The King's Courtesan (27 page)

“The monster within?”

“From what I’ve seen we al have one. Wel …maybe not you. My view is warped. It’s been my life for so many years.”

“What monster lurks within you?”

“I wanted more than to kil them. I wanted to make them feel

“I wanted more than to kil them. I wanted to make them feel what they did to her. I wanted to make them cry and scream and plead and tremble. It was fierce within me. Jagged.”

“And did you?”

He sighed. “No. Other than an extra twist of the sword and tel ing them they were going to die for Caroline’s murder it was not as I imagined. I had no taste for torture and they didn’t think I could best them. I was little more than a boy and they were king’s cavaliers. They fought and spit and cursed. One laughed in my face before I kil ed him. We dueled. They died. It was very quick, with a battle raging al around.”

He reached for a drink that wasn’t there and Hope poured him another. “What is it like? To be a soldier and fight battle after battle?”

“Why do you ask these things?”

“Because they are a part of you. Because I don’t want to feel lonely, either, and I do when you lock so much of yourself away from me.”
Because I love you.

“Oh, sweetheart!” He pushed himself up against the pil ows and gathered her in his arms, kissing her throat and eyelids. “It’s not to shut you out, it’s to protect you. I’ve seen so many things. Chil ing, frozen moments. The kind you keep in your head always. It changes a man. My head is crowded with things I can never get rid of. They hound me and haunt me, one image after the next. I’ve seen women raped, children murdered and people seeking sanctuary in a church be burnt alive. At Naseby…our troops murdered royalist camp fol owers defending themselves with cooking pots. At Bolton, Prince Rupert’s troops kil ed close to two thousand civilians. I couldn’t stop any of it.” Now the dam was broken he couldn’t stop himself.

“You want to know what it’s like? It was shocking at first.

One is sickened and horrified, and then one grows accustomed or one dies. Your fel ow dies beside you and you’re glad it wasn’t you. You feel guilty for feeling that, fragile as a candle in the wind, and invincible, too. It’s a very strange brew that leaves some men intoxicated, and some…disassembled.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unless a fel ow puts blind trust and obedience in his leaders, or else stays drunk like many do, one’s notions of right and wrong, meaning and what’s important, al fal apart. A fel ow questions God, his superiors and everything he believes.”

“Was that so for you?”

“I wasn’t there because I was a believer. I was there seeking retribution. Through it al I hunted. I took my sword and kil ed them one by one. Al but Harris. When the king was defeated he went into exile. But he’s back in England now. ’Tis he who waits at Farnley Woods.”

“And this has been your business in London.”

“Yes. Now you know it al . Is it what you wanted to hear? Is it better now I’ve told you?”

“I don’t know, Robert. Is it?”

“It’s not something I ever thought to recount or discuss with a lady.”

“But we both know I’m not one.”

“To me you are.” He was silent for a few moments. He didn’t see her smile. “It stirs things I’d rather leave buried, but I’m relieved, I suppose. I expected you to react…with disgust and horror.”

“Why? Charles has al owed men to die for him, as his due.

He revenged himself upon those who signed his father’s death warrant, disguising it as politics. Prince Rupert, I’ve met him. He’s handsome and charming and loved by al . He kil s without thinking. To him it’s a contest and the casualties are simply part of the score. Buckingham and Jermyn and many others kil each other over women or wounded pride. You kil ed armed men in battle, seeking justice for your sister. I…I don’t know, Robert. Is it worse to kil a man for personal reasons rather than impersonal ones?”

He was silent for a moment. “It’s not them, elf, though I feared it might shock you. I don’t regret their deaths. I do regret what our forces did at Naseby and in Ireland and Scotland. I hated what we…what the civil war was doing to England. How everywhere we went we seemed to tear her apart. Laying waste to vil ages, slaughtering civilians. I couldn’t have stopped it. I didn’t participate and I wouldn’t al ow it among my men, but in pursuit of my prey I was there.”

“So you spent years doing something you didn’t believe in and hated, to avenge Caroline. Would she have wanted that? Would you have joined the army if she hadn’t died as she did?”

