By Love Unveiled (33 page)

“How long?” Sir Henry demanded again.

Garett looked up into unsmiling eyes and chose his words carefully. “Long enough to come to know her,” was all he said.

But it was enough. Sir Henry’s hands clenched into bony fists. “Has she been a prisoner in your house all these many weeks?”

“Nay. I didn’t discover her identity until quite recently.” That much was true, although what he implied was misleading.

Sir Henry’s face relaxed a trifle.

“Her aunt was with her,” Garett added, hoping to mollify Sir Henry.

“If you’ve hurt her or—”

“She’s happy and well, I assure you, sir.”

Sir Henry snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that. And if I find you’ve compromised her, I’ll expect the wrong to be righted immediately.”

Garett suddenly resented being treated like a callow youth. Temper flaring, he took a step toward Sir Henry. “I love your daughter, sir. By my honor, I wouldn’t wish to see her suffer.”

Sir Henry appeared to be assessing him. After a long scrutiny, he nodded. “Well, then. Have you some plan for keeping her from going to prison for a crime she had no part in?”

Garett felt a surge of relief that he was to be spared any more probing questions about his relationship with Mina. “Not yet. We must first determine who really did commit the crime, and how they managed to involve the two of you. Mina seems to think my uncle may have done it to regain Falkham House.”

“ ’Tis possible.” Sir Henry frowned. “Sir Pitney sold it to me for a pittance because he needed funds. Later,
when I’d improved it, he apparently decided he had the money to buy it back. But I never wanted to resell it.”

“So perhaps he thought to force you out by painting you a traitor.”

Sir Henry paced the room, his hands behind his back. “It was the way he liked to work. When he was trying to compel me to sell the estates back to him, he spread filthy rumors about my wife and my daughter, seeking to discredit me among my neighbors.”

Mina had said much the same thing. With a surge of self-loathing, Garett suddenly realized what the soldier’s strange words about Pitney and Mina had meant. How could he have believed Mina capable of having a relationship with his treacherous uncle? No wonder she hadn’t wanted to trust Garett with her secrets.

Somehow he’d atone for the way he’d distrusted her. He’d find out who was really behind the attempt on the king’s life, no matter what it took. And then he’d spend the remainder of his life making it up to her.

“If my uncle truly is the culprit, let’s consider how he might have planned the crime. What about the medicines themselves? How could poison have been added to them?”

Sir Henry shook his head. “I cannot say. I spend every waking moment thinking about it, but to the best of my memory, that pouch never left my hands.”

“Your medications weren’t in bottles?”

“No. I’m terribly clumsy. I’ve broken many a bottle, so I find it more useful to carry my remedies in small pouches.”

Garett pondered that a moment. “And you’re certain the pouch was in your possession at all times?”

“I’d swear to it. Every time I went to court, Mina rose early in the morning to prepare my powders and fill two or three pouches with them. Then I placed them beneath my belt, where they remained until I administered the treatment.”

An image suddenly flashed into Garett’s mind, a brief memory of a childhood trick he’d played on his uncle, whom he’d disliked even then.

Garett’s mouth went dry as he leveled his gaze on Sir Henry. “The pouches you used. Were they special ones? Did you buy them somewhere, or were they made at home?”

Sir Henry flashed Garett a quizzical look. “I used the same ones over and over for the king. Mina always wanted them to be fitting for royalty, so she’d made them specially of white satin and embroidered them with furbelows and the like. Why?”

White satin. Garett began to scowl. “I think I know how the poisoning might have been managed.” Swiftly he explained what he thought.

“Aye, aye,” Sir Henry said, his expression filling with horror as he, too, saw how that could work. “So very easy to be a villain, eh?”

Garett nodded. And so very hard to prove the villainy. But surely someone would remember—

“What will you do now?” Sir Henry asked.

Garett laid his hand on his sword hilt. “Somewhere there is another who can fill in the pieces. It will take
time to gain more knowledge, but perhaps I can use what I know to persuade the king to refrain from questioning you until I’ve done my own questioning.”

“All that’s well and good, but while you’re seeking the king’s enemies, what becomes of my daughter?”

Garett’s face softened as he thought of Mina. She would be his now, forever. He would see to it.

