Her One Desire (8 page)

John stepped in, but his gaze remained steadfast to the floor. His hand slicked wetness off his bald head and hooked around his neck. He glanced up at Lady Ives, yet said naught. She jumped to her feet, obviously as aware as Broc of John’s hesitation. “Where is Edlynn?” Panic already took hold of her voice.

“Might I have a word with ye in private, m’lord?”

“Nay!” Lady Ives yelled. “Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” John said.

She rushed to the window, her head shaking in denial of words not yet spoken.

“What happened?” Broc asked.

“The cot-house was burned to the ground. The barn, too.”

Lady Ives cried out and caught herself on the window ledge.

Broc’s hands formed fists in front of him. He selfishly left the auld woman behind, ignoring Lady Ives’s pleas to take her. He didn’t know what manner of enemy she attracted, but he had to find out if he had any chance of protecting her. “Ready the horses. We leave at once.” Broc gave John a nod of dismissal and then waited for the door to latch before going to her. He reached out to offer her comfort, but never found the courage to actually touch her. “I’m sorry. I should have—“ “Nay.” She pivoted on her heel and tried to rush past him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his chest, fully prepared for any words she might spit at him. “Forgive me.” She looked up at him, eyes overflowing with angry tears. “You vowed it upon your soul. You promised she would be safe. You lied” She had no idea how deeply her words cut him. “I’m sorry.”

Her fists made a pathetic attempt to hit him, but lost their might when she collapsed in his arms. She sobbed openmouthed against his chest. “Curse him! Curse him to Hades!” she screamed against his skin. “She was a blind, defenseless old woman.”

Broc could do little more than hold her and prevent her from falling until the last of her tears dried themselves. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, shushing her with empty words of comfort. The same words he’d used to console Mam when Lilian and Mattie died. He’d lived this scene before—the day he returned from Dumfriesshire. Lady Ives sucked in a shaky breath, wiped her face, and then pulled away from him. Her transformation happened so quickly, he nearly missed it. Her trembling ceased, and her face smoothed. He could only imagine how much pain she caged behind her mask of indifference. ‘Twas the same pain that made her cry in her sleep. She hastened around the room gathering her things. “I thank you for your aid thus far, Lord Maxwell, but I feel it best if I continue to York alone. I do not wish to bring misfortune to you or your friends.”

“Nay. I have promised ye protection. I will see you safely to York, with or without your permission.”

She turned on her heel, her eyes golden flames of fury. “You have delivered me safely out of London. I have mended your wounds. Our association ends here.”

“Nay.” He denied her selfless request, angered by her rejection. He stepped toward her.

She stepped back, guarding her person with her satchels. Her bottom lip quivered. She bit it and snapped her shoulders back. “I will not endanger your life.”

“But you will endanger yours. For the crown?” Her loyalty to her king, while admirable, was foolish. “What has your crown done for ye, Lizbeth? Why do ye risk so much?”

“You cannot understand. Tis complicated.”

“Tell me, and I will protect ye.” He cursed her obstinacy.

“Ye have no one else.”

“I have my father.” Her chin tilted to a presumptuous angle.

“And where is he?” He splayed his hands wide and made a show of searching the chamber. “Where was he when Edlynn needed him?”

Her eyes narrowed; her nostrils flared. Her blind faith in her father infuriated him to the point of madness. “My father is a servant to the king and is bound by the demands of the chief warder. ‘Tis his duty to punish those who threaten the crown.”

He backed her up against the wall. “And did Edlynn threaten the crown? Was it her punishment to die in that fire for poisoning your king?” He knew the answers, but wanted to goad her into telling him what she knew.

“Nay!”

He braced his hands on either side of her head, his toes touching the tips of her boots.

“Then who threatens the crown, Lizbeth?” Her golden eyes revealed her fear, but damned if he would take ease with her now. “I will protect ye, but I must know who I am protecting ye from.” Her eyes twitched, searching his face.

Trust me,
he begged her silently.

Her breaths escalated, yet her lips never opened.

God save him, but the woman was as stubborn as he.

“Give me the name of the man who seeks the crown. Now!”

He shouted so loud, birds took flight out the window.

