by Lisa Shea
The dividing curtains were slid in place again, and Isabel carefully eased out of her beautiful dress. Soon she was back in her normal garb which she had taken from the crimson lady, all those days ago. It had been freshly laundered and repaired for her, and in short order she had rejoined her men.
Philip put an arm around her as they walked. Johann shook his head but said nothing. Isabel was beyond caring. Let Eric think that she was using her charms to ensure Philip’s loyalty for the upcoming mission. She could no more stay away from Philip than she could stop breathing.
Dinner was waiting for them as they stepped into the tavern, and the fish stew was delicious. They finished seconds, then sat, relaxed, by the crackling fire. Beneath the table, Isabel’s fingers twined into Philip’s.
She looked up into those dark eyes, her heart twisting in a maelstrom of emotion. Everything led up to tomorrow night. These four men would escort her to the ball, she would meet her contact, and the culprit would be identified. Her mission would be complete.
What then?
The four men at her side had been on a task of honor for their commanding officer when the shipboard disaster had interrupted their lives. The men would need to complete that journey and present James’s final possessions to his family. And after that? Philip had embraced a life of roaming the world. He might be planning a quick visit with his ailing father before setting out again, to Turkey, or Cairo, or perhaps even Jerusalem.
She knew she would not want to leave her father again – but even that was fraught with uncertainty. When was Lord Bedemor going to arrive at the Tower to take command, kicking her father ignominiously to the gutter? What would become of them once the transition was complete?
Philip gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his gaze gentling. “Whatever troubles you, we will find a way through it. We will get through tomorrow, and the day after, and all the days to come.”
She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself.
It was her father’s mantra, and it was time to put it into action.
One day at a time.
Chapter 12
The day had been a blur. There had been bathing and perfuming, the adding of scented oils to her hair and pungent lotions to her hands and feet. The dress was even more beautiful than she had remembered. Somehow the embroidery shone brighter, the detail was finer than her eyes could make out. Evening’s shadows were just beginning to slip across the polished floor when she stood again before the mirror, stunned at what the reflection showed her.
She was beautiful.
There was motion behind her, and the four men came to array themselves at her side. Braun, Johann, and Luigi all looked at her with admiring appreciation. But Philip’s gaze held a tumult of emotions. She could not quite put a name on them.
Was there a sense of concern?
She turned to him. “I’ll be all right,” she promised. “After all, you four will be right there with me.”
His gaze remained serious. “The King is the King,” he murmured. “He has the right to do whatever he wishes – to whomever he wishes. If you are thought to be a spy, you could be tortured and killed. And even if you are simply thought to be a stunning, desirable, one-of-a-kind woman …”
His throat went tight.
She gently laid a hand on his arm. She pitched her voice low. “Once we reveal the truth of this conspiracy, all will be laid in the open. We will be able to end this charade and I can finally return to my beloved father.”
A shadow slipped into her soul and she dropped her eyes. “You and your men can continue your journey to bring James’s family some well-deserved peace.”
His voice became rough. “I had hoped –”
Jacqueline strode into the room, her hands raised. “The carriage is here. It is time for the evening to begin.” She handed each person their mask and nodded in satisfaction. “Good luck to you. Our work here is done.”
One by one they put their masks on, and Isabel marveled at how the masks did, indeed, hide much of their features. The eyes became nondescript and almost without emotion.
They headed out to the street.
A black carriage waited for them, with black emblems on each door, led by a pair of fine black horses. She climbed inside to the soft velvet seats. The men joined her, and once the door closed the vehicle set into motion.
Isabel laced her fingers together as the cobblestones rattled beneath the wheels; as the carriage made its turns and stops. Questions throbbed through her mind. What would this Eric be like? Would he realize that she was not the woman she claimed to be? What if Eric wasn’t there at all and there was a task laid out for her? Could she go through with it?
All too soon the carriage pulled to a stop before a massive residence. Philip stepped out and put up a hand; she took it and carefully descended to the stone walk. The other three men came out behind her.
She looked up through the large gates to the building itself. It was imposing, three stories tall, with narrow windows and heavy granite stone. In the moonlight she could see the spread of gardens around the building proper. Torches and lamps lit the way to the building, and from the open windows cascaded laughter and music.
Philip’s voice was a low mutter. “Stay near me. Don’t let anyone lure you off into a private area.”
She nodded. Butterflies danced around in her stomach, and she drew in a deep breath.
She walked forward.
The main doors stood open, an elegantly dressed guard at each side, and she swept through them into the main foyer. The entry room was romantically lit to add a sense of mystery to the proceedings. The few candles that glowed from sconces did so with muted light – the sconces had been fronted with frosted glass in a variety of colors. Courtiers slipped through the shadows, whispering in ears and fluttering fans. On all sides there were masks.
Isabel glanced at Philip and smiled. “It seems our deception has a chance here.”
He nodded, but his eyes held caution. “Still, be careful. We are on a dangerous path.”
She stepped forward into the larger hall, her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness.
