Hidden Fire (The FIRE series Book 1)

by Rosemarie Cawkwell

  HIDDEN FIRE

  Rosemarie Cawkwell

  HIDDEN FIRE

  Rosemarie Cawkwell

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Rosemarie Cawkwell

  Copyright © 2017 Rosemarie Cawkwell

  For more from Rosemarie Cawkwell, visit:

  rosemariecawkwell.wordpress.com

  The moral right of Rosemarie Cawkwell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1546424390

  Paperback ISBN-10: 1546424393

  Dedication

  For my sisters, and my sisters-of-heart: you have been the stokers of the fire that keeps me going, even when it feels like the embers are dying. Thanks, ladies. Love you all.

  Also, thanks to my colleagues on the MA in Creative Writing at the University of Lincoln, for your encouragement and support. You are all amazing writers.

  Finally, thanks to Michelle Conner, author and artist, for the fantastic cover design.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Midsummer’s Eve 1309th Year of Albon Era

  Prince John paced his study, looking up expectantly every time footsteps passed the door. His brother, Michael, lounged on a sofa with a glass of wine.

  “Stop worrying John. Eleanor is with her, and her mother.”

  The older prince sat down on the sofa, gulping back the glass of wine Michael passed him.

  “Lady Val isn’t speaking to me.” John smiled slightly. “The Earl wants to remove certain parts of my anatomy for getting his favourite granddaughter pregnant.”

  “Yes, well, they don’t approve of all this. Father isn’t too happy either.”

  The young men stared at the wall, bowed under the weight of disapproval from their elders and the responsibility of impending fatherhood.

  “Should Eleanor be there, she’s not long off due herself?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Michael took a breath, “They both will.”

  A knock disturbed their halting conversation.

  “Come.”

  “Your Highness.” Lady Eleanor Grace curtsied awkwardly, smiling slightly at her lover and his brother, “Lady Mary Val has given birth.”

  “Twins?” John asked hesitantly, not that there could be any doubt about Lady Mary’s loyalty, but it was traditional to ask.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Congratulations John! Sons.”

  John smiled, his face crinkling in happiness.

  “You don’t understand, Michael.” Eleanor tried to interrupt.

  “Of course I do, if they’re twins, then they’re boys.”

  “No, love, she’s had a girl.”

  “Well, so I have a son and daughter.”

  “No! Please listen, won’t you!”

  “What’s wrong Eleanor?” Michael looked at his lover with concern, she seemed close to tears.

  “Mary gave birth to two daughters, but only one was born alive.”

  John slumped on to the sofa, shocked. He had expected sons. They always had twin sons first, the Fire that they carried for the kingdom ensured it.

  “A daughter.”

  “Yes, and a fine girl she is. Green eyes and a shock of red hair already. She definitely has your nose too.”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to marry Mary now.” Michael shrugged, trying to comfort his confused brother.

  “Did I do something wrong? The children should have been boys.” John gazed at the half empty glass of wine on the table in front of him, his mind whirling in confusion.

  “Aunt Elizabeth is older than father and uncle? Maybe it happens sometimes.” Michael shrugged.

  “But she never had a twin. Twins are always boys.”

  “You should come and meet your living daughter, and say goodbye to your dead child before the Physick takes her away.”

  “Of course.”

  They hurried across the palace to the guest quarters where Lady Mary Val and her mother were staying. The sheets were pulled up to Mary’s chin as she lay sleepily in the big bed, a child asleep at her breast. The child was wrapped in a green blanket edged in fur, her hair contrasting with the material

  “How are you Mary?” Prince Michael asked.

  “Tired, and sore. Where’s John?”

  “He’s by the door. Can I have a look at her?”

  “Of course.” Mary passed her child to the prince.

  “Well little one, let’s have a look at you.” He scrutinised her face, searching for a resemblance to himself and John. He looked inward and saw her Fire, flickering quietly in the Core. “Yes, you are definitely one of us.”

  “Of course she is, Your Highness. I hope you aren’t suggesting my daughter would be foolish enough to have affairs. Well, more foolish than she already has been.” Lady Val said from the far side of her daughter’s bed, where she was washing the other, dead, infant, preparing to wrap it in swaddling for burial in East Marsh.

  “Ma’am, of course not.” Michael looked at his brother, “Come on John, you need to name her.”

  “Oh yes.” Dragged out of his stupor, John crossed the room. He took the baby from his brother, looking from him to Mary, “What do you think? Name her after our aunt?”

