Lovestorm

by Judith E. French

  “It is good to see you too, Master Levinson,” Elizabeth murmured. “I trust that Mistress Ruth is well in mind and body.”

  “Thank God,” he affirmed. “How may I help you today, lady?”

  Elizabeth glanced at Bridget. “A ruby has come loose from its setting. I thought perhaps you might repair it for me. I know you rarely do the work yourself anymore, but—”

  Micah nodded. “I’m happy to be of service. If you would just step into my back room.”

  Elizabeth took the basket containing the earrings from Bridget. “The workroom is cramped. You two remain here,” she instructed the maids and the two footmen.”

  “But m’lady,” Jane protested.

  “Remain here,” Elizabeth repeated sternly. “I will be only a few steps away and perfectly safe.” She handed Micah the basket and followed him into the back room, letting the heavy curtain fall closed behind her.

  “I have a beautiful sapphire bracelet that you may be interested in,” he said, revealing a carved ivory case. “The light is better by the window, if you wish to examine the gems.”

  Elizabeth moved to the window and opened the box. Inside was a note, unsigned.

  Be careful. There are rumors circulating that a certain lord’s brother and father may not have perished by accident, but by the hand of one who stood to gain all. Do not despair. The murderer, if murderer he be, suffers mortal illness. Guard yourself against him and secure your claims with an heir before it is too late.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and sank into the nearest chair. Her heart raced and her fingers grew icy as she read the message once more.

  “What do you think of the quality, Lady Dunmore?”

  Micah’s deep bass was reassuring. The chilling fear receded, and Elizabeth found her voice. “Too gaudy,” she said. “This color’s not true.”

  “The gems are genuine, m’lady,” Micah replied smoothly. “Your father would never condone my passing on to you anything not of the highest quality.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. Micah is telling me that Father sent the message. Sommersett would never make such accusations against Edward if he didn’t have proof that Edward murdered his father and brother. Father’s married me to a murderer, and now he tells me to bear Dunmore’s child.

  “The earring is fixed, m’lady,” Michah said. “Would you care to think further on the bracelet?” She shook her head, and he took the note and held it to a candle flame until the paper blackened and burned.

  “I will consider it,” she said. “If I’m interested, I’ll return next week. Do you think you’ll still have the bracelet then?”

  He shrugged. “I am not a fortune teller, m’lady. I cannot see into the future. But I often come into possession of rare items. If I see something I believe you would like, may I have your permission to send word to your home?”

  “Please do. And thank you for repairing the earring. You’ve done a good job, as always. It’s impossible to see where it was broken.”

  Edward’s shouting was the first thing Elizabeth heard when she entered the house. As she looked about, trying to decide where the disruption was coming from, Betty hurled herself from the nearest doorway into Elizabeth’s skirts.

  “Oh, m’lady,” she cried. “Lord Dunmore is lookin’ fer ye. He come into yer chamber and started throwin’ things around. He broke a chair and . . .” She bit off her words and backed away, realizing that she had just clutched her mistress’s silk damask gown with sðot-covered hands. “I’m sorry,” she wailed, breaking into tears.

  There was another outburst of swearing from the second floor, and Elizabeth motioned to Bridget to tend to Betty and hurried up the stairs.

  When she’d left the house earlier, renovation had begun on the long gallery. The furnishings had been removed, and oil paintings by Rubens and Correggio had been taken down and carried away for safe storage. Carpenters had been noisily sawing and hammering, covering the elaborately painted walls with dark wood paneling.

  Now, the workmen stood staring at one end of the gallery as Lord Dunmore, still clad in a silk nightshirt and cravat, scarlet bedsocks, and satin nightcap, tore the last of the tapestries depicting Daniel in the Lion’s Den from the untouched west wall. At his feet, the other four tapestries were heaped carelessly on the sawdust-covered floor.

