Fire Glow

by Linda Ladd

  "It is no trouble, please allow me the honor."

  Caitlin knew he was too polite to allow her to go unescorted, so she had no choice but to let Francis lead her across the crowd to the gallery outside the Great Hall. She was relieved to find the corridors nearly deserted, though the hour was quite late and many were taking their leave of the ball. Neither spoke as they walked along, Caitlin looking around for Trey, eager to be away from Francis so that Trey could approach her. She looked up in surprise as Francis stopped her in a shadowy alcove not far from her rooms.

  "There is no hope for us, is there, Caitlin? Even if the Queen grants us leave to wed, you will never love me."

  "It is as I said before," Caitlin answered softly, "I want no husband other than Trey. I am sorry if I have hurt you."

  Francis released a long sigh of regret. "Then I will do my best to help you return to him."

  Caitlin's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that I will rescind my request to court you, and try to persuade the Queen to reinstate your marriage to Cameron."

  The idea of Francis doing such a thing had never even occurred to Caitlin, and an incredulous smile lit up her face as she contemplated just what that could mean for Trey and her.

  "Would you really do such a thing for Trey, Francis? After he has wronged you?"

  "I do it for you, Caitlin. You would never be happy with me, I know that. You would always long to be with him, is that not true?"

  "Yes," Caitlin whispered.

  Francis gave a resigned smile. "I will seek an opportunity to see the Queen on the morrow."

  "How can I ever thank you, Francis?" Caitlin asked, and he smiled down at her, reaching out to touch her cheek in a tender caress. His fingertips had barely grazed her skin when he was violently jerked away from her. Caitlin gasped as Trey seized Francis by the lapels of his jacket and slammed his back into the stone pillar beside them. Francis grunted as the breath was knocked out of him and Trey got him by the throat.

  "You flirt with death, wooing another man's wife, Durham." His words were ground out in hard, measured hostility.

  Caitlin grasped Trey's arm with both her hands.

  "No, wait, Trey, please, he is not at fault! He has agreed to withdraw his court and help convince the Queen to recognize our marriage."

  Trey looked at Caitlin, but his anger held, his voice grating with suspicion. "I find that hard to believe since he sailed here from Barbados expressly to take you from me."

  Francis forced down a painful swallow beneath the pressure of Trey's thumbs.

  "That was before I knew she loved you," he croaked out hoarsely, but the grim lines on Treys face did not soften.

  "He can help us to be reunited, Trey," Caitlin said quickly. "Harming him like this will only anger Anne."

  Trey hesitated for another moment, then abruptly released the smaller man, and Francis coughed, massaging his swollen throat as Trey pulled Caitlin into his arms. Caitlin clung to him wordlessly, and Francis watched for an envious moment before turning away.

  "I will stand guard while you speak. You must not be seen together."

  The entwined couple paid him no heed, and Caitlin gasped in pleasure as Trey kissed her with a hungry desperation equaling her own. The kiss was hard and long enough to leave Caitlin dangling weakly against him, and she moaned helplessly as his lips sought her cheeks and the sides of her throat. With more willpower than she knew she possessed, she pushed both her small palms against his chest.

  "The Queen will soon be leaving the ball. We must go now and quickly!"

  Trey's mouth took her words from her, then he spoke breathlessly against her ear. "I came to say goodbye. Anne is sending me to Holland."

  "Goodbye?" Caitlin whispered in dismay. "You are leaving me here?"

  His grip tightened on her.

  "I do not want to," he muttered into her hair, "but it is the only way to regain her favor."

  "Please take me with you!" Caitlin cried. "I hate it here!"

  "Anne is coming!" Francis hissed from a short distance down the corridor, but Caitlin clung to Trey.

  "I cannot take you, my sweet, but if Anne hasn't relented by the time I return, we will flee together. I swear it."

  Their lips met again, briefly, desperately, until Trey pulled away and disappeared into the shadows. Caitlin stood alone then, trembling and forlorn as the Queen and her party swept toward her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  March brought an unusual warm spell to London, and Queen Anne and her ladies took advantage of the mild weather by spending a good deal of their time outside on the palace grounds. Anne particularly loved to stroll along the privy gardens bordering the river, and it was amid their neat graveled walks and shrubbery that Caitlin sat between Grace and Meghan on a white ornamental bench.

