“Look at me,” Sir Robert snarled. Grabbing her face in a viselike grip, he yanked her toward him. “I said look at me when I speak to you! I have half a mind to tie you to the bedpost and give you the thrashing you so richly deserve, but that would not satisfy my immediate desires. First, I mean to take my full husbandly rights. If you manage to please me, perhaps I will not beat you afterward.”
Elizabeth swallowed back her revulsion as she stared into his eyes, now slit with cruelty. Sir Robert’s fingers dug into her cheeks. He started pulling at the neck of her shift. The blue band ribbons caught in his fingers. Cursing, he wrenched at them.
A strangled scream escaped Elizabeth’s throat as she heard the material rip.
Without warning, the chamber door burst open and six armed members of the Queen’s household guard marched in. Elizabeth was shocked into silence.
“Sir Robert La Faye! I arrest you by order of Her Majesty, the Queen!” Sir Walter Raleigh’s stern commanding voice stopped the bridegroom cold. The tall knight strode to the foot of the bed. He was dressed in his formal uniform with a wicked-looking rapier hanging at his belt.
La Faye’s face turned a blotched shade of purple; a vein stood out alarmingly on his forehead.
Shivering with terror, Elizabeth pulled the sheets up to her chin.
“In the devil’s name, what is the meaning of this jest?” demanded Sir Robert, as he hoisted himself upright. “How dare you disturb my wedding night! If the Queen knew…”
Raleigh smiled unpleasantly. “The Queen is perfectly aware of this intrusion, Sir Robert. As a matter of fact, she ordered it. Here is her signature upon the warrant.” The knight held out an official document, from which dangled a large red seal.
“And what is the so-called charge?” Sir Robert asked, eyeing the soldiers in fury.
“For the murder of Sir Thomas Hayward—” Elizabeth gasped as Sir Walter continued “—for the attempted murder of the Lady Elizabeth Hayward, and for conspiring with the Babington supporters of the Scottish queen against the crown! ‘Tis all stated in the warrant.”
La Faye’s jaw dropped, then he began to tremble. Falling out of the bed, he groveled on the rush-strewn floor. “Mercy, Raleigh! Some enemy has poisoned the Queen’s ear against me!”
Raleigh curled his lip with contempt at the quaking mass at his feet. “Be that as it may, I have orders to convey you forth with all possible speed to the Star Chamber. There, you will hear the matter in full, and listen to the witnesses against you.”
“Witnesses… ?” Sir Robert’s face drained.
Raleigh bared his teeth. “Aye, witnesses who have sworn their testimony to myself and to Sir Francis Walsingham. You have but a moment to don your breeches, my lord— unless you care to go as you are.”
“Surely there is some mistake?” The accused blubbered.
“I highly doubt it,” remarked Raleigh. “Sir Francis is very meticulous when it comes to investigating capital crimes. You have been in his eye for some time. Come!” The imposing knight turned to the guard. “I fear you may have to carry Sir Robert. He appears to have been taken ill.”
The soldiers sneered at the gibbering bulk in the nightshirt. Without another word, four of them grabbed La Faye under his arms, and half dragged, half carried him from the room.
Raleigh bowed to Elizabeth. “My apologies for this disturbance, my lady,” he said kindly.
She bit her lip to keep her terror from leaping out. “What will happen now, Sir Walter?”
“As the wife of an attainted criminal, you are to be sent from court.” But he smiled as he spoke.
“Sent from court?” Elizabeth repeated, her mind jumping from one possibility to the next.
“And all your husband’s property is forfeit to the crown. Tomorrow morning, you will be conducted by coach to the Priory of St. Aloysius at Godstow. There you will stay, at the Queen’s pleasure.” Raleigh’s eyes twinkled; his voice softened a fraction. “‘Twill be a very comfortable coach, my lady, and the mother abbess is looking forward to seeing you again.”
“And Her Majesty? Have I displeased her?” Elizabeth quivered.
“On the contrary, my lady. Her Majesty wishes you sweet dreams this night, and a pleasant journey on the morrow. Have no fear, my lady. You will be in good hands.”
