He sucked in a curse, the fingers of his good hand grabbing the twisted braid of her hair that had come loose without the spike. But she dropped into a half crouch, ignoring the pain along her scalp, and swiveled to leap upward, her curled fist jabbing right into the bastard’s nose. Pain erupted along her knuckles, but there was no time to notice as she stepped into the howling man, her knee thrusting upward between his legs. As he fell, Cat spun around to find Lucy standing there, hands to her mouth, eyes as wide as the queen’s tea saucers. Striding past the two moaning men, she caught Lucy’s hand, tugging her along the moonlit path toward the palace. “Come away,” she said in a hushed voice. They ran toward the doors where Cat had left the castle.
“But what…what are you doing out here?” Lucy asked, her words breathless.
“Shhh.” She tugged her up next to the door and placed her hands heavy on the woman’s trembling shoulders. She looked right in her eyes. “I need to go back out there. I think traitors might be meeting in the garden.”
“Traitors?” she whispered, glancing over Cat’s shoulder. “Could Lord Danby be a traitor?”
“He apparently rapes women, so I am certain plotting the king’s assassination isn’t below his moral standards,” Cat said. She rested her palm on Lucy’s face. “I am sorry, Lady Kellington.”
Tears welled out of the woman’s eyes. “I was so stupid to believe—”
Cat shook her head. “This is their crime, not yours.” She looked over her shoulder and then back at the frightened woman. “Can ye make it to your room on your own? Or better yet, go to Lady Wickley if she is your friend. Lock the door and do not let anyone in. Can ye do that?”
Lucy nodded, wiping away the tears flowing down her cheeks. “How did you do all of that? Making them fall?”
Cat squeezed her hand in the dark. “I am a Highland Rose.” At least she still had that, for now anyway. “I have been trained to protect myself and those who cannot. Go on.” She opened the door for the woman and watched her run inside and down the hall before turning back to sprint off into the darkness.
…
“Dr. Witherspoon has always been a loyal man,” King James said to Nathaniel, his voice hushed as the two of them strode quietly through the dark gardens.
“I saw him leaving the herbalist’s tent, the same woman that signaled to Lady Campbell that Lady Stanton had bought Wolfsbane from her,” Nathaniel said. Word of everything Cat had said in the salon had reached the king’s ears within moments.
“Lady Campbell…” The king glanced to Nathaniel. “Brash and temperamental.”
“And honest above all else,” Nathaniel added.
They walked softly behind a thick hedgerow toward the place that Nathaniel had spotted a signal light from his bedroom window. He’d spent the evening trying to decide whether to visit Cat or give her space and sleep. There’d been no sleep for himself, and when he’d spotted the light, he’d walked toward the doors to the gardens. The guards had deserted their posts, and he’d turned to head to James himself to ensure the king’s safety.
“Why did you not mention the Wolfsbane when we spoke earlier?” James asked, frowning.
“A mistake perhaps.” Their boots hardly crunched as they walked, their voices as low as a whisper. “Lady Campbell and I were tasked with investigating the possibility of Charles’s assassination. I did not want to cause false rumors to lead to innocents being suspected of treason.”
The night wrapped a dark shroud about them, the clouds thick overhead. The king had demanded to come with Nathaniel into the garden to catch any conspirators.
“Lady Campbell’s unorthodox and rash words have caused the court to erupt in rumors,” James said.
“Her words tonight were not thought out, despite their truthfulness,” Nathaniel replied. “Lady Stanton also revealed more than you desired with regards to the political and religious uprisings in Scotland.”
James nodded, his face grim. “It seems you could have told your lady about the strife at Boswell Bridge from the start.”
He walked next to the king damning himself for ever keeping the misguided oath.
James looked at him, cocking his brow. “So, you ruined all other men for her then?” Nathaniel didn’t respond. “And my press to have you wed Stanton’s daughter is not going to sway you toward her, is it?”
“No, your majesty,” Nathaniel said, meeting the man’s gaze.
