The Thornless Rose (22 page)

He drew back and looked at her. Emotions barely held in check sparkled in his blue eyes. What was he thinking?

“Jonathan,” Anne said, searching his gaze. He wasn’t saying he loved her, not yet, but was it there? A kernel, at the very least? She wanted to declare her own feelings, but his hesitation and the rush of their circumstances held her back.

He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. The kiss deepened and she responded with a moan.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

He shook his head, his lips brushing her eyelids, her nose, and sighed. “I’d so love to spend the afternoon welcoming you home, but I’m afraid we’ve a grand dinner awaiting us.”

“They can wait a little longer.”

“No, I don’t want to hurry through anything with you.” He let her down and then touched his lips to hers. “Tonight, Annie, we’ll make love for hours.”

Anne could feel herself slipping, falling, careening down a slope she knew led to the deepest depths of love, and she didn’t try to slow the descent.

And if he wasn’t with her, he wasn’t far behind.

He kissed her once more, then backed away and held out his hand. “We’ve a party to attend, Mrs. Brandon.”

…

The celebratory midday feast at the hospital was far more casual and far more raucous than the one given at Whitehall. Anne and Jonathan laughed at the many ribald toasts made in their honor and saluted the staff in return. But before long, work beckoned, and the crowd broke up.

Before Jonathan set off toward his office, Anne touched his sleeve. “I thought I might run down to the Stews while it’s still light and take Alice’s clothes to her. It’s all she’s got, after all, and––”

He turned abruptly. “You can’t go to that whorehouse by yourself. Don’t even consider such a thing.”

Anne stepped back, surprised. “But I wasn’t going by myself. I was planning to take Bob with me. I’ll just wait outside while he goes to the door. Besides, I’ve wandered around this town all my life. I’ll be fine.”

He took her by the shoulders and looked hard into her eyes. “This isn’t your London—or mine. The rule of law is still a tenuous idea at best, and a woman alone is fair game, especially in that quarter. Night is approaching, and you’d not come out alive.”

“But––”

“No! We’ll go tomorrow after my morning rounds, and we’ll go together, all three of us. You’re
not
to leave without me.”

“O—okay,” Anne stammered.

He nodded as though satisfied. “Quite right.”

“Boy, you’re certainly used to getting your own way, aren’t you?” Anne asked, a hint of annoyance deliberately creeping into her tone.

He stared into her eyes, then drew her close, and kissed her brow. “Yes,” he whispered, “when it’s of utmost importance.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The morning sun slanted into Norfolk’s eyes as he pulled away from Nell’s newest acquisition, a delicately beautiful, dusky-skinned Negress called Sheba. He rolled onto his back and
stared
at the ceiling.

“
Por favor, señor
. Lemme tell thy fortune,” she whispered into his ear.

He turned and gazed at her pitch-black eyes, so dark he could not tell where irises ended and pupils began. “My fortune?”

“
Si
,
señor
,” she said, nodding. She took his hand and pressed against him, pink palm resting against the white of his flank, dark flesh musky-ripe, smelling of his jissom.

“I learnt the secret long ago, when I was but a baby girl in me mama’s arms.”

“Whence came thee, wench?”

“Hi
spañola
,” she said slowly. “’Tis far and away, across the sea. ’Twas hot. The sun was not pale, like it be here.”

He laughed. “That explains your skin! You’ve been burnt to a crisp!”

The whites of her eyes disappeared as her gaze narrowed. “
No,
señor
. I’ll not tell thy fortune.”

“God’s death!” Norfolk seized her face, squeezing it, then bunched his other fist before her startled eyes. “I’ll not abide impertinence, whore! As if I truly care what thou hast to say.” He shoved her back into the pillows, ignoring her cry of protest.

“I’m off,” he said, rising from the bed. “I shall pay Nell anon, but here,” he reached into the pocket in his doublet, “here is a token. Thou hast serviced me well.”

