Her One Desire (20 page)

She followed Gloucester’s attendants past the labyrinth.
Two, four, one, five.
Keeping her eyes downcast, she recited Broc’s directions. She considered breaking free of the procession and running to him now, but her wit guided her footing and fear for his life as well. She wouldn’t lead them straight to him. If Lord Hollister was in Middleham, Gloucester would find him, and her nephews would be safe from his cruelty. Inside the castle, she was directed into a chamber laden with tables of meat, cheese, various fruits, and rounds of milk loaves. Six guards dipped their hands in the viands before taking posts along the rounded stone walls. She accepted an appointed seat at the corner of a trestle table, where she nibbled on a milk loaf and awaited her time with the duke.

When at last Gloucester stood, she filled her hands with her sleeves and tried to inhale deeply, but the contraption binding her breasts shortened her efforts. He bid the duchess and her attendants farewell, then positioned himself on the bench opposite her. She had his attention. After six months of preparing for this moment, she finally had his attention, and curse it, she was afraid to speak.

“Now what is this talk about a conspiracy?”

She patted the parchment beneath her heavy damask skirt, deciding to keep it safe a little longer. “The chief warder in the Tower of London conspired with the Duke of Buckingham to assassinate the king. He was poisoned by my ward, knowledge of the king’s death. “I am sorry to be the one to inform you of such a grievance, but I felt it my duty to my sovereign liege to expose the traitors plotting against him.” He looked up at her and whatever compassion she believed she saw in his eyes the day of Kamden’s execution was no longer there. “Is anyone else privy to this information?” “Nay,” she lied. A sense of apprehension caused her to question his every action.

“You have done England a service by coming here. I trust you do not make such accusations without proof.” Again, she pressed her hand to her skirt. His questions sharpened her internal defenses. If she gave him the document, her life would hold no value. She now doubted he would offer her sanctuary, like she once foolishly believed, but she hadn’t come all this way to cower to him. “I do have proof in the form of a written document. Tis here at Middleham, but I would ask for something in return for my act of loyalty.”

“ What would you ask of me?” His eyes shifted toward his guard. Lizzy sat up straight. His demeanor caused a frigid chill to travel up her spine. The voice in her head told her to get away from him, but he awaited her demands. She swallowed.

“The chief warder holds my nephews prisoner in the Tower.

I want your word that they will be released into my care.

Also, I want my father released of his duties.” Gloucester stared at her, then stole a bite of cheese from her trough. “Ye want me to free the executioner during a time when I will need him the most?”

“’Tis a small request for such an important piece of parchment.”

She grabbed hold of the bench. Sweat broke out over

her scalp and instantly fell over her temples. She could no

“ ‘Twas rny intention to seek sanctuary at Fountains Abbey.

My father’s soul is in need of repair.”

Gloucester sat back and crossed his arms. One finger tapped lightly at his elbow. He contemplated heavily, then waved in three guards, each of whom wore a sword. “Did you travel here unescorted, Lady Ives?”

“I did.” She didn’t dare put Broc in danger.

His head dipped subtly to the tallest of the three guards. A slow smile spread over the guard’s lips, and the ease with which he caressed the hilt of his sword made her toes crinkle. Had she not been evaluating Gloucester’s every move, she might have missed the unspoken command. Broc had been right about Gloucester. He wouldn’t offer her aid. Curse it! She didn’t want to put Broc or the others in danger, but her choices were growing sparse. She quickly evaluated the three guards. They each wore one visible weapon and one of the men was no bigger than she.

“Where is this proof?” Gloucester demanded in a harsh tone.

“In the labyrinth.” She prayed Broc would be armed with his usual arsenal of blades.

“But I will provide you the document only if you agree to my terms.”

He leaned in, eyes narrowed. “I have been charged by His Majesty to protect his sons and the realm of England. Your
terms
do not benefit my obligation to fulfill that duty. As a servant to England, you are bound by the same loyalties as I. If you choose not to deliver this document, your decision will be seen as a treasonous act against your king and country. As the daughter of the Lord High Executioner, I do not feel it necessary to tell you the punishment for such a grievance.” The upward movement of his eyes brought the guard at her back. “Take Lady Ives into the labyrinth and bring me this document.”