Long sideboards held silver platters of apples and tall mugs of ale. Delicate glasses of red wine rested beside a large bread creation done in the shape of a peacock. All around were men and women in gold and silver, in sapphire and emerald, in deepest amethyst.
All eyes turned to her.
She blushed as crimson as the dress she was wearing. She felt as awkward as a colt on its first legs.
The music started up, Philip’s hand was in hers, and he drew her over to the dance floor. And they were in motion.
Conversation bubbled back to life, he was moving at her side, and it was as if they were alone in a sea of shadows. She knew, peripherally, that the other men were taking stations around the room, watching over them. That there were musicians in one corner and elegantly twisted candles on high shelves. But all that mattered was Philip’s sure hand in hers. The way his eyes attentively followed her every move. The way, when the music rose to its finale, he drew her into his arms –
There was a wave of motion and all eyes turned to the right. The wave altered shape as all dropped into deep curtsies and bows.
King John.
Isabel lowered into a curtsy, with Philip’s bow coming in harmony. She ventured a peek at the King as he strolled self-assuredly into the room, flanked by a pair of courtiers.
A shiver ran through her. There was just something in King John’s gaze. Maybe the revolt of his nobles against him had done it. She had heard that his forced signing of the Magna Carta rankled him immensely. Undoubtedly this fury was compounded by the failure of his dream to take Normandy for his own. But something shone forth from within him. A sense of cruelty. That he would take the blackness which seethed within him and inflict it a thousand-fold on any who stood in his way.
And he was coming straight toward her.
His hand was placed beneath her lips, and she dutifully kissed his finger b
efore allowing him to draw her up. His sharp gaze moved down to her lips, lingering there, before tracing its way along the rest of her body. He was a few inches taller than her, with thick hair just past his ears and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He was dressed in an elegant violet tunic with beautiful ermine trim. He might have been a handsome man if it were not for those eyes. Eyes which spoke of a man who enjoyed exercising every moment of his unlimited power.
His lips rose in a cruel smile. “There is no doubt – you are Marianne. No wonder Eric speaks so highly of you. The man is valuable to me. Immensely valuable. And yet, it might be worth it, to cross him, if possessing you were the reward.”
His eyes shone coldly at the prospect. “I could set you in a private tower, like my mother, Eleanor, lived in for all those years. No other man would see you. And whenever I chose, at any hour or minute, I could climb those stairs, strip you naked, and –”
Isabel could see Philip’s fingers twitching toward the hilt of his sword; could see the motion of his three loyal companions heading to his side.
Determination poured into her veins. She had to provide a distraction. If Philip were to make even the smallest motion against the King, all four men’s lives would be forfeit.
She drew a wide smile on her lips. “Ah, my beloved King, it is fate that you are indeed so entwined with Eric. For he has much to offer you.”
His eyes lowered to her bosom, and his gaze darkened. “And you, my luscious, intoxicating woman, you –”
His head snapped up, and a roil of dark emotions burnished his face. His mouth turned down. “Ah. Eric.”
A steely hand came down on her arm from behind, gripping her. She could make out the firm hold of each finger in that grasp.
A growl of a voice stated, in a tone that brooked no opposition, “My King. Let me show you just what you will be missing.”
She was turned in place, strong hands moved up her back, and powerful lips descended to meet hers. This was not a kiss. It was a statement, a bruising, a show of force. The fingers dug into her back, hurting her, and she could not breathe … she could not …
The man pulled back, and his eyes shone with fierce satisfaction. “You have been gone too long from my side, my dearest Marianne. It is almost like kissing a new woman, to have you in my grasp again.”
Her blood ran cold, and the old wound in her leg throbbed into fresh life.
It was Lord Ingram.
He was dressed in deepest black, with a black embroidery emblem on his chest. She realized now that it was the same emblem she’d seen on the carriage which picked them up. A pair of lions tussling for power. There was no color, no break to the darkness, beyond the glint of silver from the sword at his hip.
His finger traced the curve of her chin where it was visible beneath her black mask. “You are even lovelier than I remember you. And soon, all too soon, you will be wholly mine.”
The King’s voice was tight. “I always hold the ultimate word in such matters.”
Eric’s gaze rose to hold the King’s. “Some decisions come with a high price.”
The room seemed to flare with lightning, and Philip eased nearer to her side –
The King gave a snort. “You may keep your crimson lady – for now. And see that every last man of those rebel forces are cleared from London.” His voice rose to echo off the walls. “This is my country. These are my lands. I am the chosen by God and I shall not be gainsaid.”
Eric’s teeth sparkled in the candlelight. “Of course, my Liege.”
King John spun on his heel and stalked off toward the far corner of the room.
Eric’s fingers closed over her wrist, holding her in a vise-tight grip. “And now, my dearest Marianne, it is time we had a little talk.”
