The King's Courtesan (6 page)

Her gasp of outrage made Wil iam looked up from his writing. “Elizabeth? What does he write?” She raised a hand for him to wait as she finished.

I am been better suited to soldiering than farming, I
suspect, so it should prove no great hardship. It may be
that I shall rent a suitable house in town. Once I am settled
I will of course look forward to your visit.

Your servant, Captain Robert Nichols

“Oh, Wil iam, how could he? He is taking Robert’s lands!” Wil iam shrugged. “These things happen. He is a lesser gentleman who was on the wrong side of the war. It costs Charles nothing to displace him. There must be someone he needs to please and your friend’s lands are the most convenient way to do so.”

“Wel , I have changed my mind. We
must
go to London now. Captain Nichols rescued me from Cromwel ’s soldiers, Wil . It was he who intervened the day after you left. He spoke for me when I was judged and facing transportation or worse, and he helped me get settled in London. Perhaps if I speak with Charles I can change his mind. I must at least try. I owe him so much.” THEIR ARRIVAL AT COURT a week later was greeted with a great deal of excitement and as they made their way through the great hal to the privy chamber, the crowded room became a sea of craning necks. The court had been a dul er place since the scandalous earl had left it. People stil whispered and chuck led about his farewel gift to the king. They were shocked at the rumors he had married his mistress, except for the Duke of Monmouth, who’d made a fortune wagering on it and stil maintained that Elizabeth Walters had been the earl’s childhood friend.

“They look at me as if I was a tame bear,” Wil iam growled to Elizabeth. He reached for her and pul ed her close. “Why are we here again? Ah, yes. We must arrange another meeting for you with our gracious king, your old beau, so we might save your heroic captain. I swear, little bird, you delight in giving me competition. Look. There he is now.”

“Wil iam! Elizabeth! How are you, my dears? What a pleasure to have you returned to the fold. I expect things to be much more entertaining now the two of you have joined us.” Stepping between them, Charles Stuart clapped his arms about their shoulders and gave them both an enthusiastic hug.

“Come. I’ve been eager to show you some of the wedding preparations. You in particular, Elizabeth. I remember how taken you were by our last grand masque. My bride arrives at Portsmouth and we wil sail down the Thames on a magnificent barge. Some of the decorations are being readied here on the palace grounds.”

His enthusiasm and long stride swept them through a crowd of courtiers before either had a chance to respond.

He ushered them into a bustling workshop where a swarm of busy artisans and workers were carving and gilding, painting and brazing. There were giant thrones and arches, water-spouting seahorses and Poseidons, and magnificent mechanical unicorns and lions that reared and roared.

“What do you think of it, Wil iam?”

It took him a moment to respond. “If your bride tends to garishness and excess she’l be transported.”

“Al of England wil be transported. The barge wil be the centerpiece of a grand flotil a. It wil herald a new era for England. We make great gains through this marriage. A fresh start, Wil iam, yes? You have had yours it seems.” Charles smiled warmly at Elizabeth, and she gave him a bril iant smile in return. He tore his gaze away and turned back to Wil iam. “Do you remember al our dreams, Wil ?” His voice sounded wistful, and Wil iam bit back a pointed reply. “I do, Your Majesty. I hope this marriage brings you more than lands and access to the Mediterranean. I hope it brings you some of the joy Lizzy and I have found.”

“Thank you. I am delighted you both came. One wants his friends around him on occasions such as this.”

“There is also a matter Elizabeth would like to discuss, Charles.”

“Yes, of course, my dears. People always have something to discuss.”

ELIZABETH SAT ON H IS M AJESTY’S BED, her back comfortably settled against a mound of gold-braided cushions, with a spaniel asleep on her lap. Charles’s penchant for conducting most of his audiences in his bedchamber had at first shocked her, but now it felt comfortable, like visiting an old friend.

He poured her a glass of wine and one for himself. “So, Elizabeth, my dear. What did you come to discuss? One or another of my ladies is always annoyed with me, though I’m such a sunny fel ow. I recognize the look. Out with it, madam.”

