Fire Raven Page 13

  The bag was snatched abruptly from his hand.

  “Enough,” another voice ground out. A boot kicked Cobble away from the prisoner. The other man bent to yank the blanket up over her drenched bodice.

  “Gallant Frenchie, eh?” Cobble jeered. Lucien Navarre regarded him with a challenging, ice-blue stare. Cobble had tangled with Navarre before. Even a tasty mort wasn’t worth a battered face. He muttered beneath his breath as he slunk into the shadows.

  Lucien was disappointed when Cobble retreated without a fight. The man was an imbecile, and he would have taken great satisfaction in bashing the sergeant’s thick skull against a rock.

  “I’ll take first watch, sir,” he offered to Captain Howard, thrusting the torch he carried into the earth. Lucien hunkered down beside the young woman. Howard glanced over at him, grunted his assent and moved off into the darkness, obviously in search of a spot to relieve himself and toss down his bedroll.

  After the other men had settled for the night, Lucien studied the captive again. Only half of her face presently showed; her other cheek remained pressed against the hard ground. He felt a mixture of distress and secret outrage at her plight. It went against his grain to treat a woman so. Lucien had been raised by his parents to treat the gender sex with chivalry, and seeing his fellow soldiers abuse a helpless woman gave him strong misgivings about serving in the English regiment.

  Of course, it was an honor and great distinction, and Lucien was proud enough when he first joined the ranks. When he made the rank of first lieutenant, Elizabeth Tudor had seen fit to reward him during a formal ceremony at Court, personally pinning her colors to his uniform and gracing him with a kind word about his parents.

  Lucien shook his head as he gazed upon the prisoner. He dared not help this woman escape, but he might make her trial a little easier. He carefully slid his left arm under her head, tilting her face upward. He winced at the scrapes and bruises revealed by the light of the torch. In the sunlight, he knew there would be more.

  Lucien started and almost dropped her when her feverish gaze suddenly opened on him.

  “Hot,” she murmured, gazing at him with bright green eyes. She licked her dry lips. “Thirsty.”

  Lucien picked up the water bag Cobble had dropped. He supported her while he dribbled a thin stream between her lips. She looked grateful and, after a few swallows, lay quiet in his arms. Lucien lowered her back to the ground and tucked the blanket higher about her neck. He sat back and watched over her the rest of the night.

  Whenever she roused, he offered water and words of comfort. He spoke softly in French so the others might not hear or understand. When dawn arrived, he helped her up and managed to convince Captain Howard not to bind her hands again.

  THE MYSTERIOUS FEVER LEFT Kat on the third day. By then, she and Lieutenant Navarre had lapsed into a routine of sorts. He protected her from the other men, and she in turn cooperated with him.

  It was no longer necessary for her to walk. She was no longer prodded along by Captain Howard. She and Navarre rode double upon his bay gelding. Her initial terror abated somewhat upon discovering she had an ally of sorts in Navarre. Although he was not foolish enough to sacrifice his own career in an attempt to help her escape, he was man enough to treat her as a lady, even under such adverse circumstances.

  As soon as Navarre took Kat under his wing, Cobble ceased trying to hurt or harass her. Even in the delirium of her fever, she recalled the sergeant crudely groping at her breasts. Cobble’s pockmarked face still leered in her direction now and again, but he dared not approach or accost her. His superior never left her side.

  Surprisingly, Captain Howard had not argued when Navarre insisted Kat ride with him. Mayhap the captain realized they would make better time, and it also relieved him of the burden of her care. Navarre had assumed a command of sorts where she was concerned.

  She gazed around at the scenery while they rode. Quaint cottages with thatched roofs gradually gave way to country manor houses fashioned from brick or stone; humble wooden churches to Gloucester’s great cathedral; Hereford’s apple blossoms to the white chalk hills of Berkshire.

  They were nearly to London, Kat realized. Navarre had informed her that England’s greatest city was their destination. She wrapped her arms tighter about the lieutenant’s waist as his bay horse commenced a trot up a steep incline in the Cotswold Hills.

  Soon the narrow, rutted country lanes gave way to roads sufficiently wide for coaches to pass one another. They passed a number of folk riding wagons or trudging on foot to the city. Most glanced curiously, some pityingly, upon Kat as the contingent of guards thundered by. She felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, grasping the full measure of her plight. For some reason she was under arrest. She had been too afraid of the answer to ask Navarre why.

  When they stopped to water the horses at the Thames, she decided to risk the reply. Navarre was safely distanced from the other men, checking his mount for lameness. Kat wandered casually over in his direction.

  “D’you know why I have been arrested?” she asked him outright, deciding to be blunt in the interest of time. He had been pleased to discover she spoke French — and they were to converse in that tongue ever since. Most common soldiers, Captain Howard included, had not the benefit of such learning, and thus their conversations were private. They took care, however, not to make Howard or the others suspicious by conversing too intently or at great length.

  Navarre glanced at Kat, and for a moment she was disconcerted by the startling sky-blue color of his eyes. He was a strikingly handsome man, golden-haired, with elegant manners. She did not recall the lieutenant at Falcon’s Lair with the others when she was taken prisoner. Mayhap he had other duties then — tending the horses or such.

  “Non, mademoiselle,” Navarre said at last, in his pleasant accent. “I do not know. We were told to locate a blind woman who requested asylum from Lord Trelane.”

  “I am not blind,” Kat pointed out.

  “Oui, but a servant told Captain Howard who you were, and where you were hiding. She swore you had just regained your sight. You also fit the description given the captain.”

  “Who is looking for me?”

  Navarre shook his head. “I am sorry, but I know nothing more.” He unfastened the saddle bag on his steed, handing Kat the food left from his own small ration. “I saved some cheese and a crust of bread for you. Eat it quickly, before the others notice. You’d best get a drink, too, if you want one before we leave.”

  Kat nodded and retreated to a sheltered, grassy spot beneath a willow tree. She greedily devoured Navarre’s offering. The bread was dry, the cheese rimmed with mold, but she was too hungry to care. Likewise, every muscle and bone screamed with fatigue and pain, and her musings were laced with misery.

  Morgan will come for me, she thought again, as she did each day. This time her conviction faltered. It had been about a week now. Surely when Morgan heard what happened, he was outraged. He will spare no effort to find me.

  That night, Kat wondered why she tried so hard to convince herself of Morgan’s love. When Navarre made her a bed beneath the starry sky and rolled out his own blankets nearby, she stared through tear-filled eyes up at the beautiful sky.

  Despite her misery, she still prayed Morgan would come. Perhaps he studied the same stars this night, judging his direction and distance in order to reach her. Mayhap he was waiting for a more opportune time to waylay the travelers. He was outnumbered, after all. Under cover of darkness, doubtless it would be safer.

  During her captivity, Kat remained rigid and nearly sleepless each night, listening for any approaching sounds which might herald a rescue attempt. When the glimmer of a new dawn appeared on each horizon, her hopes faded a little more.

  On the last morning before arriving in London, when Morgan still had not come, she turned her face into the blankets and silently wept.

  LIEUTENANT NAVARRE DREW HIS lathered bay to a halt on a stone bridge spanning a wide, gray-brown
river.

  “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.

  “CRY 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 d
one. 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?”