The Thornless Rose (23 page)

“My lord, she breathes,” his second called out.

“That is fortunate for thee, Norfolk.”

With a snort of derision, Norfolk checked the street. Bly stood there, arms raised, surrounded by troops.

Emboldened, the crowd had gathered once more near Brandon and the young man, who were sprawled on the ground, stunned and bleeding.

“What went on here?” Dudley repeated. “Art thou mad? Dr. Brandon and his wife received the queen’s protection.”

Norfolk’s gaze flew back to Dudley. “His wife? His
wife?
She’s got everyone under an evil spell, the witch. I wouldst seriously doubt the legality of her claim.”

Some in the crowd pressed forward to see the witch.

Dudley frowned. “I witnessed the marriage of Anne Howard to Dr. Brandon two days ago at Whitehall, in Her Majesty’s presence. Thy wife and son were there as well. Did Margaret not tell thee?”

“What?” Norfolk asked incredulously. “But she said nothing about them.”

“Mayhap thou should pay more attention to thy wife,” Dudley said.

“So should a certain horse master,” Norfolk shot back. He turned to Brandon, still dazed and on the ground, his head bleeding profusely. “Married? Such cheap cunnie needn’t have been paid for so dearly, Doctor. If I’d given her what she was beggin’ me for, she’d have spread herself and groaned for me as well, just as loud as she did for thee on your wedding night.”

Brandon’s eyes opened wide. “Fuck you, you bastard!” he shouted. He struggled to a sitting position, then attempted to stand. “Did you rape her? You––” his voice choked in fury as he half-crawled, half-stumbled toward Anne.

With a laugh, Norfolk watched the wobbly doctor. “Dudley, I’ll not be accused of such a crime from the likes of him. The woman set upon me like a common street whore. I was merely defending myself from her and her bully lad. Without my man’s help, I fear I wouldst have been robbed and stabbed, and left for dead in yonder alley.”

Brandon spun and lunged at Norfolk. “You bloody liar!”

Dudley leapt off his horse and grabbed Brandon, holding him fast. “This won’t do, friend.” Struggling to control Brandon, he added, “Steady, Doctor. Let me handle this matter in the queen’s name.”

Brandon stopped, meeting Norfolk’s glare.

“I didn’t rape thy wife, Doctor,” Norfolk said smoothly, turning to Dudley. “I swear ’tis true, on the life of my son
.”

Norfolk waited as Dudley pondered his words and Brandon returned to Anne.

Finally, the horse master nodded to his men. “Help Dr. Brandon see to the injured.”

Norfolk dismissed this with another laugh. “Aye, Doctor, take goodly care of thy lovely wife.”

Dudley gripped his sword. “In future, Norfolk,” he seethed, “if thou so much as look askance at Dr. Brandon or his bride, thou shalt feel my wrath, for I’ll call thee out to a duel. Understand?” He took a step forward. “In the queen’s name, I will call thee out.”

Norfolk flinched, for he knew Dudley was a formidable swordsman, better even than he. The crowd was deathly silent, intent on witnessing any altercation.

As Norfolk backed away, he lost his footing on a broken cobble and stumbled.

The crowd chuckled, then some lout called out, “He’s naught but a mockingstock. The duke o’ Mockingstock!”

People roared their approval as Norfolk stormed off. Bly joined him and they mounted their chargers.

Norfolk stared straight ahead as he felt Dudley’s gaze on his back, as he heard the catcalls from the crowd. “Mockingstock! The duke o’ Mockingstock!”

With an angry growl, he kicked his horse to action, then galloped away until he was well down the road. When he reined in, Geoff Bly drew up beside him, awaiting his orders.

“Dudley will pay for this, the bastard,” Norfolk muttered. “I wish to see the queen’s stud ruined.”

“Shall I kill him, sir?”

Norfolk felt his heart twist with rancor as he recalled a rumor about the horse master’s lonely wife. “Nay, I’ve a thought as to how to strike him down in a way none shalt suspect ’twas by my orders. But let me think more on it, Geoff, for my vengeance must be well planned if it’s to work.”

…

Anne opened her eyes and tried to focus. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell her husband cradled her, softly called to her, his face covered in blood, his heart pounding as he hugged her to his chest. She wondered why.

