Courting an Angel (21 page)

Now Rob knew the answer. She loved Gordon Campbell but could never be his wife.

An imperfect world required that she compromise her dreams of love and acceptance. She would take the acceptance and learn to love Henry Talbot.

A sudden swell of painful guilt surged through her. Henry Talbot deserved more than a wife who would learn to love him. Although, there were worse things in life than beginning a marriage without earth-moving love. Her own parents’ marriage had been arranged, but that didn’t count since her father and her mother had fallen madly in love at first sight of each other. Or so her mother said.

Thinking wearied Rob and gave her a dull headache. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to wipe the emotional clutter from her mind.

That task proved difficult. A long hour passed before she drifted into a restless doze.

The low sounds of men’s voices brought Rob slowly back to the reality other uncle’s study, but lethargy kept her from moving. She opened her eyes and stared in a drowsy daze outside the window at the rapidly advancing dusk. When she heard her uncle’s voice, Rob realized she hadn’t been dreaming. The talking men were inside the study with her.

“Welcome to Devereux House, Lord Burghley,” Earl Richard greeted his visitors. “And welcome to you, Walsingham.”

Those particular names jerked Rob into full alertness. Two of Queen Elizabeth’s most important counselors were conferring with her uncle. Lord Burghley was the queen’s most trusted minister, and Walsingham her secretary of state specializing in foreign affairs.

Rob felt like a fool to be caught napping in her hiding chair. Should she stand up now and make her presence known or sit there until they left and pretend she’d never heard their conversation?

“Henry, I told you to remain at court until the first day of spring,” her uncle was saying.

Rob cursed her bad luck when she heard that remark. Her husband already suffered a mood foul enough to force her to ride north. If he spied Henry, Gordon wouldn’t even give her the chance to pack her belongings. Indecision about what to do kept Rob rooted to the chair.

“As my father’s representative, I’ve been traveling with Lords Burghley and Walsingham,” Henry told her uncle.

“Traveling at this season of the year can be difficult,” Earl Richard remarked. “So, I assume ’tis a matter of importance.”

“We are en route from Fotheringhay Castle to Richmond Palace,” Burghley replied.

“We decided to stop here on our way because you’d voiced such a negative opinion concerning possible actions against Mary Stuart,” Walsingham added.

At that comment, Rob froze in her seat. Every nerve in her body tingled in a riot of expectation about what she was going to overhear. All thoughts of making her presence known vanished from her mind.

“And what have you decided?” her uncle asked.

Rob heard one of the men clear his throat as though in preparation for revealing a matter of utmost importance.

“A panel of judges found Mary Stuart guilty of treason against the Crown,” Lord Burghley announced.

Rob covered her mouth with both of her hands in order to keep from crying out. The punishment for treason was death. The English queen and her minions could not possibly be considering executing a queen, a woman whom God had anointed. That would be regicide.

“Bloody Christ! Was this an impartial panel of judges?”

Earl Richard exploded, his outrage apparent. “How convenient for you, Walsingham. Did you falsify evidence against her as you’ve falsified other various reports to Elizabeth in order to get your own way?”

“Now, Richard —” Lord Burghley began.

“Do not ‘now Richard’ me, Cecil,” her uncle snapped at his illustrious mentor. “Walsingham has been angling to catch Mary Stuart in a trap for years. Tell me, how can you possibly punish a queen found guilty of treason? Why, that pathetic woman has already been imprisoned for twenty years.”

“What will be done has been done,” Walsingham announced, his voice harsh.

Rob held her breath in anticipation. When he spoke, Lord Burghley nearly felled her with his shocking words.

“Mary Stuart was beheaded at Fotheringhay Castle two days ago,” Burghley informed her uncle. “We three witnessed the execution.”

“You idiots! Nothing now stands between England and Spain,” Uncle Richard exploded. “Mark my words, gentlemen. The Spanish Don will be threatening our shores before six months have passed.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Walsingham said. “Right now, ’tis imperative we keep Mary’s death a secret until Elizabeth sends official condolences to James.”

