by Abby Gordon
“Those tunnels Mary mentioned?” Griffin suggested.
“Ran like a coward,” muttered Owain. “Damn the man.”
“Why would he go to Shrewsbury and north?” Daffyd wondered, shaking his head, then groaned. Shrewsbury was suspected of being a Scion stronghold. And none of them trusted the Elders of York. “Oh, you don’t think—”
“God, I hope not,” Owain whispered.
“Walsingham won’t be thrilled at that bit of news,” Griffin observed.
“Not in the least,” agreed Owain, then glanced at how the men were milling about the fire, their attention fixed on the canvas sheltering the women. “The men are acting a bit strange.”
“It’s been a strange night,” Daffyd said, wondering that neither of them realized just what had happened. Justice of the Root. How? “I’ll tell them to stay alert for the last Richland brother and any men who may have escaped us.”
Leaving his cousins by the wagons, Daffyd joined the men. Going to each cluster, he warned them that not all their prey had been caught. While they nodded, they didn’t seem overly concerned. Their whispers were on Anna’s words before she’d executed Richard Richland.
“Justice of the Root. Could she be related to Root William?” someone wondered.
Daffyd frowned, considering that. He’d been in the Tapestry room nearly four weeks earlier when Owain had brought Anna to the Seven Roses tavern. Standing with George, Miles and Eoin near the fire, he listened to them try to figure out who Anna was. Closing his eyes, he pictured the tapestry as he’d been taught, trying to remember the names in the black thread of death. Including Anna’s own. There. Above hers. Father Rodrigo, son of Diego. Mother Celeste of York.
He gasped, opening his eyes and staring at the canvas in shock. Was it possible? Everyone had thought Root William’s daughter had died in a sweating sickness. Had she survived? Gone to Catalan to be safe? Safe from what? Was Anna her daughter? The last of not one but two branches of the Order? Daffyd shoved the thought aside, terrified to think it lest someone pluck it from his brain. Someone like a Son of Scion. And she was held for three weeks by them. Thank the angels they had no idea who she was. But how? That means the attack as they were riding was on the Queen, not Anna. I’m not sure which I would prefer.
Taking a slow steady breath, Daffyd glanced at George who was looking at him strangely.
“You all right?” the man, normally behind the bar at the Seven Roses, inquired.
“Trying to understand all that’s happened,” Daffyd answered truthfully, while not going into exactly what he meant. “We’ll need to send someone ahead to London. The queen and Walsingham will be concerned that there’s been no word.”
“Aye,” George agreed. “Good thinking there. Miles?”
“I’m not leaving Lady Anna,” replied his nephew, giving him a scornful look at the suggestion.
“Nor am I,” Eoin told Daffyd.
“The queen knows you,” Daffyd reminded his cousin on his father’s side. “She trusts you.”
“A messenger would go to Walsingham and Danker,” he replied. “And Walsingham would take it to the queen.”
“I’ll leave it to Owain to decide,” Daffyd shrugged as Rose appeared, holding the canvas up for Anna.
Immediately, the men moved forward into a half circle before dropping to one knee. They might not know which Branch she belonged to but what she’d done that night made her theirs.
◆◆◆
York
Going into his father’s office to update the training records, Edward sat down, with the ledger and glanced around for a quill. Seeing a stack of letters with a seal he recognized, he leaned over, careful not to disturb anything. Blood chilling, he read as the Earl of Northumberland demanded to know more about York troops, munitions and food that would be heading north in a fortnight. Stunned, Edward lifted it and saw notes from three minor barons. There were references to unnamed others, but he finally had sufficient details regarding when action would be taken that they needed to alert others. Carefully putting the training ledger back, he slipped out of the office.
Going to the smithy, he handed a knife to Dale.
“It’s a bit nicked,” he commented, using the code words. “It’s my favorite though. Can you repair it immediately?”
“Aye, Sir Edward,” the huge man nodded. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”
“My thanks.”
