Tangled Hearts (19 page)

Charissa nodded and turned a little circle to make her own coarse skirts flair out. “You will be the prettiest at the masque tonight.”

Dory turned from her reflection. “Masque?”

Tilly retrieved something from the folded linens she’d brought. “Charissa and I worked on it today. I think it came out nicely.”

She held up a small mask on a stick with matching ribbons hanging from it. Golden scraps and feathers in various shades of blue covered the mold that would sit just over her eyes and the tops of her cheekbones.

“Such talent,” Dory said, examining their work. Bloody lucky! She was supposed to be something she wasn’t tonight. And she certainly wasn’t this lady swathed in silk. “Why is there a masque tonight?”

“An envoy from Spain has arrived to discuss the possible marriage of one of the king’s daughters to their king’s son. His majesty decided to make it into a masque for entertainment.” Tilly shrugged. “It’s caused quite a lot of work for the cooks and maids.”

“I’m so sorry you had to create this for me.”

Tilly waved her hand. “Pish, ’twas fun.”

“Well, it’s lovely,” Dory said.

“You are lovely,” Charissa said and pushed Dory toward the mirror again.

Would Ewan think her lovely? Or just a fraud?

…

Ewan scanned the opulent great hall as Henry made his rounds of the costumed guests. Candles by the thousands lit the room in a warm glow and aristocrats moved about one another, stepping upon the cushiony rugs. The Spanish envoy and his men grouped together in one corner looking uncomfortable in their somber clothes as Henry’s ladies and gentlemen meandered by. A quartet played a whimsical tune while space opened up for a dance to begin.

Despite the masquerade, Ewan wore his usual English court attire. He would have to commission another set if they were to stay longer. Caden had provided funds from Druim for his and Searc’s stay, but the costs at court were quite high. He’d have to speak with Cromwell about it if they were required to remain on to find the traitor. Their investigation was proceeding slowly. The old groom he’d sent Searc to interview had seen Katharine Wellington with Rowland Boswell and James Wellington, along with her husband, of course. Not much help there.

He sipped his wine and turned his thoughts to escape scenarios in his mind. If they couldn’t find the third traitor for Henry, Ewan would have to send Dory to safety and then exile himself from Druim. There was also Searc and Charissa to think about. Och, he must remain one step ahead of Cromwell in order to get them out first.

A lady in yellow skirts smiled at him. She was full and round and looked invitingly soft, but Ewan merely returned a nod and turned away. She didn’t have lush, silky curls that sat about her shoulders. Nor did she have a long slender neck and straight shoulders strong enough to take on the weight of the world to save cast-off children.

Where was Dory? Would she come to the masque in costume? He could easily imagine her in a captain’s jacket over red damask and lace like a woman pirate. Dangerous, but also vulnerable. Her long limbs soft and exposed. A full hat with scarlet plumes bending down that he could remove later to tease along her skin. He’d run the soft feather down the slope of her spine to her perfectly round backside.

Ewan closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing in the heavy perfumes and listening to the jaded laughter around him. Och, but he’d love to be home, would love to have Dory safely in his arms. Blast! Where was she? With all these bloody masks, how could he spot her? Perhaps she wouldn’t even come down after earlier. He’d given her space for the rest of the day, space to let her anger cool and her mind to accept that he’d not let her go. Would she have accepted his claiming if he’d asked her? Probably not, after knowing him for such a short time. Women liked a drawn-out courting. No, claiming her had been the best thing to do.

His eyes focused on a slender form near the archway, a new peacock with matching feathered mask. Unlike the other women, she wore no hood or hat, but allowed her hair to sparkle with pearls in the lamp light. Ribbons twined around her fingers as she held onto the mask’s stick, her other hand lifting her emerald blue skirts to walk. He saw the tips of her slippers peek as she walked closer, closer toward him. Her grace was distracting, and he turned to view the other side of the room where Searc spoke with a young maid in plum.

He really should pay more attention to what the lad was up to. Rachel Munro would have his skin if Searc woke up shackled to some maid down in England. His breath hitched on the irony, worrying about Searc being tied to an English lass when Ewan had just passed that sentence on himself. He grinned and chuckled under his breath.