“Very wel . You have taken away the holdings of my dear friend, Captain Robert Nichols, despite your general amnesty and the fact he has been living there peaceful y since your restoration. I can’t believe he has done anything to deserve it. He is a reserved and honorable man. Gal ant, kind and brave.”

Charles held up a hand to stop her. “Robert Nichols…

Robert Nichols. The name is familiar. Does he have property in Nottinghamshire?”

“Yes, he does.”

“I did ask Clarendon to find some land for a fel ow whose fundraising and…other connections have been vital to the crown. He told me the man specifical y mentioned the lands in question. Does your captain have any useful relatives or connections at court? Besides you?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Charles. He was a parliamentarian soldier and country gentleman. A baronet, I believe.

“And what concern is he to you?”

“He intervened with Cromwel when I was arrested, and argued for me on my behalf. Without his help I would have been transported or hanged.”

“The devil you say! You have quite the knack for landing in deep waters, haven’t you, Elizabeth? But what a pretty tale.

Quite diverting. A modest gentleman of chivalrous character on a country estate, desperate to keep his lands.

Is he handsome?”

“Wel …yes. Quite,” Elizabeth answered, rather flustered.

“But, Charles, that has nothing to do with why I’m asking.”

“No, no. Of course not. If you were the type to be turned by a pretty face you would have surely chosen me.” They both laughed and Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with affection. “You are in truth a very attractive man, Charles Stuart, and you know it wel .”

He grinned and raised his glass to her in salute. “But not quite as attractive as that damned impertinent poet. You’ve ruined him, you know. He’l be spouting love verses soon.” She blushed and hid her face against the spaniel’s silky coat.

“Tel me more about him. Your captain friend. Is he married? If he’s not too proud, I might have a use for him.”

“Wel , no, he isn’t married, but he
is
rather proud—”

“Excel ent! This is good news indeed, Elizabeth. I thank you for bringing it to my attention. Now if you’l forgive me I must speak with Clarendon at once. There’s little time, you see. I look forward to seeing you and Wil iam at the bal tonight.” Charles hurried his stunned and sputtering guest from the room and cal ed for his chief minister. He was delighted.

With Elizabeth’s help he had hit on the perfect solution. He would grant her request. The honorable captain of whom she spoke so highly would keep his lands, see his holdings doubled and be made an earl besides, provided he marry Hope Mathews. He had only to remove her to the country, treat her with al courtesy and comfort befitting a special friend of the king and return her to court when the time was right.

The message went out shortly after the chancel or entered his chambers. Captain Robert Nichols was ordered to present himself at court at once.

HE APPROACHED
the manor house across a pristine
field veiled by a thin dusting of snow. The air was cold and
sharp to breathe, but Kate Bishop, the dairy maid, had
kissed him, and he didn’t feel the cold.

The moment his parents left to visit his uncle, he’d hurried
to the village to stand vigil by her door. His patience had
been rewarded. He caught her first and claimed her as his
Valentine, blushing as he offered her a pretty blue paper
with her name writ on it in gold. He’d labored over it for
hours in secret, knowing his parents would not approve. It
was well worth the effort. She stood on the tips of her toes
and kissed him, and it warmed him all the way home.

He stopped in the middle of the field, as happy as he’d
ever been in all his twelve years. The woods were still. The
silence so deep he could hear the excited beating of his
own heart. And then a distant shriek. A night owl, he
thought, desperately hungry to be searching for food so
late. He heard it again. A panicked scream, coming from
the manor house. Caroline!

He raced through the field and skidded across the stone-flagged courtyard, only to be brought short by the sight of
five blooded horses wandering loose in front of a
smashed and broken door. Heart pounding, his terror for
Caroline a sick lump in his throat, he eased into the
entrance hall and inched his way along the corridor. The
servants must have fled or hidden and there was no sign
of his father’s men at arms. As he neared the drawing
room he heard Caroline sobbing, and the sound of
hoarse shouts and the laughter of drunken men.