For the first time that long terrible day, Elizabeth allowed herself to relax as she comprehended her last-minute reprieve.
“And Sir Robert?” she asked. “What will happen to him?”
Raleigh shrugged his broad shoulders. “The evidence against him is weighty—even more weighty than he is. I believe you will be a widow in very short order. My condolences, Lady Elizabeth.” The knight did not look especially sorry as he related these tidings. “Good night, my lady. I shall see you off in the morning.” His voice dropped lower. “I have taken the liberty of sending your maid for a warm posset. ‘Twill help you sleep.” Then he bowed deeply again, turned smartly on his heel and was gone.
Still clutching the sheet, Elizabeth lay back against the pillows and tried to sort out this newest turn in her fortunes. She found it a great comfort to know she was going to Godstow, with Philip nearby in Oxford ready to help when the baby came. Hidden deep in the countryside, there would be few questions asked when Sir Robert’s “heir” made a premature arrival. At Godstow, Elizabeth could mend both her body and her spirit.
When Charlotte brought the posset, Elizabeth greedily drank it down. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, while her little maid lapsed into a long French tirade over the ruined shift.
“The weather will hold and the roads are frozen hard, my lady. Your journey should be comfortable enough.” Sir Walter settled Elizabeth into one of the Queen’s closed coaches. A hot brick, wrapped in wool, was tucked under her feet and she was swathed in furs against the bite of the November air. “I shall personally see to it that your maid is on her way to you as soon as she can get the rest of your odds and ends packed. She should be with you in a few days’ time.”
“How can I ever thank you enough for your kindness?” Elizabeth asked, smiling softly at the gallant courtier.
Raleigh chuckled. “Just put in a good word for me with Mother Catherine.” He saw the question in Elizabeth’s eyes. “That wonderful lady has a number of us ‘black sheep.’ I owe her a great deal.”
“Black sheep—that’s what Tarleton calls…called…” Elizabeth faltered and bit her lip. She tried not to think about Tarleton yet. She promised herself a long grieving period once she was safely at Godstow.
Raleigh patted her arm understandingly.
“Sir Walter, where is my Dickon buried?”
He looked at his boots as he murmured, “Mother Catherine has him now. He will be well taken care of at Godstow.”
Elizabeth nodded. Then we shall all be together, she thought. When the baby was born, she would take it to Tarleton’s grave. Perhaps, Tarleton’s soul would know his child was there.
“By the way, Lord La Faye was found guilty as charged,” Raleigh suddenly announced. “The Queen has ordered him to be dispatched without delay. You will be free of him before sundown.”
Elizabeth gasped at the swiftness of the Queen’s justice. “I will say a prayer for him,” she said quietly. Though she had no wish ever to see Sir Robert again, she certainly had not desired his death.
“Then yours will be the only prayers he shall have,” remarked the gallant knight in a grim voice. “Fare thee well, Lady Elizabeth. “Tis time you were off so that you can reach Godstow by nightfall. I hope we shall meet again—under happier circumstances.” Kissing her hand, he stepped down from the coach and closed the door. “Drive on!” he called.
Lying back against the leather seat, Elizabeth stared out the window as the coach made its way through the bustling city. A great weariness of spirit enveloped her. The events of the day before seemed like a nightmare in which she had been but a supporting player. In the space of a few hours, she had lost forever the two men who had so in
fluenced her life: Sir Robert, whom she had despised, and Tarleton, whom she would love forever. Her fingers touched the pilgrim’s badge pinned over her heart—Tarleton’s last gift to her. Amor vincit omnia—love conquers all.
Chapter Twenty-One
The carriage rolled into the priory an hour after sunset. Stiff with fatigue, Elizabeth was chilled to the bone, despite the heavy fur robes. Rousing herself from the numbness that weighed her down, she smiled wanely at the irrepressible Sister Agnes, who greeted Elizabeth effusively.
“There you are, my dearest dear! I have been waiting at this gate for over an hour. Your coachman took his sweet time, I’ll warrant!” Sister Agnes smiled at the exhausted driver and outriders, who were too tired from the long journey to protest her remark. “My, how you have changed, my little Robin! La, I should have guessed! And what would I have said to that naughty Tarleton!”
