Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3)

by Morgan O'Neill

  Bastard, she thought as Will Dawkins grinned down at her.

  Then, her world faded to gray, and her perfect little Bartholomew Baby dropped into a puddle, forgotten.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Smithfield, London

  Hugging a crock of black olives that Albert assured her were from the south of France, Mary smiled. After a year of flirty chats and buying more olives than was necessary, Albert finally asked her to meet him to share some ale and supper at a local pub. She was thrilled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d supped with a man, and her poor old heart felt like it was dancing a singularly youthful tune.

  When she arrived at Lady Anne’s agreed-to meeting place, Mary adjusted her expression to one of practical competency. She refused to act giddy about her new suitor, and would choose her own good time to tell Anne and the doctor.

  As she waited, a girl skipped by, tightly hugging a muddy little doll. Mary shook her head in wonder. I wouldst have been crying mine own eyes out had I’d dropped such a sweet dolly in the mud.

  As the sun started to angle low and shadows advanced, Mary fidgeted and went over Anne’s conversation before parting. Her mistress had been definite about meeting her here. She’d pointed to the Bartholomew Baby booth, where, even there, the crowds were thinning.

  Where was Lady Anne? Where was Hugh? He should have gotten her back here before now. Mary let out a huff, exasperated. Or would he just bide his time while Anne shopped? He hardly ever said a word, and she couldn’t imagine him putting his foot down about anything, let alone reminding Anne of the late hour. No, he would wait silently, as always.

  With a grumble, Mary walked to the booth and addressed the woman. “I’m looking for my mistress. She was to buy a doll here today.”

  The woman smiled. “Thou must do better than that. We’ve had many a woman here today and all we sell are dolls, so…”

  Mary straightened and frowned. “She’s wearin’ a brown vest and green kirtle. She’s Lady Anne Brandon, the doctor’s wife from St. Bart’s.”

  The woman shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know the good doctor, but I can’t place his wife.”

  Mary thought for a moment. “Hmm, she’s got a ready smile an’ the brightest teeth thou’ve ever seen—white as snow.”

  A grin of recognition flashed. “Oh, indeed, I remember her! She’s a rare beauty, that one. Aye, she bought a doll for her little poppet. Said her child wasn’t yet two and needed a simple one.”

  “And when was that? How long ago? I am supposed to meet her here.”

  “Oh, well, let me see.” The woman adjusted her bosom, then scratched her head while she tried to think. “I’d say it’s been an hour at least. Mayhap two. She moved over there and stood with a fella for a bit. I had customers to attend to, so I never took notice of her after that.”

  Mary looked in the direction the woman pointed, but the area was empty. She felt a moment of concern, then remembered Hugh was with her. Certainly he’d have raised a cry if things were amiss. Nay, he’d have taken care of her, as that was his first duty.

  “I do remember hearin’ her sayin’ something peculiar t’ the fella—her feet were killin’ her.” The doll maker shrugged. “I suppose she meant t’ say hurtin’?”

  “Aye, Lady Anne must’ve meant that, an’ they’ve up and left fer home.” Mary thanked the woman for her help, then, as she, too, started for St. Bart’s, she remembered her olive man. Albert. Her smile broadened as she strolled back to the hospital.

  Happy and feeling light-hearted, Mary thanked Bob when he opened the gate for her, then made her way to the kitchen. She was surprised not to see any market baskets awaiting her, and clucked her tongue at the thought of Lady Anne unloading everything for her.

  “It’s just her ladyship’s way, though she should know by now we do things differently in the city. She’s got her place at the table with the doctor, an’ I’ve mine in the household.”

  She took up the crock of olives and opened the cellar door to the cold storage. At the bottom of the stairs she looked about and frowned. It was undisturbed. Just as she left it. There should have been at least two new baskets of food.

  Mary shook her head, put the olives on a shelf beside all the others, and returned to the kitchen to check the larder where they kept the curing meats. Again, nothing.

  She put her hands on her hips and stared. What the devil?

  Hearing footsteps, she turned, expecting Anne, but Alice walked in with Rose and wee Andrew, instead.