Chapter 13
Isabel’s heart hammered against her ribs as Eric drew her through the crowded room and out a pair of large doors to a balcony overlooking the back garden. There was another couple whispering in giggles in the space, but one glance by Eric and they dropped quick curtseys and bows before fleeing back into the main room. Eric seemed unsurprised as Philip and the others came in after them. He nodded at Braun. “See that no others bother us.”
Braun took a station by the door, blocking it with his body.
Eric ran his gaze down her body again, his eyes taking on a possessive shine. “The King almost seemed ready to sacrifice his military position for the ability to rut you whenever he chose. Good to know; that could come in useful sometime. But for now, woman, you are mine.”
His voice took on a growl. “Whatever you have had to do in order to make your way efficiently back here, that is in the past.” His eyes moved to hold Philip’s in challenge. “And the past is dead.”
Philip could have been carved of stone, so tight was his hold on his emotions.
Eric’s eyes snapped back to Isabel, and he put out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Isabel paled. She had envisioned images of a grand unveiling of the message in public. An open exposure of the culprit, and then an announcement to King John of what had been going on beneath his very nose. Her role in this plot would finally be over.
But that was before she realized Lord Ingram was at the center of the maelstrom.
The man was evil. His black tendrils delved into every aspect of life in London. He had blackmailed the support of many of the wealthiest nobles in England. No matter what this cylinder held, if she tried to call for King John, Lord Ingram would find a way to explain it away.
Fierce flame burned within her.
Not if she could help it.
After all he had done to her, she would find a way to bring him down. And this was her one chance. He had not yet realized her true identity. If she could carefully watch him – could learn something of importance – then she could use it to lay him bare. To topple him from that tower and drag him down to the ground where he belonged.
She nodded in satisfaction.
She could do this.
She reached into the leather pouch at her side. Her fingers closed around the silver cylinder with its elegant seal. She gave one last thought to striding out into the main hall. Into holding it high and shouting to the world that Lord Ingram was responsible for the message. Was responsible for trying to sink a ship and all innocent souls aboard.
She was sure, if she tried, that Lord Ingram would twist it around. She would be the one thrown into prison, and Lord Ingram would slither away scot free.
She would find a way to snare him.
She withdrew the message from the pouch. She deliberately placed it in the center of his palm.
His fingers curled tightly around the metal, and his teeth shone in satisfaction. “At last. All these years of sacrifice, all the careful positioning, and the plan is finally coming together. Everything I have done – all the patience I have had to exercise - will at last bring me all I could have dreamed of.”
He cast a dismissive glance into the room behind him. “The fool thinks he’s half the man his older brother was. If Richard was still king, none of this would have happened. The abject failures in France. The rising of the nobles against him. The dolt thinks our coffers are never-ending.”
His eyes grew cold. “Well, they are not.”
He tucked the cylinder into the pouch at his belt. Then he looked back up at Isabel. His fingers moved possessively to her chin. “Ah, my dearest Marianne. Do you know how stunning you look tonight? Every man on that floor would gladly claim you as his own, if he could.”
His sharp smile grew. “But you are mine. If it served my purposes I would lay you out in the center of that room. I would strip you naked, mount you, and prove beyond all doubt to every man present –”
Philip took a half-step forward, his eyes shining with barely contained fury.
Eric chuckled, his hand still holding Isabel’s face. “Philip, is it? You and your men did well bringing Marianne safely home to me. And I always pay my debts in full. I am not surprised you have become �
�� protective … of her during your journeys. It is why I hire men like you. Because you have the passion to see a job through, whatever the cost.”
His eyes darkened. “But she is my tool, and she has specific uses here in London. Uses which do not involve the hired help. So be wary, oh Philip, that you do not cross that line which has me decide your death can be more useful to me than your life.”
Philip’s gaze held its hard shine, but he remained in place.
Eric’s teeth shone. “Good. Good. I like a man who can think a situation through. I will have use for you in the coming days.” His fingers tightened on Isabel’s own. “And, now, my dear, I am so pleased that at long last you agreed to do this task yourself. It would have been tedious to locate a woman I could blackmail into performing these duties with the … talent … that you have.”
He turned her to face the doors. “Shall we?”
Braun brought open the door for them.
Eric turned left, stepping into the first group of courtiers. They eagerly opened their circle to him, their eyes moving from his face to Isabel’s – and then openly tracing their way down her body.
Eric’s voice was smooth civility. “Ah, Lord Belvedere. Let me offer you the pleasure of meeting my dearest Marianne. Is she not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?”
Lord Belvedere’s gaze was hot with desire. His grasp tightened on hers more strongly than necessary, and when he lowered his hot breath to her fingers, his lips pressed there longer than protocol normally allowed.
Eric’s tone took on an unctuous slide. “Marianne is a wonder. She has talents far beyond any other woman I’ve ever met. For some of my most trusted friends, I make arrangements for a private audience with her. To better appreciate her skills.”
Lord Belvedere’s voice was hoarse. “I see. I see indeed. You know, I was just thinking of inviting you to dinner. I have this fabulous Anjou wine that you simply must try. Perhaps next week?”