Something brushed against Ewan’s leg and he turned. The peacock stood directly in front of him. He bowed his head, feeling tongue-tied. Even without seeing her full face, she was exquisite. The glow of the candlelight along her exposed collarbone gave her almost a magical quality. The rich fabric of her gown hugged her form, and for a split second he imagined what sound it would make pooling on the floor around her slippered feet.

He swallowed. “Excuse me,” he said and stepped to the side. He inhaled to quell his ridiculous instant reaction to her and stopped. She smelled of flowers and warmth and freedom. He inhaled again and a slow grin relaxed along his jaw.

She slid a gloved hand up his arm. “Claim me and yet you don’t even recognize me,” she said and slanted her mask to the side to glare at him.

He’d already guessed and relief loosened his muscles yet also sped up his pulse. “’Twas the mask,” he said. “I cannot tell who anyone is.”

“You are familiar with my body, or have you already forgotten that?”

“I’m familiar with it naked and thrashing,” he retorted.

The mask snapped back up but it couldn’t hide the rush of fire into her cheeks.

He took her hand and turned it palm up at the last moment. He kissed the warm flesh in the middle, making her fingers contract. “And that I shall never forget.”

They were words he’d spoken before, but this time… His smile faded at the squeezing in his gut. He watched her hair slide against her bare upper back as she turned to survey the room. “Did ye fix yer hair like that?”

She shook her head, making the tresses dance again. “Tilly worked her own type of magic.”

“And the costume?”

“Tilly and Charissa made the mask. The costume was a gift from Jane.”

“She’s a thankful lass.”

Dancers stepped together and apart, their hands flat against one another, and turned to proceed down the line in time with the lute. “Do ye dance?”

“Often,” she replied. “But not like that.” A wry grin turned up one side of her red-hued lips.

“Too boring?” He inhaled the soft flower scent that wafted from her hair.

She feigned a yawn. “No knives are involved.”

He laughed and so did she, leaving him to wonder if she jested or not. They watched for a moment more. “But it doesn’t look difficult if you pay attention. Do you know the steps?”

“Aye, would ye like to try?”

“Rather than just stand here doing nothing but hold these heavy skirts off the floor? Yes.” She placed her fingers in his open hand and he guided her toward the end of the line of dancers.

Despite not knowing the dance, Dory picked it up quickly. Her grace was obvious as she wound her way between the dancers and turned without bumping into anyone or stepping on feet. Several men slid into her, making Ewan’s hand itch for his sword. ’Twould be easier to protect her with a
sghian dubh
in this press of people, but Ewan didn’t carry one, not since he was a lad.

As the song faded, he caught her arm and guided her toward the long table with benches flanking both sides.

Before she could sit, the king’s page, a young man with clipped blond hair, approached. He was more of a boy than a man. “Our majesty wishes for Lady Wellington to join him at the head of the table.”

“I don’t go anywhere without my husband,” she said and latched onto Ewan’s arm. The page’s eyes widened, but he led them both toward Henry where he lounged in his throne. Henry smiled as she approached, but Ewan barely caught the glare the king shot toward him.

“Lady Wellington, you look lovelier than a sapphire in your costume tonight.”

She curtsied. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Ewan stood at Dory’s arm, unwilling to leave her alone with the womanizing king. Rumors had been rampant about his conquests, especially since he no longer lusted after his wife, Anne. The man perused Dory like she was a mountain to climb, a breathtaking beauty and a thrilling challenge. He should have sent her away with her father.

“We have yet to discover anything,” Ewan said to break the man’s stare, but Henry didn’t look away. In fact, he took Dory’s hand and kissed the back of it. Bloody English dog!

“I think you have to look deeper,” Henry said. “Examine all possibilities,” he drawled out as he kissed Dory’s hand once more.

“We will, your majesty,” Dory said and slowly withdrew. Ewan felt her hand brush backward along her dress, discretely wiping the kisses away.

Behind him he felt a nudge of a pitcher. “I can’t get through,” came a deep whisper.

Unwilling to take his eyes off Dory, who was regrettably taking a seat to Henry’s left, Ewan took the pitcher and leaned over to set it on the table.

Henry picked up his goblet and finally looked at Ewan, a challenge in his sharp blue eyes. Oh how he wanted to pour the wine all over the royal brat, but Ewan knew better. Henry Tudor would like nothing better than to have a reason to throw him in the Tower so he could comfort his worried wife. Ewan almost grinned, thinking about Dory’s reaction to that. Maybe he should let the lass defend herself, although she might be responsible for regicide if he did.

