Heather Graham (41 page)

“Milady, a young maid I did not know rushed up to me in the hallway. She said that it was from a friend, and that it was important.”

Rose’s fingers trembled. There was no seal on the note. The paper was of a poor quality.

She lifted the flap. “Milady. Meet me in the rose garden. This afternoon at three.”

There was nothing more.

Rose looked at Garth. “We have to find Pierce and tell him,” she said.

He nodded.

Once again, she waited through long hours for Pierce to make an appearance. She lingered in the hallways, speaking with other wives. She went down to the river to watch a rowing match, where she cheered and waved and tried very hard to appear as if she were a widow adjusting to her fate. She started to tell her father about the note, but then determined not to.

As the day wore on, she became more uneasy. In the very early afternoon she suddenly summoned Mary Kate. “I want you and Garth to take my father and Woody back to the castle.”

“And leave you alone?” Mary Kate said, horrified.

“I’m just afraid for Woody suddenly.”

That caught Mary Kate’s attention. “Beneath the king’s very nose?” she said.

“We were both kidnapped beneath the king’s very nose!” Rose reminded her.

Mary Kate grew silent. She sighed, loudly. She huffed for a few minutes. “All right, milady, but His Grace, the duke, may not like it.”

“His Grace, the duke, is simply in no position to question my decisions,” Rose said gravely.

Mary Kate was easy to manipulate compared to her father. Ashcroft didn’t want to leave her, and wasn’t going to. Not until she convinced him that his grandson needed him, and she had Pierce. And every man in London knew that her father was with her in England now, to chaperon her. She could never remarry, not without his permission, and the king’s.

Garth balked at leaving, too. “I’ve still not been able to find His Grace!”

“I will find him, Garth. Please, I want my son safe.”

By the time her family had left the castle. Rose left her quarters herself, nervously pacing the hallways. She was just turning the corner to return for a cape when she saw a dark figure leaving her rooms. She flattened herself against a wall, watching with amazement.

It was Pierce …

It was not Pierce!

Her heart raced. She closed her eyes. She was so very, very glad she had sent Woody home!

She opened her eyes then, determined that she must follow the dark figure. But as she turned the corner again, the figure disappeared down another hall. She ran, but by the time she reached the next hallway, it was gone.

A clock began to strike. It was a quarter of three.

Time to go to the rose garden.

Rose hadn’t known quite what she had expected, but not the pretty plump and bosomy woman who awaited her nervously there. She was just a bit coarse-looking, and her eyes were hardened, but there was a look of desperate unhappiness about her that Rose knew only too well herself.

“Beth?” she asked softly.

The woman looked around her. “Yes, it’s me.”

“I’m Rose DeForte—”

“Yes, yes, milady, I know who you are! I made you who you are!” She stared at Rose defiantly. “I stripped you and put you in his bed. So there now, you are the duchess. If you tell the law, though, I’ll deny it, I swear it! You should be grateful, you—”

“I didn’t come to see you about that. I want to know what you know about my husband’s innocence!” Rose said firmly.

The woman squinted her eyes at Rose. They could suddenly hear a party of others laughing softly as they walked through the garden.

“Your husband didn’t kill Anne; I don’t believe it for a moment. Nor did he kill Jamison. I’m certain of it. That bastard Jerome was the one who came up with the plot. He was always after his sister’s money. I can’t prove that he killed the two of them, but I can testify to the fact that it was him planned the way for Anne to be wed to Jamison. I don’t mind going to Newgate if I take him with me!”

Staring at her, Rose realized suddenly that the woman had loved Jamison.

She, too, wanted revenge.

“Perhaps it would mean something …” Rose began. “But still, the murder, how can it be proved?”

Beth held back for just a minute. “There was a maid at the manor that night. She’s never said a word because she’s been so terrified. Gossip often runs freely among servants, milady. This maid heard what happened at Huntington Manor when the Lady Anne and Jamison died.”

“Oh, my God!” Rose breathed. “And she’d testify to it?”

‘If she knew she was protected by someone as powerful as you, milady.”