  Elizabeth’s temper flared. It was all she could do to speak to her husband in a civil tone as she knelt beside a crumpled tapestry and fingered the embroidered velvet. “These arras hangings are priceless. The gold thread alone—”

  “Old-fashioned tripe! I’ll not have it in my house,” he shrieked. “Where have you been?”

  “You know where I’ve been,” she snapped. “I went to the goldsmith to have my earrings repaired.”

  He glowered. “I never gave you permission to leave the house.”

  “You did. We discussed my going at breakfast.”

  “So you say. Your place was here, overseeing these lazy bastards.” He glared at the master carpenter. “I’ll have these walls covered by nightfall or you’re all fired,” he threatened. “You’ll not work again in London, I vow. Thieving dogs, the lot of you.”

  “It may be that they could work faster if you left them to their task,” she suggested. “If you don’t want the tapestries, may I have your leave to dispose of them?”

  “Burn them. Throw them into the Thames. I don’t care what you do with them,” he said. “I never want to see them again.”

  Elizabeth heard a slight sound behind her and turned, shocked, to see Cain standing in the doorway. He wore green servant’s livery and a pair of knee-high black leather boots. His hair was drawn neatly into a club at the back of his neck and secured with a velvet bow. He nodded respectfully as their eyes met and cast his gaze to the floor.

  Edward twisted to see what she was looking at. “You! Savage!” he commanded. “Gather up these arras hangings and carry them out of the house for Lady Dunmore.”

  “No, not him,” she protested. “I’ll have Robert do it.”

  Edward laughed. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you? There’s no need.” He motioned to Cain. “Come here, Savage.”

  Cain obeyed him, his face as smooth and expressionless as marble, his movements slow and graceful as a cat’s.

  “He’s too ignorant to learn English, but he understands well enough, don’t you?” Edward stepped back nervously as the Indian came to within arm’s reach of him. “The livery fits him well, doesn’t it? I had it sewn especially. I mean to have Savage ride on my coach and follow me about like a page. Lord Clarion will be green with envy; he’s been sporting that African with the ridiculous turban on his head. He takes him everywhere.” He glanced from Elizabeth to Cain and back again. “I thought to have a turban made for Savage, but I think I’ll just have him wear feathers instead. Feathers are a nice touch, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want a servant who can’t speak,” Elizabeth hedged. “I really would prefer Robert.”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed slyly. “You’ll do as I say, wife. Everyone in this house does as I say—I am lord here, am I not?”

  Icy rain was beginning to fall as Cain followed Elizabeth across the cobblestone courtyard into the shadowy coach house. As soon as the outer door closed behind him, Cain let the heavy tapestry fall to the floor and pulled her into his arms.

  “Darling,” she whispered. Her heart pounded wildly as he crushed her against him and held her so tightly that she could hardly draw breath. “What are we to do?”

  His mouth descended on hers, and she tasted again the sweetness of his caress. Her tongue darted out to ignite the smoldering coals of his passion, as his hands slipped beneath her fur-lined cloak to lay claim to her naked throat and heaving bosom.

  “Eliz-a-beth,” he murmured, and the single word made her knees go weak. She sagged against him as his lips brushed her throat and ear with feather-light kisses.

  “
I can’t live like this,” she agonized. “Oh, Cain . . . Cain.”

  He kissed her again, and the thrill flowed through her veins to turn her blood to molten lava. Her head fell back, and the cloak dropped away to pool around her ankles. The ache in the pit of her stomach was a grinding force, driving away all thoughts of danger, of discovery.

  “He be not your true husband.” Cain’s soft, slurred English took her breath away. “I be your uikiimuk, your husband. You pledged your love of me on a faraway sand. Honor that pledge tonight, Eliz-a-beth, lest death rob us.” He lifted her in his sinewy arms and carried her toward the coach.

  “Lady Elizabeth! Lady Elizabeth!” Betty’s shrill voice broke through the spell Cain had woven around her.

