Love's Labyrinth (28 page)

“You concocted this scheme. And used it against me.” Bruised and battered by the treatment of the guards, Nicholas held himself rigid. He would never let this bastard see any weakness.

Christopher Warren shrugged. “You can’t prove that.”

“When my brother goes to Leicester—”

“Leicester’s with the Queen on summer progress. Remember? And by the time your brother finds Leicester, you’ll be dead, my lord. The only question here is how.”

“I’ve not been convicted.”

“You were arrested with the plans for the invasion of England on your person. You’ve already been convicted. The sentence has but to be carried out.”

“So you mean to put me to death? Without so much as a trial? You can’t do that.”

Warren shrugged again. “That is the penalty for treason against the Crown, my lord. Surely you are aware of that.” Nicholas did not respond.

“But I’m here to make you an offer. The usual sentence, as you know, is death by hanging, drawing, and quartering—a most painful method, as you can imagine, and one possibly only surpassed by burning to death. If you sign this confession, admitting your treachery, then you’ll be beheaded—which is, after all, quite possibly the swiftest and cleanest of deaths. But if you don’t, I’m afraid the execution will be by the former method. And it will be quite prolonged and painful. I can assure you. I’ve watched.”

The expressionless tone, and the flat, hard look in the man’s eyes, chilled Nicholas. He had no doubt at all that Warren intended to see him die in the most painfully protracted way possible. “Why?”

Warren seemed to falter for a moment. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me dead?”

“What makes you think
I
want you dead?”

“This whole, elaborate scheme—clearly it was concocted by you. Why? I don’t even know you. What reason do you have?”

“No, you wouldn’t know me, would you, Lord Nicholas? The son of the lord of the manor would have no reason to consort with the snot-nosed son of the local schoolmaster, would he? Of course you wouldn’t know me. But I know you.”

“What of it?”

“My father was the schoolmaster in Sevenoaks. You don’t recall it—you had a tutor. Not for you the creeping from the house at dawn in the gray winter light. He kept eight of us on his schoolmaster’s pittance. But no mind, we were happy. Until the day Lord William Talcott of Talcott Forest caused him to be arrested for heresy. And treason. And saw him sent to Canterbury and burned at the stake for the sin of reading an English Bible.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Nicholas murmured. “This is about your father? You seek to avenge his death?”

“Aye. The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons even unto the seventh generation. That’s in the English Bible—have you read it?”

“Of course I’ve read it. The Bible also talks about forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Should I forgive the son of the man who saw my father die in agony? Who saw my mother turned out of our home and forced from the parish? She died in a ditch in London with no more than a bundle of sticks for a roof above her head. ‘Twas the best I could build for her. I was ten at the time.”

“Warren, I’m sorry for your losses but these things were not my fault—”

“Your fault? Your fault is not the issue. What I want from you is payment, and you shall pay. I swore that day I would see the Talcotts brought down.”

“Let me make amends to you—”

“Amends? Can you raise the dead? Can you bring life into my father’s ashes? Or flesh to my mother’s bones?” Warren got to his feet, a light burning in his black eyes. His face was pale, and in the flicker of the candlelight, his eyes glowed like twin lamps. He twisted his hand in Nicholas’s hair and pulled it, so that Nicholas was forced to face him. He put his face so close to Nicholas’s, he could smell the wine on Warren’s breath and the sour smell of decaying teeth. “You’ll make your amends. I will forgive when the house of Talcott falls—when I see your bones crushed and ground into powder and scattered to the four winds—then the debt between us shall be repaid. But I shall never forget.” His voice shook with suppressed emotion, and his eyes burned with a mad light.

He released Nicholas’s hair with a savage twist and backed away. His boots echoed on the stone floor. “You have a choice, my lord.” When he spoke once more, his voice was much more composed. He tapped the parchment. “I give you twenty-four hours to sign this confession. If you do, you will die far more swiftly and cleanly than either my father or my mother. But if you do not, I shall watch with the greatest pleasure as you are sliced and burned and battered into shreds.”

He spun on his heel abruptly and slammed the door shut, leaving Nicholas alone with the sputtering candle and a sickening sense of doom.

Warren pounded down the winding steps, his heart thudding in his chest, his veins throbbing in his head. He had to force Talcott to sign the confession—he had to. It was the only way to ensure a speedy execution. And after the botched attempt on the wench—He closed his eyes and paused near the bottom. He would have to see to her himself. He recoiled from the thought of actually having to kill her himself, but he had no time to find another assassin. And as for Talcott… He glanced back up the stairs. If Talcott refused to sign the confession there would be an inquiry at least, and a trial. A dagger between the ribs at night would give nearly as much satisfaction, but who could he trust to do the deed? He’d never intended to bloody his own hands. His mother’s anguished face rose before him, and the remembered sound of her hacking cough as she struggled to breathe filled his ears. And the eyes—those tormented eyes—they tortured him more than the memory of his father’s screams. Whatever was required he would do, he decided suddenly. No matter how distasteful.

“SHE’s BEEN TAKEN where?” Alison rose to her feet, her face flushed, eyes flashing. “What in the name of God is going on? Damn it, I knew there was a good reason she shouldn’t go. I knew she might be risking her life—”

“Alison.” Geoffrey touched her hand. “Come, sit. This is distressing, but nothing’s to be gained by shouting. We must think.”

Their eyes met in a long look, and, abashed, Alison sat. “Go on, boy. Tell us what happened next.”