Rob heard a loud defeated sigh, presumably her uncle’s, and then he asked, “How did it go at Fotheringhay?”

“Mary Stuart redeemed herself in death by humiliating us with her dignity,” Burghley answered, his tone of voice quietly respectful. “Regicide is bad business, though.”

Rob was unable to contain her raging fury another moment. She shot to her feet and rounded on the men, surprising them with her presence.

“Ye wretched Sassenach swine! How dare ye murder my queen,” Rob cried. “We Highlanders will burn this England into a wasteland. Great Bruce’s ghost, we’ll —”

“Shut up,” Uncle Richard snapped.

Accustomed to obeying orders, Rob abruptly clamped her lips together. The fires of unreasoning fury leaped at the men from her gaze.

“Who is this eavesdropper?” Walsingham demanded.

“His niece from Scotland,” Henry told him.

The queen’s secretary of state turned to Rob’s uncle and said, “Tell her to pack her bags. We’ll keep her in the Tower until Elizabeth deems the time is ripe for announcing Mary’s death to the world.”

“I beg your pardon?” the earl said, his disbelief apparent in his voice.

“Francis, ’tis unnecessary,” Lord Burghley said, after flicking a measuring glance at his former protégé. “If Richard can guarantee . . .”

“You cannot lock Rob in the Tower,” Henry added his own opinion. “’Twould be unnecessarily cruel.”

Ignoring their protests, Walsingham started across the study toward her, saying, “I promise you won’t be harmed in any way.”

In a flash of movement, Rob reached down and pulled her last resort from its sheath strapped to her leg. She pointed the deadly little dagger in the general vicinity of the secretary of state’s throat.

Walsingham stopped short.

“I’m skilled with this blade and unafraid to use it on a Sassenach swine like yerself,” Rob threatened him. “In fact, I eagerly await yer takin’ another step forward.”

“Rob, what do you think you’re doing?” Henry exclaimed. “No one draws a dagger on the queen’s man.”

“I’m verra sorry, Henry,” she said, her voice deceptively calm and pleasant, the dagger fortifying her with courage. “’Twould seem I’m a Highlander first and a lady second.” She flicked a glance at her uncle. Though he did appear ready to explode, she recognized the grudging respect gleaming at her from his eyes.

“Basildon, control your niece or our plans will go awry,” Walsingham ordered her uncle.

“Richard, her visiting the Tower for a few weeks would give me infinite peace of mind,” Burghley said. “I can guarantee her safety.”

Rob stared at her uncle who, in turn, was staring at her. He gave her an encouraging smile when their gazes met. What did that mean? she wondered. Was he about to hand her over to the queen’s men?

“If you want to send my sister’s daughter to the Tower,” Richard announced, “you’ll need to procure an arrest warrant.”

“Very well, but the queen will hear of this,” Walsingham replied. “I trust you can keep the chit quiet until the morning.”

“Of course.”

Without another word, the secretary of state marched toward the door. “I’ll await you in the courtyard,” he said to the prime minister, and then disappeared out the door.

“’Tis ill done of you,” Burghley chided her uncle.

The earl shrugged. “My sister entrusted her daughter into my care.”

“I understand,” Burghley replied. “I only hope that Elizabeth will understand too. Are you coming, Talbot?”

“No, I’m spending the night at Talbot House,” Henry answered. “I’ll return to Richmond in the morning.”

“As you wish.” At that, Burghley followed the secretary of state out.

With her blade still drawn, Rob stood motionless. She felt uncertain of what to do or say.

The earl walked to one of the windows behind his desk and watched the queen’s men cross the lawns to the quay. Finally, after long uncomfortable silent moments, he turned around and said, “Sheath your dagger, niece. Come over here and sit down.”

“You never told me you wore a dagger strapped —” Henry began to scold her.

“Henry, run next door to the Dowager House,” Richard interrupted him. “Fetch my nephew and the marquess, but tell them their companion is to be told nothing.”