  “Wait,” Elizabeth cried. “Betty—”

  Cain whirled around with her still in his arms. The young maid was standing in the open doorway, eyes huge with fright.

  “Oh, m’lady!” she wailed. “I—”

  “Betty!” Elizabeth repeated as she slid from Cain’s arms. “Come here. Close the door, lock it, and come here.”

  Betty began to cry.

  Cain sighed. “Do not be afraid,” he said softly. “This one will not hurt you.”

  Betty stepped inside the coach house and pulled the door tightly closed. She was still weeping and trembling as she dropped the iron bolt into place. “I . . . I kin understand him, m’lady,” she whimpered. “I . . . I kin understand his heathen talk.”

  “Nonsense,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Cain speaks English. It’s English you hear.”

  Betty’s pale face wagged back and forth in the semidarkness. “I speak English. He don’t speak no English.”

  Elizabeth held out her hands to the girl. “Come here, child. You’re safe. Cain won’t harm you.”

  Betty stood rooted to the floor, gazing at Cain as though he were the Grim Reaper incarnate. “I don’t know no Cain,” she managed. “It’s him I’m afeared of.”

  “His name is Cain,” Elizabeth said. She glanced sideways at Cain, willing him to remain motionless as she tried to soothe the terrified maid. “He’s just a man, Bett, just a good man.”

  “He’s a savage.” Betty took a step back and flattened her skinny body against the door. “He’s the same’n what tried t’ carry ye off in Jamestown. I saved ye then, lady, and I kin save ye again. I’ll hold him back while ye run.”

  Cain’s chuckle was like the rustle of satin. “You lock the door, Bettee. Will Eliz-a-beth run through door like ghost?”

  Betty chewed at her lower lip.

  “What do you mean, you saved me before?” Elizabeth asked. “How did you save me?”

  The little maidservant shrank farther into her skin. “I . . . I tole Master Baldwin and the missus. I thought t’ save ye from the heathen when ye was out o’ yer head wi’ the fever.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “I did it t’ save ye, m’lady, not fer t’ hurt nobody. Did I do wrong?”

  Elizabeth exhaled and looked at Cain meaningfully.

  He nodded. “I hear truth spoken,” he admitted huskily. “This one was wrong not to believe you.”

  “Why do you think Cain is the same Indian that came to my bedchamber in Jamestown?” Elizabeth asked the girl.

  “I heard ’em talkin’ on the ship. They said ye went belowdecks and took food t’ the Injun. Ye wouldn’t o’ done that if he weren’t the same’n.”

  “You be right, little one,” Cain said, folding his arms across his chest. “I am this man, but I never bring hurt to your lady. She be my lady too.”

  Elizabeth beckoned, and Betty flew sobbing into her arms. “I never meant no harm,” she cried. “I never did.”

  Elizabeth hugged the girl. “Can I trust you?”

  Betty’s head bobbed. “Wi’ me life, lady, wi’ me life.”

  Elizabeth gripped the girl’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “If you tell anyone what you saw here, Lord Dunmore will kill all three of us.”

  A squeak of terror escaped Betty’s clenched lips.

  “We will die,” Elizabeth repeated slowly. “He will cut you into tiny pieces and throw you down the well.”

  Betty moaned as her breath became irregular.

  “No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her. “You won’t faint. You’ll listen to every word I tell you. Do you understand?” Betty gave a small sound of assent. “Good. Nothing will happen to you if you do exactly as I say. I’ll protect you from Dunmore.”

  “The savage will scalp me.”

  Cain chuckled again. “This one promises he will not.”

  The door rattled. “Lady Elizabeth? Are you in there?” It was the footman Robert. “I have another tapestry.”

  “Say nothing,” Elizabeth whispered urgently. “I will explain everything to you later. Open the door for Robert, and act as though nothing has gone wrong.”

  “He will not believe,” Cain said. “The child is crying.”