…

Sheba glowered as the duke threw on his clothes and left. She held the silver coin, then bit it gently on the edge.
Bastardo!
A pox on thee.

“Thou shalt pay for this, Thomas Howard,” she murmured, eying the now empty doorway. “Aye, for the fates have much t’ say, and they’ll see thee damned t’ an early grave.”

…

If Elizabethan London was a risky place for a lone woman on a morning stroll, St. Katherine’s Docks was possibly the most perilous spot of all. Jonathan’s heated words about the dangers of the place rang full and clear in Anne’s mind. The alleyways of the infamous Stews lurked with common street whores, while the main thoroughfare teemed with every other sort, from drunken sailors to scarred ruffians, from carousing soldiers to filthy, ragtag beggars.

Trying to keep pace with the long-legged men at her side, Anne held tightly onto the package containing Alice’s things. She glanced at Bob, glad for his earnest presence, gladder still both he and her husband had their hands resting lightly on the hilts of their daggers. Suddenly aware of her emerald wedding ring, she turned the stone under, hiding it from envious eyes.

In silence, they walked toward the docks. Anne moved closer to Jonathan, and he put his arm around her shoulders. She glanced at him, her new husband, remembering the previous evening, the first time they had shared a bed in the Lady Chapel. Passion ruled the night. Eventually, they’d drifted off to sleep entwined and woke the same way. Anne couldn’t recall ever feeling the depth of contentment she’d felt in his arms.

Suddenly, she spotted a battered sign with a painted rooster and instantly tensed up. The Fighting Cock. “That’s it. I’ve seen that sign.” She gave Jonathan a sidelong look. “Great name for a whorehouse.”

Frowning, he drew away from her. “Bloody hell, I’ve heard of this place. It has a dreadful reputation. Are you certain this is where you were held?”

She studied the nearby walls of the Tower. “Yes. Once I got on the roof, I could see the Beefeaters on patrol.”

“Anne, you are to stay with Bob. I’ll go in alone.”

“But I’d like to speak with Alice.”

“No, this is not a social call. Alice visited me at St. Bart’s several months ago. I doubt anyone will question a follow-up by her physician.”

She drew herself up to her full height. “Now, wait a minute––”

“No!” Jonathan must have seen the anger in her eyes, for he modulated his tone as he added, “Annie, please, it’s just too bloody dangerous.”

Frowning, she glanced at Bob, who stayed a few paces back, pretending to study the sky. Self-consciously, she lowered her voice, “Okay, Jonathan, you win. While you’re at it, check her jaw, because I hit her pretty hard. And ask her to visit us sometime soon.”

“I will.” He pointed down the road to a cluster of more prosperous-looking wattle and daub buildings. “Take Mistress Brandon there,” he told Bob. “Wait for me by the shops over yonder. My business here shouldn’t take long.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Be careful, Jonathan,” Anne said as she gave him the bundle of clothes.

“Have no fear. I’ve dealt with far worse than this. A doctor sees everything.”

With mounting dread, Anne watched her husband go to the door. He knocked once, twice, then it opened a crack.

She squinted hard, trying to see the person inside, but it was impossible to tell who stood in the shadowy entryway. Jonathan nodded, then the door swung wide. He glanced back briefly, catching her gaze, before stepping over the threshold. The door closed and Anne felt a shudder pass through her body. Would he be all right? Should she have just forgotten about Alice and her things?

“Mistress Brandon,” Bob said, holding out his arm, “shall we?”

“Yes.” With a forced smile, she took his arm. The yeasty aroma of fresh bread cut through the stench of the Thames, making her realize she was very hungry.

…

Norfolk took the reins from Nell’s stableboy, then placed his foot in the stirrups and mounted his charger. Geoff Bly waited nearby on horseback, his broad face without expression, his muscled bulk sitting heavily in the saddle.

“Didst thou enjoy the wench?” Norfolk asked as he moved his horse through the gate and onto the road.