Henry nodded and left the study.

A few minutes later, the two Scotsmen marched into the study with Henry. Behind them walked Lady Keely.

“What’s this aboot?” Dubh asked, crossing the chamber toward his sister.

“And what’s Talbot doin’ here before the first day of spring?” Gordon asked, one step behind Dubh.

“Thank God, yer here,” Rob cried, leaping out of her chair and running across the study toward them. Ignoring her brother, she flew into her husband’s arms.

Surprised, Gordon gathered her into the protective circle of his embrace. He felt her trembling and planted a kiss on the top of her head, then looked expectantly at the earl for an explanation.

“What I am about to tell you must remain a secret,” the earl began. “Not even your traveling companion can be told. If word of this leaks out, I will be arrested and thrown into the Tower. Can I depend upon your silence?”

“I swear to it,” Gordon vowed.

“Me too,” Dubh said.

Richard nodded. “Lords Burghley and Walsingham just informed me of Mary Stuart’s execution, but —”

“They’ve murdered our queen?” Dubh exclaimed. “How dare —”

“Let yer uncle speak,” Gordon interrupted him.

“As I was about to say,” Richard continued, “Rob was eavesdropping and —”

“I wasna eaves—”

Nonchalantly, Gordon reached up and covered her mouth with his hand. Then he grinned at the earl and gestured at him to continue.

“Thank you, Inverary,” Richard said dryly, the ghost of a smile flirting with his lips. “Rob failed to make her presence known to us. Walsingham is determined to send her to the Tower until Elizabeth sends official condolences to James.”

Gordon nodded in understanding. “We’ll take to the heather within the hour.”

“Take to the heather?” Lady Keely echoed, apparently unfamiliar with the phrase.

Dubh smiled at her. “Escape to freedom.”

“I’d rather brave the Tower than return to Scotland,” Rob announced, lifting her chin a notch.

“No one asked ye what ye preferred, angel,” Gordon said.

“Rob, nothin’ will bring our queen back from the dead,” Dubh reasoned with her. “Placin’ yerself in danger can only complicate matters.”

“Verra well, I’ll keep the silence,” she agreed. “I wouldna want to be the cause of Uncle Richard bein’ locked away.”

“Ye willna be thrown into the Tower when the queen’s men discover Rob missin’?” Dubh asked his uncle.

“I’ll tell them she escaped with you in the night,” the earl answered. “Burghley will not doubt me, and Walsingham doesn’t have the courage to challenge Elizabeth’s most trusted advisor.”

Gordon turned to the countess and asked, “My lady, will ye help Rob pack a few necessities? Whatever she leaves behind can be sent to Scotland later.”

Lady Keely nodded. “I think ’tis best Rob dress as a boy until you’re safely away from London.” She turned to her brother, asking, “Do you still have any older clothing at Talbot House? I mean, from when you were a boy.”

“I’ll scrounge something up,” Henry answered, and headed for the door.

* * *

An hour later, Rob arrived at the stables with her uncle and her aunt. Dressed completely in black, she looked like a scrawny stableboy in raggedy garb much too big for her. Matching her breeches, shirt, jerkin, and cloak, a black woolen cap hid her ebony mane. A leather satchel served as a carrier for Smooches and had been strapped to her chest beneath the cloak. Her uncle carried a second satchel with two changes of boy’s clothing as well as a few other necessities.

Gordon, Dubh, Mungo, and Henry stood silently in the stableyard. Four horses had already been saddled and only awaited her appearance.

Gordon looked up at the dark, moonless night and said, “’Tis a Highlander’s night, created for raidin’ and takin’ to the heather. Are ye ready to ride, angel?”

Rob nodded at him, but his apparent eagerness irritated her. How like a Highlander to enjoy dangerous escapades and mad flights to freedom. She turned to her uncle and her aunt and said, “Thank ye for the best year of my life. I hope the girls willna be hurt or angry that I didna say farewell to them.”