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  “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.

  SOMEONE WAS SHAKING KAT’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.

  Kat unbraided her hair as she walked over to inspect the clothing Ellie had left. The servant had lugged up pails of hot water the evening before so Kat might bathe. She soaked and scrubbed for two hours until she was satisfied she was rid of most of the filth. There was no help for her skin, though. Kat paused to examine the myriad of cuts and bruises on her face and hands in the pier glass. She looked a sight, like a maid beaten by her master for insubordination.

  She turned her attention to the gown and kirtle. Fashioned from coarse brown homespun, the cloth was clean and neatly mended, but fit only for a tiring woman. The petticoats and undergarments were not much better. Yellowed with age, they had the texture of sand. Kat shuddered at the thought of drawing such harsh material over her raw, tender skin.

  As she brushed out her hair, Kat reminded herself “criminals” could not be choosy. Hence, the bread and water to break her fast. She might as well get today over with, she mused with a sigh, donning the clothes and a pair of worn leather shoes Ellie had left behind. She then devoured the remainder of the dry bread and drank the brackish water, finishing just as the door opened again.

  Ellie motioned her to follow. Kat handed the servant the empty cup in passing, and Ellie nodded her approval. They went down a curving staircase in silence. Kat had the opportunity to examine Lawrence Hall more closely than she had the night before.

  Portraits graced the walls in every direction — the earl’s noble ancestors, she presumed. A variety of swords and ancient weapons, ranging from maces to battle axes, also lined the stairwell. Kat supposed they belonged to Lawrence; if so, he obviously valued them. Unfortunately, all of the weapons had been placed too high for her to reach.

  Kat realized her thoughts must be revealed on her face. Too late, she tore her gaze from the display of arms and found Lawrence himself keenly observing her from the base of the stairs.

  “Wise of me to place my prized collection out of reach of mischievous children, don’t you agree?” he said by way of greeting.

  “Most wise, milord,” Kat coolly agreed, joining the earl as Ellie melted into the shadows. Kat forced herself to accept Lawrence’s proffered arm as he turned to the door. He was elegantly garbed in dark blue velvet. His brocade doublet and trunk hose bore a gold and silver thread design. His matching stockings sported embroidered clocks.

  “We are going out, Hemgart,” Lawrence informed a more modestly attired servant standing sentinel by the doors. The butler merely nodded. Kat sensed Hemgart staring at her and stared at him in turn. He quickly averted his gaze.

  “My coach awaits you, mistress.” Lawrence indicated the direction with his ivory-handled cane. He did not seem to fear Kat might bolt. To her surprise, there were no other servants waiting outside to assure the earl’s safety. For a moment she toyed with the idea of toppling the old man down the steep steps and sprinting off down the street. She suspected it would be futile; Lawrence confirmed as much a short time later.

  “I confess I am impressed. You passed the test, m’dear,” Lawrence said, once they were in his coach and their journey underway. “Had you tried to assault my person within or without Lawrence Hall, I instructed my staff that you were to be cut down where you stood. You obviously value your neck, mistress.”

  “I know not what you mean, sir,” Kat stiffly said.

  “Come now,” he chided her, “we both know you might have easily overpowered this old man. Perhaps gone free for a time, until the price on your pretty head was sufficient to stir interest among your own kind. In my experience, criminals are a faithless lot who will betray one another without a great strain of conscience.”

  “Then ’tis most fortunate for you I do have a conscience,” Kat snapped back, struggling to keep her temper in check. “Despite your repeated accusations, milord, I am not the criminal you claim.”

  “Such remains to be seen, mistress. Ah, here we are.” Lawrence leaned forward to rap his cane on the wall of the coach, signaling his driver to stop.

  Kat glanced out the window and saw a mighty stone structure rising ominously into the haze over the city.

  “What place is this?” she demanded. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded at the sight of the dismal fortress.

  From the other seat, Lawrence regarded her coldly. “I vow y’know it well enough by now, mistress,” he said. “’Tis Newgate Prison, the only proper residence for baseborn criminals such as yourself.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “NAY!”

  Kat’s cry was drowned out by other sounds — screams and wretched moans issued from a passing cart designed with high, barred sides. It was crammed full of unfortunates also destined for Newgate.

  She felt a stinging blow to her cheek and cradled the burning flesh in her palm. She glowered at the earl through shock-filled eyes.

  “I’ll tolerate no hysterics, mistress,” Lawrence said, waving his cane at her in a threatening fashion. “I vowed you would be dealt with honestly, and this is the only sort of honesty your kind understands. Lest you think to escape now, rest assured my driver stands just outside the door to waylay you, if need be.”

  Outraged, Kat stared at the earl. But she was more infuriated by her own naivety. She had taken Lawrence at his word. He implied she would be treated fairly if she cooperated. She had done nothing to incur his wrath. She should have shoved the old man down the mansion steps when she’d had a chance!

