Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (44 page)

But Romney Lee had turned away and was walking toward a group of performers who were sitting in the cool shade of the trees beyond the clamor and congestion of the midway.

They were sharing a meal of coarse brown bread, cheese, and fruit. Countless apple cores were strewn about the big feet of the man stretched out full length in the shade, his snores rising and falling in time to the tentative tune the young boy was trying to play on a hornpipe.

“He ate my act, Rom,” Tristram said with a wide grin as he nodded toward the apple cores at Fairfax’s feet.

“You did well today, Tristram,” Romney said, for the boy had been quick to master the rudiments of juggling and could now proceed to more complicated tricks. “We’ll have to start practicing with fire soon.”

“You mean it, Rom?” Tristram exclaimed.

“Ye be that good, lad,” Romney responded, but his gaze now lingered on the young woman sitting against the tree, her eyes closed while she rested peacefully on the grassy bank.

“Romney, no, ‘tis too dangerous,” Lily protested, opening her sleepy eyes.

“Lily! How am I ever going to become the greatest juggler in the land if I can’t juggle blazing torches! I’m going to try and walk the tightrope next. Maybe I’ll even try to juggle up there above the crowd. And I bet there’d be a crowd. Hey,
Fairfax
, listen to this idea
.
.
.” Tristram said, throwing himself down beside the fair-haired giant who had yet to stir. “Fairfax? You aren’t really asleep, are you?” he demanded, giving one of the broad shoulders a shake.

“He is certainly braver than I,” Romney said. Dropping down be
side Lily, he carefully pulled
up a delicate pink bloom before his foot trampled on it. He breathed its sweet fragrance, then held it out to her. Slowly, his eyes took in her flushed cheeks and the rosy softness of her lips. Just like a child awakening from slumber, he thought, then frowned, for the image brought to mind Navarre’s venomous observations.

“Is there anything wrong?” Lily questioned, reaching out to touch his hand rather than the flower.

Romney stared down at the slender hand covering his. Taking her hand in his, he lightly touched his lips to it. “No, nothing is wrong, Lily Francisca. In fact, this has been one of our better days thus far. I’ve never seen the booths so crowded. I came to remind you that you’ve a performance in less than half an hour.”

“How’s the audience?” Tristram asked, his question causing Romney to smile, for the lad was learning quickly.

“By now there won’t be a place to stand within hearing distance of the booth. So, another ten minutes, no more,” he warned, reluctantly getting to his feet. If only he could lie here in the shade beside this maid forever.
The rest of the world be damned
, Romney thought as his eye roved along the slender curve of thigh he could see beneath Lily’s gown.

“Will you be there for the performance?” Lily asked.

“I’ve never missed one yet,” he said, grimacing slightly with the unexpected pain when he accidentally punctured the tip of his finger on the prickly stem of the flower. Unthinkingly, he crushed the blossom in his fist as he stared at the drop of blood dripping from the wound. With a strange expression on his face, Romney stared at Lily’s heart-shaped face, so flowerlike in its delicate perfection.

“Are you hurt? Here, let me see,” Lily asked in concern, holding out her hand.

“It is nothing,” Romney said brusquely, allowing the bruised flower to fall to the ground. “Don’t be late, Lily. I don’t want to lose any of the crowd that is gathering.”

“I won’t, Rom. You’ve been such a good friend to us, I don’t know what would have happened to us if it had not been for you.”

“You will never forget your debt to me, will you, Lily Francisca?” he murmured.

“Never, Rom,” Lily reassured him, puzzled by the strange look that had entered the friendly blue eyes, darkening them almost to black.

Romney Lee glanced away from the earnest expression on her beautiful face. Then, with a curious smile, he walked off.

Lily’s gaze followed Romney Lee’s figure as he made his way into the crowd. She frowned as she stared at the flower; its delicate petals now crushed and lifeless. Sometimes she didn’t understand Romney Lee. He could be so gentle, so understanding, especially with Dulcie and Tristram, and yet, at other times, she had seen a violence in him that frightened her.