Leaving, Edward paused, gazing at the mostly empty courtyard. God help me. Now I must tell Celeste that our father are traitors to the Crown and the Order.
Grinding his back teeth, Edward struggled to keep his temper. This was Celeste. She’d been sheltered all her life. Pampered, protected from the world outside York, raised to be a proper, well-brought up lady, doing what she was told and running a household. He loved that part of her. It was just that he hadn’t expected her absolute refusal to believe what he told her.
He had to try again.
“Celeste, it’s true,” he whispered. “The Elders are involved in a conspiracy. They’re part of a rebellion against the Queen.”
“Edward, this is my father you’re talking about. My uncle. Your father. A man we’ve known all our lives. How can you believe something like this?”
“How can you not believe me?” He scowled at her. “I’ve sent for Jasper and Godfrey to discuss it with them.”
“You sent for—” She stared at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because they’ve been worried about what the Elders are doing for years. Especially since this spring.”
“Godfrey,” murmured Celeste, seizing on the name. “I’ve heard he stirred up trouble and dissent in the past. Because our fathers removed him from his position as captain,” she replied, then frowned. “Just as yours removed you and replaced you with Edmund. Is that what this is about? Your jealousy and bitterness towards your brother has driven you to believe these lies?”
“That’s not it,” insisted Edward. “You know me better than that, Celeste.”
“Sir Godfrey probably has been nursing the same feelings towards our fathers for decades and he’s using you to hit back at them,” Celeste continued. “And isn’t Sir Jasper related to him somehow?” Her head tilted slightly. “And you trained under both. Don’t you see it, Edward? They’re trying to poison you against your father? Against your brother?”
“You mean my bastard brother?” he questioned softly. “The bastard brother who undoubtedly raped and killed your cousin Julia? Then lied about Meggie so your uncle threw her out? That bastard brother, Celeste? Why should I defend such actions of anyone? Even my supposed brother?”
She flinched at that. “Edward, Edmund and his men swore that –”
“Oh, Celeste, you know better than that,” Edward shook his head, disappointed in her.
“Our fathers do many things we are unaware of,” she reminded him. “And what you’re suggesting is…” she shook her head, struggling to find the words.
“At the very least it’s a betrayal of the ideals of the Order.”
“Why would the Elders, our fathers,” she stressed, “Betray the Order?”
“Greed,” Edward stated simply.
She shook her head. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it? Our fathers are men. Not angels of virtue. Or do you think it coincidence that within fifteen months after the Root of York died that all four of their fathers died and they took control of York? Or that weeks before Lady Celeste, Don Rodrigo and their daughter Anna were to leave Catalan that they were all massacred? Celeste, no one else knew.”
“The other Roots did,” she reminded him.
“They did,” he agreed. “But again, what motive would they have had to massacre the entire family the way Tuscany was?” She scowled at him. “They had none. The Elders did.”
“Rome and the Scions did as well.”
For a long moment, she was silent, staring at her clasped hands on her lap. Desperately, he stared at her, willing her to see
the truth. But when she raised her head and met his gaze, he knew he’d lost.
“The massacre was a horrible thing,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “But you have told me nothing that proves that the Elders, that my father and yours, have done anything to betray the Order.”
“Celeste,” he breathed, his voice strangled.
“This past month, I have been resisting my father’s wish that I break our betrothal and instead marry Edmund on my eighteenth birthday.”
“No,” Edward protested, raising a pleading hand toward her.
“I cannot marry a man who believes such slander toward my father. Who would not defend my father against such lies.”
For a long moment, he stared at her, unable to believe what she had said. How can she be such an innocent? She knows what he is.
“You would marry Edmund? A bastard?” he snarled. “A man who is known throughout York for how he rapes and beats women? After what he did to Julia and Meggie?”
He watched her face turn ashen before she shook her head.
“He will not treat me so.”