  Kat expected no fair trial. Henry Lawrence was going to abandon her to rot in Newgate, a fitting end to an endless nightmare.

  Instead of uselessly railing at the man who had deceived her, Kat steeled herself for what was to come. Lawrence looked surprised by her composure and muttered grudgingly, “You’ve backbone, m’dear, I’ll grant you that.”

  The door to the coach swung open, admitting the sights and smells of more human misery. As Kat stepped down from the coach, she was greeted by a pail of waste flung down from a window above. The excretion missed the ditch by a country mi
le, splattering her skirts instead. She choked at the smell and clapped a hand over her nose and mouth.

  “Demmed unpleasant business,” Lawrence said mildly, descending from the coach beside her. “We must accept the just dues of our crimes, however.”

  “My sole ‘crime,’ milord, was trusting you,” Kat said, her voice muffled by her hand. She vowed never to be so culpable again.

  Lawrence did not immediately reply. Instead he fastidiously tugged on a pair of white gloves — a sight so incongruous in a prison yard that Kat stared at him in shocked fascination.

  “I confess I am somewhat discomfited by this place,” he said at last. “’Tis not my usual daily fare.”

  “By your composure, milord, I vowed you did this quite regularly,” Kat retorted, removing her hand from her mouth so he might hear her clearly this time.

  “Nonsense.” Lawrence appeared genuinely offended. “I simply do this for queen and country’s sake. A pity, m’dear, that Sir Walsingham no longer presides as secretary of state. There was no deceiving the good man; I know he would have been interested in your case.”

  “Why?”

  He waved aside her ignorance. “Come now, mistress. You and I both know Walsingham’s reputation. He managed to extract confessions from the canniest of criminals. ’Tis regrettable he is gone. Walsingham’s expertise with the rack will not soon be forgotten.” Kat shivered as the earl’s musings continued:

  “It cannot be denied, Walsingham had a true calling for the peine forte et dure. With the careful placement of a single stone, he oft persuaded guilty papists to a different confession before they died.”

  Lawrence sighed, as if he missed the greater glory of days gone by. “Now, of course, criminals are merely hanged as a matter of course.”

  “Milord, please listen — ”

  But Lawrence was not listening. He glanced back at the coach, where his driver was shouting and waving in order to attract the earl’s attention.

  “Milord! ’Tis ’er Majesty!”

  Kat turned to look, too, when the noise in the streets increased in a sudden din of confusion and discord. Everyone shouted and pointed in the same direction. She and Lawrence both strained to see what induced the frenzied outburst. Proceeding down Newgate towards the prison came a gilded carriage, drawn by four milky white horses and guarded by a brace of Tudor soldiers.

  “The Virgin Queen! ’Tis ol’ Bessie ’erself!” someone cried.

  “Quick, lads, move the cart.” One of the prison guards shouted the order at his fellow jailers. The cart full of wailing wretches was swiftly pushed out of view behind a low stone wall in the prison ward.

  Kat stood rigidly at Lawrence’s side, unaware that the earl had already made a leg for the passing queen. Her nerves quivered with a variety of emotions: fear and outrage, unwilling fascination. She neglected to make her obeisance when the royal coach passed. She was too caught up in her own predicament to concern herself with etiquette.

  One of the queen’s guards mistook Kat’s mien for rebellion. He hurried in her direction, aiming his pikestaff for her knees. Before he dashed her to the earth, however, the coach stopped so abruptly it rocked back on its wheels.

  Kat glimpsed several pale ovals framed by the open windows of the royal coach — women’s faces. A moment later she heard a scream.

  “Sweet Jesu! Kat!”

  The cry was followed by the descent of a figure from the coach. The young woman nearly tripped over her train of black taffeta, as she dashed across the prison yard. The hood of her black cloak fell back, unfurling a cloud of burnished copper curls. She cried hysterically all the way. Her sobbing speech was incomprehensible until she reached Kat and the earl. There was silence in the prison yard as everyone stared wide-eyed at the unfolding drama.

  “Dearest Kat.” Gasping for breath, the young woman moved as if to fling herself into Kat’s arms. “Heaven’s mercy, we thought you were dead.”

  Kat swiftly stepped back from the stranger. She saw a flash of hurt in the redhead’s gray-green eyes.

  “I know you not,” she said, forcing aside a faint sense of recognition. It stirred in the fogged depths of her mind, frightening her more than the woman’s intensity.

  “Indeed, young lady, you must be mistaken,” Lawrence interposed, addressing the well-dressed maiden more kindly than he ever did Kat. “This woman is a baseborn criminal, and I have brought her to Newgate in order that she may confess her crimes against the realm.”

  “Nay,” the redhead protested. She sounded indignant and gave her bright curls a fierce shake. “There is some terrible mistake, milord. Her name is Katherine Alanna Tanner, and she is my sister, presumed lost at sea.”