Ewan poured wine in Henry’s goblet and then into the one before Dory.

“Thank you,” she said and looked lovingly up at him. He kissed the top of her woven hair and stood with his hands on her shoulders.

Henry was about to sip the wine when the young page who’d led them stepped up. “Your majesty. Lord Cromwell says I should try all your food and drink first.”

Henry stopped, annoyed but resigned, and handed the goblet to the lad. The boy took a sip. Ewan glanced down at Dory as she paused, shoving her cup back down with a clunk. She tilted her head up at him, eyes wide.

That look froze Ewan’s blood. “Wait,” he called out, but the boy had already sipped and swallowed. Dory jumped up, knocking the wooden stool backwards, just as the lad crumpled.

Chapter Thirteen

16 July of the Year our Lord God, 1518

Dearest Katharine,

I wish you had not told the jackal about our heir. He will see the babe as a threat. His wife has already produced a son, but I will find a way for our own child to rule. He is but an assistant in these plans. His background is a common one, not meant for royalty.

Rowland

“Step back!” someone yelled. Ewan stood like a rock in a stream as courtiers rushed forward and Henry was swept away. Dory dropped beside the poisoned boy, her skirts draping his legs. Ewan tried to shield her, worried she would expose herself.

Was there poison in the wine or had the boy succumbed to a natural illness? After a long minute of conjecture and gasps, Dory’s shoulders slumped forward over the boy. The lad moved, his eyes blinking open. Hell, she must have healed him!

“Watch out!” Ewan yelled and lifted Dory from the ground. “She’s fainted.” The page sat up and a maid shoved through, pulling him into a hug.

“Did she drink the wine?” Richard Pembroke asked.

“Nay,” someone else answered.

“I feel fine,” the page said. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Just in case,” Ewan added, “throw that wine out.” He cradled Dory to his chest and walked through the throng of unsettled diners.

“I am well,” she whispered though kept her eyes shut, but her heavy limbs told him she was drained. As he walked with her out of the room, Cromwell met his eyes. Annoyance? Suspicion?

Once they reached the vacant corridor, Dory opened her eyes. “You can put me down.”

“It was poisoned?”

“Yes. Put me down.”

“Ye are weak after healing.”

“His poison wasn’t potent.”

“Ye are still worn out.” He clipped down the corridor, up the stairs and set her down outside their door. He barred her way when she made to enter.

“You think someone could be in the room?”

“I’m finding that court can be just as lethal as the battlefield.”

He pushed the door open a crack, peering through into the room, straight to the man standing before the fire. Battle rage flowed up and into Ewan’s impatient body. All this quiet sparring wore on a man.

“Prepare to die,” he said in Gaelic and unsheathed his sword. He strode forward and the burly man turned. Fire and shadow cut along his features as another stepped from the window.

“Alec?” Ewan said and recognized Searc in his periphery.

“Seems my mother can’t live without me,” Searc said, a definite growl in his tone.

Alec Munro stepped forward, his solid stride a much missed indicator of his Highland strength. He grasped Ewan’s forearm. “We wondered where you were,” he said in greeting. “If you’d gotten yourself hung.” Alec’s eyes shifted to Dory standing inside the room. “Or wed to an unfortunate English lass.”

“And to drag me home,” Searc added.

Alec nodded but didn’t look away from Dory. “And who are ye?” he asked in English.

Dory smiled at the red-bearded man dressed in travel-worn Scottish clothing. It was a wonder he’d gotten into the bailey, much less their room.

“I am Dory,” she said, leaving off her surname. What did he expect her to say? Wyatt, Wellington… Brody? Her smile faded. “I fear I’m the reason they haven’t yet returned.”

Ewan snorted. “Bloody King Henry more likely.”

Alec looked between them and pulled on his beard. “Ye rid of Boswell?”

“Aye, Henry accepted him, but then ordered us to find the third traitor. The second is dead.” Ewan glanced at Dory. She rubbed at her forehead and sat on the edge of the bed. “Och, ye must be exhausted,” he said and went to her, although he didn’t know what to do. Tuck her into bed? Not with all those layers on.

Luckily she waved him off. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“What happened?” Searc asked.

“It seems there is a traitor still at court, one who tried to poison the king and Dory.”

