Justice of the Root

by Abby Gordon

  “Elder Talbor is much impressed with Edmund,” Thomas Black intoned, stunning his daughter into silence. “Very impressed indeed. He raves constantly about his son’s prowess in the training yard and what he has done with the company.” A gleam appeared in Black’s eye that terrified Celeste. “And his prowess elsewhere.”

  “Father,” she gasped, shocked. “Please, Father. That is unseemly.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, could only hope that he never guessed she’d been so intimate with Edward.

  “Ah, it is that blush that reassures me beyond everything else,” Thomas murmured. “That I have such a virtuous daughter despite the depravities of her cousins. That my Celeste truly is pure. That my daughter is so worthy of being called a ‘maid.’”

  Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. “Father,” she breathed.

  “Think on it,” he urged. “Think of a marriage to Edmund.”

  “Father, he’s a—a bastard,” Celeste gasped, lifting her chin and staring at him. “Such a thing would be a worse scandal than anything Julia or Meggie did.”

  “Such things can be overcome,” he shrugged negligently. “Think on it. We’ve weeks before your eighteenth birthday. Still time to change Edward to Edmund.”

  “I love Edward,” she insisted.

  “Bah,” he dismissed that with a wave. “Love is for silly little girls. Edmund has a great future ahead of him. Go now. Leave. And think of doing your duty to your father.”

  Chapter Twelve York

  Shivering, Meggie watched the square empty as everyone hurried home for shelter in the rain. She had seen Celeste and been so tempted to go to her cousin. They’d been close. Celeste knew her well. She’d known Julia’s character. Celeste would believe her. But Meggie’s courage had fled as she saw Bessie at Celeste’s side. She dared not approach if the cook was nearby. Odd how people talk as much around me now as they did before. Only now I hear different things. Frightening things. Celeste’s gaze went over the square, then her head turned sharply back toward Meggie. Pulling the rough wool further over her head, Meggie scuttled back into the alley.

  She discovered there were advantages to being shy along with hearing things because people didn’t realize or forgot you were even there. People didn’t seem to see you. The day after her father had thrown her out of Black Two Manor, backhanding her when she tried to tell him what had happened, she had crept back in through a door their cook Molly always left open. Daringly, Meggie had even gone back to her room, putting clothes, stockings and shifts in the largest satchel she had. Pulling on her boots and heaviest cloak, she had rolled up the thickest bed fur and tied it to keep it from unrolling. Moving quietly back down the stairs, she’d filled a bag with bread, cheese, cured meat and two leather pouches of ale, along with a knife.

  Now, three weeks later, despite making the food last a week longer than she thought she could, she was starving. The weather had turned cold as well as rain and she seriously feared she would catch her death of cold.

  Trudging through the alley, Meggie wondered if she dared try to speak with Celeste. Perhaps the next market day. Bessie won’t always be with her. And I can warn Celeste about Denby. He hates Edward for replacing him and dismissing him from Talbor Manor. He’s working with the bastard now. He’s the one who—Meggie shivered at what Edmund had told her that horrible night. In his fury and shame, he’d tried to frighten her into silence by telling her things he suddenly realized he shouldn’t have.

  He hadn’t been able to kill me. A second death would have aroused too much suspicion. So he had Father throw me out, doing everything he could to make sure no one would ever listen to me, much less believe me if I repeated what he said.

  Terrified at what she knew, Meggie hardly slept. The fear had diminished her appetite, which she realized had been a good thing. But now what was she to do? With winter approaching and the constant rain, the lean-to that had been her shelter was no good. She’d tried to hang her cloak in the opening but then been freezing as the fur wasn’t enough.

  Someone grabbed her arm and she screamed before clapping a hand over her own mouth.

  “Meggie,” whispered a voice in the shadows.

  “Geoffrey?” she panted as Godfrey’s grandson appeared. “What are you doing in the alleys of York?”

  “I would ask you the same,” the boy grinned at her, then sobered. “Yes, I know. Your father made sure all of York knew. How have you survived?”