  Caitlin listened indulgently to Meghan's constant chatter, having grown very fond of both her sisters- in-law since they had taken residence at Hampton Court. Indeed, it was her only consolation during her enforced presence at Court. She had grown increasingly restless in the three weeks that Trey had been in Holland, and she longed for the freedom that was denied her. She was weary of everything life at Court entailed, tired of the affectations of a lady of quality, tired of heavy gowns and curtsies and polite manners. All she wanted was for Trey to come home and take her away from all of it, and especially from the biting tongue of Cecilia Winslow.

  Caitlin's eyes grew hard as she spotted the flaxen- haired beauty on a path across the way from their secluded bench. Cecilia laughed and flirted within the circle of young courtiers who usually vied for her attention, and Caitlin gritted her teeth as she remembered how many times the spiteful woman had sought her out to taunt her about Cecilia's past relationship with Trey, often in front of others. Up to now, Caitlin had managed to exercise a great deal of restraint and to remain silent under the attacks. She did not dare risk incurring the Queen's displeasure. But her patience with the viper-tongued woman was wearing dangerously thin.

  "Look, yonder, there is that silly Cecilia, surrounded by men, as usual. I cannot understand why the Queen appears fond of her. She is nothing but a strumpet."

  Meghan's words brought Caitlin's eyes to the young girl, who looked inordinately pleased by the rather wicked word she had chosen, while Grace blushed and chastised her sister in a low voice.

  "Meghan, you shouldn't say such things. "Tis sin- ful."

  Meghan lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug and wrinkled her nose toward the object of her scorn.

  "I don't give a fig. You know as well as I the false tales she spreads about Trey. All are lies and anyone with half a brain would know it!"

  "What has she said?" Caitlin asked quickly, and Grace looked reproachfully at Meghan.

  "There, you see, Meghan, you should have held your tongue. Caitlin has yet to hear such stories."

  "They have whispered about me since I was brought here, and I care not, but I have heard nothing said of Trey."

  Meghan snorted with disgust, and despite Grace's warning look, she blurted out all the details for Caitlin.

  "Cecilia has made it known to any who will listen that Trey has sent her long letters from the campaign in Holland, begging her to forgive him. She even had the gall to say he pleaded with her to become his wife, saying you were a terrible mistake and he cares nothing for you. Then, if you can even believe it, she said she laughed in his face because she no longer wants him as her lover! Mother is furious with her lies, since we all know how he feels about you."

  Grace spoke up quickly, alarmed by the way Caitlin's jaw had tilted upward as she stared at Cecilia Winslow. The woman and her admirers were nearing them, and she thought it wise to distract Caitlin's attention. She stood.

  "Come, Caitlin, let us go find Mother. I believe she is with the Queen near the river promenade."

  Meghan rose at once. "Oh, yes, it is near teatime. Perhaps Anne will invite us to sample some of Hill's pastry!"

  She smiled down at Caitl
in, but Caitlin was in no mood for a tea party.

  "I believe I will remain here in the sun for a time," Caitlin said, and Grace lingered a moment, still uncertain about the expression on Caitlin's face.

  "Do not tarry long," she called back as Meghan pulled her away down the path.

  After they had left, Caitlin returned her gaze to her nemesis, her blood still boiling as Meghan's revelations seared her pride like a red-hot iron. Her fury took an ominous surge as Cecilia became aware of Caitlin's solitary state. Caitlin's fists clenched as she watched Cecilia say something, her hand shielding her mouth, to her entourage, causing them to laugh and glance toward Caitlin. She laid her palm over the dagger beneath her skirt as Cecilia separated herself from her friends and came with a graceful sway of skirts toward Caitlin's bench.

  For once, Caitlin welcomed her approach. Caitlin smiled coldly, her fingers curling over the familiar shape of her knife. The hedges would conceal this confrontation between them, and perhaps the time had finally come for Caitlin to curb Cecilia's vicious tongue and silence her lies, once and for all. As Caitlin had expected, Cecilia's first words were snide.

