on top of hers. She stroked her thumb along his knuckles and once more felt her tears falling.
"Hughe, tell me. Do you love her?"
His face softened. The corners of his mouth lifted. "Aye."
Cat lowered her head and silently sobbed. At least she knew for certain now. He'd been such a good liar, so very good, that she'd believed him when he'd told her he'd given up his mistresses. But now that she knew, she could grieve for him even if he lived. And then she could move forward with her own life, separate from him yet still married. Or so she told herself.
But first, she had to help him live. Even now, knowing that he loved another, she would do anything to bring him back to health. Even if it meant surrounding him with his loved ones.
She swiped at her tears and drew in a deep breath. "Do you…do you want me to fetch her?"
"Cat?"
"I'm here. Shall I fetch Widow Renny?"
"Get her…her boys…"
She breathed. Breathed again. "If they're what you need, then I will."
He reached for her and she caught his clammy hand in her own. She bent and kissed his forehead. His skin was a little warmer now, thank God. Hopefully the wise woman could do something, but Cat wouldn't be at Sutton Hall to greet her.
She stood just as Lynden burst in. He wore an open jerkin over his shirt and no breeches, revealing lumpy knees. "Why wasn't I told immediately?" He stopped short of the bed and stared at Hughe. "God's blood. What happened?"
"He's taken ill," Cat said. "The wise woman is on her way."
Lynden nodded numbly, and lowered himself into a nearby chair.
"Watch over him until he wakes."
He didn't ask her why she didn't do it herself. He seemed not to see or hear her at all. His stricken gaze remained on Hughe.
Cat left the bedchamber, her maids in tow. "I'm going for a long ride," she told them. "Inform the grooms to prepare a horse. One of them is to come with me."
The younger girl rushed off. The older one hesitated. "But your hand, m'lady. You cannot ride."
Cat stared down at her bandaged hand. She'd forgotten about it. It throbbed a little, but the pain was insignificant compared to the ache in her heart. "I have to," she said.
"Where are you going?"
"Larkham."
The girl wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
"To bring someone here. Someone his lordship wishes to see before…" Cat shook off the thought. He was strong. He would fight this illness, especially once he had his loved one by his side.
"Can anyone else go in your stead? Mistress Monk?"
Cat shook her head. "I can't sit here and be idle while he… I have to do this. There's no need to wake Mistress Monk or her husband yet." It was still very early. The sun was a faint golden ball hanging low in the sky behind a bank of clouds.
She had no idea how long it took to ride to Larkham, but the sooner she left the better. She only hoped she could bring back Widow Renny before it was too late. She hoped too that she possessed enough strength of character to keep her jealousy suppressed.
***
Elizabeth awoke in an empty bed. That wasn't any cause for alarm. Edward often rose early of late and rode out with Hughe to set the wheels in motion for the rescue. But this time, she had a feeling something was wrong. For one thing, he was supposed to remain at Sutton Hall for most of the day and ride out tonight. For another, the hastily scrawled note on the table by the window simply said he'd gone out. Why so little information? Didn't he know that would only make her worry?
She threw open the shutters and spotted a cart driving toward the house at a fast clip. The occupants held onto the sides, but that didn't stop them being thrown from side to side in the back as the driver pulled up to the front door. Servants shouted and rushed to help the woman down. She ran into the house, a basket clasped to her chest, a girl at her heels. It was Widow Dawson and Bel.
Elizabeth dressed quickly, her heart in her throat. Who was ill? It had to be someone important or the wise woman wouldn't be in such a hurry and would not have entered through the front. Cat? Surely her hand couldn't be the cause of such commotion.
She stopped the first maid she came to, a young girl with tears in her eyes. "What's happened?"
"Lord Oxley." The girl's face crumpled. "He's dying."
Elizabeth covered her cry with her hand. It shook. "How? Why?"
The girl merely shrugged.
"Is Mr. Monk with him?"
"No, mistress. He's gone out riding. Left very early before all this."
Elizabeth rushed on to the Oxley apartments, but was stopped by Jeffrey at the closed door. He stood like a sentinel, his arms crossed over his sky blue jerkin.
"Widow Dawson wants no visitors," he said in that self-important, pompous prig of a way he had.
"But I must go in!" How to tell him Hughe was her husband's closest friend? That she needed to assess the situation for herself and decide what to do next? If Hughe couldn't make it to Larkham, she had to find Edward and have him head to the village instead. Ill or not, Hughe would want the rescue to continue. At least they had time on their side, as long as Edward returned in the next few hours.
Behind Jeffrey stood two of his servants, blocking the entrance. Did he think she was going to break the door down?
"How bad is he?" she asked.
Jeffrey rubbed his forehead and looked rather pale and sweaty himself. If it were the plague, they were all in grave danger.
