Her One Desire (33 page)

“Seize him!” a familiar male voice shouted.

Lizzy turned.

“And release her,” Father demanded of the two guards pinning her in place. Four yeomen she’d known since her childhood attacked Broc. Two of them pulled him off by his elbows while another drove fists into his gut. With his arms awkwardly stretched behind his back, he could do little more than take the beating.

“Cease. Cease!” she screamed. Chaos stole her senses, but Father appeared at her side, then cut the ties around her burning wrists. “Help him. He is my husband.” “You are a foolish girl.” Father clasped her upper arm, backed her away from the scuffle, and set her beside the young man who’d assisted him since Mother died. “If he was any husband at all, he would not have let you return.” Lord Hollister found his feet and watched the spectacle with a vile grin. Lizzy loathed him. With every ounce of her being she despised the man more than the devil himself. Just as Broc managed to break free of the guards’

clutches, one of the yeomen slapped the flat of his sword against Broc’s back. He fell to his knees.

His suffering was too much to bear. Her chest hurt with a physical pain she’d never known. Stinging tears spilled out of her eyes, dripping into the ground like daggers into her heart. “Father, please. I love him.” Her declaration came out in a sob.

“Enough!” Father ended the assault with that single word. A hush of silence stilled on a breeze; it was broken only by heaving breaths. Her own? The guards’?

Broc’s.

She stared down at him through her spiked lashes. Sweat plastered black hair to his temple, but gone was his rage, his anger. His light blue gaze reached out to her and touched her heart. She didn’t have to be beside him to feel his caress, to know his kiss. He lived inside her.

“Lizbeth.” Her name fell away from his parted lips in a whisper.

“Take them to the dungeon” Father addressed his assistant, Madoc, “until they can be moved to Newgate Prison to await a trial.”

“A trial?” Lord Hollister interjected, blood now seeping into the coarse black hairs of his upper lip. “There will be no trial. I am the warder here, not you, and I give the orders. Your daughter stole a document from me and gave it to her new husband. I need it back, and you’re going to get it for me.” Lord Hollister folded his hands behind his back. “The porter will ring the bell every quarter hour. When you hear it, execute two of his men until you have the document in your hands.”

“Nay!” Lizzy cried out and prayed she would awaken from this nightmare. Her eyes were locked on Broc, seeking the strength and vitality etched in the lines of his face. She sucked in two deep breaths and broke free of Father’s grip. Her knees sunk into the ground in front of her husband; her arms curled around his waist. The dreamer inside her thought if she held on tight enough, she could save him. “Give him the document.”

“He will have us executed whether I give it to him or not. Dinnae let him into your head, angel.” Broc pressed his cheek against her head and kissed her ear through her hair.

“Hollister cannae take anyone else from ye. Eli and Martin are dead. He lied to ye.”

His words caused a heavy weight to settle behind her ribs.

She felt as if the devil’s hooves were dancing over her heart. All the grief she’d suffered months before came rushing back in waves of sorrow. Spots blackened her vision on the sides and crept close to blinding her completely. Her stomach quavered and the acidic taste of illness washed over the back of her tongue; then an iron claw in her hair wrenched her off Broc. She turned toward Lord Hollister and expelled her angst over the front of his elegant surcoat.

Two double-edged swords kept Broc from rising, as did the four yeomen circling him.

“You filthy bitch.” Lord Hollister held her at an arm’s length and pointed at Madoc.

“Bring the pressing board and iron weights to Beauchamp Tower.” He peered down his nose at Broc. “Every time you hear that bell, know that I am adding two iron weights to her chest. Comply quickly and she will not suffer. When I have the document, I will grant you a swift execution.”

“I hope Satan eats your soul.” Broc spit on Lord Hollister’s pointed shoes.

“Tie him to the rack and stretch him.”

Father nodded. “You are bleeding, m’lord.”

Lord Hollister wiped his nose and then stared at the blood covering his hand as if the substance might eat through his skin. His ghostly tint contrasted with his black beard. He balled his fist at his side and latched a hand around Lizzy’s wrist. “You will be a widow before the sun sets, m’lady.” “Lizbeth!” Broc bellowed behind her as Lord Hollister jerked her across the Tower green.