Hearing his name, Elizabeth’s eyes filled with the tears she had spent the day holding back. Seeing her distress, Sister Agnes took Elizabeth into her ample embrace, patting her comfortingly.
“Please forgive me, my lamb! I don’t know where my tongue runs off to sometimes! Come. Mother Catherine has been waiting anxiously for you. I shall see to your things directly. And you men there!” she called over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Don’t stand around scratching your ears! After you’ve taken care of those poor horses, you’ll find hot soup, bread and cheese in the buttery. A beer or two for your pains, as well. Step lively! The stables are that way!” Sister Agnes waved the driver and his escort across the courtyard.
Nodding his weary thanks to her, the coachman touched his cap, then ambled in the direction she pointed. The outriders followed suit, leading their steaming mounts. Sister Agnes, her arm still around Elizabeth, took her directly to Mother Catherine.
“You look tired, my child,” observed the abbess, indicating a high-backed chair by the fireplace. “Was the journey difficult?”
Sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions, Elizabeth unhooked her woolen travel cloak. “I feel as if I have been to the gates of hell and back, Mother,” she answered honestly.
Mother Catherine looked down on her newest charge. “‘Twas horrible yesterday?”
Elizabeth shuddered. “I shall never forget any of it. Oh, Mother, if you could have only seen Dickon!” Her tears began to spill down her face. “He acted as if he were giving the greatest performance of his life.”
“He was,” said Mother Catherine simply.
Elizabeth reflected on this for a few moments, then she asked, “Where have you buried him? I would like to say my prayers there.”
“In good time, child. Time is what we have in abundance here.” A small bell chimed in the distance. “Now I must go to prayer. You remain here and rest. I’ll send someone to fetch you when it is time for supper.” The little woman kissed Elizabeth on her forehead. “Always remember, just when things are darkest, there will come a light. You shall see anon.”
Elizabeth nodded dully. She did not have the same optimism that Mother Catherine so obviously did.
The abbess softly slipped out the door. Elizabeth stared into the fire, watching the dancing flames weave a special magic of their own. She wept, though she was not aware of her tears flowing silently down her cheeks. Heedless of the safe, warm surroundings, her memories of Tarleton crashed down upon her; his image was pure and clear. Her mind relived the velvet warmth of his kisses. A cold shiver spread over her as she remembered Tower Hill, and the laughing, jesting, dying Tarleton.
A hand rested lightly on Elizabeth’s shoulder, stirring her from her torturing thoughts. “‘Tis time for supper?” She hastily wiped her eyes.
A deep voice chuckled warmly behind her. “That’s my sweet Robin! Always hungry!”
Elizabeth stiffened, realizing a sliver of panic. The fire in the hearth cast the room full of dancing shadows. She huddled deeper in the chair, too terrified to face his ghost. The warm hand caressed her shoulder tenderly.
“Nay, sweetling,” he murmured softly in her ear. “I have not come back to haunt you. I haven’t left yet.” He brushed her cheek with his finger, feeling the wetness of her tears. Cupping her chin, he gently turned her face to look at him.
Tarleton’s liquid brown eyes glowed with love and tenderness. A thrill of frightened anticipation touched Elizabeth’s spine. She felt as if her breath were cut off. Bending over her, he brushed her lips with a kiss as tender and light as a summer breeze. It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into. Raising his mouth from hers for a moment, he smiled again into her eyes. Then his lips recaptured hers, more urgent and demanding this time. His kiss sang through her veins. In one forward motion, she was in his arms; Tarleton held her tightly against him in a crushing embrace. Elizabeth’s arms grasped him around his neck. She returned his kisses fiercely, savoring his touch, his taste, his scent. Her body pressed against his, yearning for more. They kissed until there was no breath left to kiss.
“Dickon?” she whispered. “‘Tis really you?”
“Aye,” he answered thickly. “I hope so.”
Elizabeth began to shake uncontrollably. The reaction from the past twenty-four hours caught her fast in its grip. Cradling her in his arms, Tarleton sat in the chair before the fire, rocking her as if she were a child.