“Poison?” Alec questioned with a small bellow. The loud punch of volume didn’t even make Dory flinch. In fact she smiled.

“The devil, I’ve missed yelling. This damned court is too quiet,” she said.

Alec stared at her.

“She was raised among pi… seamen. And… she has Rachel and Meg’s talent among others.” Ewan smiled at Alec’s shocked face. It took a lot to surprise the aging Highlander.

Alec walked over to her. “Who are yer parents, lass? There must be some relation.” He looked at Ewan. “Is there a light?”

Ewan nodded and Alec swore in Gaelic. “She must have Brindle blood in her,” Alec repeated, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw.

Dory straightened her shoulders. “My biological father was Rowland Boswell and my mother was Katharine Wellington. They were not married, making me a—”

“A lovely lass, from the look of it,” Alec finished. “Yer mother must have been beautiful because yer father was a beady-eyed—”

“She’s been told she looks exactly like her mother, just with darker eyes,” Ewan said. “And,” he continued, “she just saved Henry’s tasting lad.”

“Luckily Dory was there,” Searc commented. “Who handed the wine to the king?”

Ewan’s mind wove back through the details. “I did,” he said, his jaw tightening.

“You handed the king of England poisoned wine?” Alec asked, incredulous.

“Someone handed it to me from behind. The man whispered that he couldn’t get through. It could have been poisoned anywhere from the kitchen forward.”

“Aye,” Alec agreed, “but whoever planned it certainly wanted ye to leave a bad impression, don’t ye think?”

Ewan had already come to that conclusion, and nodded grimly. “Luckily there is no proof the wine was poisoned as the taster is fine.”

“But you poured some for me, too,” she pointed out. “Why would you poison your own bride?”

“Did ye drink any?” Alec asked.

“Just a sip, but no one was looking,” she answered.

“Then the two of ye could be plotting together. Some would say that ye poured yer bride the poisoned wine to make it look like ye weren’t responsible.” Alec paused. “Bride?”

There was a long gap where Alec looked back and forth between them.

“It’s a ruse,” Dory said, “a story so we could stay close for protection at court.”

Alec’s one bushy eyebrow rose and his gaze moved to Ewan’s.

“I claimed her,” Ewan said in English. He could have used Gaelic, and probably should have considering the thunder he heard booming on the countryside beyond the bailey.

“Claimed her, well…” Alec’s face broke into a grin. “Meg was right.” He looked at his son. “She’ll skin ye for letting him steal the heart of an English lass.”

Thunder cracked outside the window, rattling the pitcher in the basin. Alec turned to Dory. “You said she had other powers?” he asked in Gaelic.

Outside a voice rose up. “Fire!”

Searc searched out the window. “It’s just a tree in the orchard beyond.”

“I am not an English lass,” Dory said, using Alec’s words and even a good dose of imitated Scottish accent. “And I certainly haven’t had my heart stolen by anyone. His claim on me is simply carnal.”

Alec choked.

“She has a way with words,” Ewan said and couldn’t help his grin at Alec’s red face.

She moved quickly to the man’s side to see how he was. A little touch on the hand and Alec stopped hacking.

“So someone may be trying to make me look guilty of treason,” Ewan said, quickly averting more of Dory’s anger.

“Ye and yer… bride,” Alec said. “I think the two of ye should just leave with me and Searc, head back up north where Henry’s unlikely to follow.”

Ewan shook his head. “I won’t give the English a reason to attack Druim or Munro Keep.”

Alec waved his hand. “We’ll hide ye up in the caves if they come. Say ye never returned.”

Ewan glanced at Dory, but her face was marble-like, beautiful but not very helpful. “Dory’s family lives at sea. They are returning to bring some evidence about the third traitor to Henry. If she’s not here, they will be hung.” He shook his head. “She won’t leave now.”

“So you won’t leave,” Alec said in Gaelic.

Ewan answered with a shake of his head.

Alec scratched at his beard. “Well then,” he switched back to English, “Searc and I will be going alone. I will let Caden know what’s kept ye down here, though Meg has been just as anxious as Rachel.”

“Tell him not to come,” Ewan added, knowing his friend would want to help. “Henry’s looking for traitors. If Meg comes down with Caden, Henry might try to imprison her for her father’s crimes.”

“I can’t leave,” Searc said, his voice soft, though his eyes were hard.