"The maid said he's dying," Elizabeth went on. "Jeffrey." She grabbed his arms and shook him. "How bad is he?"
He wrenched himself free and screwed his face up in distaste. "Don't touch me. How do I know you don't have it too?"
"I'm perfectly well."
"As was he, only last night." He sighed dramatically. "Today he looks terrible. White as snow and weak. He hardly knows where he is or what he says. He rambles on about spare horses and a woman named Mary. Lady Oxley too, and I'm sure I heard Slade mentioned."
"Is Cat with him?"
The door opened before he had a chance to answer and Bel emerged. She looked more serious than
Elizabeth had ever seen her. "My mama says to tell you he's very sick but he might live. She's given him a purgative and will stay with him until it works." She bit her lower lip and hesitated.
"What is it, Bel?" Elizabeth asked, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "You must tell us, no matter how bad it is."
Bel's remarkably steady gaze met Elizabeth's. "Mama says he's been poisoned."
"Poisoned!" Jeffrey cried.
The servants shifted uneasily and glanced at one another. Elizabeth sank back against the wall, the air knocked out of her. Someone had poisoned Hughe.
Oh God. If he died, Edward would be devastated. Orlando and Cole too. Hughe was their friend, their colleague, their leader, even though two of them no longer worked for him. He was the life blood of the Assassins Guild. If he died…
No. She couldn't think like that. Widow Dawson said he might live.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to think everything through carefully. The poisoner had to be found. The rescue had to go ahead. Hughe would not want his plan to be abandoned now and Elizabeth couldn't let that happen to the poor Renny woman. Edward was probably checking on things for the evening's rescue, so that left only her. She couldn't do it alone, particularly the part where Hughe was supposed to go to Larkham. She needed Cole and Orlando. They were far more experienced than she, and they would want to know about Hughe anyway.
She rushed off and sent a maid to tell the stables to ready a fast horse for her as she dressed for riding. Her mind kept returning to Hughe. She couldn't imagine the magnificent, handsome man lying helpless in bed. He was always so full of life, so strong in body and mind. It wasn't right. Whoever had poisoned him would pay dearly, his friends would see to it. At least Cat was with him. Wasn't she?
There was no time to find out, but of course she must be. Widow Dawson would allow his wife in, and Cat would want to be there, doing whatever she could to heal her beloved.
Elizabeth drew on her gloves as she raced out of the house and headed for the stables. She ordered one of the grooms to go on to Coleclough Farm to inform Cole and Lucy, while she mounted a horse and rode for Stoneleigh, the nearer of the two farms.
She prayed for Hughe the entire way.
***
Larkham was everything Cat thought it would be. Nobody in Sutton Grange seemed to like their neighboring village and she could see why. The houses and shops weren't old but they were poorly kept, their stoops dirty. Mud and the excrement of horses, pigs and God knew what else piled up in the streets. The gut-churning stink of a tannery hung in the air.
At first she thought nobody was about except a few stray hens and children, but she rounded a bend and saw what must have been the entire village gathered outside one of the inns. They spilled onto the street and over the other side to the green.
Cat couldn't hear what their meeting was about, and she didn't care. She had very little time. She wanted to get back to Hughe as soon as possible. It was already late in the morning. She and the stable lad, Warren, had been riding for hours and her hand throbbed beneath the bandage.
She caught sight of a woman standing in the doorway of a shop, a small child at her feet. Her gaze was intent on the mob further along, who were now focused on a fellow standing on a crate. "Can you help me?" Cat asked.
The woman looked up with weary eyes that quickly filled with surprise as she took in the horses and Cat herself. Cat wasn't an opulent dresser, but the quality of her clothing couldn't be disguised in a poor place like Larkham. The woman seemed unsure whether to curtsey or bow or call out to someone to come and view the spectacle.
"Ma'am?" the woman asked, scooping up the child as he began to toddle toward the horse.
"I'm looking for Widow Renny's house."
She frowned. Her mouth flattened. Her gaze flicked to the mob. "You should go, ma'am. Leave the village. Don't bother with the Rennys."
"Lady Oxley has asked you for directions," Warren bit off. For a spotty, skinny lad, he sounded quite authoritarian.
"I was only warnin' her," the woman said, hoisting the wriggling child higher on her hip.
"I will leave as soon as I see Mistress Renny," Cat said. "I have something to tell her." She opened her purse and tossed the woman a coin. The woman caught it, inspected it, then dropped it down her bodice.
She gave directions to a house two streets away. "Be quick. Real quick."
Cat thanked her and veered off in the direction the woman indicated, Warren behind her. A single angry shout erupted from the main street, followed by an answering one from the villagers. She glanced back. To the mob's left, almost obscured, was a horse with what appeared to be a dead body strapped to the saddle.
Cat spurred her horse onward. She planned on being 'real quick'. Larkham wasn't a place she wanted to spend more time in than necessary.