  “Why not?”

  “The Princess Royal?”

  “Yes, and Lady Val, of course. You share a name with her, don’t you, ma’am?”

  Lady Val nodded.

  “Elizabeth she is then.”

  “And this one?” Lady Val indicated her charge.

  “No one must know, we’ll say that, like auntie, she was born first and alone. The next will be twin boys.�
��

  “My daughter is not having any more of your children unless you’re planning to marry her.”

  “Can’t do that Lizzy.” A new voice entered the conversation. “I’m in negotiations with Tarjan for one of the Holmgard girls.”

  “Father.” The twin princes turned simultaneously as their parents entered the room. Lady Val, and Eleanor curtsied, while the Physick, in the corner cleaning his hands, bowed deeply.

  “Let’s have a look at our granddaughter then.”

  Mutely, John handed his daughter to his parents, a second shock in so short a time having numbed him.

  Michael looked from his brother to his parents and nodded to himself. It was going to happen eventually; they were always destined for political marriages. He looked at the Physick, crossing the room to talk to him quietly.

  “None of this goes any further, you understand?”

  “Of course you can rely totally on my discretion. And the dead infant? I can dispose of the body discretely?”

  “No, I think my brother and Lady Mary may have plans for her burial.”

  “Of course.”

  Three days later Elizabeth was Named in the Great Hall. John stood before his father, the king, and claimed Elizabeth FitzAlboni as his daughter, taking her from Lady Mary and presenting her to his parents and then to the crowd of courtiers. There was a subdued applause, as courtiers watched the Curates from the side of their eyes. The High Curate and his Counsel, sitting half way down the hall, on the left-hand side, refused to applaud, or acknowledge the child presented to them. She was illegitimate, her existence proof of corruption at the heart of the kingdom.

  After the Naming, Lady Mary and her mother rode into the woods surrounding the palace.

  “Where are we going? The gig won’t go too far into the trees.”

  “Don’t worry mother, the driver knows the way. We have to walk a little too.”

  “It’s too much for you, so soon after giving birth.”

  “I know, but it has to be done today.”

  In a clearing in the woods, beneath a yew tree and beside a stream, where Mary and John had made love, for the first and only time, while the rest of the court played games to celebrate the harvest, they buried the body of the unnamed twin.

  Chapter 1

  Three days before Spring Equinox, 21 years later

  The Great Royal Square in King's Ford, the capital of the island nation of Albon, was designed to impress. In the centre stood the little-used gallows, its sagging platform of dark wood casting a shadow over the proceedings. Around the edges, each three miles in length, covered and colonnaded shopping precincts enticed the rich and poor alike to part with their cash. The weekly markets filled the centre, and the road through was thronged with carts and carriages, pedestrians and riders. The air was filled with the clamour of negotiation and encouragement. A new sound added to the din, the thump-thump of the steam press printing the first ever daily news sheet in Albon. Outside the press shop another innovation was making itself heard: the news boy:

  “Read all about it; half-crown daily, read all about it. Curates demand closure of the Ford Daily. Read all about: Ford Daily to be inspected by Censors. Read all about it in the Ford Daily. Get your daily dose of information here.”

  Lizzy Fitzroy looked through the front window of the coach as they passed through the Square. She tapped the glass. On the box seat in front the driver slowed his four horses and turned to answer her.

  “Dawson, go to the paper seller, I want a copy.”

  “Yes milady.” He slowed the horses to a halt and jumped down to the pavement. He was back in moments, with the paper; just in time to see a young man jump into the seat and force the horses into motion. Dawson ran after them, shouting for the thief to stop.

  The carriage pulled away, swerving to avoid a cart delivering cabbages. The carriage on its left-hand wheels almost toppled but was righted by the thief, half-crushing shoppers against each other and causing shouts of indignation. The driver whipped the horses as he pushed them to greater speed in the crowded square before turning into a side street and out of the square.

  “What's this about?” A large burgher stepped towards Dawson, his red face matching the sash of his office, 'market inspector', stretched over his belly, “What's the hurry about?”

  “My lady's carriage has been stolen. With her in it.”

  “I see. Who is your lady?”

  “You see, well she’s.” He hesitated, unsure if he should disclose her identity. If it got out that he'd lost her he'd lose his job, at the very least

  “Ow, hells, why did this have to happen on my duty day.” The inspector interrupted “Right, you,” he pointed to a butcher's boy loitering to hear the news, “Run to the Watch house; you two,” Now he pointed at a pair of startled young women doing their shopping, “Go ’round every stall, we need to block the ways out of the square.”