Although he had never been violent with any of them, Lily had watched too many times how easily he dealt with trouble-makers at the fair. Sometimes, it seemed to her that he would join in the brawl too quickly. With a wide grin of pleasure on his face, he would swagger through the mob swinging the cudgel he handled with such skill.
But
it had been the expression in his eyes when he’d drawn his
knife
on another member of the troupe one evening that frightened her the most. The man had been drinking, and when Lily had wandered too close to where he’d been sitting, he’d dragged her into his arms. Romney Lee had been quicker than either Farley or Fairfax to come to her rescue. Lily had wanted to ignore the incident, but Romeny Lee had not been willing to allow the insult to go unchallenged. For a long time, there had been bad blood between the two men, and as
Romeny
Lee had turned away, the man had jumped him. When Lily had seen the knife blade glinting in Romney Lee’s hand, then seen the look in his eye, she had known what the outcome would be and that Romney Lee would show no
mercy
.

Lily turned her gaze away from where Romney Lee had disappeared into the crowd and glanced toward the river and the tall-masted ships she could see riding at anchor downstream. Shielding her eyes against the glare, she searched the tall masts, looking for the ship she had once sailed aboard to England. Where was the
Madrigal?
Was she sailing the seas of the Spanish Main? Was her captain pacing the deck, searching for a distant sail on the horizon? Was he safe? Would he soon return to England and to Ravindzara? Where was Valentine Whitelaw? Lily wondered.

“Lily? Will we get to see the queen?” Dulcie asked, waking from her nap where she’d been curled up next to Raphael’s sleeping form.

“Not this time, Dulcie.”

“Why not? Doesn’t she like us anymore? I’ve almost finished my gift for her.”

“She may not be in London this time of year,” Lily tried to explain without bluntly stating that Elizabeth might not wish to have criminals presented to her. A warrant for their arrest had most likely already been signed. If he tried to get to the queen to tell her what really happened that night, they’d be arrested on the spot and sent to the Tower before they could open their mouths, Lily thought.

“Where is she?”

“I’m not certain. She may be at her palace in Greenwich, or upriver at Richmond or Windsor. She has many palaces and royal manors she visits, Dulcie. She may even be traveling on one of her great progresses through the realm. She doesn’t li
ke to stay in London
during the summer months.”

“She came to Highcross once, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago,” Lily answered, glancing away from the tall masts.

“Will we still be here when she returns to London?”

“I doubt it, Dulcie.”
“Where are we going?”

“To the North Country.”

“Is that where Maire lives?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going to see her again?”

“I hope so. ‘Tis why we joined the troupe, Dulcie, so we could travel north to where she now lives. Maire will know what we should do. she will help us.”

“I’m glad we joined the fair, Lily. I like dancing all day long. I don’t ever want to return to Highcross.”

Lily shivered, remembering the night they’d fled Highcross-the night Hartwell Barclay had died
.
.
.

It was a nightmare she had yet to awaken from. She could still hear Tillie’s wailing, accompanied by Raphael’s howling, echoing around the chamber. Hartwell Barclay’s big, bare feet were sticking out of the scented bath water, while Cisco, who’d swooped down to investigate so strange a sight, sat perched on the edge of the tub, his giggling laughter and unfortunate comments ringing in Lily’s ears. Dulcie was huddled on the bed, her eyes wide with shock, but when Tristram started talking about hanging, Dulcie began to cry and hurried to her side to be comforted. Cappie started to chatter and, swinging down from atop the bed, had scampered over to the tub. He was examining Hartwell Barclay’s big toe when a high-pitched scream brought a sudden stillness to the room.

Standing in the doorway, her mouth hanging open, was the cook.

“Ye’ve murdered him! The master be dead! He be murdered! Ye witch! Witch! Always knew ye’d bring misfortune to this house!” she cried, pointing a shaking finger at Lily.

“But I-
-
” Lily began, taking a step toward the terrified woman.

“Don’t come near me, murderess! Ye’ll be hanged fer this! Don’t come near me! Murder! Murder!” she cried, running down the corridor.