  AT THE SHOCKING DECLARATION, a stunned silence fell over Henry Lawrence. Meanwhile, Kat met the desperate gaze of the woman claiming to be her sister. There was such intense pain and hope in those gray-green eyes, Kat was forced to look away. She felt guilty for not being able to confirm the fantastic tale.

  Kat could offer neither reassurance nor denial of the other woman’s claim, though she knew Lawrence bristled at the notion she had any relatives at all, much less one so well-bred and obviously favored by the queen.

  A rustling of taffeta was heard across the yard, along with a murmur of voices. Kat turned with the others and saw the queen herself descending from the coach. Flushed with embarrassment, Kat remembered her manners and quickly knelt. The woman claiming to be her kin observed Kat from the corner of her teary eye, as she, too, made her obeisance to the approaching monarch.

  “Damme.” Lawrence swore under his breath. He had not yet risen from his earlier leg and felt his joints aching from his hips to his toes. Still, he gritted his teeth and held his position as Elizabeth Tudor approached. The queen moved briskly indeed for one dragging several yards of bejeweled velvet. Two young girls chasing her train fell over themselves trying to keep pace. A moment later, she arrived.

  “You may rise.” The regal voice matched the sharp, dark eyes and pointed face framed by a fan-shaped ivory ruff. As the earl and his prisoner came to their feet, Elizabeth turned and addressed the lady clad in mourning. “Mistress Tanner,” she said a trifle sternly, “I trust there is suitable cause for this scene?”

  “Aye, I believe so, Your Majesty.”

  “You believe so?” The queen’s lips twitched, and Kat realized her crusty heart held a soft spot for the pretty redhead. “Because of your bereaved state, I am prepared to listen, m’dear, but make it swift. I feel far from patient today.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.” The redhead raised a teary gaze to her liege and said, “I have cause to believe this woman is my sister.”

  She gestured at Kat, who saw the queen’s keen regard shift to her.

  “Y’are certain, child?”

  Mistress Tanner nodded. “I have no doubts, Your Grace.”

  Elizabeth did not speak again but merely nodded and returned her questioning gaze to the redhead. Taking a deep breath, Mistress Tanner continued her tale:

  “Nigh two months ago, my parents received word one of our ships was lost at sea. They sent notice to me at Whitehall, Your Majesty may recall.” When Elizabeth nodded again, Mistress Tanner appeared heartened.

  “The ship that sank was the Fiach Teine. ’Tis Gaelic for ‘Fire Raven.’ ’Twas captained by my sister Katherine, who we all dubbed “Kat” with great affection.”

  Mistress Tanner turned and looked directly at Kat. “All hands were reported lost. I just returned from Ireland and the mass wake that was held there for my beloved sister and her crew.”

  Kat stared at the redhead. She saw convincing tears flow unchecked from the woman’s eyes at the telling of the incredible story. She tried to remember something as Mistress Tanner spoke; other than a brief flash of the red-headed man drowning, her mind was disturbingly blank. No answers or excuses came to her lips. She summoned no emotion, save pity for this poor creature, whose mind was obviously unhinged due to grief. Apparently Elizabeth deduced the same thin
g.

  “Dear Mary,” the queen said kindly, “I barely remember Katherine myself, as she was hardly prone to appear at Court, yet I do recall her a willful sort, given to wearing men’s garb and oft behaving in untoward ways. Katherine favored your mother’s people, the O’Neills. Would she have managed such a graceful obeisance as this lady? Methinks not. As much as you loved your twin, m’dear, you must admit Katherine had not a drop of manners. She was all Irish and twice as stubborn as those folk are wont to be.”

  Twin! Kat heard little more of what Elizabeth said. Her stunned gaze flew back to the woman the queen had called “Mary.”

  “Please, Your Majesty. I know not why Kat does not remember me, but I know of others who can verify her identity. Uncle Kit, for one.”

  “Very well, child,” Elizabeth soothed the maid, reaching out to pat Mistress Tanner’s fair cheek with visible affection. “Inquiries shall be made, if you wish.” She turned and regarded the earl with some surprise. “Milord Lawrence. I did not recognize you at first. Are you given to frequent Newgate nowadays?”

  Lawrence flushed and bowed. “Well met, Your Majesty. ’Tis I who seek to deliver this woman into the custody of the Crown. I have proof she is part of a conspiracy with Spain at the core and brought her here in order to effect a more speedy confession.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” she murmured, flicking a glance at the grim stone tower nearby. “Pray tell where you found the woman.”

  “Wales, Your Grace. She was in the custody there of a minor Welsh noble of Spanish descent.”

  “Ah.” Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, then turned to scrutinize Kat again. “Have you memory of aught we have spoken of, mistress?”

  “Nay,” Kat admitted. “Such speculation only serves to distress me further, Your Majesty. I remember nothing before Wales, though at times I do dream of fire and the sea.” She shivered and met her monarch’s piercing gaze for the first time. “’S’truth, Your Majesty, I know not at all who I am, though I can and will vow I am not part of any conspiracy against the Crown.”