“It is clear that I must expedite the plans I had in mind for you,” Cummings said.
Alex’s heart sank. What did he have in mind?
“I have written recently to my good friend, Lord James Selby of Hampden Manor in Surrey, to offer him your hand in marriage. Do you recall him?”
Alex had a vague impression of an older man, her uncle’s contemporary, with grown children and substantial holdings in the county that had been mentioned. More important, though close to the queen, Selby was not an intimate of the Essex contingent and had taken no sides in that group’s constant struggle with Cecil’s faction. Cummings was clearly carving an alternate route for himself if things continued to deteriorate along their current course.
“What would induce Lord Selby to take me off your loving hands?” she asked.
“A substantial dowry and the promise of my influence at court with Lord Essex.”
“Then you’d better step smartly before the Essex influence wanes further,” Alex said.
“I wouldn’t be so flip if I were you, Alexandra. My letter did not include the news that you would be coming to the marriage bed with a bastard in your belly.”
“Perhaps he’ll call it off, then.”
“We shall see.”
“Are you suggesting I should deceive him?”
Cummings gave her a look of mock horror. “You? Practice deception? Perish the thought! In any event, you’d best marry somebody before that brat begins to swell your stomach, and it might as well be Selby. You could do worse.”
“I insist that he know about my condition.”
“You are not in a position to insist on anything.”
“If what he wants is my dowry and your good offices with the queen, he may not care about the child. It is merely that I remember him to be a decent, kindly man and do not wish to see him misled.”
“You’ve acquired a tender conscience? A recent addition, I assume. It did not trouble you while you were consorting with known criminals in defiance of my express commands.”
“If you don’t tell Lord Selby, I will.”
“Enough!” Cummings exploded, slamming his fist down on the fireside table so hard that the crockery rattled. Clearly he would not allow Alex’s scruples to interfere with his neatly formulated plan to transform her into a respectable country matron and make a valuable political connection at the same time.
“By your leave, sir,” a nervous page said from the doorway.
They both looked at the boy, conscious for the first time that Cummings had not closed the bedroom door on his arrival.
“Captain of the guard requests your immediate presence, sir,” the page said.
“Bother,” Cummings muttered under his breath. In a louder voice he said, “Tell the captain I am now detained and will see him at my first leisure.”
The boy hesitated.
“Well?” Cummings said.
The page glanced at Alex, then at her uncle.
Cummings made a sound of exasperation and stalked over to the boy. They conversed in a low tone and then the page hurried off. Cummings turned to look at Alexandra, his expression grim.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Apparently we didn’t ‘torture’ your paramour quite enough. He’s escaped.”
Alex couldn’t control the joyous glow that suffused her countenance.
“You are not heartbroken by this intelligence, I see,” Cummings said.
Alex made no reply.
“You realize, of course, that he’s deserted you,” her uncle added spitefully.
“It gladdens my heart that he is free.”
“He’s left you with his by-blow and will now return to pursuing the same type of low woman who betrayed him to us. He cares nothing for you, he never did. Despoiling you was part of his revenge on his hated overlords. He played you like a lute, my girl.”
Alex sighed and folded her hands, fixing her gaze on the wall behind his head.
“I hope you’re not entertaining any notions of his returning here for you. He knows what it would mean for him to do so. He’ll forget you and disappear into the fens forever. You should accustom yourself to that notion and arrange your future accordingly.”
Cummings whirled about and strode purposefully from the room. Alex ran to the window and looked down at the trees, praying that they would conceal her lover and silently wishing him the choicest of luck.
* * * *
Burke slid from his stolen horse and hit the ground hard, reaching for a tree trunk to steady himself against it. The world swam for a moment. He pulled the hood from his head and discarded the peasant’s cowl on the ground. The man he’d taken it from was lying unconscious with a welt on his brow and would have a thick head in the morning, but Burke was pleased that it had not been necessary to kill him.
He tethered the horse to a low branch by a stream. He wasn’t sure how far he’d come from Inverary, but he thought it was safe to take a brief rest. If he tried to push on, he could pass out, and then Carberry’s men might come across him. He was unable, to tell if he was being pursued, but he thought it likely. They knew he was injured and would therefore expect his progress to be slow.
His back felt as if it were being raked with fingers of fire. His thin tunic was stuck to the oozing wounds, and his flayed skin came away with the cloth when he took off the shift and sank gratefully into the stream.
The cool water eased the burning, and he closed his eyes, thinking about the woman he had left behind at the castle. If only he had been able to take her with him. Getting this far himself had been difficult enough and had taken weeks of planning. Trying to include her would have made the whole scheme impossible. The only way was to go back for her with a force of men when the time was right. In his mind he knew he’d made the only choice, but in his heart he felt that he had abandoned her.
He crawled out onto the bank, trying not to imagine her sitting alone in the tower, wondering what had become of him. She was strong and brave. He smiled to himself when he thought of her intractable behavior when he’d first kidnapped her. She would endure. He would find a way to get a message to her, and they would be together some day. He drifted into a doze, thinking about their life together, their children ...