She coughed, then whispered, “Jon?”

He met her gaze. His body trembled, and she sensed he was worried about her and extremely angry...at her?

“Did he touch you, Anne? If he did... If Norfolk raped you, I must know, you must tell me.” His eyes hardened. “By God, I’ll––”

“No, no,” she said as tears filled her eyes, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Norfolk? He, no, I don’t think so. No, no. But, what happened? I think you, you saved me.”

“Thank God,” he said, and she felt the tension ease out of his muscles, heard him exhale deeply, so she smiled and closed her eyes to rest, happy she’d made him feel better.

“Annie? Annie?”

She could feel his knuckles rubbing against her chest. It was annoying, and she wished he would stop.

“Anne, stay with me. Don’t go to sleep. You mustn’t go to sleep. Not yet, all right?”

Opening her eyes, she saw another face looming above her, and she was grateful, because the knuckles stopped.

“How fares thy wife, Doctor?” the man asked.

Robert Dudley?
She strained to clear her thoughts, to see with her double—no, triple—vision. What was going on?

“Her pupils are dilated, my lord,” Jonathan replied. “That indicates a concussion, a blow to the head that rattles the brain about. She also has a gash to the back of her scalp, and I feared she had a fractured skull, but there’s no blood coming from her eyes or ears, only a trickle from her nose.”

“Will she be able to ride?” Dudley asked. “I’ve seen to the queen’s business at the Tower and must now leave in all haste for Windsor. I could send someone back there to provide horses for your party, or he could call for a carriage. However, that would take time.”

“I can ride,” Anne croaked, trying to sit up.

Jonathan frowned. “Anne will ride with me. I wish to get her back to St. Bart’s as soon as possible.”

Anne cringed. Their voices were so loud, the sound of hooves clomping around on the cobbles too painful to bear.

“Well, Doctor, mayhap thy serving man can also go by horse. One of my guards hath some medical training. He said the lad’s nose is badly broken, but there are no other injuries to his person.”

“Poor Bob,” Anne whispered. “You should take care of him.”

“Annie? Annie?”

Her head began to pound, and despite Jonathan’s renewed knuckling of her chest, blackness, this time soft and soothing, enveloped her once more.

…

Anne was reluctant to open her eyes when she felt sharp pain rip through the back of her head. She fought against the sudden waves of nausea.
Oh, please, please, just let me die.

Terrible memories crowded her mind, of her near rape at the hands of Norfolk, of Bly’s knife poised over her husband’s throat.

What happened after that? Where was Jonathan? She jerked up and opened her eyes. Feeling disoriented, she gazed at the stained glass windows and realized she was in their bedroom. How had she gotten here? She slowly turned. Jonathan sat beside her in a chair balanced against the wall, sound asleep, his face battered and bruised.

But he was alive. Alive!

“Jonathan?”

He yawned drowsily, then rolled his head in a half-circle. Suddenly, he shuddered and opened his eyes, staring out, almost falling from the chair. “Anne!” he said as he came down and knelt by her side.

“I think I’m going to be sick!”

He grabbed a washbasin, and the nausea hit her like a tidal wave, crashing, pounding. She heaved into the bowl, her head exploding with pain.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, and she dropped limply onto the pillow with a moan.

“Annie,” he said, dabbing her mouth and sweaty brow with a towel. “You’ve got a severe concussion and perhaps a fractured skull. If I could X-ray you, then I’d be certain, but, as it is, I need to keep you very still. I’ve got something here that’s made from poppies. You must drink up. Doctor’s orders.”

“I can’t. I’ll just throw––”

“No, you won’t. It will soundly knock you out.”

He held the cup to her lips and she took a sip. It tasted bitter, and she made a face.

Jonathan noted her reaction. “That’s the wormwood. Vile stuff, but it works miracles on nausea. Every bit as hard to swallow as cod liver oil, isn’t it?”

After downing more of the horrible concoction, she closed her eyes. She felt his lips tenderly kiss her brow, heard him tell her to sleep, sleep, sleep.