“You could both go,” Dory said from where she’d returned to the edge of the bed.

“Da, you can go home, but I’m staying,” Searc continued. “There’s too much going on here—”

“Go and be safe,” Ewan said to Searc.

“Are you saying that England is too dangerous for a Highlander?” Searc asked in Gaelic.

Ewan grumbled. “Henry is looking for someone to dump his fury on, his blame for losing all those heirs. Who better than a Scot?”

“Another reason to stay and help you,” Searc argued.

Alec rubbed his chin while he looked at his son. Searc stood straight. Had the boy grown in the last two weeks? He certainly seemed older.

“Ye have your stubborn mind set, lad,” Alec said. Searc didn’t answer, just stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ye’re as bad as yer mother.”

Ewan would have laughed at the ridiculousness of Alec Munro calling anyone else stubborn, but Dory was pacing, a frown pulling her gently arched brows together.

“Perhaps I’ll stay in London for a spell until ye have this mess cleared up,” Alec said and Searc’s shoulders relaxed a small bit.

“I said, you can go,” Dory repeated looking at Ewan.

Ewan’s gaze met hers. “I know ye haven’t yet adjusted to the idea of me claiming ye,” he said slowly, waiting for another explosion of lightning, but it didn’t come. Hell, he hadn’t adjusted to it, either. “But I have claimed ye, and therefore leaving ye is not an option.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but a hard knock on the door stopped her and set the room in silent motion. Alec slid into the press among blue and green costumes and Searc faded into the shadows of a dark corner. Ewan walked to the door, his ready sword in hand.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Open the door, Brody.” Cromwell’s voice penetrated the thick wood. With a quick glance to make certain only he and Dory were visible, Ewan unbarred the door.

“The king was nearly poisoned,” Cromwell said as he stepped inside.

“I understand the taster is well,” Ewan countered.

“We set some of the wine in the courtyard and a pigeon died upon drinking it,” Cromwell said.

“How terrible.” Dory cringed. “But the boy was fine. Perhaps he was just nervous and fainted.”

Cromwell’s pinched face snapped to Dory. “I have heard through rumors that you’ve been heard calling upon the devil. You touched the boy. Did you call him back with a promise to Satan?”

Ewan’s hand tightened around the hilt. “Do not throw accusations at my wife.” His words were low, but the threat was evident. “If ye wish us to leave court, then order us thus. Otherwise, assist us in finding the true traitor instead of creating fabrications based on foolish rumors.”

Cromwell’s eyes seemed to pop even farther from his apple-like face. Tension clogged the room as the second most powerful man in England weighed the strength of the situation.

“Lord Cromwell,” Dory said softly, once again playing the demur, innocent. “I most assuredly do not consort with Satan and wouldn’t know the first thing about making a pact to save a servant boy. I understand your great concern for the welfare of the king, but do consider the… outlandishness of your words.”

Softly spoken but still cutting. Cromwell’s gaze returned to Ewan. “I will be watching you closely.”

Ewan held open the door without uttering a word. Those with obvious strength and wisdom didn’t need the last word. With a flash of his short cape, Cromwell strode out.

“Ye seem to have a powerful enemy,” Alec said as he reemerged, his frown as vicious as a Highland blizzard. “’Tis good we are staying if ye ain’t leaving.”

Where had Cromwell heard of Dory’s powers? Or was he just grasping at superstition? Alec moved toward the door and pressed his ear against the wood.

“There should be food waiting in my room,” Searc said. “I asked Charissa to bring me some.”

Alec pulled away. “I’ll get a bite and find my way out before dawn. But I’ll be close.”

“And I will stay here at court,” Searc announced with a lighter voice at having won this round with his father.

Ewan nodded as Searc took a peek out the door and waved his father out, silently slipping along the dark corridor.

Ewan turned after barring the door. Dory had moved to the table where a lamp burned. She spread out the copies of Boswell’s letters that Cromwell’s page had brought and peered down at them as if the traitor’s name would jump out if she looked hard enough.

He walked up behind her, close enough that she’d feel his presence, not enough to touch her. A few curls had tumbled down from her woven hair to rest with the ribbons cascading with the rest of her free flowing waves. If he touched the mass he knew it would run like silk through his fingers. If he buried his face in it, the subtle smell of flowers would infuse him, sinking in to tie him tightly to her.