Then he remembered she believed her father to be dead. A dark frown marred his brow. When she learned how much of the truth he’d kept from her, she wouldn’t be happy, that was certain.

Sir Henry’s concerned voice broke into his thoughts. “What about my daughter, my lord?”

Garett wiped the frown from his face. She might not be happy, but he’d convince her to forgive him. He had to. “I’ll make sure she’s kept safe, sir—you’ve my word of honor on that. And when it’s all over, with your permission I’ll take her to wife.”

On that, he’d brook no argument.

Let secret villainy from hence be warned;

Howe’er in private mischiefs are conceived,

Torture and shame attend their open birth . . .

—William Congreve,
The Double-Dealer

M
arianne anxiously paced the hall off the entrance to Garett’s London house. Garett had been gone but a few hours, yet she could hardly endure the waiting. Her mind kept returning to their last conversation.

He was offering to sacrifice a great deal for her. One part of her rejoiced to know it, for it proved he cared more for her than he’d admit. But another part wanted to refuse the sacrifice. If indeed they fled to France, what would they do there? Could Garett truly be happy knowing he’d left behind everything he’d striven for? It wasn’t likely.

He’d said naught of love or marriage. Clearly he intended them to live as husband and wife but not to speak the necessary vows. She hugged herself tightly, tears in her eyes. Could she continue with him in such a manner? She didn’t think so. Her heart was given to him, but could she trust him not to break it?

Yet he’d said he’d never let her go. Wasn’t that a vow in itself?

Such questions plagued her until a pounding at the heavy oak door brought her out of her thoughts. She stood motionless, uncertain what to do. Another bout of pounding began, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

The noise brought William, who stepped into the hall and gestured to her to be silent. The noise also drew other servants. They stared at the door uneasily.

Then a voice bellowed, “Open this door immediately in the name of His Majesty the King!”

Marianne paled, drawing her cloak more closely about her and steadying her mask. Conscious of the servants’ alarm, she nodded toward the door, indicating that William should open it. William frowned, but he motioned her into an alcove as he strode forward. She watched from the shadows as he opened the massive door a crack and asked what was the matter.

Before he could stop them or Marianne could flee, men were forcing their way inside. They had frightening faces of fierce aspect, their doublets greasy and dirty. By comparison, the soldiers who then followed with reluctance appeared to be almost gentlemen.

Then another man entered, whose aging countenance did nothing to soothe Marianne’s fears. Sir Pitney Tearle. What was he doing here? Had he learned of her presence, or did he simply wish to harm his nephew?

She froze in the shadows.

“Where’s your master?” Sir Pitney demanded of William.

“He’s not here. And what mean you, bringing your lackeys here to soil m’lord’s house?” William gestured to the men who were tracking mud and dirt across the stone floor.

Another man, whose uniform clearly showed him to be the soldiers’ captain, fixed William with a grim stare. “Listen here, you’re speaking of the King’s Guard, so you’d best keep a civil tongue about you. My men and I don’t wish to be here. But the gentleman there has made claims we can’t ignore. He says your master harbors a criminal—a woman who might have made an attempt on His Majesty’s life.”

One of the more timid maids gasped, then went ashen as several pairs of eyes turned her way.

“Don’t just stand there,” Sir Pitney told the captain, gesturing to the trembling maid and the other servants. “Question them all before the woman has a chance to escape. If he’s in London, then she’s got to be with him. Why don’t you start by questioning that skittish one?” He pointed to the maid who’d gasped.

The maid began to weep. “I-I don’t know about no criminals, sir, truly I don’t!”

Sir Pitney had just stepped forward to clasp the maid’s arm when Marianne could bear it no more. She left the shadows and strode into the hallway.

“What is this all about?” she demanded of the captain of the guard.

Her masked face and noble bearing seemed to give
him pause. He gazed at her with frank suspicion. “And who might you be?”

“I am, shall we say, a friend of his lordship,” she replied evenly, hoping that the captain would assume she was Garett’s mistress, perhaps even a married woman who wouldn’t want her visage known. “He isn’t here at the moment, and I was just preparing to leave myself. Perhaps you could return later?”