Well
, she thought as her agony faded away,
so much for the honeymoon
.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Since the fight with Norfolk nearly a week before, the weather had grown brisk, and the business at the hospital had as well. The sound of the clapper at the main gate was sharp, startling in the morning fog shrouding the hospital grounds.

Rubbing his hands against the cold, Bob hurried out to admit the early caller. “What’ll be thy sickness?” he muttered through chattering teeth.

He opened the spy-slat.
Oh
—
she’s a beauty!
A tall woman—
no, girl mayhap
—stared back at him. Wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl, her sky blue eyes were soft and round, her nose tiny and upturned at the tip. And her lips! They were a shade of red that gave him an instant physical jolt deep in his gut.

“Aye, lass?” he asked, raking at his unkempt hair. “Art thou ill an’ needin’ t’ see the doctor?”

“Nay,” she replied, shifting the fabric so it fell away from her head, revealing flaxen hair, caught up loosely in a crimson ribbon. “I’m no’ ill. I’ve come t’ have a word with Mistress Anne an’ t’ bring her a bit o’ somethin’ t’ say ta.”

Shyly, the young woman held forth a small bouquet of blue and white flowers. “I was told she lived here.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Bob opened the gate and smiled his best smile as she came in. “Mistress Anne’s been feelin’ poorly o’ late, but I can tell the doctor thou art here an’ he might have a talk wi’ thee. Who’s callin’?”

“Just say ’tis Alice Potter, from away by the river,” she answered vaguely. “He’ll know who ’tis.”

“Right, then. C’mon into the great room whilst I fetch him.” Bob turned to go.

“Got that in a fight, did thee?” she said, indicating his bruised face.

Immediately, Bob raised his hand, covering his nose. Blushing, he nodded. “’Twas hopin’ it didn’t show much anymore.”

“There’s still a bit o’ swellin’ and, besides, the black eyes give it away.” Alice considered his injury frankly for a moment. “Doesn’t look likely to disfigure. I hope ’twere thee that won. Thou seem a decent sort.”

He could feel the heat of embarrassment burn all the way to the tips of his ears. Nodding, Bob flashed a proud smile. After escorting Alice to the great room, he hurried off to call Brandon.

Tapping on the infirmary door, he peeped in. “Doctor, we have a visitor.”

Brandon was up to his elbows in soapy water, cleaning his medical instruments. “Yes?” he asked.

Bob considered the stitches over Brandon’s right eye and his bruised jaw, and had a sudden sinking feeling Alice would think the two of them had been brawling. He stammered, “One Alice... Mistress Alice Potter from down by the river, sir.”

Brandon wiped his hands on a towel, rolled down his sleeves, and followed Bob to the great room.

Bob hovered near the door, waiting to hear what Alice would say, hoping the visit would be a long one—he had never seen such a pretty girl!

He nervously watched her as she stared at Brandon’s face, then glanced over at him.
Lord have mercy! She’s wonderin’ abou’ a tussle ’tween us, fer certs!
He strained to hear what they were talking about.

“Do sit down... Happy to see thee again, Alice.”

“Ta. Mistress Anne were right caring, Doctor, abou’ rememberin’ me togs.”

“Indebted, Alice... Can’t thank thee enough... Please, as a token...”

Bob’s eyebrows rose when he saw Brandon hand Alice a small coin pouch, surprised he might be beholden to this young thing. She must be a fine girl, indeed, he mused, if a man such as the doctor felt obliged to her.

They were quiet for a moment, then Alice stood and held out the bouquet. “Do tell Anne I’m prayin’ fer her swift recovery.”

Brandon stood and took the flowers. “Of course, my dear.”

Bob hurried forward.

“Mistress Alice will be leaving now,” Brandon said. “I’ve invited her to break her fast with us, but she has declined.”

“Oh, no!” Bob blurted.

Brandon looked at him quizzically. “She came by to see my wife. She wanted to give her best wishes in person, but she needs to leave.” He smiled at Alice. “Please don’t hesitate to come back around. Anne would love a visit, as she feels a very strong bond toward thee. We hope to see her up and about in another day or so.”

“I’ll do wot I can, sir, but Nell’s not one to let us stray abou’ town,” Alice replied in a low voice. “She were against me comin’ t’ see the two o’ ye at all, but I let on I was in need of thy services again, an’ she begrudged me the visit.”