  The two men introduced themselves.

  “Well, Burgher Wrightson, I hope this works.”

  “Of course, of course. Why did you stop?”

  “My lady wanted the paper.”

  “I see. Does this lady often read the papers?”

  “As much as possible.” he shrugged, “How does this help stop her kidnappers?”

  “Oh, I'm just curious as to why you stopped. Here comes the Watch Commander. Hells, it's the Lord Commander himself.” Wrightson paled. The Lord Commander of the Watch wasn't known for his forgiving nature and more than one Burgher had lost his position when he found them too incompetent to keep order during Market Day.

  “So I see.” Dawson walked towards the Commander, a familiar figure to his lady's staff, even if they were themselves unknown to him, since he ate regularly at the Residency.

  “My Lord Summerton, if I may have a private word with you?”

  “What is it Coachman? I am rather busy trying to sort out the mess you made.”

  Dawson blushed, “It's important sir.”

  “Oh well,” he beckoned the coachman over to his horse, away from the gathering crowd, “What is it?”

  “The carriage that was stolen.” Dawson coughed, working himself up to identifying the passenger.

  “Don't fuss, we’ll get it back.” The Lord Commander growled, “I've had my men surround the Square. What happened? Quickly now.”

  Dawson blushed but repeated his story, still unable to get out the name of his passenger. Aware of the listening crowd he emphasised how quickly the burgher had organised the crowd to help. Wrightson smiled sheepishly and bowed to Lord Summerton.

  “Well done Wrightson; we might catch them yet, but I want more people out on market days in future.” Summerton looked about, then back at the two men. “Dawson, come along, we have work to do if we're going to get your mistress's carriage back. Wrightson, I want you to keep order in the Square, and round up any potential witnesses. Bring them to the Watch House as soon as you're ready.” Lord Summerton marched away from the astonished burgher who had expected a quiet day checking the quality of cheeses and ale, but found himself part of the investigating team trying to solve a kidnapping.

  Dawson jogged to keep up with the Summerton who had mounted his horse and was crossing the square, “My Lord, the coach will be miles away by now. And if they know who the passenger is...”

  “And just who was your passenger?” Summerton looked down at the pink faced coachman.

  “Lady Elizabeth, the King's Bastard.” Dawson shared the secret at last.

  The commander blanched but rode on, a little faster, “We'll catch up with them. I've sent half my men to cover the exit, and half along the Royal Road on horses to track them. Besides, I've closed the Gates. I need to tell the king. Come on.”

  The hue and cry had spread through the Square. The Lord Commander turned back from his intended destination, the South Gate, and rode to the palace, Dawson running along beside him reluctantly.

  The day lengthened, the Square and its tributary roads were searched meticulously, b
ut no sign of Lizzy or her carriage was found. In the Watch House, Dawson once again repeated his story and waited for news; he berated himself for ever leaving his lady, even though she had given the command to do so, he should have been quicker, he should have run faster after the Broom, he should have done something!

  The messenger panted and spluttered out his message again, for the King and Lord Commander to hear. Elizabeth's Broom had been found, overturned in a ditch on the road to the Hythe.

  “And my daughter?” King John leaned back in his commandeered chair, wondering where his brother was; the Duke's network of agents would surely have some information, yet Michael hadn't appeared.

  “No sign, that we've found yet, at least.”

  “Well, Summerton, what next?”

  Summerton thought for a few seconds and wandered over to the map pinned to the wall behind his desk. He traced the line of the Hythe road. “Sergeant, where precisely was the carriage found?”

  “About a mile from the Hythe Bridge.”

  “Which way around was it?”

  The sergeant thought for a few seconds, “Looked to me like it were pointed away from the Hythe, on to the West Road.”

  “It could be a trick.”

  “Aye, my lord, it could. Some of the Sprinters are out following the tracks backward now.”

  “Good.”

  King John rose from his seat at Summerton's desk to inspect the map for himself. His fingers caressed the line of the road unconsciously, as he thought about the kidnappers’ route.

  “Well, we know for sure now; it was my girl they were after, not just a bit of joy riding.”

  “Yes.” Summerton nodded from his place by the chimney breast, as he leafed through reports from his men stationed around the Square.

  “But you've been working on that assumption all along haven't you?” King John smiled, half-laughing.