“You keep believing that,” Edward shook his head, getting to his feet. His heart breaking, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, mince his words. “You keep telling yourself that on your wedding night. As he rips your clothes from your body, grabs you by the hair and throws you onto the bed. As he falls on you and takes you without care or concern for your health or your life.”
“You are so desperate for me to believe you that you would slander everyone around you,” she whispered, her entire body trembling.
“I saw Julia’s body,” Edward growled. “And what will he do to you when he realizes he is not the first to bed you?”
Ashen at his words, her light gray eyes wide, Celeste stared at him in shock. He strode across the room, not caring how she cowered back in the chair in fright. Placing his hands on the arm rests, he loomed over her.
“What will he do to you when he realizes that I took your virginity, Celeste?” He lowered his head to hers to whisper. “I knew you first, sweeting. I took you, so certain that you would hold true to me. That you were mine and vows before an altar were just ceremony. But you are as inconstant as any other woman is with her heart.” He lifted his head to glare at her. “And her body.”
“Edward, no,” she breathed. “I’m not – ”
“Do you go so eagerly from me to him? Or have you already done? Is that why you are so willing to find him at the church on your birthday? What kind of woman would I have mated my soul to?”
“Edward, you know that is not true,” she protested, tears in her eyes.
“If that is the path you’ve chosen, then you must live with it.” His voice lowered to a growl. “But as he rapes you repeatedly, as he beats you and enjoys your screaming pleas for him to stop and leave you alone, remember I tried to warn you. And remember this.”
His left hand caught the back of her head, pulling her up from the chair to meet his mouth. Hungrily, desperately, he kissed her, held her close, knowing it would be the last time he touched her. Releasing her, he let her drop to the seat.
“Remember that I loved you,” he whispered, stepping back.
He was at the door before she spoke.
“Edward, what are you going to do?”
“Write to London to warn them. Then confront my father about what I know.”
“You can’t,” she gasped. “He’ll kill you for believing such lies.”
Grief filled him as he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Why should I live?” he said softly, then walked out the door.
Trembling, Celeste stared at the empty threshold. Impossible. He had to be mistaken, deceived. The expression in his eyes haunted her and she curled over in the chair, wrapping her arms around her waist. He loves me. Loved me. I may have killed whatever he felt by saying I would marry Edmund. Now his words about his half-brother came back and she shuddered. Uncle Charles had nearly dumped Julia’s body into the poor man’s pit before the archbishop had stated she was ‘near a martyr of a woman.’ Meggie cast out. Her Aunt Anelle gone into hysterics and still not recovered enough to leave her room. But how could Father and Uncle Charles let such a thing happen? Impossible! I still can’t believe they would let anyone drag Meggie from them and use her in such a way. Uncle Charles must have found her with Edmund. Edmund must have given him proof. Proof that Edward would not or could not give me. Even now, part of her insisted that Edward had told her those things to frighten and sway her. But she knew Meggie had been as timid around men as Julia had been bold.
Suddenly doubt filled her. What would Edmund do to her if he suspected she was no longer a virgin? Her fingers clenched, gathering the satin of her skirt.
The full weight of that blissful afternoon weighed on her, crushing her against the chair.
“Oh, Edward,” she moaned, closing her eyes. “What have we done?”
What he’d said was impossible. It could not possibly be true. Celeste moaned softly. She’d never had cause to doubt anything about her life. How was she to cope with this information? How could Edward have believed Jasper and Godfrey? Jasper had turned him against the Elders, she decided. Jasper, with his ties to… Celeste caught her breath. Jasper’s mother had been the niece of the Lady Alinor. Rumor said that he had been with her at Hampton Court when word of the Catalan massacre had arrived. A frown creased her brow. Perhaps above all York roses, Jasper was both the least likely to be suspected of working against the Elders and most likely. His allegiance was not to the Elders but to the lost York branch.
And where did her loyalty lie? Who demanded her higher adherence? Father, order or crown?