Jack glanced nervously at Geoffrey, who nodded. “Well, after they got arrested, m’lord told me to go to the inn and get the horses and bring ‘em home. But I thought better to follow ‘em to Londontown, and that’s what I did. They let Lady Olivia go—”

“Oh, now she’s Lady Olivia,” interjected Alison. “Shh,” said Geoffrey. “Go on, Jack.”

“So they let ‘er go and I found a place for ‘er, but she told me to come straight to you and here I am.”

“So Olivia’s alone in London? Without money? Or anyone to help her?”

Geoffrey patted her arm. “You did well, Jack. Go to the stables. Tell Adam to saddle my horse—” “I’m coming with you,” Alison interrupted.

Geoffrey raised one eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “All right, two horses—”

“What’s all this shouting for, Geoffrey?” Dr. Dee was slowly walking down the staircase, his academic robes whispering around him.

“My brother, Dr. Dee. Nicholas is in the Tower, accused of treason.”

“Treason?” Dee looked shocked. “What’s this all about?”

Geoffrey exchanged a look with Alison. “To tell you the truth, we’re not quite sure. But that’s all, Jack. Oh, and see if Miles is about. I’ll need some money from the strongbox.”

“Aye, sir.” Jack tugged his forelock and practically scampered from the room.

Alison paced between the fireplaces. “I knew it, I just knew it.…”

“Come, come, Mistress Alison, we’re not without friends at court,” Dee said kindly.

“We’ll get this mess straightened out. I promise. Tell me more, Geoffrey. What has your brother involved himself in?”

“’Tis all because he seeks favor at court.” Geoffrey ran his fingers through his hair.

“He’s not alone in his ambitions, my boy.”

“No, maybe not, but Nicholas pursues his with a single-mindedness that blinds him to other possibilities, I’m afraid. At the Queen’s visit, just a fortnight ago, Nicholas was approached by one of Walsingham’s agents, a Master Christopher Warren.”

“Hmm, the name is unfamiliar, but no matter. I avoid Lord Walsingham’s men at all costs.” He winked at Alison. Only in private did Dee drop the mask he wore so expertly. In public, Alison had a hard time remembering he was from her own future.

“So should we all,” Geoffrey put in. He quickly outlined the plan that Nicholas had so enthusiastically embraced. “And then there was a bit of trouble, which I thought very odd—Warren returned the next day and said Nicholas would not suit, since he was not possessed of a wife. And thus, Mistress Olivia offered to play the role, and the two of them left nearly a sennight ago. And now, this.”

“So Nicholas obtained the plans as he was bidden, and then the moment he stepped foot on English soil, he was arrested? And taken to the Tower?”

“Aye. That’s the story Jack told.”

“And Mistress Olivia—she was released?”

“Aye. Without questioning.”

Dee stroked his beard. “’Tis most odd—the whole business. One would almost think they discounted what she had to say, or did not want to hear it at all.”

Alison glanced over her shoulder and bit back the retort that rose so readily.
Odd
wasn’t the word that came to her mind. But nothing would be accomplished by antagonizing either Geoffrey or Dee, so she stayed silent.

“The Queen is still on progress,” Dee was saying. “I don’t believe she’ll be back at court for another fortnight or more. If there were some way to send a message to her—”

“Excuse me, Master Geoffrey?” Miles Coddington stood in the door, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, his breeches dusty. Obviously, he’d been in the middle of working. “Jack has brought me extraordinary news—is it true, sir?”

“Aye, Miles, I’m afraid so. Come in, come in.”

“How has this happened?”

“I believe my brother has an enemy he knows not of, Miles. ‘Tis the only explanation possible.”

“So it would seem,” said Dee. “But if we can get a message to Her Majesty—”

“I’ll take it,” said Miles at once. “Allow me, Master Geoffrey.”

“I am not quite certain where Her Majesty is,” Dee said.

“I shall go to Leicester House in London. The earl’s men will know where she is,” offered Miles.

“Excellent,” said Dee. “I shall pen the letter myself immediately.” He gathered his robes and ascended the steps, his face creased in a frown.

“And I’ll make ready to leave, with your permission, Master Geoffrey?”

“As will I and Mistress Alison. We’ll ride to London together—tell that young rogue Jack that we’ll need him as well.”

“Very good, Master Geoffrey. I shall see to the preparations at once.” With a brief bow, Miles was gone.

When they were alone, Geoffrey walked over to Alison and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Allie.”

At the sound of her nickname, Alison looked at him over her shoulder. She blinked back sudden tears. “I’m really scared.”

“I know.” He pulled her close and, for a moment, she allowed herself to relax against his chest.

“I mean, Olivia’s all by herself….”

“Allie, we’ll be there as soon as possible. I promise. Jack will take you right to her, while Miles goes to Leicester House and I see if I can get to Nicholas.”

“Will they let you in to see him?”

“I can but try.” He gave her a crooked little grin and chucked her under the chin. “Chin up, now. Go see to your packing. I’m sure old Janet doesn’t move as fast as she once did.”

They broke apart, and Alison started up the stairs. Halfway up, she paused and turned back. Geoffrey was standing by the hearth, stroking his chin. He looked troubled, and a pang went through her. “Geoffrey?” At once he looked up. Before he could speak, she went on, “I’m sorry about Nicholas. I don’t mean to act as though your brother’s life isn’t important. I’m sorry.”

He gave her another crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand, Allie. Believe me, I do.”