Fear for his life settled so strong in her heart she felt her lungs collapse inside her chest while an all-consuming terror settled in her bones.

The pink light of dusk poured into the chamber through the barred window and kissed Lizzy’s face with its warmth. Behind her lids, she drew Broc’s handsome face out of the darkest recesses of her mind. She refused to think about his strong body being stretched at the joints. Instead, she placed him at her side in a valley filled with lilies walking hand in hand in this place she now knew could only be Heaven. She wept for death. Only then would she be free of England and the monster torturing her on the dank stone floor of the Beauchamp Tower. Stripped to her wool undertunic with her wrists and ankles bound to four spikes, Lizzy prepared her soul for death. The hard stone floor beneath her head didn’t cause her half the burden as the pebble Lord Hollister had placed beneath her back. Her breaths came in short, shallow intakes, for the pressure would not accommodate anything more. Four iron weights sat atop the board on her chest, crushing her ribs into her lungs. She was certain she couldn’t bear the weight of four more. With one leg draped casually over the arm of his highbacked chair, Lord Hollister sat too close to ignore. He poured red wine down his gullet and balanced the next weight in the palm of his hand as if it were no burden at all. The clang of the bell resounded through her ears.
Please. No more.
She pleaded with her Maker for the lives of the Maxwell men. She prayed for their souls and begged God to see them safely on their journey.

“What number is that, Lizzy?” Lord Hollister slid from his regal chair to squat at her side. Ugly black hair fell in oily waves over his cheekbones as he bent over her making a show of the fifth cone-shaped weight before he set it among the others on her chest. He picked up the sixth weight from the floor and added it as well.

Oh, God. save me.
Her breastbone felt as if it touched her spine. She moistened her dry lips, wanting to spit in his face, but she didn’t possess the ability or the saliva. The pebble ground deeper into her back. She didn’t know how anyone could survive such persecution.

“That bell marks the sixth Scotsman dead. It seems your new husband cares little for the lives of his men or for your suffering.” The backs of his nails scraped the column of her throat. “He obviously does not share your affections. Who could blame him, really? The courtiers may address you as ‘m’lady,’ but you are naught more than a butcher’s spawn.”

Dinnae let him into your head, angel.

Cool tears rushed over her temples and pooled into the hollows of her ears. Every moment seemed an eternity beneath the iron weights, and every indignity Lord Hollister spewed made Broc’s words more difficult to pay heed to.

“You are thinking of him, are you not? Mayhap the way the swine rutted over you.” Lord Hollister’s hand rode up the front of her thigh beneath her tunic, but the pressing board prevented him from defiling her person. “If the Scot’s seed takes root, mayhap I will foster his bairn. Teach him how to wield your father’s ax.”

“Never,” she whispered, for it was all she could summon from the pressure in her chest. Her fingers curled into fists above their binds, itching to rip his vile tongue out. If he ever set her free, she would kill him and happily go to the gallows for her crime.

“I took down a king. Do you think you are any match for me?” A jackal’s chuckle vibrated his throat. “You should have heeded your father’s warning to protect your maidenhead.” Lord Hollister repositioned himself back in the chair and filled his goblet with more drink.” Tis a pity your father is getting on in his years. Such a faithful servant he is. I once thought Kamden might be as loyal to his king and his country as your father, but we both know how that story ended. Eli and Martin proved to be equally disappointing. Martin had your brother’s sharp tongue, and Eli was a sniveling urchin just like you. I intended to let them live out your father’s curse, but could no longer bear the sight of them, so I poisoned them.”

Curse him to Hades!
She no longer believed him insane. Father was insane. Lord Hollister was the embodiment of evil. “None of them ever possessed your father’s potential. Ah, Osborn Ives has served me well over the years, and I have every faith he will serve the new king with the same loyalty. As will I. And our rewards shall be plentiful. Buckingham has promised me one of his estates in Wales. Mayhap if you learn to control your tongue again, I will allow you serve me there.” He held his goblet up in salutation to her, as if she shared his jubilation. She would never serve Lord Hollister again. Lizzy closed her eyes and listened to the wine gurgle down his throat. He was a glutton, corrupted by greed and power. His desire to have more than his birthright granted him not only cost the king his life, but hers as well.