“You are very clever and brave, Alice,” Brandon acknowledged. “Show her to the gate, will you, Bob?”

Stepping forward, the stablehand gallantly took Alice’s arm and placed it on his. “I’d be pleased.”

Alice looked up at him and smiled warmly, the faintest flush creeping across her pale cheeks.

As Bob walked her to the gate, he whispered in her ear, “Dr. Brandon, his wife an’ me were set upon by villains awhile back. We did our best—fought like the very devil, every one o’ us, an’ our lives was spared.”

“Lord have mercy!” she said, clearly impressed.

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I couldn’t help overhearin’ how this puttock Nell treats thee no better’n baggage, Mistress Alice. If thou ever needeth my help, jes send word. I’ll come ’round, I swear. My name’s Robert Hope. Now, don’t be forgettin’ that.”

“Hope,” she said, mulling it over. “Aye, I’ll remember.”

…

Cradled in Jonathan’s embrace, Anne opened her eyes to something new—a little bouquet of blue asters and baby’s breath nestled in a vase on the nightstand. Her gaze lingered on the flowers, then she rubbed her eyes and yawned. Sunlight streaked in through the south-facing windows of their bedroom. Was it already afternoon? But what day?

For some time, she knew she had been drugged with Jonathan’s poppy juice concoction, but now her body seemed well healed and nearly free of pain.

She rested against him a moment longer, then eased away and sat up. A vague, pulsing ache drummed at the back of her skull.
Steady
, she told herself,
steady. Don’t make any quick moves
.

With a slow, deliberate turn of her head, she studied her husband’s sleeping face, noting the stitches on his forehead and the greenish bruises on the left side of his jaw.

She had indistinct memories, but recalled he’d seen to her since the fight. Beyond using his medical training, he had cared for her as a husband would, staying up with her until bleary-eyed, keeping her company through the interminable haze of drugs and pain.

Anne glanced at Jonathan again and found his eyes were open.

“How do you feel, Annie?”

“Like hell,” she said, wincing. “Though a lot better than a few days ago.” She paused. “How long was I out?”

“It’s Friday, the sixth of September. That makes it eight days since Norfolk––” With difficulty, he choked back his rancor. “I’ve had you up and about a bit for the last two days, walking you around to keep your blood circulating. Since I couldn’t X-ray you, I couldn’t be certain if you’d suffered a skull fracture or not, so the prudent thing to do was to keep you very still for the first week. I don’t suppose you remember much at all, do you?”

“I don’t.” She hesitated.
The sixth!
Yesterday was her birthday. She gingerly touched the back of her head. But was it? Was it really? After all, she wouldn’t be born for another four hundred...

She found it an effort to do the mental calculation.
1560 subtracted from 1984?

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She groaned. “Nothing, just thinking too hard.”

“I’d rather you rest.” He plumped her pillows. “This should set you up nicely.”

“I don’t like two pillows.”

“You must keep your head elevated when you’re in bed. It helps to relieve any intracranial pressure.”

“Oh, yeah. Doctor knows best.” With a small smile, she lowered herself onto the pillows. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled against him. “Is Bob okay?”

“He suffered a broken nose, poor chap, but I set it well. The bandage came off two days ago. He should be as fit as ever once the healing is complete.” He paused. “Alice came by. She brought you that bouquet in thanks for the return of her clothing.”

“Does she know what happened after you left her?”

“No, not exactly. I told her you were a bit under the weather.”

“I wish I’d been able to see her. I worry what will happen to her.”

Jonathan gently hugged her. “There, there,” he whispered. “Not to worry.”

“But I can’t help it. She’s in a terrible mess. That place,” she shuddered, “is evil. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“You must.”

“I don’t know how. I only remember snatches of what happened that day, but they haunt me. Seeing Norfolk’s thug with his knife at your throat...”

His body tensed. “Hush, Annie.”

She shivered against him, and he kissed her shoulder in return.

“But what if he keeps coming for us?” Anne asked.

“He won’t bother us again.”

“But how do you know that? He’s ruthless.”

“We have Dudley’s sworn protection. That should keep him at bay for the time being. Besides, I’ve got my military training, and no one’s going to take me by surprise again. I learned hand-to-hand combat. Next time, I’ll take him down.”

