Luck, he thought. All his life he had had luck. Born a bastard he might have been left on a hillside to die, but instead he had been raised by the gentry. He had met Miguel de Guaras by chance in Cobh last year where he had gone to check on a consignment of Spanish wines his uncle ordered. They had spent an evening drinking, talking, and wenching, and he had known instinctively that the Spaniard wasn’t the wine merchant he claimed to be. A fact borne out several months ago when de Guaras had contacted him again to meet him in Cobh where he had made his extraordinary offer. It had been easy to convince his uncle to join the plot. Rogan FitzGerald saw himself as the savior of Ireland, even in his old age, leading his country to freedom over the English oppressors. Cavan FitzGerald smiled. All he could see was the possibility of wealth, and a respectable wife, and freedom over his FitzGerald cousins who had always delighted in reminding him that he wasn’t as good as they due to the circumstances of his birth. He would have his revenge on them though. He would marry Aidan St. Michael, and have real wealth. Not just lands, but lands and chattels and good, honest gold to back it all.
He let his mind drift along with the river to all he had seen since he had come to this England. Ireland was beautiful. England was not only beautiful, but prosperous as well. He was going to be very happy here with Aidan, and the children they would have. It would be good to have his own family about him. His mind played with these thoughts going back and forth over them again in infinite combination while the werryman rowed down the river to Greenwood House.
“We’re here, sir,” said the boatman interrupting his passenger’s daydreams.
Cavan stood up, and tossed the man a rather generous piece of silver, more than enough to compensate him for his trip back up the river. The man gaped, and then finding his voice said, “Shall I wait, me lord?”
Cavan smiled.
My lord.
He liked the sound of that. “Nay,” he said graciously. “I may be staying the night.” Then he hurried up through the gardens to the house.
Mag saw him coming from an upper window. Well, she thought, he came quick enough, didn’t he? I thought he’d still be in London. He didn’t appear to me to be too anxious to go about his business, if indeed he’s really got any business here. I wonder where he gets his money. I don’t recall Rogan FitzGerald having a great deal, or being too generous with what he had. The tiring woman shook her head. Times could change, she concluded, and then said to Aidan, “Yer cousin has come, m’lady. I’ll go and fetch him to ye.”
When she returned Cavan preceded her through the door of Aidan’s apartments. “Dearest little Aidan, I have heard,” he said. “I am so sorry about Conn. What can I do to aid ye?”
“Ye heard?” She was surprised. “How on earth did ye hear?”
Cavan shrugged delicately. “A plot against the queen is a serious thing, my dear.”
Aidan looked stunned. “What plot against the queen?” she said.
“Oh, my dear,” he said, looking distressed. “I thought ye knew. Yer husband has been charged with plotting to assassinate the English queen.”
Aidan was staggered, and shocked by his words. “Conn never plotted to kill her majesty,” she cried. “ ’Tis a mistake!”
“Then he will be found innocent,” Cavan FitzGerald said comfortingly, and put an arm around her as if for support. God’s nightshirt, he thought, his eyes plunging down her cleavage, they are sweet fruits, and soon they will be mine! She put her head back against his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead in a brotherly fashion. “Come, little Aidan, let us sit down. Ye must not fret,” and he led her to the nearby settle.
“Oh, Cavan,” she cried to him, “I am so frightened for Conn! Ye must go to the Tower, and see what information ye can gather. Ye must find out if I may see my husband.”
“Of course, I will go,” he promised her. “I shall go first thing tomorrow, and seek word for ye.”
“And ye’ll stay the night, Cavan? I need yer company. Ye can use the Greenwood barge tomorrow.”
“My dear, do ye think it wise? I do not. Yer husband is not here, and there could be talk for people’s tongues are cruel. I will accept yer offer of the barge to take me back into the city today, but I shall go on my own tomorrow, and then come back to ye.”
Aidan was about to protest, but Mag broke in, “Listen to Master FitzGerald, m’lady. He shows more sense then ye do.”
“Perhaps yer right,” Aidan allowed.