  “Say I slapped you for carelessness.” Elizabeth pushed Betty toward the door as Cain wrapped the cloak around Elizabeth’s shoulders and brought his lips close to her ear.

  “Tonight?” he whispered in Lenape.

  “Yes,” she answered in the same tongue. God help my soul, but I have waited long enough to become a woman, she thought. “Tonight. But where?”

  “Send your women away and I will come to your bed.”

  She lapsed into English. “My chamber windows are barred.”

  “La kella, ” he murmured. “This one will find a way.” He knelt to gather up the fallen tapestry, and when Robert entered, Cain was standing a proper distance from Lady Elizabeth with his eyes obediently cast down.

  Chapter 18

  When night fell over London, Elizabeth bathed and scented her hair and body, donned her azure nightrobe of the finest silk, and sent her maids to sleep in the outer chamber. All the while, she silently argued with herself that Cain would not come to her tonight—could not.

  But you know he will find a way, her heart cried. This will be the wedding night you never had.

  Thoughts of Cain—the man she loved more than life itself—drove back the fears that threatened to numb her mind. She had not forgotten her father’s message; in her heart, she’d judged Edward and found him guilty of a crime no one had dared openly accuse him of committing.

  How like Sommersett to warn her. It followed as naturally that Elizabeth knew she could expect little further protection from her family. Secure your claims with an heir, her father had advised. Elizabeth shuddered. Did Sommersett believe she would want Edward’s child? How could any woman be expected to seek the babe of one so foul that he would murder his own brother and father?

  The family comes first, her grandfather, the old earl, had said. How many times had Elizabeth heard those words? They had been repeated by her uncles, her father, even her mother. Sommersett interests are more important than the happiness or even the life of a single member of the family. Even as a child, Elizabeth had understood that some Sommersetts were more valuable than others and that a female came very low on the list.

  “Father would sacrifice me for the chance to control the Dunmore lands and money,” she murmured. “He loves me in his own way, and he would suffer if I died, but it changes nothing.” I cannot leave Dunmore and go to my father’s house for protection. Pray God that Edward does not realize that.

  Edward had been in Virginia when his older brother, the heir to the earldom, had met an untimely death. The official word was that Richard Lindsey was killed in a coach accident. Such things happened all the time. The fact that Richard’s father was also killed made the incident a double tragedy. Who could blame Edward for something that happened when he was half a world away? Was it not fortunate for the Lindsey family that there was a second son to inherit the title and fortune?

  Edward and Richard had been enemies since they were children. Richard had been an overlarge, overbearing bully. Elizabeth had seen him taunt Edward, pushing him into contests that
a slight boy, six years younger, had no chance of winning.

  “Soft Sword,” Elizabeth whispered into the still room. That was what Richard had called his twelve-year-old brother that Christmas they had all been guests at Lord Sneldon’s country house. Other boys had taken up the cry, shaming Edward, and sending him weeping to hide in the stables. “Edward Soft Sword.” Could that bitter insult have come true so many years later?

  She tried to remember snatches of gossip she had overheard from her mother’s friends. Richard Lindsey had destroyed his magnificent stallion because it had lost a race he had bet heavily on; Richard Lindsey had abused maidservants at Sotterley until one, reportedly pregnant with his child, had committed suicide.

  Now this same Richard Lindsey was dead and his brother Edward ruled in his place. Did Edward carry the same seeds of madness? Had he murdered Richard to become earl? And if he had, why was it necessary to destroy their old father at the same time? The aging earl of Dunmore had been ill for many years. He’d been carried about in a chair at the time of Elizabeth’s betrothal.

  “My father believes that Edward had them both killed.” Elizabeth stared into the flickering coals on the hearth. Sommersett was a cautious, rational man with a network of spies and informers. “He would not suggest such a terrible thing to me unless he had proof.”

  She buried her face in her hands and rocked to and fro in despair. Her life was in danger, yet she was expected to play the part of a doting, obedient wife. Did no one care what she wanted?