Lord Hollister tormented her mentally, worming his way into her brain one word at a time until the fourth bell rang. Each of the Maxwell men’s faces moved slowly through her head, as if they’d come to bid her farewell before they set out on their journey. She blinked slowly and slipped into a state of numbness.

Lord Hollister slithered from his chair and retrieved the seventh and eight weights from the floor. “I fear I may have to torture you in front of your husband to get his confession. What say you? Mayhap I’ll have you whipped again, or branded, or dunked like my Emma.” He poised the weights over her chest.

Small breaths passed over her teeth in preparation. He dropped them in unison. Her next inhale came in the form of a wheeze.

An explosion of white blinded her.

What sounded like flapping wings echoed in her ears. An angel soared behind her eyes, her feathers a soft white, her skin dusted with gold, her smile serene. Lizzy placed herself inside this peaceful being. Soon she would fly. Soon. “Tis done.” Fathers baritone voice broke into her world. Her eyelids cracked open. The half piece of curled parchment rested in the palm of Father’s gloved hand. Madoc stood in the entranceway wiping perspiration from his neck. Lord Hollister stepped overtop her and snatched the document away from Father; red wax crumbled in chunks onto the floor. With the merriment of a child, Lord Hollister held it over the open flame of the rushlight. The wax seal dripped in rivulets of crimson down the stem of the wall sconce as the tinge of smoke wafted up her nose.

He won.

The last of her resolve faded with the black ash floating to the floor. Father had already bent to one knee and removed two of the weights before she realized he was at her side. Her inhales grew with each burden he lifted from her chest, but her heart remained in misery. A droplet of Father’s sweat rolled from his silver temple and splashed over her cheek when he unlocked the shackles secured around her wrists and ankles. He picked her up like a child, his arms beneath her knees and back, and stopped beneath the archway. She felt his gaze on her face, but had no desire to look at him. He was not the man she once thought him to be. He was Lord Hollister s henchman and would die wielding the ax for him and for England. “The bells have called the city to gather at Tower Hill,” Father informed Lord Hollister. “London awaits the Scot’s execution around the scaffold. After I take my daughter to her chamber, shall I have the prisoner moved?” After long moments. Lord Hollister pulled his gaze away from the red pool of wax that had formed on the floor. He turned toward them. “Put her down. She will be attending the execution. Madoc, give her your cloak. She is going to assist her father this day.”

She would accept further torture, but she would not take part in her husband’s execution.

“I will not.” “Lizbeth, be still your tongue,” Father scolded like the loyal servant he had always been and set her on her feet. Lord Hollister grinned. “Refuse me, and I will have your husband taken apart bit by bit until his blood runs dry.” Tears burned her eyes, but she suppressed the desire to set them free. She wouldn’t let them see her cry. “Will you grant me words with my husband before his execution?” Her request was not unusual, but coin typically accompanied such a show of mercy. She didn’t dare get her hopes up that Lord Hollister might grant her such an indulgence. “After you hand your father his ax, you may have the time it takes to secure your husband to the chopping block. After which, you will ride the horse that drags his headless body through the streets of our great city. I want the Scot’s head on the spike of London Bridge to greet Gloucester when he arrives on the morrow.”

The numbers wouldn’t come. Part of her searched for them to ease her fear, but the person Broc had found wanted to rise to the surface and annihilate anyone who dared to take him from her. Instead, the two women inside her battled, while her feet followed Madoc’s steps toward the gallows. Her small frame swam in his garment, the tips of her black boots barely showing beneath the long black robe. Silver clasps of the inner vestment fastened overtop the only garment she wore beneath, her simple tunic. Though the cloak weighed heavy upon her shoulders, the burden she carried in her hands made her steps sluggish over the dampening grass. Mother had carried Father’s ax to the gallows a third of her life. How had she been such a gentle woman? So loving and caring? Lizzy felt sinful just holding the handle. When they reached the wooden stairway leading to the platform, she couldn’t take the step. She froze. Breathing failed her. One of the five yeomen accompanying her nudged her from behind. “Twill be over soon, m’lady.”