I was in my father’s office, Edward said. So why couldn’t he have told me what he saw. If one was involved in a conspiracy, wouldn’t one keep things hidden? Hidden places. Hidden things. She nibbled her bottom lip and considered that. She knew where her father kept things. She’d been hiding as a child. From behind the wall tapestry, she’d watched him come in with Elder Talbor behind. Her father had closed and locked the door. She’d been too far and too worried about being discovered to hear or pay attention to what they’d said. But she’d seen the small shelf when her father had pulled aside the tapestry on the opposite wall. The leather-bound books and scrolls, the large wooden box he’d hefted from the shelf and placed on his table. Elder Talbor had handed him several letters, and two pouches. Closing the box, her father had replaced it on the shelf, then returned the wall-hanging to conceal the place. Moaning softly, she rested her shoulder against the back of the chair. Somehow, she would look in there and there, she was certain, would be proof of her father’s innocence. And if you find his guilt? What then?
“Celeste? Celeste.”
Jolting at the sharp tone, she turned her head toward the doorway. Her father stood there, frowning at her. Quickly she stood and dropped a swift curtsey, suddenly wondering if all girls did such a thing.
“Good afternoon, Father,” she whispered.
“I saw Edward riding out as I returned. His face looked like the storm clouds coming from the west. What did you discuss?”
With Edward’s words putting doubts in her head, Celeste found herself seeing and hearing more than paternal concern. She saw cunning arrogance. His eyes narrowed and his suspicion was clear. It struck her like a physical blow to her stomach. Her father was not all she had thought. Oh, sweet Mary. Could it be true? I must get away to think. Make him happy so he thinks all is well.
“I told him that I was going to be a dutiful daughter and marry Edmund as you wished,” she replied.
The expression on her father’s face could have been interpreted as one of paternal joy and pride. His arms spread wide as he strode to her and embraced her.
“Ah, my dear daughter,” he murmured. “I am so pleased with your decision.”
“Come with me,” Jasper urged.
Writing the few lines, Edward shook his head and reread the words. Westmoreland and Northumberland rai
se arms against the Queen. The Elders support them. I know naught more but suspect all. I beg you get word to someone who can protect the Queen and England. Edward Talbor of York.
“You know the way better than I and will travel faster alone. By confronting my father and Edmund I will cover your departure and your absence should go unnoticed.”
“You certain you want me to take this to Jacques and not Walsingham?” Jasper wondered as Edward blew on the ink to dry it faster.
Pausing, Edward considered that, then shook his head.
“I do not know who to trust in England,” he whispered, agony at the realization in his voice. “What a terrible thing to say,” he breathed. “These past months have drained me of all confidence in the roses of York.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “I have no hope. There is no faith left in me.”
Jasper’s hand landed on his left shoulder, gripping it briefly.
“She may yet come around,” the knight said quietly.
“No, she won’t,” denied Edward. “I told her of horrible crimes and laid them at her father’s feet. She will never forgive me for that.”
“Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait until after you were married,” suggested Jasper.
“Perhaps for my heart, but not for the queen and kingdom,” Edward mused, rolling up the square of parchment. Holding the wax over the candle flame, he carefully dropped a small dollop of it over the edges and then pressed his signet ring to seal it. “England is on the precipice of civil war once more. Preventing that is the primary purpose of the Order.” He handed the scroll to Jasper who slipped it into a leather pouch hanging around his neck, then tucked it under his doublet. “Ride hard and fast, my friend.”
“Come with me,” Jasper implored again. “You risk your life in confronting your father.”
Shaking his head, Edward smiled sadly.
“What is my life without her?” he wondered quietly. “All my life all I ever wanted was to faithfully serve the Order and love Celeste.” He met his friend’s concerned gaze. “If my father orders me killed, I will die knowing I did my best for both.”
Finally accepting his decision, Jasper nodded, squeezing his shoulder again. “God be with you,” he whispered.