  “Molly leaves a door unlocked for her lover who is a groom,” Meggie answered. “I went back for my clothes and some food, but now—”

  “Come with me,” he urged.

  “I can’t,” she shook her head, though she longed to be warm and safe again. “I won’t get your grandfather in trouble.”

  “He’s been in worse,” the boy replied then shrugged. “But not the house. There’s a shed at the back of the yard. It’s not much and the chickens are there. But you’d be warmer and I could get you some food. And blankets.”

  The temptation was great, but Meggie knew the trouble the Elders would bring down on the former York captain. Even as she opened her mouth to refuse though, a gust of wind whistled down the alley bringing with it rain as if it had been dumped from barrels.

  “Come with me,” Geoffrey commanded, taking her wrist and starting off.

  Too dispirited and depressed, Meggie didn’t protest. Until she remembered.

  “My other things,” she hissed, tugging him down a side street.

  “All right,” he agreed.

  Quickly gathering the few belongings she’d hid behind the butcher’s shop, she followed Geoffrey along several back paths and alleys across the town to the captain’s house. It was a respectable two-story house with a good-sized garden and high walls.

  “There’s only Granda and me,” he told her as they went. “And Bill and Mary. Don’t worry about them. If they see you, they won’t tell no one. Especially the Elders.”

  “I’d get you all in so much trouble,” she fretted, slowing her pace.

  “If I didn’t try to help you, I’d get in more trouble with my Granda,” Geoffrey assured her.

  Suspicion had been growing and now Meggie studied his face. “Why do you act the way you do? You’re not stupid yet you act simple around most people.”

  “That’s a story for later,” he shook his head. “But it’s why Granda and I aren’t afraid of trouble anymore.”

  “I don’t understand,” she complained.

  “That’s all right,” he assured her, opening the gate. “That’s better for you.”

  He took her along the wall where apple and pear trees grew. She smiled when she heard the chickens softly clucking.

  “You don’t mind being with them, do you?” he asked, opening the door.

  “No,” she shook her head slipping inside. “It’s a comforting sound. And warm in here.”

  “You arrange a spot over there,” he gestured toward the corner. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Yet when he came back, he wasn’t alone. Having changed into her slightly dryer clothes, Meggie stared at the old man, pleading with her eyes not to betray her. When he smiled gently, she started crying.

  “There now, lass,” he murmured, holding her. “Easy now. You’ll be safe here.”

  Wiping her cheeks, she gulped in breaths and looked up at him.

  “If they find me –”

  “Sh, now,” he shook his head as Geoffrey put the blankets and a bag near the pile of hay she’d covered with her fur. “Now, they have started searching for you. So, if you hear anything at the house, grab all your things. Keep them all in your bag. Grab your bag, kick at the hay to spread it and slip out the back corner. There’s a narrow gate no one uses but we keep well-oiled. Go to the shed at the end of the alley and hide there. When it’s safe, Geoff or I will come get you.”

  Nodding, Meggie trembled at the kindness. “Thank you, sir.”

  ◆◆◆

  London

  A bit puz
zled by Danker’s more cryptic than usual message, Walsingham left Whitehall after the Privy Meeting and, donning his cloak and boots, headed for the Seven Roses tavern. It had been a ghastly meeting. One of the worst he could remember. The Queen had been fretful and increasingly moody and none of it could be blamed on the weather. There had been absolutely no news, no messenger from Owain and Griffin about the search for Anna. While much of the court seemed to believe that Owain and Griffin were motivated by vengeance at the attack on the queen, their cousin, there were a few, primarily the queen, Lady Lettys, Robert Dudley, Ursula and himself, who understood that at least for the elder Welsh brother, there was much more involved.

