Exile’s Bane (13 page)

I cringed. Water lapped at my chin. Above all, I did not want Duncan to know about my betrothal. Last I saw him, he had mounted his horse for the return trip to Bolton. The thought allowed me to relax once again in the water. My secret was safe, for now.

In a dreamy trance, I wrapped my arms about my legs in the cooling water. Duncan’s desire to court me made me feel that there might be something better in life for me—that special spark between us, all I had ever longed for. The memory of his gentle, imposing presence warmed my heart with longing. But no, I also remembered a scantily dressed girl pressed to his side. Feelings pushed aside, I splashed out of the water and stepped out into the cool room. That mental path could only lead to anguish. Other vital issues required my attention, most crucially how to avoid being sent away with that monster, Gorgon.

Later, dressed in my best dark blue satin gown with the matching embroidered stomacher, I smoothed the fine French lace around the collar and shoulders of the modest, boned bodice. Pearl earrings and bracelet completed my attire. I slipped my good mules, the ones with the curved red heels, onto still-sore feet. Satisfaction purled over me at sight of my shining white taffeta underskirt that peeked demurely from under the lower edges of my full-skirted dress.

It was a decided challenge to do my own hair. The unaccustomed chore took me twice the time it would take my maid to put it up, but I actually enjoyed myself, able to pull out the long curls around my face, not confined by someone else’s idea of short curls and current fashion.

Finally, damp hair in a neat knot at the back of my head, I surveyed my belongings, my huge armoire, the unique gilded chairs Father had brought me from France, the four-poster bed, its heavy drapes closed now. The dressing table was littered with the necessities of my life, combs, brush, potions to smooth the hands, tiny pots of chalk, kohl, a rose-based rouge, lip balm. These were the simple belongings that I knew and trusted . . . and did not want to be deprived of.

Sunlight waned at my window. If I wanted to review the house’s condition before the banquet began, I would have to hurry. I left my rooms, stronger somehow for the existence of that small sanctuary at my back.

Edward Gorgon, as well as the prince, was undoubtedly housed in the magnificent private tower, probably on the upper levels above the library. So I took passages on the opposite side of the house and eventually found myself at the head of the great stair, where the gallery door stood ajar. The house must be perfect, no doors hanging open, no dust, no litter. Certain that Mrs. Lowry had taken care of those things and that a thoughtless servant had left the door only partially closed, I moved to push the door shut. But there were voices within, strong voices heavy with annoyance.

The corridor behind me remained empty. A glance forward down the stair past the landing found the way clear. Hammering sounded in the hall below, part of the preparation for dinner. I settled behind the door and listened. In any event, I could hardly help hear them, for someone was speaking in pompous volume, as one would speak to gain attention.

“The prince is her cousin, after all. A cousin who dares precede me into my own home,” the voice said. “She bows to him, leaving the house to his depredations. I have punished her appropriately for her arrogance.”

Gorgon’s cold, guttural voice said something in a low register that I could not hear. A bump and a scrape sounded, as though someone had fallen against one of the chairs or the table.

With careful stealth, I peeked around the door. In the recesses of the long, heavily shadowed room, light from the hall below played across the screens, highlighting two figures, a smaller man, bent backwards, and a threatening figure, his bearded chin thrust out, his fists buried in the smaller man’s collar.

“Unhand me.”

Afraid of discovery, I moved back behind the door.

“I have come to take possession of that promised to me,” came Gorgon’s menacing voice.

“You have the gold. The Lady Elena is here. What more do you want?”

“This betrothal that you talked me into, it includes the heiress and her abode, does it not?”

“No, no.” My uncle’s supercilious little laugh sounded. “You misunderstand. Tor House belongs to the Devlin earldom. Marry the heiress. I have given you sufficient funds to assuage your inconvenience. Take her to the isle. Keep her there. You will have her dead within the year in childbirth. That is all I want.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“That is how you lost your first and second wife, is it not?”