“Please tell me ‘tis not a dream,” she shivered. “For if it is, I never want to wake.”
Tarleton’s lips brushed against her brow. “‘Tis no dream, chuck. You are safe with me, and I never intend to let you go again!”
Full of wonderment, Elizabeth traced the outline of his face with her finger, kissing each dearly remembered crease. He was warm, and close, and so very much alive.
“How?” she was finally able to ask.
The imp’s grin danced across his face. “I was waiting for that! What a jest!” He chuckled at the thought. “‘Tis the best trick I have ever played. Though I must confess, there were a few uncomfortable moments.”
Elizabeth gave him a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. “Jest? You call hanging a jest? Dickon, if you only knew what it did to me!”
Tarleton stroked her cheek, sending delightful ripples of sensation coursing through her. “For all your anguish, I am sorry. I pray that you will allow me the rest of my life to make amends for the fright it must have been.” Between each word, he planted kisses on her eyes, her nose, her brows, her lips. “I did not know your presence at my execution was part of the plan.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows slanted in a frown. “I don’t understand. What plan? Whose?”
“Who else? That master of intrigue—Sir Francis Walsingham—and a bit of my own, I must confess!”
Elizabeth’s mind spun with bewilderment. How long had this game been played?
“Are you ready to hear a tale of murder, surprise, death—and enduring love?” he asked, kissing her fingers one by one.
Elizabeth nodded slowly, reveling in his warmth, his scent of pine needles, mint and smoke. His caressing lips tingled her skin.
“Then lay your sweet head on my shoulder and listen. Once upon a time a poor wandering fool fell in love with a beautiful lady….”
“Who loved him back,” Elizabeth added, tenderly touching a small scar on his chin.
A smile flitted across Tarleton’s mouth. “Is this my tale or yours? As I said, he fell in love, and they traveled over the highways of England, escaping from the clutches of the evil La Faye, who would force this poor lady into a hateful marriage.”
“Sir Robert! God rest his soul!” Elizabeth shivered. “Dickon, you couldn’t know what it was like! After we were married and put to bed, he-—”
Tarleton’s eyes glittered. “Did he…hurt you, sweetling?”
“Nay, but… I was terrified! He tore at my shift! If Sir Walter hadn’t burst into the room just then…”
Tarleton chuckled again, his breath softly fanning her face. “Raleigh’s timing has always been impeccable—last-minute, but impeccable. Let me continue.” He kisse
d her nose. “As planned, the poor fool was arrested for daring to love his lady, and he trembled dramatically when the Queen’s guards led him away. But, instead of being taken to the Tower, he was conducted by the back stairs to the Queen’s apartments, where he met with Walsingham, Raleigh—and the Queen! Quite a lofty company for a fool!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I thought you were brought before the Star Chamber!”
“That is what everyone was supposed to think. Instead, the fool enjoyed a hearty midnight supper in right royal company.”
“While the lady lay in her cold bed, and cried until there were no tears left to fall,” whispered Elizabeth reproachfully.
Tarleton kissed her eyes, first one, then the other. “Aye, I feared as much. For each one of those tears, I promise you a day of laughter. Now may I go on?”
“Please!” Elizabeth put her head back against his shoulder, in love with the sound of his rich honeyed voice.
“Lord La Faye had been under investigation for some time. Walsingham suspected he played a part in the Babiogton conspiracy to put Mary of Scotland on the throne, but had no real proof. When I told Sir Francis of your father’s death, the pieces to the puzzle began to fall into place. He sent an agent to question members of your household. They related the same tale as you told me, adding their own embellishments. Fortunately, your cook, Jane, has a sharp eye and a good memory. She tried to caution La Faye that the mushrooms he had gathered were poisonous. Sir Robert took them away, saying he would dispose of them. The next thing Jane knew, your father was taken ill. She was too frightened of Sir Robert to voice her suspicions, even to your chamberlain. After all, she fully expected Lord La Faye to become the new master of Esmond Manor. When Sir Francis’s agent assured her of royal protection, she was more than happy to speak her mind.”
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