He leaned against the doorjamb and peered around the
corner. The drawing room was littered with broken
furniture, shredded hangings and paintings that had been
torn from the walls. A lone man at arms with a sword in his
back laid sprawled across a table. Caroline huddled in a
corner in a tight little ball. Her dress was ripped, her
favorite blue ribbons were torn from her hair and her face
was bloody, bruised and beaten. For a moment he
thought he was going to be sick. This wouldn’t be
happening if not for him. He should have been there to
protect her.

There were five men wearing the brightly colored garb and
plumed hats that marked them as His Majesty’s cavaliers,
but under their elegant trappings they reeked of unwashed
clothes and alcohol. He bared his teeth and bit back a
feral growl. They were ignoring Caroline for now, tapping
at walls with the butts of their swords and digging at the
floorboards. He considered darting in, grabbing her and
making a run for it, but he didn’t even know if she could
walk. He wished he could give her some signal to let her
know she wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t risk alerting her
captors.

The guilt, the terror, the boiling rage at seeing Caroline so
abused, gave way to an icy calm. His breathing slowed,
his heart steadied and his attention focused to a razor’s
edge as he assessed his opponents. A bullet-headed
man next to Caroline without his sword. A handsome
black-haired man dressed finer than the rest,
commanding the center of the room. A rat-faced fellow
and a blond man with a split lip knocking on walls, and a
bookish-looking fellow with a wickedly curved dagger
poking at floorboards in the corner. He observed each in
turn before slipping past the doorway and continuing down
the hall.

The longsword was mounted on the wall in his father’s
study. He’d eyed it many a time, fascinated by its lethal
beauty and the chilling inscription etched into the blade.

Lex Talionis,
the law of revenge.

The blue steel blade snicked and hissed as he slid it from
its mounting. Gripping the wolf’s-head pommel with both
hands he laid the weapon cross-shoulder and went back
for his sister. He ar rived just in time to see the bullet-headed man grab Caroline by her arm and wrench her to
her feet. His fingers itched and he brought his weapon
forward, silent, shifting his grip so he held it like a spear
for stabbing. Not yet, though. He waited for them to turn
away.

“Come, little mistress.” The man gave Caroline a shake.

“Tell us where it is, or what you’ve heard, and we’ll leave
you in peace to play with your dollies.”

“Speak for yourself, Harris,” the blond man said. “She’s
too old for dolls, that one, and we’ve other things she can
play with.”

Bullet Head shook her again, then fisted his hand in what
remained of her dress and lifted her off the ground, so her
feet had to scrabble for purchase. “Is that right, pretty
mistress? You want to play games?” he cooed.

Caroline was sobbing and pleading, fighting for air as the
collar of her dress cut off her breath, trying to tell them she
didn’t know. She didn’t understand what they wanted.

“Get on with it, gentlemen,” the black-haired one snapped,
apparently more sober than the rest. “There’s militia in the
area. We haven’t all day. It’s clear she knows nothing.

Finish her, Johnny, and let’s be gone.”

“Well, that’s a bloody waste of an evening,” Johnny Harris
protested. “I’ve got a use for her if the rest of you don’t.

Move on if you please, lads. I shan’t be long.”

“Pah,” Golden Hair spat. “Let’s all have a go, then. ’Tis
only sporting.” He joined the one named Johnny and
yanked at her skirt.

Caroline began a desperate struggle, clawing and kicking.

“Enough, you damn fools,” the man with the curved blade
shouted. “If I have to, I’ll cut her throat myself.” He rose
and started in her direction and there was no more time
left.

The force that held him frozen loosened its grip. It was as
if time had stopped, trapping him outside it, only allowing
him to observe, then started again, so that everything
came at him in a rush. He raised his sword high over his
head and it was then that Caroline saw him. Their eyes
locked for an instant, hers horrified, imploring, trying to
give him some message, but it was lost in the commotion
as he charged. He barreled forward with all his strength,
screaming his fury, his target the man approaching her
with the knife.