“What has that to do—”

“The use of a little known substance we have used before will assure it.”

“
You
used,” Gorgon growled.

My hand clenched over my mouth to cover a gasp. A substance? Poison? Holy Mother, had they poisoned someone?

“Just make sure of it” Devlin’s voice came, low and irritated. “Then we can talk about Tor House. When the King tromps these upstart Parliamentarians, perhaps the house will need a warden while I am at court.”

A hush settled within the room.

“Ah, I see,” Gorgon finally said.

A companionable silence followed these devastating words.

My throat constricted in horror, my worst fears realized. My uncle had not only taken my heritage, he wanted my life.

“Certainly I desire her,” Gorgon finally said, quieter, an odd quiver in his voice. “She has developed in a most appetizing manner.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stair. I moved quickly onto the landing, as though I had come from the corridor, only to find myself face to face with Duncan Comrie. He was hatless and dressed in fine clothes, a light tan shirt with billowing sleeves and turned back cuffs, an open amber-colored doublet with a broad lace collar and brown pants. His rapier remained at his side. I forced myself to look away, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back down the stairs.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said as we descended. “What is it? You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

In a rush, I led him off the stairs, beyond sight of the gallery screens, and out of the great hall. Someway down the lower main corridor, a wide hallway whose main attraction was the numerous alcoves constructed around evenly spaced sconces, we stopped and faced one another. A longing look flitted between us. His clean-shaven face beckoned to me, my hands itching to explore his face, his broad shoulders, his fantastic hair. A quick jerk back prevented me from engaging in the reality of my day dream.

“You are stunning.” The dimple in his chin deepened, as though he could see my desires. His gold-specked gaze traveled down my dress and back to my face. “Your dress is so . . .” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “It matches your eyes, makes them sparkle, like gems.”

The heat of a blush traveled across my cheeks. My disability around this cheater of a man was a curse, this cavalier who had a woman in reserve while he dallied with me. Anger swelled within me.

“Why are you here? I thought you returned to your quarters in Bolton.”

“No.” His thick eyebrows rose in surprise. “I always stay near the prince. That’s my job, Elena, to protect him.”

“What did I see then in Bolton?” I bent forward in accusation, hands on my hips. “The officer that directed us to that room stated you were looking for quarters. And that was you, was it not, with a whore on your arm? You looked quite at home.”

We froze as two maidservants and a footman walked past us in the hallway, their gazes fixed on the floor before them. They passed on beyond us and entered the great hall in the distance.

Duncan’s lower jaw worked. He tipped his nose down at me, his dark gaze sharp and intimidating. “I told you. I was arranging quarters for my cousin, Annie, whom you met.”

“You . . .” My shoulders jerked back, my chin up. Hurt and raw jealousy devolved now into pain, and pain into rage that threatened to engorge my heart. “You led me on, let me believe—”

“Elena, listen to me. Annie is no whore.”

“You womanizer. All you’ve done is toy with me, with my feelings for you.”

His face brightened at my words. “That is not true,” he said in a guarded tone. Gold specks sparkled in the depths of his eyes. “I care deeply for you, Elena. Why else would I protect you, rescue you from plunderers, and take you before the prince to make your plea?”

“I hate you.” With clenched hands buried in the soft fabric, I lifted my trailing dress, rushed off, and left him standing open-mouthed in the hallway.

Chapter Eleven

Dissipating anger dominated the remainder of my afternoon. As a result, the hours slid away too fast. By the time I made one last trip to the kitchen to assure myself that all was in readiness, I was late entering the crowded hall.

Lowering light from the spring evening muted the tall, leaded windows and created a dim background for glittering reflections. Torch and candlelight further produced a dazzling effect. The flicker of torches played off the glass panes and formed shadow lights that danced across the whispering tapestries. The huge twin hearths on the east side of the great hall were bright with crackling fires.