Burke shook himself awake. Falling asleep now could be fatal. He dragged himself to his feet and dressed again, pausing to cup his hands and give a drink to the tired horse. He mounted the animal and set off at as brisk a pace as the weary horse could manage, promising himself that it would have a good meal and a warm stall at the end of their journey.
* * * *
Ten days after Burke’s escape, Alex went walking in the courtyard with Harker. Her uncle had permitted her exercise to continue; perhaps he thought that with Burke gone he could relax her security, but she was still unable to leave her room unescorted.
“Fine day, miss,” Harker said.
The rain had stopped, leaving the vegetation as green as emeralds and the countryside fresh and renewed. A strengthening sun warmed Alex and her guard as they strolled across the worn flagstones, taking the morning air.
Alex stopped short as a child rushed up to her, clutching a nosegay. The little girl tugged at Alex’s skirt and proffered the flowers.
“What’s this?” Alex said. She recognized the child, the daughter of a local washerwoman who came in to do day work at the castle. The Irishwoman often brought the girl with her, much as Burke’s mother once brought him to the kitchens.
“Posies for you, miss,” the child said in English with a pronounced brogue, and curtsied.
“How lovely, thank you,” Alex said, smiling. The child’s mother stood nearby, watching the scene intently.
“My mam says to look careful among the blooms so you don’t get stung,” the child added as she handed her the bouquet.
Harker was looking on with a bored expression. As Alex took the flowers she glanced at the little girl’s mother, and something in the woman’s eyes made her realize that this w
as indeed a special bouquet.
Alex nodded. “Please tell your mother that I understand,” she said loudly, and turned away before her own face betrayed her.
Harker moved on and Alex kept up the pretense of the walk for another few minutes before she said, “I think we should go back. I’m a little tired today.”
Harker took her back to her room, and the second she was left alone Alex tore the bouquet apart. There was a note concealed at the base of it, where the twisted stems were held together by a piece of twine.
“Exspectaru me,” she read. “Ego per te reddereo.” Wait for me. I’ll be back for you.
Alex read it again, her hands shaking, and then sank slowly onto her chair.
How on earth had Burke gotten the message translated into Latin? Another trip to the Armagh monastery? It was a sensible precaution; if the note had fallen into the wrong hands, only a few people could decipher it.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again and tore the note to bits, tossing the fragments on the fire in the grate and watching as they burned to ashes.
I’ll be back for you.
But what would be his fate if he came back? The fighting could go on for years, as it already had, and as long as Burke was a wanted man, it was not safe for him to return to Inverary.
* * * *
On her next walk with Harker, Alex waited until he had returned her to her door and then said, “Tell me something, please. The prisoner I visited, the man who escaped-if he were to be taken again, what would happen to him?”
Harker’s eyes met hers and then slid away.
“Tell me,” she repeated.
“I think they would kill him, miss. He’s already shown he won’t give up any information, so the next best thing would be for them to deprive the rebels of his leadership.”
Alex sighed and nodded. She had thought as much. “Will you do me another service?” she asked him.
“If I can.”
“You know the mother of the child who gave me the flowers. She’s a laundress, I believe?”
He nodded.
“Will you send her to me the next time you see her? I wish to speak to her about the way my linens are being done.”
“Yes, miss, I’ll see to it.”
It was several days before the woman finally appeared, late one day, with Harker in tow. She was obviously wary, her posture stiff and her expression withdrawn.
“It’s all right, Harker, I’ll see this lady and you can go,” Alex said to him.
He looked from one to the other.
“Unless you want to hear a discussion on the uses of lime wash and tallow soap,” Alex added.
“I’ll be just down the hall,” he said as he left.
When he was gone, Alex took the woman’s arm and led her to the other end of the room. “Don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm,” she whispered.
The woman stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Do you speak English as well as your daughter?”
“Well enough.”
“Who gave you the bouquet of flowers for me?”
The woman shook her head. “I was told to say nothing, miss, to make sure you got it but to say nary a word else about it.”
“By whom were you told?”
She shook her head again and looked at the floor.
Alex tried to hide her impatience. Pressing the woman would only make her say less. She had learned from Burke that when uncertain, they all shut up like a guildsman’s vise.
“What’s your name?” Alex asked gently.
The woman looked up at her. “Maura.”
“Maura, listen to me. There was a note concealed in the flowers, and the person who wrote it is dearer to me than anyone else in the world. He’s one of your own people, the father of the child I’m now carrying. My love for him is the reason I’m kept under lock and key here. Do you understand?”
Maura hesitated, then nodded.
“Do you know where he is? Is he safe?”
“He’s safe.”
Alex grasped the woman’s hand and held it to her lips. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes filling. “Oh, thank you for telling me.”