“My God, yes!” Rose whispered. But even as she stared at Beth, the woman’s face went white. Rose suddenly sensed someone behind her.

She spun.

Dear God in heaven. Jerome was there.

“Beth! Giving away our little secrets!”

He stepped past Rose. He moved so swiftly that Rose didn’t even see his blade.

Not until he had sunk the long knife deep into Beth’s chest. Blood spilled over her worn cotton bodice.

Rose opened her mouth to scream. The sound didn’t come because Jerome had spun on her, smiling, the bloodstained knife against her own throat. “Milady! I had thought to take your son to assure your silence. But the little dear is gone. How sad. I will have to take you.”

She shook her head. “Pierce is alive!” she whispered. “He’ll come for you.”

His pale eyes sharpened. “I don’t believe you!”

“It’s true.”

He started, just as Rose did, as they both became aware of voices. “He killed her! I just saw that man kill the woman! Lord Neville!” someone screamed.

He’d been seen, Jerome realized. For the briefest second, panic flashed through his eyes.

Then he grabbed Rose’s hand. “Come on!”

“No! You can kill me here and now! I won’t come!”

“Fine, my great lady!” he thundered. To Rose’s amazement, he sheathed his knife instantly. She opened her mouth to scream again.

His hands closed around her throat. Squeezed. They pinched away all sound.

He was a strong man. Far stronger than she had ever imagined. She fought him wildly, desperately. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t dislodge his hands.

And she couldn’t breathe …

She pitched over into his arms. And he was able to make away with her quite easily.

Pierce had discovered the information regarding the maid from Huntington Manor from another source, one of the young girls serving in the court kitchens. As a monk, he had managed to spend time in the kitchen with the servants and had let it be known that he had some powerful friends who were still seeking the truth about the murder of Jamison and Lady Anne. The girl had hesitated, then looked in his eyes.

And she had decided to trust him. She had sent him to the other young maid from the manor, the very girl who had heard all that happened that night.

She had taken up work in a London bakery, determined to stay as far away from the nobility as she could.

He was able to win her confidence at first because of his monk’s robe, and because her friend had referred him to her. Though Pierce felt guilty about the disguise, he had no choice. He wooed her into talking, swearing that he would see that she received a goodly sum of money, and more important, protection from the king himself.

“Otherwise, you will not be safe until Jerome is dead,” he told her.

“Oh, God!” she cried. Tears formed in her eyes. She started to shiver. “I should have gone to DeForte himself, but he died that night, you know.”

It was then that he made the decision to tell her the truth. “I am DeForte!” he said. “Now, hush, hush, please! You must keep my secret for the moment, and I swear, I will protect you. Just tell me what happened.”

And she did. Brokenly. She talked about Anne’s determination to make her marriage work, and she also told him that despite whatever evil Jamison had done, he had loved Anne. The Lady Anne had died by pure accident. “But then the other one came,” she said. “And he stabbed his friend without blinking an eye. It was awful. I was so terrified that I ran. And when I found out later all that had happened, it was too late.”

Pierce nodded. He told her to stay at the bakery, that he would go to the king and give himself up—under the condition that she be protected.

But then he returned to the court, and discovered the uproar.

There had been a murder.

Beth! Jamison’s onetime mistress.

Murdered in the rose garden.

Panic seized him. He searched the place high and low and could find no one. Finally, at the stables, he found Geoffrey, wandering around lost.

“Your Grace! Garth had me searching for you all day! Your lady was to meet with the woman who was slain. Now she has disappeared. And Jerome has, too.”

“My God, man, Rose! Where would he take her? Why?”

Terror sizzled through him.

Because it was over. All over for Jerome. The man had killed Beth. He had grown reckless; there had been witnesses.

Perhaps he could feel the bars of a trap springing closed upon him. What would he do now, where could he go?

France? Escape across the Channel? Oh, God, yes, it made sense. Get far away from England. Anne had had family in Normandy—Jerome’s family as well. He could find someone with whom to hide, and surely disappear for years if he was careful.

And he had Rose! Why? Why had he taken her? Pierce wondered with agony. Was she a human shield? Did he intend to take her with him all the way …

Leave her in England when she had served him?

