FLAME OF DESIRE (37 page)

“
If
we find him!” Heather breathed. The thought that they might not was a torture to her very soul.

Chapter Fifty-One

Seven mounted figures bent over their horses, nearly swooning with fatigue as they neared the gates of London. The rhythmic pounding of the horses’ hooves met with the pulsing of their heartbeats. Both horses and humans alike had been driven hard by the urge to reach the city as soon as possible.

“Heather, are you all right?” Stephen Vickery asked, casting her a worried glance. It was a difficult enough journey for the men. How could a woman have fared well? She looked cold, hungry, her face was drawn and pale, though she was still beautiful.

“I am fine, but will be far better when we find Richard,” she said, reining in her mount. They had searched along the road for any sign of him, only to be disappointed at every turn. It did not aid their cause that the freshly fallen snow had wiped away any possible sign of tracks—human or animal. Two of their party had stayed behind to scour the countryside further, but it was at best a meager hope they held of finding him. Their only hope lay in arriving to see him already within the city’s walls.

“I pray god that he greets me with a smile, asking what took me so long,” Stephen croaked. He was soon to be disappointed. It was as if Richard Morgan had vanished into the mists of the London fog. There was an added problem as well. Heather and Stephen Vickery found themselves in the middle of panic.

Rebellion blew in the very winds about London, for although Courtenay’s words to Bishop Gardiner were said to have forewarned of a conspiracy, though Courtenay himself had been arrested, the revolt had flared up in four counties at once.

“It is what Richard feared, I think,” Heather whispered, her voice nearly lost in the din of the London streets.

“Aye. It is my fear as well. It seems that these leaders of the rebellion prefer to die in battle rather than on the block.”

Riding through the London streets, they heard the latest tattlings. Even now, it was said, Sir Thomas Wyatt, son of one of Henry VIII’s most talented advisers, had gathered together some five thousand or more men and was marching from Kent to London. His stirring cry “We are all Englishmen” seemed to echo all the way to London.

Fearing for her family, Heather threw away her pride and went straight forth to her father’s home. If all else failed, she knew that she could count on Perriwincle and Tabitha to aid in her search for Richard. It was Thomas Bowen himself who opened the door for her, standing with his eyes and mouth wide open as if he saw a ghost before him and not a woman of flesh and blood. At last he spoke.

“God’s blood! It is you. Why are you here?”

“Hello, Thomas,” Heather answered without a trace of a smile.

Thomas Bowen recovered his composure. “Go away! You are not welcome here! Haven’t you caused me enough trouble? I am nearly ruined. No more am I the queen’s merchant, thanks to you.”

“Please, let me in!” In answer, he started to close the door in her face, but a voice behind him stayed his hand.

“Thomas, I thought I heard Heather’s voice just now.” Blythe pushed him aside and looked at Heather with her gentle blue eyes. “It
is
Heather. My Heather! Oh, thank the Lord!” Gathering Heather into an embrace, she wept and laughed at the same time, as their tears of happiness mingled. “Are you well?” Blythe asked at last, pushing Heather an arm’s length away.

“I am well, Mother, though I beg you, if you have seen Richard, please tell me.”

Thomas Bowen snorted his disdain. “So he has left you already, trollop that you are. You foolish harlot!”

Blythe turned on her husband with a fury that Heather had never seen before “Hold your tongue, Thomas! Say no more hurtful words or I swear I will leave you.”

“Leave me?”

“Yes, by god’s gentleness, I will. I suffered many long nights knowing that it was partly my fault Heather ran away. I should never have let you have your way, and will not again give you free rein over
my
daughter’s destiny.” Taking Heather’s hand, she brought her inside. “Now, Tell me all that has happened.”

The story poured forth in a torrent of words and emotions that left both women engulfed in its tide. “And so you have been happy.”

“Yes, until now. I fear for Richard’s safety.”

Blythe shook her head sadly. “Let us hope and pray that he has not been a victim of the storm brewing in the countryside. It seems that fear of Spanish rule has many of our London citizens sympathetic to these rebels.” Her voice lowered. “Even your father has expressed his intent to open the gates to this Wyatt if need be. It seems that all those of the reformed faith are tempted to do so, should the need arise. A pox on them for their treachery.”

