Fire Raven (19 page)

“London,
mademoiselle
,” he announced, urging Kat to see for herself. He tried to sound cheerful, as if they were merely sightseeing, not headed for a grim reception somewhere in the city. “Have you been here before?”

“I cannot remember,” Kat said, certain she would not have forgotten such a noisy, dirty place. Her nose begged to be pinched when a peculiar stink wafted in their direction. She glanced at the river and swallowed hard at the sight of several bloated animals drifting lazily downstream.

Navarre sensed her dismay. “Give me Paris any day,” he agreed and nudged his horse after the others. They were soon caught up in the flow and press of hundreds of peddlers and tinkers headed into London. Soon the shrill cries of vendors assaulted their ears:

“’ere comes the fishman! Bring out your dishpan, Porgies at five pence a pound!”

“Raaaaaaspberrrrrries! Blaaaaaackberrrrrries!”

“Roses for yer lady, violets for yer Ma; daisies for yer buttonhole an’ fresh shad for yer craw!”

Most folk were honest peasants or tradesmen selling their various wares, Navarre told Kat, but there was also a customary sprinkling of cutpurses or thieves among the crowd, hoping to catch some poor traveler unawares.

She saw Navarre’s hand drop to the rapier strapped at his waist. By all appearances he rode casually into the fracas, but she felt the tension in him and knew his blue eyes flicked from side to side, keen as a hawk’s.

Captain Howard led the procession; she and Navarre brought up the rear. The contingent wound its way down narrow, cobbled lanes and streets crowded with people.

Kat felt faint from lack of fresh air. She clutched Navarre’s waist with a fierce resolve in order to keep from swooning. The nightmarish journey was drawing to a close, but she was more terrified of what awaited her at the end.

As they neared the Strand, she felt Navarre’s hand close over her own. “Courage, Katherine,” he whispered and squeezed her hand briefly before he let it go. Kat wasn’t sure what startled her more: his simple act of kindness or the fact that he knew her Christian name, if indeed her name it was.

They reached the Strand. A procession of regal homes lined the river’s edge. Captain Howard halted the procession before an elegant, H-shaped brick mansion. Dismounting, Howard paused to smooth his crumpled and stained uniform. He donned a gaily feathered hat before proceeding up the walk.

Kat determined that the captain intended to impress someone. She leaned forward and whispered in Lucien’s ear, “Who lives here?”

Navarre shook his head. His silky, golden hair brushed against Kat’s cheek. She drew back a little.

“I have never been here before,
Mademoiselle
Katherine. It is obviously a fine residence and no doubt belongs to someone of note.”

Kat’s curiosity overcame her fear. She watched as Captain Howard was admitted into the mansion and chafed with frustration when the great door closed behind him, betraying nothing of its owner. She and Navarre and the rest of the soldiers were forced to wait. The other men chose to dismount and stretch their legs after the long ride.

After what seemed an eternity, Howard reappeared. The captain wore a strange look upon his face. He stroked his pointed beard absently as he hurried towards them. His eyes narrowed when he met Kat’s gaze.

“Get down, wench,” he ordered her. “This is the place.”

Navarre swung down from the saddle first and gallantly offered his hand to Kat. She was painfully aware of her disheveled appearance when Navarre lifted her down, and her tattered, soiled skirts unfurled around her ankles. Nevertheless, she held her chin high. She saw Captain Howard scowl when Navarre steadied her.

“Take care, madam,” Navarre said in English, responding to his superior’s frown with a dismissing glance. “There is still ice on the street. It must have been a cold night here.”

“Thank you,” Kat said, meeting Navarre’s gaze for a moment so he would understand her gratitude went deeper than she might express. He nodded, a faint smile forming on his lips. Then he retreated.

“Come along,” Captain Howard said impatiently.

Kat followed the officer with trepidation. The closer they got to the mansion, the weaker her knees became. She feared what lay behind those deceptively benign carved doors. Howard closed in behind her as she mounted the steps to the elegant residence. Escape was impossible. Kat waited, nerves taut, while the captain yanked the bell pull again.

The door opened a crack, revealing an eye. As if he had never seen Captain Howard before, a manservant disdainfully inquired, “Who may I say is calling, sir?”

“Captain Howard, you oaf. I was here not less than a minute ago!”

The captain’s thunderous reply did not impress the haughty servant in the slightest. “A moment please.”

The butler shuffled away to consult someone else, while Captain Howard tapped his boot on the stone stair. Kat squelched the absurd impulse to laugh, realizing there was nothing truly humorous about the situation. A moment became minutes, and Captain Howard’s neck turned red. Kat watched with interest as his face started to mottle, as well.

“What are you staring at, wench?” Howard snapped, raising his hand as if to strike her. Kat stepped backwards to avoid his blow and nearly fell down the stairs. She caught the hand railing and spared herself a painful tumble just as the great doors opened again.

“This way, sir,” the manservant said. His tone and expression seemed more grudging than respectful.

Howard grabbed Kat’s arm and pushed her roughly through the entrance. His grip did not slacken until he hauled her down the length of a richly decorated hall. Then he thrust her into a parlor decorated in the Tudor fashion.

Stumbling into the elegant room, Kat regained her balance and turned to glare at the captain as she chafed her bruised forearm. She assumed Howard would remain to guard her, but he was obviously anxious to make a quick escape himself.

“Here she is, milord,” he announced. “Good riddance, I say.”

Kat realized there was a third person in the room. Surprised, she whirled about as Captain Howard stormed out of the parlor. She met the calm gaze of an elderly man with a crown of beautiful white hair. He was ensconced in a leather chair with a tartan throw cozily arranged over his lap.