Chapter 13

“Where the devil is she?” Broc paced the tiny path between the hedges. He’d spent more time than he should have locating Smitt and getting the others through the gates of Middleham, but he expected to find Lizbeth in the labyrinth when he arrived. He’d already gone back to check the guest chamber and pay visit to the laundry, but the Mistress Taylor provided him no information.

Rays of heat beat down on his head from a high sun. He stilled, popped his head side to side, then strained to hear her hurried footsteps, but only nervous knickers greeted his ears. A few twists and turns away at the exit of the labyrinth he had positioned another stolen horse to await their departure.
Devil be damned!
He raked his hands through his hot hair and cursed himself for leaving her. He stared at the green foliage surrounding him. Hollister had her. Broc felt it in his bones. Every breath he inhaled was one more she took in that bastard’s clutches. His fingers wrapped around the dirk in his grip and itched to run the man through.

“ ‘Tis not much farther. I vow it.”

Lizbeth.

Recognizing her bell-like voice, Broc exhaled, then counted multiple footsteps, all heavy, belonging to men. She wasn’t alone. Hollister. Broc retrieved a
sgian dubh
from his boot and readied his aim. He waited, digging his heels into the ground, more than eager to see the man’s blood on his blade. A boot came before the guard rounded the hedge. Broc flung the small blade into the man’s throat without hesitation. He toppled forward, choking on his own blood, and filled the grassy floor of the maze. Lizbeth appeared, wide-eyed, face flushed, and dressed like the damned queen. A scrambling of caressing steel rang out through the hedge. Broc unsheathed his broadsword from his back, and in one plunge, he ran it through the shrubbery. He felt the stick, the piercing of flesh as he’d known in battle. Releasing the hilt, he lunged for Lizbeth. He grabbed hold of her lownecked bodice and yanked her overtop the guard at her feet. After pushing her behind him, Broc made eye contact with a third guard.

“Fie!” The man’s eyes bulged from his head. He spun and darted into the maze. Heart slamming, Broc raced after him, dirk in hand. As he chased footfalls, the hedge turned to green sheets. Fortunate for Broc, the guard wasn’t familiar with the labyrinth. Broc rounded a corner to find the man trapped. “Ye should have turned left.”

The guard spun around, his body visibly trembling, and drew his sword with a hiss of steel. He managed a few quick jabs, but Broc ended their dance with a swift slice that opened the man’s neck.

Hands braced on his knees, Broc regained his breath and then cleaned his blade on the man’s crimson surcoat. His attire matched the other two. They were Gloucester’s men. Rage budding, he stalked back through the maze, picturing Lizbeth in a near-black gown trimmed in gold. A gown she didn’t stumble across in the laundry. He removed his broadsword from the second guard’s gut. The chilling sound of metal scraping bone preceded Lizbeth’s gasp on the other side of the foliage. Angered by her distrust, he rounded the hedge and collected and cleaned the last of his weapons before he finally looked at her. “Ye met with him, dinnae ye? Ye met with Gloucester after I told ye I would return to the Tower for your nephews. Do my promises mean naught to ye?”

“They are my kin. If anyone should die protecting them, it should be me. Pray forgive me, m’lord.” Her eyes cast to the ground, infuriating him all the more. He pushed past her skirts. “Dinnae ‘m’lord’ me.” Wiping the sweat from his brow, he didn’t care if she followed. He was tired of saving her. Three rows and four turns brought him to the exit and his steed. He mounted and waited.

When Lizbeth finally appeared, he could see only the

white veil covering the top of her head. Her steps were small and cautious, her hands twisted in her sleeves. She stood

beside the horse, unmoving, poised for his words. He wanted

to slap her, or at the very least bend her over his knee and

spank her. Why had she doubted him? “Have ye naught to

say. Lady Ives?”

She looked up at him. A surprising bit of fury fired her eyes. “I want to leave.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes mechanically. At least she finally thought about herself and her wants. He hoisted her up behind him. “And where would ye like to go, m’lady?”

Trustingly, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his back. “To Scotland.”

Ten ducats it cost him to finally be free of Middleham. The English were so easily bribed. Gloucester would eventually find his men slaughtered in the labyrinth, but he and Lizbeth would be valleys away by then. No doubt Hollister searched high and low for her. With any luck, mayhap the two of them would cross paths and kill each other. Broc guided their steed in silence down a dirt path toward Bolton. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what had transpired. Her lack of faith pained him far more than she could know, but they were safe. ‘Twas all that mattered right now. God was on their side this day, guiding them from Hell, and leading them away from their enemies.