“I don’t know. As a child I had dreams of glory. What boy doesn’t? My father and his before him were both military men. It was expected, and I had a cool head and a talent for swordplay as a youth. I wouldn’t have stayed, though. I would never have fol owed Cromwel on his Irish campaign.”

“And if there’d been no war?”

“I don’t know what I would have done.” He blinked, looking lost. “What a wretched thing to say. It has swal owed my whole life. If I hadn’t married you I’d probably be off fighting as a mercenary right now.”

“I’m glad you’re not. I don’t think you are any more cold-blooded or detached than I am and I don’t think that’s very good for a mercenary. And now that it’s over, there is stil plenty of time to discover what you were real y meant to do.”

“It’s not over. Not yet.”

“Can you not let it go? Has revenge brought you any peace?”

“No. It hasn’t. I go to sleep at night to a woman’s weeping, and wake every morning to screaming and fire. But I failed her once and I won’t do so again. The thing is almost done.

Maybe after Harris I—”

“Robert, you didn’t fail her! You showed great courage as a boy. You charged five armed soldiers and slew one. You tried to rescue her against impossible odds. She knew it.

She saw it. She cal ed out for you to go.
That
was the last thing she wanted. The last thing she asked of you. She loved you. Did you ever think that you gave her peace and hope? That seeing you leave let her feel you were safe and let her die in peace?”

“Then why do I stil hear her weeping? Why does she invade my dreams? Why won’t she leave me alone? I told you I don’t believe in ghosts, only memories, but at times I feel her presence here. Late at night. In the gardens.

Walking the hal s. Real or memory, she is restless. I try and bury her again and again but she won’t leave me in peace.

Sometimes, when the wind sighs in the trees, I imagine it’s her. Crying for help. She’l not let me be, Hope. She plagues me unmerciful y. She has for years.” He looked utterly bereft, as if he were back in the past watching an ancient horror unfold.

Hope shuddered. She, too, had heard similar cries at night, but he had hushed her and told her it was only night owls.

“There are times I almost hate her.”

“Oh, Robert, no!” Her heart was breaking for both of them, the brave young lad valiantly trying to do the impossible, to save his sister from five cruel and hardened soldiers, and the lovely golden-haired child who would never grow up, never have children, but whose last thoughts and deeds…

She struggled to contain her own tears, and to find words to soothe and comfort.

“It is not the sweet sister that you played with in the garden that plagues you. You torture yourself. She sought to save you just as you sought to save her. I can’t believe she wanted you to be unhappy or to spend your life in mourning or seeking revenge. You are trapped in a prison of your own making, my love—” her voice was urgent “—and perhaps…perhaps it is you who refuses to let go. Perhaps it is
you
who traps her.”

His startled gaze caught hers. Hurt, intent, but she pressed on, not knowing if he would ever al ow her this close again.

“If she
is
here in more than memory, perhaps it is you who keeps her. Perhaps she blames herself for your sorrow and grief. Perhaps she cries for you. You must give her leave to go, Robert. If you al ow her death to be your life, the only thing about her you remember, then it’s you who destroys every good and beautiful thing about her. To think of her should make you smile, not be something you dread. No wonder you’ve been so unhappy.”

“Is that what you did with your mother?” His words were harsh, but he didn’t resist when she gathered him warm in her arms.

“I didn’t have many good memories of her so I made some up. I told you I gave her a lovely service to strike back at those who would mock me, but it was real y to thumb my nose at those who mocked her. I arranged a luxurious funeral procession with torches burning brandy, liveried servants and free beer for al who came to see her on her way. She would have loved it. And now I have a happy memory when I think back on her. I know without a doubt I made her laugh, and it makes me laugh, too. I had to make my own, Robert. You loved your sister and were very close.

You must have many good memories. Can you not tel me some?”

He almost gasped aloud. To think of Caroline was to invite a jagged, soul-wrenching pain. To talk of her was unbearable. Hadn’t he told her enough? Why did she think he avoided it unless forced? What right had she to pry? To tear open old wounds. If that was the price for her trust…
for
her love…
It was too high.