“But they welcomed her accession but five months ago.”

“I cannot speak for the others, but I do know that your father was incensed by Mary’s export levy on cloth and import levy on French wine. She meant well, thinking to help the poor by her measures. She denounced ‘rich clothiers’ for their low wages and seems to have tried to stop the corruption in the administration. And now this matter of a Spanish king.”

Heather smiled grimly. The Spanish could not be too bad after all. She herself was half Spanish, if what Thomas Bowen had told her months ago in his anger was true. “Has Mary no friends in London?”

“I fear not. Even the lord mayor and his aldermen seem to be loath to side with their queen. This Wyatt is appealing to all citizens to join with him to prevent England from becoming an appendage to Spain.”

“Who is this Wyatt? What is known of him?” Heather asked in anger. If he was the cause of any harm to Richard, he would regret that he had ever been born.

“Perriwincle knows of him. You had best ask him to answer you.”

Heather fled to the stables, to find the old man at work repairing an old weather-beaten door. His face lit up with a smile as he hugged her to him.

“It’s bloody glad I am to see you, Mistress Heather. Bloody glad.” His eyes swept over her. “Are you happy with your lad?”

“Yes, oh yes…but, Perri, you must help me. Richard rode to London to see the queen and meet with Stephen Vickery. He has not arrived yet. I fear foul play. If you can find out anything at all, I would be most grateful!” She looked him straight in the eye. “Could this Wyatt be in any way responsible? Tell me what you know of him.”

“Wyatt? I knew him in his youth. A hot-tempered one he was. We fought abroad together. He was a good soldier, but his stay in Spain and near-torture by the Inquisition as a heretic turned his heart to hatred for anything Spanish. Why, he even disliked poor Queen Catherine, dear Mary’s mother. Just because of her Spanish blood, he did.”

“Will he succeed, do you suppose?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It is hard to say, it is, most hard to say.” He wrung his hands and shook his head sadly. “I have heard it said that the old Duke of Norfolk—in his eighties, mind you, but still one of the best military men in this kingdom—has been sent to Rochester. He will show these young upstarts a thing or two. You wait and see.”

They did wait, two days in fact, but Perri had been wrong. Many of the queen’s men deserted to the opposition, and Wyatt and his soldiers marched even farther, to Southwark. They would soon be outside London itself. Perriwincle, ever on the alert for news, now told all he had learned. There were constant rumors.

“The western rising has collapsed. At least we have one victory for our one defeat. A lord named Sir Peter Carewe has fled to France, where it is  said he will command an invading army of French soldiers. The Duke of Suffolk, Lady Jane’s father, has disappeared into the Midlands. Sir James Croft has gathered forces in Wales. It seems that our Thomas Wyatt has threatened to imprison the queen when he comes through the gates. Let him try, the braggart. I for one will stand beside her, God bless her!”

“But there is no word of Richard? Has no one seen him?” At his denial, Heather’s heart sank. She could no longer put from her mind the terrifying thought that Richard might very well be dead. Not content to just sit idle, she ran to the Guildhall in the city, hopping to gather some information. Standing in the back, she was surprised to see the queen herself in front of the lord mayor and assembled company. It grew so hushed as the queen began her speech that one could have heard a needle drop.

She told the gathered assembly that she was ready to abandon the Spanish marriage if the Commons so wished, and would indeed abstain from marriage while she lived, but that meanwhile she would not allow them to let the issue be a “Spanish cloak” for political revolution.

“I cannot tell how naturally the mother loveth her child, for I have never been the mother of any; but certainly if a queen may as naturally and earnestly love her subjects as the mother doth her child, then assure yourselves that I, being your lady and mistress, do as earnestly and tenderly love and favor you. And I, thus loving you, cannot but think that you as heartily and faithfully love me; then I doubt not but we shall give these rebels a short and speedy overthrow.”

Heather felt pride for her queen swell in her heart. Surely neither Henry VIII nor Edward VI had spoken more eloquently. How could the people not be on Mary’s side now? The thunderous applause confirmed her thoughts. It was promised that London would arm itself, and Heather knew that this time the battle would be right within the walls of London.