“As to that, sir...” Bly shrugged.

“What was not to thy liking? She had a welcoming cunnie, didn’t she?” Norfolk laughed. “God’s blood, man, I’ve been carousing for two days now, and thou hast guarded me well. I paid that thou might take thine ease with a comely whore last night, whilst Nell had her bullyboys watching the place, and this is the thanks I hear?” He teasingly lowered his voice, repeating Bly’s words and tone, “As to that, sir.”

“But I did not do all I desire.”

Norfolk glanced back, noting the dark gleam in Bly’s gaze. He asked, amused, “Ha! Methought ’twas a jest when first thou made mention. Wouldst doing that truly have made it marvelous good?”

“Aye.”

“Then go ahead. Kill thy whore the next time. I’ve hush money enough for the likes of Nell...” Voice faltering, Norfolk stared down the street at a tall woman with auburn hair. Was it some unnatural coincidence, or was that Anne Howard in the flesh, standing in the sunshine?

The very woman who possessed the key to the future.

“Bly, take my horse and keep close by. I believe I’ve found our quarry withal.”

Sliding off his charger, Norfolk thrust the reins into the bodyguard’s grasp and walked forward.

…

Anne stood on the front steps of the bakery, willing herself to think of something else, anything else, except Jonathan’s safety. She glanced over the heads of the bustling crowd and looked back at the whorehouse. Still shut tight.

“Mm,” Bob mumbled as he wolfed down his bread and cheese.

She smiled. “Love your name, by the way.”

He shrugged and stuffed another bite in his mouth.

Anne tasted her delicious maid of honor, relishing the link with her old life. She glanced back into the bakery. Fresh from the oven, rows of the round, cream-filled pastries rested on a table. How they reminded her of trips with Trudy and Grandma to their favorite Chelsea bake shop. Her throat tightened
. I miss them so––

“Anne Howard, turn and face me!”

Anne froze, as did many others in the street. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye; Bob had gone for his dagger!

No sooner was the groom’s hand on the hilt of his blade, than another man shouted, “Drop it, lad, else ye both shall die.”

The crowd scattered.

“Bob, please, do as he says,” Anne pleaded as she looked straight into the eyes of Thomas Howard, duke of Norfolk.

“Best listen to thy mistress’ advice,” Norfolk told the groom. “Bly has the itch to kill today.”

Anne was still staring at Norfolk as she heard his thug say, “Hands up, lad.”

Heart racing, she focused on the whorehouse.
Where is Jonathan?

“So, we meet again,” Norfolk said in a conversational tone. “I knew thee belonged to the Stews.” He glanced toward the alley next to the bakery.

“Inside,” Norfolk ordered Anne.

She found her voice. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I won’t.”

His lips drew into a thin line. “Do it, whore, or I’ll tell Bly to slit the lad from neck to crotch.”

Her gaze darted to Bly, who held a knife to Bob’s throat.

“Go!” Norfolk grabbed Anne by the arm, propelled her into the alley, and pushed her, face-first, against a wall. Holding her by the wrists, he was strong, so powerful she could not even wiggle.

His breath was hot against her cheek. “Thou art filth, yet thy skin smells sweet. I’ve a question...is the lad thy servant, or a payin’ customer?”

“Bastard!” she said as he ground his codpiece into her rear.

“Vile whore.” He laughed cruelly. “Thou art from the future. Thou cannot deny it, for I possess ample proof of thy witchery. Thou shalt tell me of the time hereafter––”

“I won’t tell you anything, you piece of shit!”

He wrenched her around and slapped her hard. “Bitch, no one speaks to me that way!”

Dazed by the slap, her face stung as his mouth closed over hers, then his tongue thrust violently inside. She gagged, tried to struggle, but he held her fast.

Norfolk drew away and asked, “Whom will the queen marry? Dudley? Will she bear children?”

“Go to hell!”

“Whore, I shalt teach thee to yield when a duke commands!”