  "There is really no need to hide back here by yourself, Lady Pirate, just because your husband gave up so quickly on winning you back. The courtiers are whispering that he stays away much longer than is necessary. Perhaps he hopes you will be wed to another by the time he returns."

  Cecilia smiled in an evil way as she waited for Caitlin's reaction, but those large golden eyes watched her calmly, without a trace of emotion. Cecilia's confidence increased. Her taunts had hitherto caused no response from Trey Cameron's wife, and it rather pleased her that the woman purported to be a bold pirate-queen could be rendered so meek under her clever words. She felt powerful in her ability to bait the girl. Perhaps a few more well-aimed barbs would lessen the welcome that Trey would receive from this woman, he had wanted more than he had wanted her.

  "Trey writes to me often, did you know?" she continued. I am afraid he has tired of you already, but do not fear, for he no longer interests me. Perhaps, though, if he continues to beg so sweetly, I will take him back."

  Caitlin's eyes narrowed, and Cecilia smiled as she reached up to finger the long thick banana curl that hung over one shoulder.

  Caitlin's attention went to the ridiculously high coiffure of stiff white blond curls stretched over a frame that rose to perhaps a foot above Cecilia's forehead. A small miniature of the Glory, billowing sails and all, sat in the center of it. Caitlin thought it totally absurd looking, but Cecilia, in her vanity, misinterpreted Caitlin's interest. She patted the monstrosity, her smile cruel.

  "Trey has always loved my hair," she began, then improvised as a thought struck her. "He insisted that I give him a lock to carry with him to Holland, you know."

  With that, Caitlin had borne all she intended to, and she moved so swiftly that the hapless Cecilia knew not what she intended until it was too late. She cried out as Caitlin's fingers anchored firmly in the elaborate blond curls, while her other hand held a razor-edged dagger threateningly against the dark roots above Cecilia's wide eyes.

  "If my husband is so fond of your hair"—Caitlin ground out the words succinctly—perhaps we should send the rest of it to him. "Twould be easily accomplished this minute, for I keep this dirk of mine most sharp."

  Every drop of color drained from Cecilia's countenance, and she gurgled with pure horror at the thought of being parted from her beloved hair. Terrified to the core, she closed frightened eyes to block out Caitlin's furious golden glare. Her voice was strangled.

  "No, please! Do not cut it! Trey did not ask for a lock, I swear it, nor did he write to me! All are lies!"

  Caitlin hesitated, for she had waited long for her revenge, but the hateful woman was already near to swooning. She released her hold, if reluctantly, and Cecilia staggered backward, her hands clutching her heart, then wasted no time escaping down the path away from Caitlin, working desperately to right the absurd frame in which the Glory now hung upside down.

  Caitlin felt a euphoric satisfaction assail her, and she leaned back her head and laughed aloud for the first time in weeks. She raised her skirt and re- sheathed her dagger, but a low chuckle from behind sent her whirling around. She looked into twinkling blue eyes.

  "I do believe, Caitlin dear, that Cecilia Winslow has learned a very valuable lesson this day," Beatrice remarked, unable to hide her amusement at the scene she had just witnessed.

  Caitlin smiled as she patted her skirt back into place. "I am afraid I lost control of my temper. She has been most unkind to me of late."

  "I have heard her vicious words myself," Beatrice replied, glancing to where several gentlemen had turned to stare after a hastily retreating Cecilia. "But I daresay she will bother you no more."

  She hooked her arm affectionately through Caitlin's, leading her toward the river promenade.

  "Anne has sent me for you, my dear. She wishes a word alone with you."

  "Has she changed her mind?" Caitlin asked at once.

  Beatrice shrugged. "I do not know. She has said nary a word about my son since he left London. I fear the criticisms of the war she receives from parliament these days monopolize her thoughts. She strolls in the hedge maze and bids you to join her there. The girls and I will await you at the balustrade overlooking the river."

  Caitlin nodded and hurried toward the entrance to the maze, where one of the royal guards stood on duty, his scarlet coat vivid against the green of the hedge. She passed him, her shoes crunching as she moved along the narrow path of red gravel in search of the Queen. She knew from previous strolls that there was a small fountain and sundial in one of the center areas where Anne enjoyed to sit and reflect or pray, and Caitlin headed there, anxious to know what the Queen wanted of her. Perhaps she had had word from Trey, or, she thought, her heart skipping a beat, perhaps he had been hurt in battle.