“God save our queen,” she whispered, “and Richard as well.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Richard seemed to lose track of time as he languished in the cell-like room that he had been thrust into. Four times a day Seton came to see him, to toy with him as a cat does a mouse and to taunt him all the while with his victory. He made no secret of his hatred nor of his wish to see Richard pay for the many slights and imagined hurts he had suffered as a boy, and most of all for sweeping Heather out from under his very nose the day of their wedding. At least Richard knew that Seton would not kill him; he was having a better time of it by keeping him alive.

Tedium and boredom were perhaps the worst thing about it all, and the dampness, the lack of good food, and his longing for Heather. But at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that she was safe in Norfolk. Seton would never be so bold as to march to the manor and come up against the people of the village. The northerners were a hardy lot. Armed with swords, hand guns and pitchforks, they were a formidable host.

He was not kept tied up now, at least not at night, and this helped him to sleep, at least when that sweet slumber came to him, which was seldom. Always he was awakened by the anxiety and the all-consuming passion to be free.

“Freedom,” he whispered. “Such a beautiful word.” He had tried every way to escape this cell. Trickery, force, violence, and even by taking a metal spoon and chipping away at the stones. It was useless. Until that time when Seton saw fit to release him, he was his “guest.” Yet the hope always seemed to remain in his heart that somehow, some way, he would gain his escape. He had promised Heather that he would return to her soon. Lord, how he wanted to keep that promise.

As always when his eyes closed, it was of her that he dreamed. There was not another woman like her, nor would there ever be again. She protected all of those she loved, even Edlyn, whose very presence stood in the way of her happiness and heart’s desire. But to harm that child-woman would never even enter Heather’s thoughts.

“Lovely, lovely Heather,” he murmured, at last trailing off to sleep.

The pressure of hands on his shoulders awakened him, and for a moment he thought himself to be back in the abandoned abbey. He struck out with his hands. They would not take him this time. They would not!

“Leave me be. I am on my way to see the queen. I must see her. I must,” he mumbled, struggling against the hands that fought him.

“Shhhhh. You will be both of our undoings,” came a young man’s voice. “I am here to help you. Be quiet or you will bring Seton down on our heads.”

“Who are you?” It was pitch black in the room, yet he seemed to recognize that voice.

“It was I who set upon you with the others. They think you guilty, but I do not. My conscience has bothered me these many nights. There is something about Seton that I do not like. The man has shifty eyes and a false smile. I will give you your chance to see the queen and hope to God that you will not prove me foolish.”

“God bless you, my lad. God bless you,” Richard whispered, feeling the young man’s hands push him along. Blinding light met their eyes as they opened the door, and for a moment Richard feared that they would both be found out as the tread of footsteps sounded in the hall. Quickly they ducked back inside.

“The guard is sound asleep. Lie back down on the cot. I will keep myself out of view by leaning against the door when it is opened.” Richard made a dive for the bed, snoring loudly as if in the depths of his dreams.

“That one is sound asleep,” came a low voice, chuckling as he passed by. Richard hardly dared to breathe as his heart thundered in his chest, but the footsteps passed on and at last the time seemed right to make his escape.

“There is a horse, your horse, hidden in the hedges at the back of the castle walls,” the young man whispered. “We are at Saint Albans. You need to ride straight south and should be near London before tomorrow at this time. God speed you, my friend.”

“And God bless you. You will not regret this act of kindness, that I promise. I am ever loyal to the queen. I would lay down my life for her.” Opening the door, he fled up the stairs with the young man close behind him. The building that had housed him was a drafty old castle, no doubt belonging to Hugh Seton. Hadn’t he always thought the bastard to be ambitious? Mary had rewarded him well, and all the while he sought to betray her if the need arose.

“Damn you to hell, Seton. This act will be your undoing. You will be unmasked for the traitor you are, to join those other traitors whose heads will be lost on Tower Green.” Running up the long, winding stairs, he at last reached the main door and slipped into the shadows until he could make certain that the coast was clear. It was, and the door was unlocked as well. Slipping through the portal, he turned to wave once again to the young man who had proved to be his friend.