“I’M SORRY IF I’ VE INTRUDED
where I oughtn’t go, Robert,” she said as if reading his thoughts. “You said you were tired of being alone with it and I…I wanted to know you. The dark as wel as the light. You cannot know how much your acceptance has meant to me. I want to help but I don’t know how.” His big body was cold, and she curled herself around him, passing him her warmth. “But what I want most is to have you right here, next to me. And I
do
know you. I know you’re a good man. A part of me has known and trusted this from the first moment we met. I don’t know what this is between us. I told myself it was lust, loneliness, revenge. I fought it as a weakness, tried to use it as a tool, but it won’t let me lie. I love you, Robert Nichols, and I don’t need to know anything more than that. I’l stop asking questions if that’s what you want.” They lay in silence side by side, in a place halfway between his world and hers. He reached out and took her hand. It touched him deeply that she could say those words after al he’d told her. He wished he could find words of his own. He hoped the necklace gave her some idea. But he wanted to offer something more. “I remember…” He released his breath on a deep sigh. “I remember how we used to play.

We made a grand kite painted orange and black that resembled a butterfly. It almost lifted her off the ground. We clung to it together and had to let it go when it almost toppled us into the river.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his head against her breast and her fingers stroked the back of his neck as he spoke.

“I remember, when the rains came heavy, too fierce to venture outdoors, we would go to the little study and make a castle with furniture and blankets. She would say it was Nottingham and she was Robin Hood. She wanted me to be the evil sheriff.” He chuckled to himself. “But I was always Richard the Lionheart, of course. She had a merry laugh, you know. It rang through the corridors. ’Tis that I miss the most.” His voice was rough with emotion and she could feel his shoulders shaking. There were tears on his face and she kissed them one by one.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what,” he murmured, looking back at her from a time and place he’d been running from for years. What possible trifle could she be sorry for? This shiny bright young soul?

“For your pain.” She cupped his jaw in both her hands and drew his mouth to hers, bringing him back with a gentle brush of her lips.

“Hope?”

“Yes?”

“You have come to mean so much to me. I don’t know how or why, but even in the midst of anger, even when I’ve felt sore pressed, almost from the beginning, I have felt an ease with you, and a comfort I feel with none other. When I am with you, I feel I’m home.”

She pressed her forehead to his. “I feel the same. In some ways you have always felt familiar to me. You make me feel safe and protected…among other things.” She grinned and kissed his cheek. “When I saw you standing in my home, towering over the crowd, my heart almost stopped. It was as if you’d stepped straight from a childhood fantasy. My fierce protector and shining knight. I thought I had met him once before.”

“Did you? You didn’t tel me that.”

“It al seems so sil y now. A childish thing.” His hand skimmed her shoulder and arm and rested on her knee. “Tel me.”

“I used to have a corner room. Something like a tower. At least to a child. I would pretend it was a castle, and daydream of a handsome prince, a golden-haired knight who climbed its wal s to claim me. My very own hero. One September day I woke to ringing bel s. Cromwel ’s army was returning and everyone was hurrying to find a place to watch. I found a spot and spied him straight away. He looked just like my imaginary hero. A dashing knight, tal and handsome, but I couldn’t see his eyes because of his hat.

“Wel …as you know I’m a fumble-heels. I leaned out as far as I might and over I went, right into the street and the path of the oncoming cavalry. I felt sure I would be trampled. I ought to have been. None of them would stop, and then he, the very man I’d been watching, rescued me, scooping me up and into his saddle. I rode the rest of the parade route in his arms. I tried desperately to find something profound to say but al I could do was bleat a thank-you. When he dropped me off to safety I didn’t know his name and stil had seen only half his face, but I didn’t worry.” She chuckled to herself, remembering. “I was certain he was my own true love, come to my rescue. I knew we were destined to meet again and there would be another chance.

But later that day, my mother sold me and I knew I was wrong. My childhood ended in one instant, just like yours did, and I put such sil y dreams away. He was just a nice young man who cared enough to help someone in trouble, but he couldn’t save me from my life. I realized I was never going to see him again, and if I wanted to be rescued I had best do it for myself.”