Mrs. Lowry must have wrung the silver out of the earl, for the high table on the dais on the west side of the hall shone under candelabra neatly spaced across the long table. Silver plates and implements lay at each place setting. Wooden trenchers and tin spoons lined the common tables.

On the dais, that raised platform designated for nobility only, all eyes followed my progress through the teeming room. My blue satin dress sparkled and rustled as I walked. Belittled by noise and movement, I stepped around the crowded common tables spread in a gangling swath over the vast hall. Overhead torches at the doorway and along the walls lent them light. The hearths were impressive with battle implements spread across the tall wall in a rough semi-circle above the fires. At each end of the hearth stones, the banners captured during the Battle of Bolton stood arranged in upended barrels intentionally stained blood red.

Our jocular servants took up the end tables. Gorgon’s small troop of men was seated on the far left of the dais, near their steward. Duncan’s russet head glowed like molten copper deep within the crowd of Prince Rupert’s colorful lifeguards across the room.

Reluctantly, I made my way to my assigned seat. Gorgon stood and bowed at my approach. Wide of girth and tall, he wore an impressive, cream-colored satin doublet and pants. The matching shirt had a shallow lace collar and wide sleeves. A vibrant purplish-blue surcoat set off his rich appearance. With a hawk nose and intense dark eyes, he was not unattractive, his gruesome parted beard neatly clipped.

He slid his hand under my arm to assist me into the seat. But his warm hand ran over my breast and squeezed slightly. With a gasp, I pulled away from him and fell clumsily into the chair. He sat down in his chair beside me, seeming to savor my reaction.

With as much grace as I could muster, I gathered my wits, and met his leering gaze. “Do that again, and I shall gouge your eyes out,” I muttered through clenched teeth. My fingers curled around the sharp-ended silver knife beside my plate.

“A fighter here, have we?” A shrewd smile played around his lips. “Do you not see? You and your enchanting body belong to me.” He reached over and put his arm around my shoulders. His heavily chapped hand squeezed my right shoulder.

“It is not my desire, Steward Gorgon, to be your wife,” I cried in his face, not caring who heard me. I wiggled out of the heavy press of his hand and arm and pushed him away.

Heads turned on the dais and in the common crowd below.

“Ah, you will get over it,” Gorgon said. He leaned back, folded his arms across his barrel chest, and appraised me with a smug glare.

I had refuted this man and this betrothal, yet Gorgon and the earl, in their selfish, secretive negotiations, had ignored and overrun my desires. It was their right. Women could not own property or conduct business in their own name. Waves of nausea rippled over me.

At Gorgon’s left, the earl leaned toward me. “Remember your place, Lady Elena,” he said in a low growl that carried far beyond my hearing. “Try to remember that you are a lady of the House of Devlin.” Which, of course, meant to do my duty and marry the oaf beside me, even if I got sick in his lap.

I threw a defiant stare at Gorgon and beyond toward my uncle. Prince Rupert sat beyond them, resplendent in black satin and a red cape, chatting with the countess. Seated at the far end of the table, Countess Marie Louise was dressed in bright yellow silk. My fingers ran across my own bare chest, the familiar family pearls once again at the countess’ neck.

All I could think of was how to get away. And failing that, how I could stall to give the King time to intervene. If he ever did. Once married and ensconced on the isle, it would be much harder, maybe impossible, to regain Tor House.

Something touched my right sleeve. I jumped and turned to find Thomas settling into the last seat beside me.

“Why are you so pale? Do you like my new clothes? Make me look rather dashing, do they not?” He ran a hand down the front of his heavy satin doublet. Dark gray, it was new, stylish, and underscored with a luxurious, wide sleeved matching shirt. His wavy hair and his face were immaculately clean, his cuffs fashionably rolled back.

“You should not be at the high table,” I hissed at him.

He shrugged, stretching his arm as though he belonged where he sat.