“Murder! Murder!
Praaack!
Witch! Witch!” Cisco hissed, ruffling his feathers.

“ ‘Sdeath! What’s happened?” Farley Odell had demanded, standing in the opened doorway, a stunned expression on his face. “Fool woman nearly knocked me down,” he complained indignantly.

“Oh, Farley! He tried to rape me! Only ‘twas Mistress Lily he wanted. Oh, Farley, I’m goin’ to have a baby!” Tillie cried, hopping down from the bed and flinging herself against Farley’s chest.

Farley Odell, for once in his life, was speechless.

“Ah, now, Tillie dear, don’t get yerself excited. Can’t be knowin’ something like that so soon,” Farley tried to calm her, wondering how on earth they’d deal with Hartwell Barclay’s bastard child, for if it was true, then he’d personally see that Hartwell Barclay sired no more brats in this world.

“Nooooo, ‘tisn’t his, ‘tis yours, Farley Odell!” Tillie cried, burying her tearstained face against his chest.

“Mine?” Farley said, dumbfounded.

“I’
m goin’ to have yer baby, only they’ll think ‘tis his, and that
I
murdered him, instead of the mistress, Farley!” she cried. “They’ll hang us both!”

“Murdered? He’s dead, then?”

“Lord help us, Farley! What the devil’s goin’ on?” Fairfax demanded, his large form filling the doorway. “I thought ye just came up here to tell Tille we were leavin’.”

“Leavin’! Ye’re runnin’ out on me? Oh, Farley Odell, how can ye be doin’ such a thing to me after ye said ye loved me? And me growing big with yer child?” she squealed, pushing Farley away from her.

“Now look what ye’ve done, Fairfax,” Farley muttered, trying to quiet the moaning Tillie.

“ ‘Tweren’t me who did the deed, Farley,” Fairfax responded with a sly grin as he walked over to the tub. “Good Lord! ‘Tis Master Barclay! What’s he doin’ in here, and in his nightgown?” he demanded, glancing around for some explanation, but Farley was busy trying to explain to Tillie that he wasn’t running out on her.

“Ye mean ye came here to get me? To take me away with ye and Fairfax?” Tillie exclaimed, her tearful sobs quickly silenced.

“Of course, what kind of man d’ye think I be, Tillie Thaxton? Ye oughta be ashamed of yerself for even thinkin’ such a thing of me,” Farley said with a grievous glance at her.

“Be Tillie Odell, now, won’t it, Farley?” she asked shyly.

“It’d better,” Fairfax answered for his brother. “Don’t want my nephew growin’ up a bas
-
-” he began, then turned a bright red as he remembered Dulcie, and Tristram, for despite what they’d said, no one had ever completely believed Tristram to be who he claimed to be.

“What are we going to do, Lily?”
Tristram
asked, unable to draw his eyes away from Hartwell Barclay’s crumpled figure in the tub. “The cook thinks you murdered Hartwell. I told you no one would believe you. She’ll tell the constable that. They’ve always hated us. They’ll hang you, Lily. and after tonight, after what Farley and Fairfax and I did, they’ll probably hang us, too,” he whispered, his voice quivering.

“They can’t hang Lily!” Dulcie screamed, her shrill cries causing Raphael to begin barking excitedly.

“Surely they will listen to my side of what happened,” Lily said, looking at Farley and Fairfax, but their doubtful expressions told her otherwise. “I will tell them the truth. They must believe the truth,” Lily repeated softly, but her heart was pounding as she remembered the way the cook had looked at her and called her a witch. then Lily remembered Mistress Fordham’s angry, suspicious words of just two days before when she’d accused her of bewitching her son and causing her daughter to trip and break her leg so she couldn’t go a-Maying and wouldn’t be crowned Queen of the Maay. And, Sunday last, the Reverend Buxby and ranted from the pulpit about harlots and those who would lead innocent men into sin. The village would be certain to believe Hartwell Barclay had been the innocent victim.