“Of course she is,” Cavan agreed thinking that as soon as he was wed to Aidan that busybody of a tiring woman of hers was going to go. When he was master at
Pearroc Royal
it would be done his way alone, and the servants would answer to him only. Those who didn’t would soon find themselves on the roads.
He bade Aidan a tender farewell, and returned back up the river in supreme comfort, enjoying every minute of his ride in the luxurious barge. Wealth was indeed a marvelous thing, and he knew that he could quickly become used to its privileges. It was with regret that he left the comfortable vessel at a place on the river near the Swan. Late the following afternoon he returned to Greenwood House to bring Aidan his news.
Taking his cousin in his arms he hugged her lovingly. She looked up into his face, and he said, “The news is not good, my dear little Aidan. Yer husband’s accomplices have all implicated him. He is guilty without any doubt, and I fear for him. The queen will not easily forgive one she trusted. Ye must be brave, cousin.”
Aidan began to cry softly, burying her face into Cavan FitzGerald’s shoulder with her sorrow. “It cannot be,” she protested. “How could Conn have been involved in a plot, and I not know of it? How could it be? He rarely left my side. When did he have time to plot?” She looked to Cavan for answers.
“My dear,” he said in his soothing Irish voice, “the plot could have been formed months ago while yer husband was a bachelor, and at court. Ye don’t know. How could ye? He has been accused by three reliable witnesses, and charged with treason. Aidan, I must be honest with ye. There is every chance that Conn will lose his handsome head.”
“I want to see him!” she cried.
“I made the request for ye,” he answered, “but they will allow him no visitors at this time.”
“I will go to the queen! Surely she will show me the same kindness she has shown in the past!”
“Take my advice, Aidan, and don’t go to the queen yet. If ye offend the governor of the Tower he will find subtle ways of making Conn’s last days difficult. Surely ye don’t want to do that, do ye? What if the queen refuses ye? Then ye have no other recourse. Wait until the last possible moment to plead with the queen.” He held her close, enjoying the fresh lavender fragrance of her body, and her clothing. Then he felt Mag’s eyes upon him, and seeing her hard stare loosed Aidan from his embrace. Damned old busybody, he thought. She didn’t like him, he had already surmised. Good thing she didn’t know that he had not been to the Tower of London at all, but had spent the day quite profitably dicing, and winning at the bear garden. The story he told Aidan, knowing she would accept it without question, was one that he and Miguel de Guaras had invented the previous evening as they enjoyed themselves in a London Bridge brothel.
“What am I do to?” Aidan said softly. “How can I help Conn?”
“Wait a day or two,” said Cavan FitzGerald, “and I will see what further information I can gather, little Aidan,” he promised, and then he took his leave of her once again.
For several hours after he had left her Aidan was sunk into the deepest despair. How could Conn have deceived her so totally? she asked herself over and over again. Then she decided that he had not deceived her at all. Conn would never involve himself in a plot to kill Elizabeth Tudor. That sort of perfidy was simply not a part of the man. Her experience with men might be scant, but she was not a stupid girl. Conn was an honorable man, and there was no deception in him.
Why then had he been accused by three men of this foul thing? Conn might be charming, she reasoned, but he was not without enemies at court. How many men had he bested in love including the two angry gentlemen whose protests against his behavior had led to his expulsion from court, and their marriage? Had the queen herself not said there were those who would hardly consider her actions in marrying him to an heiress as just punishment? What if these unknown persons had banded together to revenge themselves upon Conn? How was she going to find out?
Was Conn’s situation really as dire as Cavan FitzGerald had said? How could he be certain that his informant was correct, and it was simply not some embroidered gossip? Despite what he had said to her Aidan knew that she would have to go to the Tower herself, and speak to the governor. Perhaps if she begged him he would allow her to see her husband so she might be reassured. Could he really be so heartless as to refuse a woman expecting her first child? Having learned a little about the nature of men Aidan did not think so, and she imparted as much to Mag.
To her great surprise Mag agreed. “I’ll go with ye,” she said. “It wouldn’t do for ye to go about London without a chaperon. I think it far better ye seek yer own information than trusting to that
cousin
of yers.”
“Ye don’t like him, do ye, Mag?” Aidan had seen the black looks her tiring woman cast at Cavan FitzGerald.