“He had best be here. He is mine, just as you are,” Gorgon answered for him. He leaned toward me, eyebrows raised.

I shrank from him, my arms protectively folded over my bodice. Thomas whipped himself stiffly upright and nodded at his new master.

The soup was served, a steaming bowl set before me. Great kettles were distributed throughout the lower tables. Only then did deep baskets of hot bread arrive, accompanied by crocks of churned butter.

I forced down some soup and a few bites of bread, carved off the loaf by an attentive Gorgon. The hot food actually settled my nerves and my stomach, for which I was thankful.

My attention was drawn to the earl, dressed in rich brown brocade shot through with gold thread. After a few sniffs and huffs, he rose in pretentious glory, his doublet flashing in the firelight.

“It is my pleasure to announce that Prince Rupert,” he called out with a postured gesture at the prince seated beside him, “will be using Tor House as his headquarters during the next weeks, perhaps longer. You are welcome here, dear cousin. Our home is yours,” my uncle said with great pomp, despite his angry objections that I had overheard mere hours ago.

Clapping and a roar of appreciation filled the room as the spare prince stood up to his full exceptional height. His dark gaze caught on something and when I looked it was Peg, coming in late. Sergeant Burke sat at the table closest to her entry. In his easy manner, he gestured and made room for her. Though she wore no jewelry whatsoever, she was stunning, her cheeks lightly rouged, auburn hair worn up and entwined with green ribbons, the requisite curls at her face. The green velvet dress, buttressed with pale yellow petticoats, had never looked that ravishing on my tall, unfashionably slim frame. She sat with a whispered crush of satin underskirts, and the prince reclaimed his audience.

To my surprise, a sharp bark sounded from beside the prince, and there sat a happy Boye, curly coat neatly brushed, his head even with the table. The elegant prince smiled and bent down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. Boye was an obedient dog, for I had not seen nor heard him since I came into the hall. The prince regained his height and turned slightly.

“In this second year of rebellion,” he said to the countess in a deep, carrying voice. “I salute you, dear cousin, for your brave example in upholding the King’s divine right to rule.”

The crowd nodded, clapped and hummed their assent. But the bitter irony, etched in my memory, was that every action, every rallying speech Countess Marie Louise had made in defense of the house, every response to the enemy came from me. I said nothing. Though the prince continued to speak in his straightforward manner, I distracted myself by watching the food arrive through the wide main hallway entry.

Mr. Biggs must have gotten his deer, for platters of venison were brought into the hall. How Mrs. Deane had accomplished its preparation so fast was a mystery I doubted she would reveal. The venison was followed by whole stuffed pigs, mutton, lamb, ham, pigeon, and capon. The soup bowls were taken up and various condiments, sweets and cheese were then brought to each table, the high table first. Trays stacked with tumblers arrived, along with huge beakers of ale for the common tables. The high table was served by our round, smiling Mrs. Lowry herself, who poured sweet red wine into heavy crystal goblets at each setting. Trays of each delicacy were placed along the high table and each common table.

“I leave in my stead my best, most trusted officer.” The prince’s intense words rang out once again, but he was speaking of something other than his cousin’s great victory. “He is a brilliant tactical strategist and will serve you well. He has been with me since the war began. In fact, I have never seen him lose an engagement.”

A murmur of approval went round the hall. Captain Wallace had apparently joined Sergeant Burke and Peg at their table, for he took a curl of butter into his trencher and passed the crock to Burke. The two men smiled and nodded sagely, as though they had witnessed this officer’s talents.

What would this new officer bring to Tor House? What further injustices would be forced upon me? These questions put me on edge again, the whoozy feeling in my stomach threatening to return.

Up the table, the prince bent to pass a platter of lamb from the countess to the earl.

“I object, your Highness,” Gorgon bellowed. He stood up, his bulk obliterating my view of the prince.

With some effort, I subdued the tendency to run and hide. Had Gorgon lost his mind?