He shoved her arms above her head so he could hold her with one hand. He fumbled with his codpiece, his breath coming in gasps as his lips found hers again, as his saliva flowed into her mouth.

Struggling, she bit him on the lip. He bit her back. Tasting blood, she screamed and kicked at him as best she could, but he pulled away, laughing. With his free hand, he forced her skirts up and tore her pantalets.

He jabbed hard into her inner thigh, off-center, but near enough to make her shriek in fear.

“Get your hands off her!”

Anne’s eyes went round.
Jonathan!

Both she and Norfolk turned and stared. Silhouetted in the entrance to the alley, Jonathan reached for his dagger. Immediately, there was a blur of movement and Anne shouted a warning as Bly leaped into view and tackled her husband.

Stunned, Jonathan groaned and wheezed, the breath knocked out of him. Bly raised his dagger. Jonathan managed to grasp the man’s hands near the hilt, pushing up and away, trying to stave off the downward thrust of the blade.

“No!” Anne kicked, trying to fight off Norfolk. She saw her husband strain against Bly’s weight, but the dagger resumed its slow descent, going lower, lower, lower, the tip aimed straight at his jugular. “No, Jonathan, no!” Anne screamed.

Norfolk shoved her against the wall, forcing her to immobility with the full length of his muscled frame. He gently placed his cheek against hers, in a parody of a lover’s caress. “He’s as good as dead. ’Tis over and done for him, but not for thee. I shalt get all I desire from thee, this day and for many more to come.”

No, no, this can’t be happening!

Norfolk kept her pinned while he gazed at the men, clearly anticipating his bodyguard’s triumph, her husband’s blood.

Still struggling against Norfolk, Anne squeezed her eyes shut—she couldn’t watch.

A wild shout. Anne’s eyes flew open as a bloody-faced Bob dove on Bly and wrestled for the weapon, hitting his wrist. When the dagger skittered across the cobbles, there were curses and grunts. Seizing the moment, Jonathan and Bob pummeled the thug, who punched back with savage effectiveness.

Bly managed to connect hard with Jonathan’s jaw. He fell back on the cobbles, shaking his head.

“Runty bastard! Get off me!” With a bellow, Bly twisted around, punched Bob hard in the nose, and shrugged him loose, then returned with punishing fists aimed at Jonathan.

Norfolk tore his gaze away from the fight. He ground himself against Anne and sneered, “So, Brandon still shields thee, eh? I should tell Geoff Bly to bring him here, to let him watch me give it to thee good and hard. He’d see who’s the better man.” While still holding her with one hand, he drew away and readjusted his codpiece. “But I don’t fancy spoilt goods, especially a mere doctor’s stinking cunnie.”

She spit in his face.

He bunched his fist and was about to strike her when the thunder of horses drummed on the street.

“What goes on here?” someone shouted.

In the turmoil, the voice sounded familiar, but Anne couldn’t place it. She resisted Norfolk again, shouting, kicking, and thrashing about. “Help us,” she cried out. “Help, help!”

Just then, Norfolk’s hand covered her face and he slammed her head against the wall. A flash of pain, his evil laugh echoing in her ears, and then darkness closed about her.

…

“What the devil is going on here, Norfolk?” Robert Dudley bellowed. “Jesus God, is that Anne? Unhand her!”

Norfolk released the insensible woman, watching with a twisted fascination as she slumped to the ground. Then he turned and faced Dudley, who sat astride his horse at the entrance of the alley. The upstart bastard was beneath contempt.

“What goes on here?” Dudley demanded.

Glaring at the queen’s favorite, Norfolk approached the entrance with an air of innocence. Dudley was surrounded by a contingent of horsemen, some twenty strong.

“Speak, man. What harm hast thou done to her?” Dudley persisted. He flicked a gloved hand toward his second-in-command, who dismounted and made for Anne.

“She hath merely fainted,” Norfolk replied, gaze unwavering as he stared at Dudley.