“Did you get the others out?”

He barely heard her words over the steed’s hooves. “Aye. We were supposed to meet them hours ago outside the Hospitaller of St. Thomas. I gave them instructions to press on to the border if we didn’t arrive by noonday. John argued, but Celeste told him about her condition and he promptly agreed. I suspect we will be on our own for the remainder of our trip.”

She hugged him a little tighter. “’Twas a good decision.

John needs to get Celeste to safety.”

“Aye.” He suspected Lizbeth tried to worm her way back into his good graces, but he wasn’t quite ready for cordial conversation. He held tight to her hand while the stallion carried them over the moorland. She eventually fell into a quiet sleep against his back, her fingers flexing sporadically around his when her demons taunted her. What was he going to do with her? His kin would be awaiting his arrival in two days. The others would beat them there by a half day and inform Clan Maxwell of his coming. Introductions would be
awkward at best. Mam, Da, this is Lady Lizbeth Ives. She is English and the
daughter of the man who delivered the final blow that ended Aiden ‘s life.
He could already see Mam’s disappointment. Hell, he could already feel the guilt she would cast over him, tugging at his conscience like a weight inside his chest. Da would sidle up beside Lizbeth and voice his opinion vocally, humiliating her in front of his brethren. The man was a wretch with the manners of a goat. Lizbeth would cower to him. She would crawl inside herself and hide behind the submissive Lady Ives, just as she probably had for years with her own father. They wouldn’t see the woman he did, the woman who never thought of herself, the woman who crossed England to save her father, the woman who denied herself a future to protect sons she didn’t even have. Regardless of how Lizbeth saw herself, he knew she was the bravest woman he’d ever known. He wasn’t going to let them hurt her. She didn’t deserve their scorn.

Mayhap he should take her straight to Brother Mel. Broc pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her warm palm. Who was he fooling? She would never see Dryburgh. Somehow, he intended to keep her. As long as Da was laird, Broc wasn’t bound to marry Lady Juliana. The random caws of a raven overhead reminded him of hourly church bells until late afternoon guided them through Penrith. Still, Lizbeth slept. Though the air sharpened with a northern breeze, the sun beat down on him like molten iron. His tunic clung to him beneath his surcoat, making his stitches itch, and his body definitely felt the effects of no sleep. Dusk would cast its shadow over Lizbeth in a few hours, and he wanted to be snug inside an inn before it did. A nice inn with food, water, and a bed. A small bed. Broc reined in his steed where the river poured over a series of natural steps. The drone of moving water drowned out the splash of his horse’s hooves in the pebbled riverbed.

“Lizbeth, wake up. I’m going to rest the horse for a moment. Think ye might want to stretch your legs a wee bit?” She didn’t answer, nor did she move. He twisted, and she nearly fell off the horse. Holding her steady with one hand, he slipped from the horse with a splash and caught her when she went limp. She was soaked clear through and unresponsive. Her hair hung in wet clumps beneath the veiled hennin and sweat glistened over her crimson cheeks. The sun was literally baking her inside her gown.

“God’s hooks, woman! Why the devil did you not say something?” He eased her onto the bank, supporting her back with one hand. He palmed a handful of water, then poured it over her cracked lips, most of which trickled down her chin and neck. “Lizbeth.”

Her eyes fluttered to half open. The seal broke between hex lips. “I’m quite right.”

Devil take her!
“Think ye could complain like any normal woman?” The next palmful of water made it down her throat, but it wasn’t enough. “I’m going to fetch a cup.” He gently laid her back and searched their satchels. She was on her side retching when he turned around. He pulled the veil away from her head and gathered her hair behind her back. “Mayhap you could fetch me a maid,” she panted between uneven breaths.

“And mayhap ye could trust me to take care of you.” He captured a loose strand, which he neatly tucked behind her ear, and dipped the cup, filling it with water. Once her breathing steadied, she grabbed for it, shaking half the water out before it reached her lips. He refilled it and helped her drink, knowing the stubborn woman wouldn’t ask for more. He laid her back and sloshed through the water to remove her boots, then wrapped his hands around her stocking-clad ankles and dragged her legs into the cool water.