Or else …

Dear God, he didn’t dare think any further. He had to be right about Jerome trying to cross the Channel, though. There would be no other recourse for the man.

“Get the horses, quickly,” he urged Garth. “First we ride for home. I must see that Woody is safe. And then …”

“Then?” Garth said tensely.

“Dover. His only escape is France. We must beat him there! It is my only hope. Dear God, my only hope!”

And so they rode. Like the wind, like thunder.

They came to Castle DeForte.

Pierce could see a group of horses and men milling in the courtyard. He dismounted and spoke softly to Geoffrey. “I’ll slip past them. If I am seen, they’ll not stop me in this robe. Pray God Woody is home, and safe. My father-in-law will protect him with his life, I know. If I can just assure myself that he and my father-in-law are safe now!”

Geoffrey nodded. “Jesu, my Lord! Hurry!”

“I intend to,” Pierce said huskily. And in silence, he slipped around to enter the castle.

WHEN PIERCE BURST INTO
the great hallway of Castle DeForte, he was momentarily stunned into silence.

The king was standing there, before the fire, staring down at Woody in his little nap cradle.

He moved the cradle gently with his finger. Without even looking up, he addressed Pierce.

“He’s quite remarkable, Pierce. And I can’t seem to get myself one legitimate heir!”

Pierce cleared his throat. “Well, Your Majesty, you do have …” He paused, searching for some word to use other than “bastards.” “You do have living children. I’m sure that soon enough—”

“Alas, I think I have been married long enough, to know that the queen will not produce a son. But she is a good woman. And I would not harm her, or hurt her in any way.”

Pierce felt his muscles tightening. For every second that he lingered here, Jerome was moving farther and farther away with Rose.

He understood why there was such a gathering of horses and men in the castle courtyard. The king had not come alone. He was accompanied by his retinue. He could have him instantly arrested.

Pierce strode quickly across the room to him, bowing down on one knee. “By all that is holy, Charles, I swear to you! I have been guilty of sins in my life, but never murder! Jerome has taken Rose, and you must let me go after him!”

“Get up, my friend, don’t beg. It never did become you, and you’re wasting time. Go after him. I’ve men to send with you—”

“No, please!” Pierce interrupted him quickly. “I don’t want him to know that I’m coming until I’m upon him. I have to go alone. With one man, Geoffrey. There’s no telling what Jerome might do when he realizes that he’s cornered.”

“Then go,” Charles agreed, while silently determining to send a number of men in Pierce’s wake.

Pierce rose swiftly, his gratitude shimmering in his eyes. “I came back to see that the babe was protected—”

“He is my godchild,” the king said flatly. “And he is protected. And his grandfather hovers just upstairs. Were anyone to come after this child in your absence, I daresay he’d make them very sorry, even if I were not here to see after this noble lad!”

Pierce flashed the king a quick smile and hurried toward the door once again, swirling his dull brown friar’s cloak around him. Before he reached the door, the king called him back once again. “There is no longer any need for the disguise, Pierce. Jerome killed that poor little servant girl before a half dozen witnesses. You will probably still have to stand trial—but just to see that your good name is left entirely untarnished.”

“None of it will matter a whit, Your Majesty, if I cannot return with my wife!” he said softly.

“Godspeed then!” the king urged him.

Pierce nodded, and hurried out the door. He could still see the riders huddled in the distance, and he almost shrank back into the shadows of the door.

Then he realized that truly, he no longer needed to hide.

He walked out into the coming dusk, and around to the side of the castle. Geoffrey awaited him there, ready to hand him Beowulf’s reins. He leapt atop the stallion, nodded to his friend, and began to race toward the south.

How much time did Jerome have on him now? What would his plan be? Would he hold Rose just long enough to get him to the Channel?

Or did he intend to take her along …

And do away with her, as he had so many others, when she no longer served his purpose?

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. And he spurred Beowulf on to even greater speeds.

The man had Rose.

He could not let Jerome escape.

For if he did, he might well be damned forever, and it truly wouldn’t matter in the least if they decided to hang him from the highest yardarm.