“I demand the honor of defending Tor House,” Gorgon called out. His voice carried like cracking thunder over the heads in the hall.

“I know you not,” Prince Rupert responded curtly, his mouth turned down. “One of my officers will represent the King’s interests here. Sit down.” The prince turned back to his rapt audience. “In my absence,” he went on, ignoring Gorgon, who remained on his feet in a brooding attitude.

The steward’s hands clenched and unclenched beside me.

“Captain Comrie will take over the defense of Tor House, the training of local levies, and root out enemy strongholds in the area. I know of no man better equipped for the job.” The prince motioned at his lifeguards. “Stand up, Captain.”

Duncan stood up and a smile broke over my face. There was applause, yet I sat stunned, my smile turned to panic. Beside me, Gorgon clenched his big red hands one last time, and stared viciously at Duncan, who ignored him with his usual gallant lack of concern. He looked slightly aside and caught my eye. His gaze was warm and adoring.

Gorgon snarled down at me. I quickly confined my gaze to my hands clenched in my lap. With my own eyes, I had seen this man’s fatal manner of eliminating problems.

The room was sweltering. Night had fallen, but the heat of the day remained. The soaring windows that backed the reflections in the hall had darkened to an unbroken black that intensified the glitter and flicker of light dancing in the hall.

“Captain Comrie will not have to worry about Puritan sympathizers on this estate,” the earl yelled over the din, standing now beside the prince. He sniffed in loud arrogance. “I personally have defeated them.”

“My dear Lord Devlin.” The prince eyed my uncle with a sardonic smile. “Are you talking about those unarmed bands you ran off?”

With a thin-lipped, apologetic smile, the earl sank into his seat in the shocked silence. Stark resentment distorted his face into deeply entrenched lines and bulging jaw muscles.

Thomas and I looked at one another and shook our heads. The prince was famous for his sharp tongue and my haughty uncle should have known better than to try to upstage him.

“Just today, George Goring has joined us with five thousand men. We depart in the morning, fourteen thousand strong,” the prince announced, bringing all faces forward. “Lord Devlin’s troops will be with us.” With a grave look at Gorgon, the prince indicated him with an elegant, outstretched hand. “And I recruit Steward Gorgon and his forces to join us. I expect a quick upshot of this campaign. That western seaport must be open behind us before we strike northward.”

Seaport? What had I missed? And Duncan staying behind. How clever of the prince. Duncan would see to the prince’s interests, including Peg and me, I prayed. Though I wasn’t sure how I felt about that appointment just now.

Beside me, Gorgon’s face had degenerated into that of a bulldog, his lower lip and jaw extended in outrage, his white-knuckled fist resting on the table before him. The chapped hand relaxed, and his face assumed a sly look as he motioned to one of his officers, who stood out among the dun-colored cloaks at the side of the crowd, a hulking brute of a man who insisted on keeping his sword in hand. The man approached, and Gorgon motioned him up to his seat, where he gave a quick instruction in Gaelic.

Unfortunately, Gaelic was not among my accomplishments.

Finally settled back in his chair, Gorgon huddled in a quiet, intense conversation with the earl.

Out among the common tables, Duncan sat down. My gaze was drawn to him, but he was engaged in conversation. He nodded at one of his men, his smile flashing. At the very sight of him, confidence swelled within me. Perhaps he could help hold off this fatal tide that threatened to inundate me. Perhaps. But at what cost?

Back at the high table, a mellow-eyed prince lifted his goblet toward the opposite side of the tables, toward Peg Carey who sat at one of the last tables in the hall. It could have been a salute to the crowd, for the gathering returned the gesture in general, but Peg knew the prince’s homage was for her. Her face beamed, and her normally common-sense attitude degenerated into a flustered lack of control. An appreciative smile burst upon my face, for having recently met a man who affected me in the same disabling manner, I understood her embarrassed muddle.