She jumped and slammed her eyes shut. “Henry Stafford.” He pushed off the wall away from her. a little surprised she’d provided him a name. “The Duke of Buckingham?” He inhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath. Of all the names he expected to roll off her tongue, Buckingham was not one of them. Not only did the man have his hand in half the lands in England; he held favor with King Edward. Broc had met Buckingham in Wales and he displayed a charisma that charmed the highest of aristocrats. Broc’s mind filled with questions he was certain she couldn’t answer. “Tis not a name ye should be tossing around with words like
treason,
lest you have proof.” “I do.” She dashed across the room and retrieved a document from one of her many satchels. The corners were already mangled, but bits of red wax still clung to the outer edges. She gripped the parchment in her hand so tight, he feared it might crumble.

‘”Tis Buckingham’s signet and his signature.” She shook the document at him. “And I must deliver it to King Edward’s brother before ‘tis too late.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the signature, then just as quickly returned to her. “Too late. Ye intend to save your king?” “I fear King Edward will meet his maker before I can help him, but his sons will be in danger the moment their father breathes his last. Buckingham intends to name the king’s sons bastards.”

In nigh six months, Broc hadn’t managed to gather half this much information against the English. And now here she stood holding the very evidence he needed to persuade his king to align with France. He guarded his emotions. “How?” She growled between clenched teeth and stepped toward him. “King Edward entered into a secret marriage to a woman who was still alive when he wed the queen.” She paused, obviously frustrated by his lack of response. “My king is a bigamist!” she yelled. “Which makes his marriage invalid, hence making the princes illegitimate.”

God’s hooks!
He rubbed his eyes in an effort to ease the piercing pain stabbing the back of his eyeballs. There could only be one reason Buckingham would name the princes bastards. He was the leader of the rebellion. “Buckingham intends to seize the crown.”

Lady Ives blew a gust of air that smelled oddly of mint leaves and dropped her arms to her sides. “Someone put poison in those vials, and ‘twasn’t me, nor Edlynn.” From beneath her lashes she looked up at him, her eyes pleading her innocence. Did she have any idea how much danger she was in? He tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and cupped her cheek. His desire to protect her felt achingly familiar. “Your knowledge alone places your life in danger. Why do ye risk so much?”

She stepped forward; her skirt brushed against his shins. Her soft hand slid over his as if to bind him to her. “In exchange for the information, I intend to plead with the king’s brother to relieve my father of his duties.”

He held her head while his thumb moved over her scar, already accusing her father of the deed. “Is a man of his ilk worth saving?”

“I believe everyone is worth saving.”

“And who will save ye?”

Wet spiked lashes lay against her cheek. “Mayhap I am not worth saving.”

Chapter 6

Lizzy pulled her mantle around her and followed Lord Maxwell to the stable through a curtain of rainfall. Sleep deprived and fraught with anxiety, she felt certain her sanity was slipping behind the deluge of emotions in her head. Grief was no stranger to her, nor was hatred. Lord Hollister took Edlynn from her, as he had her other loved ones. She felt more determined than ever to see the man brought to heel and her father released from his charge.

The cloak John provided Lord Maxwell poured over his broad form like black oil, grimly reminding her of the executioner. Her steps slowed as Father’s likeness flashed through her head, his bloody ax clutched in one gloved hand. Angst seized her. She stopped. The rain quickly separated her and her vision.

He pivoted and took two strides back toward her. Her gaze shifted to Lord Maxwell’s ungloved hands, which held no weapons of death. One arm carried her satchels, while the other held Beatrice in her cage, covered with a scrap of wool. Raindrops dripped from his spiked black lashes and ran in rivulets down his thick, corded throat. Her father and the man standing before her had no similarities. Lord Maxwell’s determination to protect her confused her as much as it comforted her.

“Come, Lizbeth,” he ordered and continued in the direction of the stable. She greedily followed. Of all the people God could have sent to deliver her into sanctuary, He chose a Scot. Lord Maxwell could have ended her life with one hand, taken the document she’d stolen from Lord Hollister’s chamber, and used it to benefit his own cause. Instead, he remained surprisingly quiet while she tended his stitches and wrapped his ribs, then calmly collected her things and escorted her from the chamber like a proper Englishman.

He never even looked at the document.