“Welcome to Lawrence Hall, m’dear,” he said, and a jolt of recognition and shock coursed through Kat at the sound of his voice. It was the Earl of Cardiff, Henry Lawrence.

“C
RY MERCY, MILORD, ’TIS
you,” Kat exclaimed with relief, suppressing the urge to burst into hysterical tears. Her knees gave way at last, and she sank in an exhausted heap to the Turkish carpet. She extended a hand towards him.

“You can’t imagine what has happened to me, Lord Lawrence. Yet you must know, for you rescued me.”

He continued to regard Kat levelly as she spoke.

“I was taken prisoner by Captain Howard and his men for no good reason, milord. After many agonizing nights upon the road, I gave up hope of ever seeing a familiar face again.”

Lawrence stared at her. He appeared more amused than confused by her rambling speech. Kat experienced her first prickle of unease. The earl cleared his throat and, giving somewhat of a dry laugh, said:

“M’dear, I must congratulate you. You are an exceptional actress. I thought your blind act at Falcon’s Lair most convincing, yet I doubt this little dramatic scene can be outdone. Surely you have performed for King Philip’s court?”

“I know not what you mean,” Kat stammered, rising quickly to her feet. Humiliation smothered her relief. She felt heat swamp her cheeks, and realized he only took such sign as evidence of her guilt.

“Lord Lawrence,” she began again. Her voice shook, but she plunged on. “There has been a grievous misunderstanding. Before my faith, I vow I was kidnapped from Falcon’s Lair and brought here against my will.”

“I trow, I can warrant that much myself,” Lawrence countered, a thin smile appearing at last on his lips. “’Twas I who ordered the deed done. While I apologize for the captain’s lack of manners, ’twould be unseemly for him to treat a common criminal like a queen, would it not?”

“Criminal?” Kat stared at the earl in disbelief and mounting horror. “Oh, but you cannot think — ”

Lawrence snorted, silencing her protest. “Save your breath, m’dear. There are others who will question you at far greater length. ’Tis my duty to the Crown to expose you for what you are; the Crown’s to decide upon a proper course of punishment.”

Kat’s stricken gaze never left his. “There has been a terrible mistake, milord,” she whispered. “Morgan would never permit such a thing to happen.”

“Morgan, is’t now? ’S’blood, y’are a cheeky wench. I warned Trelane; he would not listen to me. Mayhap that Spanish pup has also had a hand in this little conspiracy, eh?”

“Nay,” Kat cried, understanding too late her attempt to absolve Morgan only increased her own guilt in the earl’s eyes. “Nay,” she repeated more quietly, fists clenched at her sides. “He knows no more of this madness than I, milord. I beg you, summon him here to London. He will quickly clear up this matter.”

“Impossible,” Lawrence snapped, dismissing her plea. “’Twill make little difference, in your position. Obviously Trelane does not miss you overmuch; he did not mount any sort of heroic rescue, did he?”

The brutal reminder thrust a stab of pain through Kat. “What do you intend to do with me?”

The earl nodded as if it were the first sensible question she had asked.

“First I wish to see you cleaned up and made marginally presentable. Tomorrow I shall escort you elsewhere for questioning.”

Kat did not favor the dour threat in his tone. “Questioning, milord? Of what sort?”

He gave her a hard look. “I did not say torture, did I? Nay, mistress, you will find me a fair man so long as you are honest with me. In turn, I vow you will be dealt with just as honestly. If you tell me everything about this papist plot y’are involved in, I may ask for clemency in your case. If not — ” he shrugged, indicating his low value on her life, “ — then I shall not be responsible for the consequences. D’you understand me, mistress?”

“Aye,” Kat whispered, averting her gaze from his merciless stare.

“Good. I suggest you go along with Ellie and see about restoring your appearance somewhat.” Kat glanced over and saw the earl gesture to a shriveled, gray-haired servant who had mysteriously appeared beside his chair. “Mind you, Ellie’s stone-cold deaf, so you needn’t waste efforts trying to wheedle her sympathy or aid in escaping justice.”

Kat nodded and stifled a temptation to challenge the earl into producing his evidence. She realized it was futile to continue to protest her innocence. Obviously, Lawrence had already branded her an enemy of England.

Mayhap once she had a moment to compose herself, she might be able to think of some way to reason with him. She tried not to let her fear show, but the effort sapped the last of her strength and much of her dignity. Nevertheless she walked past the earl’s glowering countenance with her head held high.

S
OMEONE WAS SHAKING
K
AT’S
shoulder.

“Winnie?” she murmured, opening her eyes. Her smile faded when she encountered the scowl of an old woman leaning over the bed: Ellie. Kat quickly rose and donned the threadbare dressing gown she had been given the night before.

Without a word, the servant thrust a wooden cup of water and a stale crust of bread at her. Kat accepted both, and then glanced over her surroundings. In her misery, she had not paid much attention to the room the previous day.

Except for the dismal food, Lawrence’s makeshift prison might qualify as pleasant. The bedchamber was decorated in muted shades of blue and rose — obviously a lady’s room. How odd that it should serve as a jail. There was a gold-framed pier glass and a plush Turkish carpet. The canopied bed was soft and wide. Kat had slept dead to the world until morning light.

After a nibble of bread, she set aside the crust and water and watched Ellie shuffle across the room and silently lay out a gown and kirtle. Ellie departed again without a word. The only sound to be heard was the loud rattle of a bolt and chain as the servant secured the door from the hall.