“It will be Lady Campbell or no one?” the king asked, looking forward and not waiting for an answer. “A shame she thinks you killed her father. She does not seem the forgiving type.” They fell silent, the careful placement of their boots the only sound as they walked through the labyrinth of winter rose beds.
Nathaniel wasn’t about to discuss Cat with the king. He didn’t even know if she’d ever speak to him again, but it was true that he wouldn’t wed Esther Stanton, even if she wasn’t plotting against the crown. He’d realized it from the moment a fiery haired lass had shown him how clever, tenacious, and brave a woman could be.
Part of him wanted to wrap her up and ride them both up to the cabin in Scotland, keeping her there until she softened to his apology. He may have no experience in wooing or making amends, but he did know that one couldn’t force another to accept an apology or…fall in love.
Love? He’d thought it a myth, despite watching his two sisters wed for it. Was this pain that hammered his chest the consequence of unrequited love? Damn it all. Would he start writing poetry and stare out windows with a forlorn expression? No. Even if he couldn’t make Cat love him, tomorrow he’d make her talk to him, listen to him. Although he still didn’t know what he’d say.
Nathaniel lifted his hand to halt the king and pointed to a thick length of hedgerows. “If I was meeting at night, it would give good cover,” he whispered, and they advanced quietly. Stepping around the holly bushes, the light from Nathaniel’s lantern caught the glint of something in the gravel. He walked toward it and bent to pick up…a twisted piece of steel with blood on it. He stared at the oddly-shaped rose at the top. “Cat’s,” he whispered, his gaze scanning the ground to stop on a dark smear along the scuffed dirt. “Blood,” he said and looked at the king.
James held a cape in his hand, shaking the dirt from it. “Left behind after a struggle?”
Nathaniel reached him in two strides, grabbing the soft cloak to bring to his nose, inhaling the fresh rose scent that always lingered on Cat. “It belongs to Lady Campbell.”
The king nodded to a second area with smears of crimson. “For your sake, I hope that does not also belong to her.”
Nathaniel’s fingers curled inward on the cape, his blood raging. If anyone harmed Cat, they would die. His cold stare met the king’s. “I have to find her.”
The king’s eyes widened. “You would abandon me here in the gardens to find Lady Campbell? Now?”
Nathaniel wasn’t taking the time to explain something to James that he didn’t fully grasp himself. But yes. “You should return to the castle, your majesty.”
The hint of rapid footsteps made Nathaniel turn, his sword sliding out of its sheath.
“Nathaniel?” Cat halted just around the hedgerow. “I…I came to collect my cape.”
They stood across from each other, unmoving, staring, as Nathaniel’s heart pounded with his need to grab hold of her.
“There now,” James said, a frown heavy in his voice. He threw his arm out toward her. “No need to commit treason by abandoning your king. Your lady is well and curiously out here in the gardens at night. In trousers.”
“Are you bleeding?” Nathaniel asked.
“Commit treason?” Cat asked.
The king looked between them with an impatient frown. “There is blood on the ground, and my brother’s best lieutenant was about to leave me unprotected to find you.”
Her lips opened and closed, and then she looked at her hand where Nathaniel could see the dark shadows of dried blood. “Most of it belongs to Lord Danby and Lord Hunt,”
she said. “Two foking bastards who I found assaulting a woman here.”
“Bloody hell,” Nathaniel said, closing the distance between them. He lifted her hand to the low lantern light. “They are dead men.”
She met his gaze. “Dead? Perhaps later since they seemed to have dragged themselves off,” she said, purposely misunderstanding.
James cleared his throat behind them. “If this interlude could finish, we have traitors to catch, which once again brings me to the question of why Lady Campbell is out here,” he said, his final words coming with force.
Cat looked past Nathaniel, pulling her hand back. “Someone was signaling from the garden with a lantern. I saw a return signal from the gallery, but found no one there, so I came outside to investigate.”
“By yourself,” Nathaniel said low with a small shake of his head, his face grim. He handed back her hair spike.
