Fire Raven (23 page)

Chapter Twelve

T
HE MAN IN THE
garden stiffened when he heard the night watch call out the hour. A moment later he relaxed, the lips beneath his trim black mustache thinning into a satisfied line. Just past compline; already it was dark. Any moment now, he expected to see a figure hurrying along the dimly lit garden path, breathless and bemused as she sought out her secret admirer.

Adrien Lovelle experienced a brief qualm. The first time it had been difficult. Destroying such a spirited woman seemed wrong. Kat Tanner fascinated him. She still did, even in death.

Now he must strike again and further fulfill his and his sister’s burning need for revenge. Remembering the greater outrage dealt his beloved Gillian, he shrugged aside any last-minute considerations for mercy where Merry Tanner was concerned. Instead he relived the bitter circumstances that led him here.

Fools! All the English are fools
, Adrien thought. They assumed “Count Saville” was a charming representative of Henri IV’s Court; none suspected, in truth, what prompted Adrien to follow the Tudor Court in its annual procession.

Vengeance — Revenge — The words contrasted with the gentle stillness of the night. Adrien mouthed them, lingering over each syllable in French. He had never appreciated their beauty so keenly before.

Sometimes Adrien wondered at his own obsessive need to right a wrong nearly a score of years old. Whenever his resolve faltered, he took out a miniature of an angel-faced woman. She smiled serenely at him from the past. Something inside him burned whenever he gazed into those pale blue eyes.

Had Slade Tanner felt any hesitation when he force-fed Gillian red salvarsan? Obviously not. Had the Englishman mused over the dosage at all, or had he dumped the entire amount in a goblet of sweet wine and handed it to poor Gillian with a devilish, knowing smile?

Adrien felt perspiration break out on his brow. Memories, anger, flooded back in a surge of dark emotions. He was but twelve when his sister returned to France and told him the story of how Tanner ruined her beauty. Slade had deliberately exposed her to the pox. He sought her death so he might marry an Irish wench of lowly birth.

Young Adrien cut his teeth on tales of Slade Tanner’s treachery. When he became a grown man, he realized what he must do.

It was not enough to kill Slade Tanner, nor his precious bitch of a wife, Bryony. Gillian kept careful track of the Englishman’s accomplishments over the years and noted Slade’s success with rising agitation. Discreet inquiries revealed the extent of the man’s personal fortune, paid with the price of Gillian’s beauty.

Tanner was a wealthy man now, almost untouchable. The Tanner Trading Company was renowned for its honesty, staked upon its owners’ reputations. Slade shared everything — success and fair fortune — with his Irish wife. They sailed together, trading in faraway lands, such as Barbados and the Indies. Both Courts — English and French alike — were intrigued by the notion of the couple; their obvious popularity enraged Gillian. It took years of waiting, watching, and carefully placed spies in Tanner’s multinational crew to finally reveal the couple’s one fatal weakness. It had been obvious all along. Gillian crowed with delight when she seized upon the answer.

Neither loss of fame nor fortune would serve to destroy Slade and Bryony Tanner — The death of their children, one by one, was the only way to shatter their hearts, their lives. The first triumph came when they heard news of the death of their eldest daughter, Katherine. It would be advanced when they were devastated by the demise of the second.

The five Tanner boys were young yet, Gillian had said; there was still ample time to plan. Besides, the two eldest sailed with their parents. It was too difficult to get them alone. The three youngest Tanner boys remained in Ireland, guarded by that fierce old pirate, Brann O’Neill. Their grandfather never let them out of his sight.

Adrien hand slipped inside his doublet and withdrew a jeweled dirk. The precious rubies in the hilt glittered by moonlight. He stroked the blade thoughtfully, musing upon what he must do. It would be a pity to stain fine Damascus steel with Tanner blood.
Non
, he decided, too easy. It would be quick and nearly painless, and no Tanner deserved such an easy death.

Certainly, Slade had not shown Adrien's sister any such mercy. Gilly nearly died an agonizing death a fortnight after surviving the pox. With the help of her loyal maid servant, Elinor, Gillian tried to prove Slade was a murderer. To this end, she cleverly substituted the body of a village wench who died from the pox. Maid and mistress dressed the deceased in Gillian’s finery and partially burned the body to make identification impossible. The dead girl resembled Gillian closely enough to satisfy the sheriff. Hence, Slade Tanner was arrested.

It seemed small recompense for the loss of Gillian’s famed beauty, had Slade succumbed to Tower Green. He had not. Thanks to an old hag’s meddling, Gillian told Adrien, her death was ruled a suicide instead. It was a double outrage. First she lost her renowned beauty, then was relegated to the status of an anonymous corpse buried in unhallowed ground. Even Elizabeth Tudor withdrew her favor in the end and refused to attend the funeral of her former lady-in-waiting.

Gillian shared the rest of the Tanner family’s lies with her little brother. Slade told numerous falsehoods at his trial, chief among them that Gilly was a whore unworthy of remembrance — To this day, a faithless woman was still dubbed a “gillyflower” at Court. Their surname, Lovelle, was rendered a disgrace in England. Elizabeth Tudor forbade any branch of the family, English or French, to visit her Court.

Assumed dead and thus forced to flee England, Gillian returned to the land of her birth, where she found young Adrien quite malleable. He was willing to be coached in the ways of love and revenge. Family honor suggested it; his conscience demanded it.
Oui, the Tanners would pay
.

Adrien tightened his grip on the dirk.
Justice must serve a different master now
, he thought. When Slade learned of the fate of his second born, he would wither away a little more through grief. It was as close to a living death as any man might suffer.