Anne drew away, looking at Jonathan’s expression. His gaze was hard, staring into space, as if reliving the entire incident at the Stews.

“As a physician, I’ve taken an oath to do no harm, but I also took another oath which I believe supersedes the first—to protect you by any means available. A doctor has other methods at his disposal, methods he has pledged not to use, that he dare not use, unless...” His mouth twisted. “It’s up to Norfolk. If he ever brings the battle to us again, I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

…

Brandon finished his evening rounds after checking on four new patients. The blessedly uncomplicated month of August, with its few emergencies, now seemed but a distant memory. He smiled as he walked down the hall. September was well upon them, and it was good to be busy again.

The door to Bishop Robert Wright’s room was slightly ajar. A hint of candlelight flickered from within.

“Hello?” Brandon called out softly. No answer. He opened the door and looked inside. The old man was sound asleep, a small book resting on his chest.

Brandon crossed to his bedside. He reached out, eased the book from his grasp, and glanced at the title.
Les Discours
by
Pierre de Ronsard.
He remembered the bishop had told him he was reading poems about the wars of religion.

Wright stirred. “Doctor,” he said with a sleepy smile, “I fear I dozed off.”

Brandon placed the book on the nightstand. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see to the candle.”

“Nay. We must speak. God hath been merciful, giving me, His most humble servant, a reprieve from death. It would gladden my heart if I were up and about shortly. What say thee? Will it be tomorrow, or the day after?”

Brandon pulled a stool away from the wall and sat. “I rather hoped you would agree to stay in bed for another week.”

“Ha! I know what cometh next.” The bishop chuckled. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Indeed. A body must be fully healed before leaving the sick bed.”

“Aye, I understand.” Wright’s expression clouded. “What is wrong, friend? I can see thou art a bit troubled, and not by my restless nature.”

“I do not wish to burden––”

“Lord have mercy, hath Anne’s health worsened?”

“No. She’s almost recovered physically, but I fear she is rather upset and quite lonely.”

“Ah, I do understand.”

Brandon frowned. “Her entire life... Her world has vanished. Everyone who ever loved her is beyond her reach.”

“Mayhap that is not entirely true.” The bishop looked straight into Brandon’s eyes. “Dost thou love Anne?”

Love. Brandon hesitated, telling himself when he was ready to make such a profound declaration, Anne must be the first to hear. He found his voice, “Thou must think me a cad, Robert, but––”

“Nay. I believe I understand thy qualms, but I wouldst counsel thee again to let go of the past.” Bishop Wright shook his head. “That which seems thy past. Put away the old memories, for they are beyond thy grasp. Replace them with new ones from this time. Mine own advice is simple—cleave to thy wife. She possesseth strength beyond measure, and she is thy future, not Catherine.”

Brandon was silent for a moment, as the past, present, and future vied within him. “I thank God you are here for me, my friend, and that I am able to confide in you.”

The bishop smiled. “Always.”

“Sleep well, Robert,” Brandon said as he rose, replaced the stool, and blew out the candle. “Sleep well.”

“Tell Anne I wish her a good night,” the bishop called out as Brandon headed for the door. “And, Jonathan, I wish it for thee as well. A marvelous good night.”

…

Brandon found Anne already asleep as he slipped from the shadows and into their bed. He settled onto his pillows, hands clasped behind his head, staring into the dark.

The bishop’s questions about his feelings for Anne demanded an answer. He knew he had a passion for her, knew also he was falling in love with her. He felt it seize him unexpectedly when he held her battered body after Norfolk’s attack. If he had lost her then, there was no denying he would have wished to die beside her.

But Brandon also knew he still loved Catherine—would always love Catherine—yet his feelings for her had grown distant, as though he had suffered her death when he came here.

He closed his eyes. Anne was experiencing the same sense of loss for her family, but for her it was fresh, sharp. How could he help her?

The Hastings’s Bible! When the blazes will his lordship get home?
Brandon needed to find out.

Glancing at his wife’s sleeping form, he resolved to send Lord Henry a request for a meeting. Somehow, he had to give Annie a crack at the Bible.