“Ye don’t trust in my abilities,” she said, returning his frown and leaned down to wipe the blood from it in a patch of snow.
James spread his hand wide. “She can apparently take care of herself. Now let us off,” he added, picking up the lantern. “I command it.”
Cat straightened, shoving her hair stick back into her hair at the top of her braid. She moved forward to follow the king. “You, Lady Campbell, may return to your chambers,” James said.
Her chin tilted higher. “My task in coming to Whitehall is to discover traitors, your majesty.”
James shook his head and strode off down a path. “Headstrong,” he murmured like a curse.
With a glance to Nathaniel and then away, Cat stalked off after the king, her steps almost silent. He watched her long braid swinging across her back in the light of the moon that filtered down through the thinning clouds. Damn it all. She would never forgive him for not telling her sooner about his stint in the army and that blasted battle. Nathaniel forced his gaze away from her to scan the bushes on either side of them as they walked.
James led them around the back of a labyrinth of holly bushes and held up one arm to signal a halt, his old military training rising to the front. “Let us show the beacon now,” he said, uncovering the globed candle that he’d been carrying. The night breeze couldn’t reach the bright flame through the glass, though it whistled around them. Nathaniel moved past Cat to take the candle, holding it high for a few seconds, hid it, then lifted it again. Dark and then light, he repeated the signal several times. There was no way to know that the traitor was even watching.
“Keep your gaze on the palace, sire,” he said.
“There,” the king whispered. “To the right, above the gallery.” A candle shone in the window. Nathaniel waited for it to go dark and then held his candle up again and then hid it. The candle in the window showed again and went dark.
“Now to wait,” he said, setting the light on a low bench. He heard James slide his blade free. The king had been in many battles when he joined the French and then Spanish armies before his brother recalled him to stay in Edinburgh. The monarch seemed determined to fight his own battle in the gardens of Whitehall.
“There may already be traitors in the garden,” Cat said, her voice a whisper beside them, and they ducked back behind the holly to wait.
Nathaniel stood beside her and felt the brush of her arm. Her hand needed tending, and he had some business to finish with Danby and Hunt. Perhaps they would show up tonight, giving him the perfect reason to finish what they’d started when they threatened her.
Several minutes passed as Nathaniel tried to keep his senses outward and not focused on the warm woman beside him. He scanned the darkness for movement as footsteps crunched along the path toward them, hurrying closer. He could tell it was a man by the heavy gait.
From the other direction another set of steps crunched on the path, a lighter tread. Just as they reached the beacon, Nathaniel heard a third set of steps striding toward the center.
“What is going on?” a woman’s voice asked. He peeked past the spiked holly leaves to see Esther Stanton talking with Dr. Witherspoon. “Why did you move from the usual meeting place? Did Danby not get rid of the guards?” she asked, glancing around behind her.
“I saw your signal over here,” the doctor answered, turning toward the sound of the oncoming man.
“Danby,” Witherspoon said. “Who raised the signal over here?”
Wallace Danby dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, switching hands to pull his sword. “I did not,” Danby said. “Perhaps you saw Hunt’s light out here.”
Nathaniel glanced at Cat. She’d fought off Danby and his brutish friend. What if she hadn’t been trained? What if they’d had a musket or anticipated her fighting techniques? His hand fisted tightly around the hilt of his short sword.
He signaled to James and Cat to stay low as a fourth person hurried toward them from behind Lady Stanton. Iain Padley, the duchess’s man, halted, his breath coming in pants. “I could not find you, until you signaled again.” The other three turned to look at Iain.
Esther waved off the comment and looked to the doctor. “Must I take matters into my own hands again to get rid of that woman?”
“I sent a tonic,” Dr. Witherspoon said.
“Obviously she did not drink it,” Danby said, nursing his nose. “She broke my nose here in the gardens, and Hunt is not even able to stand.”