Adrien ran his tongue over his teeth. Much like the proverbial wolf, he lay in wait for his unsuspecting prey. Anticipation of another kill raced through his blood, as the moon streaked across the night sky.

“S
WEET
M
OTHER
A
ND
M
ARY
!” Kat gasped, pausing in the gardens outside Nonsuch to press a hand to her aching side. “I never danced so much in my life. I cannot breathe.”

“Nonsense,” Merry laughed and took Kat by the other hand, tugging her along the moonlit garden path. “You simply need a bit of air. I’ll grant the galliard is tiring at times, but ’tis such fun.”

Kat shook her head good-naturedly and followed Merry further from the palace into the coolness of the late spring evening.

“I vow, my stays will burst one of these days,” Kat grumbled. She glanced down and saw her bosom still heaved dangerously above the décolletage of her violet gown. It was no use trying to tug the lace any higher. She had already tried, much to Merry’s chagrin and amusement.

With such a precarious bodice, Kat tried to minimize her activity during her Presentation. Her curtsies were shallower than usual, and she favored no dances where there was too much hopping about. Yet all the courtiers were anxious to meet her. It seemed every popinjay present had demanded the honor of a dance. Kat could not deny she was flattered, but their lecherous eyes and roving hands left her feeling defensive and rather indignant. She quickly discovered she was not one for flirting and coy bantering, unlike her court-bred sister.

Despite Kat’s conservatism, Merry had declared her a success. It was due to Kat’s exotic looks, Merry claimed, and didn’t seem to mind at all. She hurried Kat along now, glancing right and left with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

“I know he’s here somewhere,” Merry said. Kat suddenly understood her sister’s preoccupation. The gift of a sapphire had captured her greedy feminine heart and piqued her curiosity. Merry was determined to follow her mystery suitor’s instructions to the letter.

“Mayhap I should return to the hall,” Kat suggested.

Merry shook her head. “Stay, sister. I want you here to witness everything so I know I’m not dreaming. Mayhap he and I can steal a quick kiss or two in the shadows, with you acting as lookout before the queen joins the Court, or one of her tiresome spies wanders out into the garden.”

“Merry!”

“Goodness, I forget, you’re such an innocent sometimes.” Merry sounded exasperated. “Rest assured, dear, I shan’t presume to advance any further in my admirer’s affections. I am still a maid in every respect. It does no harm, however, to encourage generous men. What possible danger can come from a quick cuddle?”

Plenty
, Kat thought darkly, remembering Morgan and his smooth seduction. It seemed so long ago, now. She had foolishly given him her heart, her body, and now she had nothing to show for it. She wished she could talk with another woman about what had happened to her. Mayhap Merry?

With a glance at her flighty sister, Kat decided not to risk spilling out her heart. Merry, for all her canniness about Court, still seemed terribly young.

They waited an hour for Merry’s secret admirer to appear. Disappointment reflected upon Merry’s face. She stamped her dancing slipper on the grassy knoll they stood upon.

“Marry, ’twas all a rare hoax! One of the other girls must have played a joke on me. Ooh, I’ll place a wager as to which bawd ’twas: Anne, perhaps, or Elizabeth Howard. Beth always was a catty one. ’Tis likely not even a real sapphire. Paste!”

Merry snorted with disgust and fingered her necklace. The large jewel dangled between her breasts, reflecting the hue of her sky-blue silk. Angry as Merry was, it was clear to Kat she was reluctant to part with the jewelry as yet.

Kat smiled, knowing the dusk concealed her mirth. “It doesn’t seem apt that a man might wait here in plain view of the Court. Wooing one of Bess’s maidens must be done discreetly, I trow.”

Merry drew in her breath. “Of course. What a ninny I am! My hidden knight must remain hidden. So where do I begin to find him, Kat? His message said the gardens, yet there are leagues of garden to be had.”

The redhead sighed, gazing hopelessly around at the myriad of flowers and bushes stretching off into the velvety dark. The nearest maze was illuminated by the shining lights from Nonsuch itself. Within the palace, the revelries still continued, faint music and laughter echoing in the distance, making an eerie refrain in the night.

“Where is the least likely place a couple might be discovered?” Kat asked.

Merry thought a moment and snapped her fingers. “The boxwood maze. How simple, yet how perfect, like the single red and single white rose he sent me last night. Surely ’twas a clue, sister.”

Kat recited softly:

One blushing shame, another white despair:

A third, nor red nor white, had stol’n of both …

Merry glanced at her, startled. “Where did you learn Shakespearean sonnets?”

“In Wales.” Morgan once read those same lines to her; Kat had never forgotten them. Pain touched her at the memory, but Merry seemed immune to her distress.

“Yea. A Tudor rose, both red and white, said to be planted by great King Hal himself in the center of the maze. How apt.” Merry drew in her breath with anticipation. “He must be waiting for me there now. Mayhap he watched me dancing earlier, his eyes for me alone. We can only hope he has not given up and left.”

“Aye,” Kat agreed, dryly. Despite her cynicism, she admitted Merry’s enthusiasm was catching. She agreed they must proceed to the maze. “There we shall quit ways,” she told Merry. “I mustn’t be part of any such intrigue, for in truth, I’m not sure I approve of it.”

“La, Kat, how can you say such a thing?” Kat glimpsed Merry’s pout. “You’ve had more than your fair share of adventure already. Granted, ’twas not with men, but ’tis much the same. A bit of danger is always exciting, is’t not?”