  The hedge rose to a full eight feet, giving the utmost privacy to those wandering in its walkways, but Caitlin knew the way well. Within minutes, she turned the last corner, as she had thought, the Queen sat on the bench alone. A scarlet-coated guard was walking toward her, and Caitlin frowned, for he approached the Queen from behind, rather than waiting at a respectful distance to be received. Caitlin gasped as she saw the sword he held in his hand, and his intent hit her like a blow to her chest.

  "No! Stop!" she screamed as he raised the sword to plunge it into the Queen's back.

  Anne turned, and Caitlin's warning gave her time to lunge to the side as the blade came down to ring loudly on the stone bench. The Queen shrieked in terror and tried to run as the assassin leapt over the bench after her.

  Caitlin jerked her dagger free and ran toward them as the Queen's shrill scream pierced the air before she stumbled and fell.

  "Death to the Stuart bitch," her assailant yelled in guttural French, and Caitlin let loose the knife as he raised his sword for the death blow. Her aim was accurate, and the blade sliced into his spine just below the nape of his neck. His body jerked spasmodically, both of his arms dropping uselessly as he slumped forward to the ground, his heavy torso landing on the Queen's legs. Anne scrambled away from him, pulling her bloodstained gown from beneath him as several other guards burst upon the scene from different ends of the hedgerows.

  The frightened monarch was quickly surrounded by a protective crowd, and Caitlin went forward to help her as the dead man was turned over, his glazed eyes staring into the sky. Anne sank weakly to a bench, placing both hands to her heaving breast as she watched the assassin being dragged away. She took several deep breaths to calm her frenzied heart beat. There had been many threats of assassination in the years since she had assumed the throne, but never had she thought her own privy gardens in danger of infiltration. If it had not been for the young woman who now watched her with anxious eyes, she would surely lie dead.

  "I should have made you my bodyguard, I think, instead of my companion," she said shakily as Caitlin knelt before her.
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  "The man was a Frenchman. You were not betrayed by your guard," Caitlin said, looking around them. "I fear a loyal soldier of the realm lies dead somewhere, his uniform on yonder villain."

  The Queen was quiet for a moment, her face sobering as the shock receded enough to allow the grim reality of the situation to take precedence.

  "I surely owe you my life. You will have any reward within my power."

  Caitlin sat very still as the Queen placed her hand on Caitlin head. She looked up at the Queen. her eyes sincere.

  "I am only glad that I happened upon Your Highness in time to be of service, and I wish no reward. All I wish is your blessing upon my marriage to Lord Cameron, and your leave for him to return with me to the Indies."

  Anne managed a weak smile, thinking it very little to ask indeed for saving the life of the Queen of England.

  "It is done, then."

  Caitlin smiled, helping the Queen to rise. Anne had regained her composure now, and walked regally away in the midst of her guards, her head held high. Caitlin remained behind, sinking to the bench, finding it hard to believe the events of the last few minutes. It had all happened so quickly, without an inkling of warning, but had nevertheless changed Caitlin's whole life. The misguided plans of a fanatical Frenchman had given Caitlin the freedom she hungered for, and happiness crested in unbridled pleasure until her heart was close to bursting. Unable to keep such joy within herself, she hurried down the path that led to the riverside exit of the maze, eager to share the wonderful tidings with Beatrice and the girls.

  "Oh, look, Meghan, there is a fortune-teller! I am so glad Caitlin asked us to come to the fair!"

  Caitlin looked to where Grace pointed at a small white tent hung with red pennants that flapped and fluttered in the wind. A large, all-knowing eye was painted on the front flap with many symbols of Arabic.

  "Would you like to hear your fortune, my lady?" Francis Durham asked Grace, and she nodded with enthusiasm.

  "Not I! want to see the dancing bear! Caitlin told me all about it!" Meghan exclaimed, and Caitlin followed her pointing finger to a large tented pavilion near the bank of the Thames. Realizing the absence of Grace and Francis would allow her to accomplish what she had come to the fair to do, Caitlin was quick to insist that they visit the fortune-teller.