  Reviewing Owain’s behavior since Anna’s arrival, Francis had to admit to himself, although he would never say the words to anyone else, that Owain’s loyalties had definitely shifted. Before the two had left for Tutbury, Alicia had come up to him and demanded to know if he had told the Welshman who Anna really was. The thought and the accusation had stunned him, and he’d insisted neither he nor Ursula had breathed a word of it. The idea that Alicia would accuse him of such a thing still grated on him Could Owain know that Anna is the Hidden Rose? The Root of Catalan and York? No. Impossible! Yes, he’s smart, but figuring that out? Inconceivable. Except – right before they left, he was taunting me about something. Then why would he behave so upon their return?

  Recalling his anger at Owain for not following through with what he’d started on the trip and his audacity at questioning the spymaster for sending Anna there, Francis scowled, ignoring the startled glances of those on the street. And the way those who recognized him scurried out of the way. The purpose was not to set up spies around the Scots queen but get the two of them together. To have them return and announce a betrothal! Why didn’t Owain do that? The Queen wouldn’t have objected in the slightest. She was already planning the feast. Damn Welsh. Never do what they’re supposed to. Owain doesn’t propose. Griffin refuses to listen to an order and goes running off with the Roses to find Anna. That entire plan must be postponed.

  The dark expression was still on his face when he entered the Seven Roses. Hal, brother by marriage to George, hurried from around the bar.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted him quietly. “Your visitors are upstairs with Danker.”

  “Visitors?” Walsingham demanded. “What visitors?”

  Hal swallowed nervously, glancing at the stairs. “I think it best if you meet them, sir.”

  “Damned nuisance,” muttered the spymaster, striding across the room and not acknowledging any of the salutes.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he went right and down the long hall to where Danker’s office was. The room was not over the tavern, but nearly at the end of the entire block. Walsingham was currently renting it along with many others, but he dreamt of buying the entire line of shops and dreaded any of the owners realizing that he’d had the Roses tear out the walls of the upper floors.

  Reaching the door with four locks, he pushed the latch down and entered without knocking.

  “Danker, what is so bloody important that—”

  The two men with his right-hand man turned from a map on the wall. Walsingham froze, then closed the door. For a long moment, he simply stared at them. Pale blue roses with their sapphires on right shoulders. Strong, well-trained men who could cut him down no matter what he did. And the older man would do it with no hesitation, little exertion and no regret. Francis had seen him do it before.

  Swallowing, he fisted his right hand, placing it over his heart and bowed.

  “Root Raoul,” he murmured, hoping the man hadn’t come to kill him for some reason. Or no reason at all. Roots are like monarchs in the Order. He or his son could kill me and not a Rose would protest or tell anyone. “Heir Etienne, you honor England.”

  “Walsingham,” the Root of Normandy growled. “Would you explain what has happened since Root Anna’s arrival?”

  Danker gasped, then collapsed into his chair. “Root? She’s a Root?”

  “At least you didn’t tell him,” grunted the Norman. “Explain yourself, Walsingham. Or her Majesty will be looking for a new spymaster.”

  “The queen was attacked while riding,” Francis stammered, nervous for the first time in years. “Anna—”

  “Lady Anna or Root Anna,” snarled Etienne, stepping forward with his hand on his hilt. “You English have forgotten the proper courtesies and protocols.”

  “Lady Anna,” Francis corrected, gritting his teeth. “She saved the queen. First from arrows, then she put her on the guard’s horse. Lady Anna was taken instead.”

  “And Tutbury?” Root Raoul asked softly, his voice smooth as silk. “Why did you send her there? Straight into the lair of a woman who is a Guise even before she considers herself the Scots Queen? Whose family is in the Sons of Scion? Were you trying to come up with new ways of torture?”

  “I – ,” Walsingham glanced at Danker who stared at him in horror. Dammit all. Did Owain send word to him? No, Owain wouldn’t know to. Would he? “I – I –”

  “We trusted you to keep her safe until her twentieth,” Root Raoul accused him. “To keep her safe and well. And you send her off into the heart of the enemy?”

  His voice increased to thunder and Walsingham raised his hands before his face in defense. Not that that would be any protection from a Root.