“No, I don’t,” Mag said honestly. “There’s something about him I don’t trust, and ye shouldn’t trust him either. Yer grandda had lands right enough, but he never had gold the way Master Cavan implies. I don’t know what his game is, m’lady, but I’d thank him for his time, and have nothing further to do with him!”
Aidan dressed in the very best gown she had brought with her, a black silk dress with a delicately embroidered underskirt done in a simple gold thread design. The neckline on the gown was more than modest and heavily trimmed in lace as were the wrists of the garment. The dark color against Aidan’s fair skin gave her a fragile appearance, particularly as her lovely hair was partly hidden beneath a delicately sheer lawn cap. She was every inch the helpless gentlewoman.
The Greenwood barge returned from carrying her cousin into the city, and now the bargemen rowed their mistress back up the river to where the Tower of London stood soaring forbiddingly against the early-evening sky. She was landed at the Water Gate, her vessel to await her return. Aidan and Mag climbed the stairs leading into the Tower, following behind a somber-faced guardsman. To her complete surprise, for Cavan had given the impression that he was a most inaccessible man, the governor of the Tower was more than happy to grant her an interview, even at this late hour.
“But I had been given to understand that ye lived near Worcester, Lady Bliss,” he said by way of greeting.
“Under the circumstances, Sir John, I thought it best I come to London, even though I am with child,” she replied softly.
“My dear madame,” the governor said distressed, “please to be seated,” and he ushered her himself to a chair. “Ye want to see yer husband, of course?”
“Yes,” she said.
“That will be no problem at all, my lady, but first will ye take a glass of wine with me? Ye must be exhausted from yer travels.”
Aidan nodded politely. There was no necessity to tell the governor that she had been here for three days already. “I would be most grateful for the refreshment,” she said sweetly, her heart beating joyously at the knowledge that she could see Conn.
The governor’s serving man offered her a goblet, and she sipped delicately at the delicious liquid while Sir John reassured her, much to her surprise, and to her relief, that he was certain her husband’s incarceration was but a temporary thing, and that she would soon have him home again. Then she realized that the kindly man was but making a clumsy attempt to comfort her which she thought rather dear of him. Finally she was able to take her leave of Sir John, and she and Mag were led up a winding flight of stairs and down a corridor to a door which the warder on guard unlocked, and opened wide.
“Conn!” She flew into the room and into his surprised arms.
“Aidan!” His arms locked about her, and he kissed her with a gentle passion. “Sweeting, what are ye doing here?”
“How could I remain at
Pearroc Royal
without ye, Conn? It was too far, and I feared for ye! Yer birthday was yesterday. I had hoped for a better day for ye.” She lowered her voice. “I have been in touch with my cousin Cavan, and ’twas he who told me of yer plight, and how grave the situation is. I wanted to go to the queen, but he advised against it. He also advised against my petitioning Sir John, but after he left I took the barge and came to the Tower, and Sir John was ever so nice.”
“He is a decent man considering his job,” said Conn quietly, but his mind was busily digesting what she had said about her cousin. “How is it, sweeting, that ye spoke to Cavan?”
“I sent to the Swan for Mag said she was certain he hadn’t left London yet.”
“And he hadn’t, had he?” mused Conn. “Interesting.” Then coming to himself he said, “Just what did Cavan tell ye, Aidan?”
“That three men had accused ye of being involved in a plot to kill the queen, but I told him such a thing was impossible!” she said.
He hugged her hard. “Thank ye for yer trust, my love. Now try to remember what else Cavan said to ye.”
“He said ye could have become involved in the plot while ye were still at court. He said . . . he s-said that ye could l-lose yer h-head! Oh, Conn! Tell me that it cannot happen!” She clung to him trembling.
Damnation! he thought. Wasn’t Cavan FitzGerald the busy and informed one? Conn considered the delightful possibility of beating him senseless when this was all over. For now, however, he had to reassure his pregnant wife. Gently he set her back from him, and tipping her face upward looked down into her eyes. “Aidan, I want ye to believe me when I tell ye that I am in no danger whatsoever of losing my head. More than that I cannot say to ye now. Do ye understand me?”