Widow Renny lived in a neat, small two-story house set amid a row of similar houses. However, where the other homes looked to be in need of repair, like the shops, hers was in good condition. She was not as poorly off as her neighbors then.
Thanks to Hughe. Her lover.
Cat's heart lurched. The prospect of facing the woman her husband loved filled her with black, vile jealousy. She forged on. Hughe needed to see Mary Renny and Cat would deliver her to him.
She handed her reins to Warren and knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again and called out. Perhaps she was in the village with the mob. Cat wished she'd checked there first.
"Want me to go round the back?" Warren asked.
"Not yet. Mistress Renny! I'm Lady Oxley," she shouted through the door. "I have something very important to tell you."
Another shout rose from the main street. The mob were good and roused for whatever sport they were about to undertake. Cat needed to get this over with and get out before they became volatile. Men with a lot of ale in their bellies did not always care who or what stood in their way when they were riled up.
A boy's face appeared at the window. His round eyes fixed on Cat. His mouth fell open. His face was replaced by a woman's. She seemed pretty, but Cat hardly got to take in her features before she too disappeared.
The bolt slid back on the door and two hands pulled Cat inside. The door slammed at her back and the bolt slid home.
Cat got her first proper look at Hughe's lover. She was indeed pretty, with lovely dark hair and big eyes. But she was older than Cat expected, those wide eyes tired as if she hadn't slept properly in days. She looked thoroughly worn out.
"Mistress Renny? I'm Lady Oxley. I've come to take you to my…to Lord Oxley's sickbed."
The Renny woman gasped. "Sick? Dear God, no." She pressed her hand to her chest and her knees buckled.
A young man caught her from behind. He was tall and thin, and when he straightened, Cat realized he wasn't a man at all, but a boy of about fifteen or so. Another, younger boy stood nearby. Mistress Renny's sons.
Cat swallowed. Hard. Would Hughe want to see them too? Did he treat them like his own?
"Why did he send you here?" the taller boy barked as he helped his mother to a chair. "Where's Monk?"
Cat blinked at him. "I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Of course it bloody matters."
"Peter!" his mother scolded. "You're speaking to the countess of Oxley!"
Peter muttered an apology then approached the door. He pressed his ear to it and listened. "They'll be here soon."
"Who?" Cat studied each of the faces. All were filled with anxiety on a scale that Cat had never seen before. As if they feared for their lives.
A roar went up in the distance, just as a cold lump of dread settled in her chest.
"Christ," the older boy, Peter said. "They're coming. We have to get out of here." He grabbed his mother's arm and jerked her to her feet. She trembled violently and gathered her younger son to her breast. He began to cry.
Then Cat heard shouts of "Murderers!" and "Hang the devil's spawn!" from along the street. She star
ed at Widow Renny and her two sons and felt sick to her bones. The mob was after them. She was trapped too, and she'd left Warren outside, defenseless.
"So what does Lord Oxley need us to do, my lady?" Peter asked. "What's the plan?"
CHAPTER 14
Hughe's insides no longer felt like they were being squeezed by an invisible claw. Perhaps he didn't have any insides left. He'd thrown up enough times that it was possible.
He greedily drank the sweet liquid Widow Dawson gave him and asked for more. He was damned thirsty.
"It'll help restore your strength," she said, taking the cup from him when he finished. Her friendly eyes smiled at him. "How do you feel now?"
"Like I've been kicked in the head." And the heart. A fresh wave of nausea swamped him, but he had enough sense to realize it wasn't from the poison.
He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the image of Cat. But it was impossible. She would haunt him forever.
"My wife…" he began. "Is she here?" Did she want to see him?
"Lady Oxley was here early this mornin'," Widow Dawson said, folding a clean cloth on her lap.
"Did you speak to her?"
Widow Dawson shook her head. "She left before I arrived."
Hughe sank further into the pillows. Pain pierced his ribs, sharper than any blade, more debilitating than the poison that weakened him. He bunched the bed linen in his fists and rode it out. The stabbing stopped, but a duller yet equally painful pounding took its place.
Cat was gone. She thought he would have her arrested. She thought that poorly of him.
Yet he was thinking poorly of her, wasn't he? He'd assumed she'd poisoned him without thorough investigation. He'd already condemned her. Just like he'd condemned Stephen, and with just as little evidence.
He had evidence.
Evidence he now doubted.
He licked dry, cracked lips. "Is Elizabeth Monk here?" She might know where Cat had gone. Perhaps she'd even sent someone to bring her back. She was a clever woman and knew how much Hughe cared for his wife. She would know he would want her back, no matter what she'd done.
Christ. What a bloody mess. He just wanted to talk to his wife, hold her and have her run her hands through his hair. Her touch would alleviate his headache.