Sir Pitney’s eyes narrowed, and he smiled smugly as if he knew exactly her game. But the captain seemed to assume what she implied, for he shifted from foot to foot in discomfort. “I’m sorry, madam, but I—”

“You fool!” Sir Pitney sputtered when he realized the captain wasn’t going to act. “It could be her—Winchilsea’s spawn!”

The captain flushed. “Madam, I’m afraid the gentleman here thinks you might be the one we seek. I shall have to ask you to remove your mask.”

“Really, Captain, this is terribly embarrassing—”

“Don’t I know it. But I must ask it of you all the same.” He stood there, his manner polite, but his eyes watching her.

For all his seeming bumbling, the captain was no fool. She’d have little chance of convincing him to release her. And one look at the hatred burning in Sir Pitney’s eyes told her he’d never agree to let her pass even if the captain did.

“As you wish.” She undid the ties that held her mask. The fighting was over. At least Garett wouldn’t have to sacrifice his lands for her.

When she removed the mask, Sir Pitney stared at her with satisfaction.

“You see,” he told the captain, who she felt certain still didn’t know who she was. “ ’Tis the little gypsy witch herself.”

The captain moved forward. “I’m afraid I must ask you to come with me.”

Sir Pitney stepped into the captain’s path, blocking it. “Nay, not without Lord Falkham. He’s the traitor in this, for he’s been protecting her.”

Marianne’s heart raced. Oh, God, so that was his plan—to use her to entrap Garett. His spy, that man Ashton, who’d seen her in Lydgate when Garett had brought her before the council, must have told Sir Pitney about her. Perhaps he’d even followed them to London. Sir Pitney had taken it from there.

“Nay,” she told the captain. “Lord Falkham doesn’t know who I am. He took me for his mistress, but I never told him my true identity, for I feared he’d relinquish me to the soldiers if he knew.”

Sir Pitney laughed harshly. “You work hard to shield your lover, don’t you? Such a shame you won’t succeed. We’ll just wait here until he returns, and see what story he gives, eh, Captain?”

The captain looked uncomfortable, but it was apparent he knew where his duties lay. Lord Falkham had been caught harboring a woman accused of treason, and thus must be questioned. “We’ll wait,” the captain said gruffly.

At his signal, his men took up a post by the door
while Sir Pitney’s men moved to the back of the house in search of other entrances.

Sir Pitney sidled up to Marianne, a leer on his face. He pushed her hood off her head, then skimmed his hand over her hair. When she slapped his hand away, he caught her wrist, squeezing it painfully.

“A pity you went to him instead of me, gypsy brat. I might have protected you from the soldiers far better,” he hissed, his face looming over hers.

His eyes fastened on her lips, and he smiled. Then he lifted his other hand to her neck, closing his fingers loosely about it. “Such a lovely neck. A shame to see it stretched by the noose. Of course, perhaps that needn’t happen. I still have some influence, and with Garett out of the way, my power will rise again. I could persuade His Majesty to release you into my hands.”

With utter contempt blazing in her face, she spat at him.

His gaze hardened as he wiped the spittle from his chin. Then he lifted his hand. “For that, you gypsy bitch, I’ll—”

“Strike her and you forfeit your life!” a voice rang out.

Every head turned. Standing in the doorway was Garett, his sword already drawn and his expression one of unmitigated rage. Heedless of the soldiers who drew their weapons, he strode into the room toward where Sir Pitney stood, still gripping Marianne’s wrist.

“Unhand her this instant!” Garett commanded.

Sir Pitney obeyed, but only to draw his own sword.

“Gentlemen!” the captain bellowed and put himself
between them. “I came to take a prisoner, not to see the shedding of blood. Sheathe your weapons before I have my men arrest you both!”

Marianne held her breath as the two enemies watched each other warily, neither moving to do as commanded.

“Gentlemen!” the captain repeated.

Sir Pitney was the first to relent, for he had the most to lose by not complying. He clearly believed Garett was to be arrested.

Once Sir Pitney’s sword was sheathed, Garett turned to Marianne with a burning look in his eyes. “Did he harm you?”

“Nay.” She cast him a gaze that pleaded with him not to force matters.

He slid his sword back into its scabbard.

“My lord, I’ve something to tell you,” Marianne hastened to add before Garett could reveal anything to further ruin his position. “I’m afraid these gentlemen believe me guilty of a crime. I’ve told them you don’t know who I really am, but—”