  “I was trying to match her with Sir Owain,” he protested. “Sir Owain ap Llewellyn ap Tudor of Berwyn.”

  “Tudor?” Etienne frowned. “Are you serious about that?”

  “Aye,” Francis nodded. “He’s a cousin of the queen on her grandfather’s side. There seemed to be an attraction between them from the start.” He scowled at that. “Even if she did nearly shoot his brother and he held a knife to her throat.”

  “He did what?” Raoul raged.

  His son stared, then laughed, clapping his father on the shoulder. “He surprised her with it, didn’t he? Anna would appreciate something like that, Papa.” Etienne glanced at Walsingham. “And then?”

  “Ursula says she aimed a pistol in her pocket at his codpiece.”

  Raoul grunted, shaking his head. “God’s Blood, Francis. And based on that you send her with him into the heart of the Scions?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve seen the way they watch each other,” he protested. “The way they danced.” He let his own frustrations out. “The only way I could convince the Queen and Ursula to the plan was that I was sure Owain would do the honorable thing and propose. That they would come back and announce their betrothal. Instead, upon their return, Owain snarls at me for sending her and the two of them were barely speaking to each other.”

  “Except,” Danker started, falling silent when the Normans glanced at him.

  “Except?” prompted Etienne, turning to the man who knew more about codes than nearly anyone else in Europe.

  “The anniversary of the Catalan massacre, Sir Owain brought Lady Anna here. He took her to the Tapestry Room.”

  “The tapestries are here?” exclaimed the Heir.

  “Lady Alinor took them when she left York,” Francis explained. “And left them to me.”

  “And when this Sir Owain was told Anna had been taken?” Raoul pressed. “After the queen was attacked?”

  “He ran from here to Whitehall,” Danker told him. “His brother and cousin called the Roses and there must have been forty that charged in behind him. He took them all in search of Root Anna.” The title seemed to dazzle him as he clasped his hands to his chest. “We have a Root. Our own Root again. Sir Francis, why did you not tell me?”

  “That’s the one thing he’s done right,” growled Raoul. “Now, tell me about this Welshman who seems so taken with our Hidden Rose.”

  “What do you want to know about him?” Walsingham asked.

  “Everything,” replied Etienne, sitting down. “Start talking.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jonal Park – along the Wash on the east coast of Englandr />
  Part of Rose couldn’t believe they were doing this. Walking into enemy’s home as if we belong here. We’re both mad. That’s the only explanation. Mad and determined to save Lady Anna. And we must! I half-thought Alicia would tell Sir Owain about the baby. But, no, that is for Lady Anna. The terrors of what her lady might have been going through had made it impossible for Rose to sleep. Rain, cold, wind – none of that affected her like the nightmares of what they could be doing to her lady.

  “Which way first?” she murmured to Alicia as they drew near the gate.

  “Walk around to the right,” answered the older woman. “Gaze about as if you’re a villager, half frightened and half in awe. Count men on the wall your first look. Men on the ground with the second. I’ll count steps and look into the sheds as we go past.”

  “Right,” breathed Rose. “Are you sure we can do this?”

  “We must,” Alicia stated, nodding at the guard who barely looked at them. “They’re looking for a large company of soldiers. Or strange men. Women are not a threat to them.”

  They passed through the wide gate, under the heavy, raised portcullis. Trembling, Rose didn’t have to act afraid as she glanced up at the pointed ends aiming down at them. Somehow, we must make sure that doesn’t come down. We’ll never be able to get in or get Lady Anna out. Realizing this was in fact the only way, Rose took a deep breath.

  “Ready?” murmured Alicia as they neared the inner bailey.

  “Ready,” Rose replied, giving her a steady look.

  With a smile, Alicia turned her head to the right as Rose’s eyes roamed the yard. First look, wall. Second look, yard. Third look double-check the count of the yard. A hundred. More than twice our number. How can we possibly get in, let alone back out with Lady Anna?