“She attacked you? When?” Iain asked, looking around, but the three of them remained still behind the holly, the lantern hidden by Nathaniel’s cloak.
Danby ran a hand through his hair and looked around as if Cat might jump out at him. Nathaniel turned to see her face in the moonlight. She was only too ready to finish her fight with the bastard. “Less than an hour ago,” Danby said.
“What was she doing in the garden?” Iain asked.
Danby shrugged. “I did not have a chance to question her. She was saving that ninny, Lady Kellington.”
“Saving her?” Esther asked, glaring at him. “You were only supposed to have a sweet tryst with her as an excuse to bribe the guards away from that door.” She paced. “Now Lady Campbell knows you were out here.” She glanced up at the imposing structure of Whitehall. “She must have seen the signal. She could still be running around out here.”
“Then we must disperse,” Witherspoon said. “I have made enough of the tainted drink for another dose, but it is for the queen, unless you would rather I have one of my servants add it to Lady Campbell’s tea.”
Danby shoved his fingers through his tousled hair. “I also want Lady Campbell to suffer, but it is far more urgent to make sure the queen does not birth a living heir. Then we can take our time convincing William of Orange to seize the throne.”
Hell and damnation. They were traitors, all four of them. How many more were there at Whitehall?
Without any indication, James surged upward, his sword brandished. “You have been caught. Traitors, one and all.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cat cursed softly as Nathaniel jumped up to defend the king. Esther gasped. “Nathaniel.”
Iain Padley started to back away, but Nathaniel leveled his sword at the man. “No one is going anywhere until we hear what this is all about.”
Cat stood up next to them, a dagger in each of her hands. Her gaze centered on the wide-eyed woman.
Esther’s shoulders straightened as she saw her, but she shifted her gaze to the king. “Your majesty. My father has been working to rebuild this government and prevent another civil war,” Esther said. “It is in your best interest. We are not traitors but are working to secure a solid throne for you and your queen.”
“And how does that require secret meetings in the garden?” Nathaniel asked. “And plots to make the queen lose her babe? Maybe even her life.”
Wallace Danby let loose a dark chuckle. “Lady Stanton spins such a web of half truths.”
“Shut your mouth, Danby,” Esther said.
He looked to James. “Your daughter and her husband, William of Orange, will be crowne
d,” Danby said. The other three remained silent. “Thorough and loyal protestants, they will resurrect the Anglican Church of England and abolish the papacy that is leading England to Hell.”
“You all are plotting against the king and queen,” Nathaniel said.
Three other men ran up holding swords. They were palace guards, but the way they stood put them against James. For a split second, Cat considered siding with them over the foolish monarch. Even after the king’s own father was beheaded for his anti-protestant views, James flaunted his Catholicism before his subjects, taxing them to build his chapels. And…he was English.
She looked at Nathaniel’s strong stance. He didn’t have a love for James. She knew that. Yet he stood loyal to his oaths. No need to commit treason by abandoning your king. The king’s words from the clearing echoed within her. Nathaniel wouldn’t abandon his oaths, except apparently when it came to protecting her. A glimmer of warmth curled in her stomach, and she frowned as it soothed her fury, which was currently the only thing giving her strength.
One of the guards stepped forward, a sneer across his face. “Bloody papist,” he yelled and ran toward James. Before Cat could react, Nathaniel lobbed a dagger toward the man, hitting him in the center of his forehead.
Esther Stanton screamed as the guard flew onto his back with the impact, his eyes open to stare at the moonlit sky, the hilt protruding from his head. Nathaniel yanked a second dagger from a holster on the inside of his jacket.
“These men are not with me,” Esther yelled as she took several steps backward. Her gaze sought out James. “Your majesty, I am not with these men.” With a hasty curtsey that was only a slight bob, she spun around and ran for the palace. Cat would have chased her, but there were more pressing issues at hand, five of them staring down King James. And even though she might have abandoned the king to deal with the five on his own, she would not leave Nathaniel, no matter what he hadn’t told her.
The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells) Page 25