If Maura had any doubts, Alex’s reaction to the news of Burke’s safety convinced her of the Englishwoman’s sincerity. She withdrew her hand slowly, taking pity on this lonely lady who was clearly unhappy and desperate for word of her Irish lover.
“He’s well,” Maura said. “They did their worst to him belowstairs, as you might know, but it takes a powerful lot to fell that one.”
“Will you tell him something for me?”
“When I see him. I don’t know when that will be. They’re always moving about.”
“When you see him, then.”
Maura waited.
“Tell him that I’ve gone back to England, to do my uncle’s bidding. Tell him”—and here her voice faltered, but she forced herself to go on—“tell him to forget me.”
“Are you certain you want me to say that, miss?”
“Yes, just that,” Alex said, wiping her eyes. “It’s the only way. If he comes back to the castle after me, they’ll kill him. Tell him there’s nothing here for him, that I’ve gone home. Do that for me, Maura? Will you promise?”
“I promise,” Maura said quietly.
Alex pressed her hand again. “I have nothing to give you.” The last of her mother’s jewelry had gone to Harker and she had no money.
“I want nothing.”
“Are you ladies finished?” Harker said from the doorway.
“Yes,” Alex replied, turning away to hide her tears. “And I’ll expect my instructions to be followed to the letter, Maura. No more mistakes, is that clear?”
“Yes, miss.”
“You may go.”
Alex watched her leave, hoping that Maura could be trusted but aware that she had no choice in the matter.
* * * *
The next boat brought a letter saying that Lord Selby would take Alex to wife under Cummings’ conditions, and she was told that same day to ready herself to depart within the week. The weather continued to be clear, and a crossing might be made at any time.
There was almost nothing to pack, as she’d come dressed as a boy and was going back home in a dead woman’s clothes. But she was taking from Ireland a host of memories that would have to last her for the rest of her life.
“Good-bye, Harker,” Alex said to her guard as he lifted her single bag and placed it outside the door. “If ever I need a compassionate jailer to keep a prisoner close confined, I shall send for you.”
Harker looked embarrassed, shifting his feet.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
He withdrew the locket she had given him from his blouse and handed it to her. “I think you should have this back, miss. I don’t feel good about taking it from such a forsaken lady as yourself, kept locked up here all this time and so grievously troubled.”
Alex pressed it back into his hand. “It’s yours, Harker, for your many good offices toward me.”
“I’ve done nothing, miss,” he mumbled.
“Oh, but you have. You’ve been a friend to me when I needed one sorely. God keep you.”
She walked into her room and Harker went off with her sack, wishing that such a goodly young lady had a happier life.
* * * *
When Alex boarded ship on a warm morning in June, the one thought sustaining her was that Burke’s child was safe in her body and she would have it to remember him. The trip across the channel was horrendous; the nausea of early pregnancy combined with seasickness kept her prone and miserable for the greater part of the journey. Philip Cummings allowed her to return to his house long enough to take some of her belongings, but then she was packed off to Surrey almost immediately, as if the bridegroom might decamp if kept waiting too long.
Alex and Lord Selby were very formal and correct with each other. She was past two months pregnant at their first meeting at his house in the country, near Richm
ond Palace, and she informed him of that fact immediately.
“Don’t distract yourself about that, my dear, there’s room enough in my household for another child,” he said.
So her uncle had gotten to him first, or else Selby had not been blind to the indecent haste of the proceedings.
“The father ...” she began.
He waved his hand dismissively. “No matter. You and your offspring will have my name and my protection, and there’s an end to it. Now shall we discuss the details of the wedding?”
Chapter 8
Blarney!
—Queen Elizabeth I, in response to excuses offered for her military’s inability to subdue the Irish
Alex was married in the chapel of Selby’s manor house the day after her arrival. As she listened to the minister droning the words of the service, she heard herself saying to Burke, “I will marry where my heart lies, and nowhere else.”
My love, forgive me, she thought. I do this for your sake, and for the child’s.
The ceremony was mercifully brief, and afterward Selby took her into his study. The room, like the rest of the house, was richly appointed, with silk hangings and a Turkish carpet, and Alex found herself wondering again how a man who seemed to be so wealthy had been induced to marry her for a dowry. Maybe Selby was in debt; she knew her uncle sometimes kept up appearances while juggling creditors and chattel mortgages. Or perhaps Selby really did want the Cummings influence at court. Things had happened so fast that it was all beyond her. She felt like a cork bobbing at sea, carried on by the current and fighting every minute just to stay afloat.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” Selby said. He smoothed back his graying hair and adjusted his doublet. He was in his late fifties and when young must have been a handsome enough man.
“Fine.”
“Good, good. Sit you down there and rest comfortably whilst I sort through some things here.”
Alex sank gratefully onto a plush chair with a velvet seat cushion and an elaborately carved back. She watched him rustling through a stack of papers on a Spanish oak desk. A globe of costly Venetian glass at his elbow held a handful of quills, and the inkwell cut into the desk was full.
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