She pulled the neck of her mantle together and sloshed through the mud in his wake. He led her into the stable, where she was greeted by an entourage of people on horseback. Celeste straddled a mare beside John, who sat atop a chestnut stallion. A yellowish mare with a black mane was weighted down with a mirage of leather satchels and was easily the ugliest horse Lizzy had ever seen. The nag only stood half the size of the all-white beast Smitt sat astride. They were their own army, a mixture of Scotland and England, and their association with her placed each of their lives in peril. She pulled back her hood. “What is this?”

“The road leading to Yorkshire is the same as the one leading to the borderlands,” John answered. “Tis nay reason we shouldnae travel together. ‘Twill be safer, aye?” “Aye,”

Lord Maxwell agreed.

“You mock my intelligence, Sir John. More than one road runs through England.” Her words had no sooner left her mouth when Lord Maxwell wrapped his hands around her waist and hoisted her atop the king’s stallion. She glared down at him. “Have you no concern for your friends and their well-being?”

“John is my cousin, as is Smitt. They belong to my clan. I protect my brethren and honor their wishes to return to a land less riddled with hypocrisy and turmoil.” He tied her belongings to the stallion and stroked its withers. “Not to mention, John sold the tippling house this morn to a blootered Englishman, which places him favorably high on my list of acquaintances.”

When he readied himself to mount up behind her, Lizzy stopped him with one hand

“Wait We will not travel as quickly doubled up. Can you not ride your own horse?” She didn’t want to tell him she couldn’t spend an entire day wrapped in his arms, smelling his spicy scent, wanting naught more than to curl into his embrace and allow him to protect her. “This is my horse. I stole him myself.” Lord Maxwell flashed her a brilliant grin and attempted to mount again. She turned to John. “I have enough coin to purchase a horse. Have you any to sell?”

“Aye—“

“Nay,” Lord Maxwell interrupted. “We ride together. I cannae protect ye if someone decides to ambush us.” “And who will protect her?” Lizzy pointed at Celeste. Lord Maxwell rolled his eyes, an action that was beginning to annoy her.
“’She
is not being sought by men trying to kill her. Besides, Celeste is a bit angry with John for lying to her about his heritage.”

“Angry?” Celeste repeated the word with an acidic tone. “Angry is when a wife discovers her husband is bedding down with another woman.” Celeste nudged her horse in the loins. “I would more describe my state of mind as bloodthirsty. A man doesn’t keep secrets from his wife for two years and expect to …” Celeste s words became inaudible as she trotted out of the stable.

“Tis not a wise man who lies to his woman.” Lord Maxwell grinned at John, as did Smitt, obviously finding the poor man s misery entertaining. “At least I told ye I was a Scot.”

Why did he speak to her as if she were
his
woman? “You lied to Celeste as well.”

“Celeste is not my woman.”

“Nor am I, m’lord.” Lizzy jumped to her feet in front of him, filling the air with a burst of sweet-smelling hay. “And I intend to inform Celeste at the first opportunity that I am not your wife, and then you can bear her anger. Not I.” She shuffled through the hay toward the yellow horse. “Is this mount available for purchase, Sir John?”

“Ye can have her. Tis the most ill-tempered nag I’ve ever owned.”

Lizzy brushed noses with the mare and scratched her chin, already contemplating a name for her new friend. “If ye insist on riding alone, then ye will at least ride at my side.”

Lord Maxwell mounted and waited for her to do the same, then clicked his tongue and the four of them trotted out of the stable. “Tis going to be an unbearable day riding in this weather.”

“I like the rain.” Lizzy pulled back her hood and felt the drizzle on her cheeks. Rain reminded her of tears, as if someone else in the world cried besides her.

“Ye will catch an ague and die.”

“I am afraid of many things, m’lord. Death is not one of them.”

“Nonetheless. I’ll not have ye catching the fever before I deliver ye to York.” Lord Maxwell pulled her hood back over her head and popped her nose with his fingertip. His gesture made Lizzy smile inside. The Scot’s odd mannerisms were starting to grow on her.

Broc eased his stallion to a stop for the third time that afternoon, waving the others on over the knoll. The sun had hidden the majority of the day, only peeking out enough to dry them before another bout of rain soaked them again.