  “Ah, thou’re come back, then,” Alice said, babe in arms. She glanced down at little Rose and smiled. “She’s been askin’ for her mother. We were just in the Lady Chapel, but she’s not there. Dost thou know where we might find her?”

  Mary went cold. Where was Lady Anne? “I’ve no idea, Alice.”

  “Right then. We’ll keep lookin’.” Alice turned to the little girl and said in a mock whisper, “She must be playin’ hide-an-seek wi’ us, but I bet we can find her.”

  Rose grinned and gurgled and happily followed Alice and the babe out of the kitchen.

  Mary watched them go, then wiped her brow with the sleeve of her smock and turned expectantly when she heard the door open.

  “Have you seen Anne?” Dr. Brandon asked. “I’ve been in my surgery all day, and I can’t seem to find her. Did she stop off to visit someone on her way home?”

  “I dinna hear her say anything ’bout that, sir. Lady Anne left afore I got t’ our meetin’ spot at the market. Told the doll lady she had sore feet, so I thought she came back here, but I’ve not seen her. Alice hath been looking for her as well. By my reckoning, we parted company over four hours ago. Where can she be?”

  The doctor’s darkening expression matched her feelings.

  “Bloody hell, Mary.” Brandon’s gaze bore into her. “What about Hugh?”

  Mary felt a stab of dread. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair o’ him either. Oh, Lord, ’tis evenin’, and Anne’s never been one t’ stray. Lord—”

  “Bloody, bloody hell!” Brandon dashed out of the room, and she could hear him hollering, “Bob, come quickly! Hurry!”

  * * *

  Brandon sent Bob to scour the market and then the Stews, while he grabbed a horse from the stables. Wasting no time, he threw on the bridle and took off at a gallop, riding bareback for Hastings House on the Strand.

  His guts twisted. Jesus, this can’t be happening. Even though he had no proof, he couldn’t help but fear the worst. He recalled only too well Anne’s story of how she’d been kidnapped by Norfolk’s men when she first arrived in Elizabethan England.

  If he’s hurt her—!

  He started yelling the second he got within earshot of Lord Henry’s manor house, and by the time he leapt off his horse, Lady Catherine stood at the front door with six-month-old Jane in her arms.

  Frowning with concern, Cath asked, “Jonathan, what is it?”

  “God Almighty, it’s Anne. She…she never made it home… Was at the market with Hugh. He’s missing as well.”

  Cath paled. “Oh, for the love of God!” she murmured.

  Henry appeared at the doorway. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Anne never came home from market,” Brandon repeated. “Bob is searching there now. If Norfolk’s behind this—”

  Henry yelled to someone inside, “Get my horse!” Then he turned back to Brandon. “God’s blood, ’tis terrible news, indeed. We must get to Whitehall and inform the queen. Lord Robert will see a search is made of every square inch of Norfolk’s home in the city and those in the country, and every blessed hovel on any of his land holdings, thou mayest be sure.”

  Seething, Brandon shook his head vehemently. “I’m going to Norfolk’s.”

  “Nay, Jon! Thou shalt be cut down afore thou even gets within his courtyard,” Henry insisted, “and right now thou art wasting precious time. To the queen!”

  After the briefest pause, Brandon nodded, leapt back on his horse, and headed with Henry for Whiteha
ll Palace.

  Their arrival was so abrupt that when Brandon clambered to a halt at the entry gates to the palace, guards rushed out and held their lances against him.

  “Let him pass!” Lord Henry shouted as he reined in. “I must see the queen or Lord Robert Dudley immediately. It is of utmost urgency. Please be quick.”

  Weapons were lowered, and one of the guards left, moving far too slowly in Brandon’s opinion. His heart pounded, his fear for Anne only increasing with each beat, but soon he saw Lord Robert jogging out to meet them.

  Angry, desperate words tumbled out of Brandon’s mouth as he explained the situation to Dudley.

  “We must act in all haste, Robert,” Henry said.

  Dudley looked grim. “My sword and men art at thy disposal, Doctor.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Date and Place Unknown

  Pain. Only pain. Her wrists. Her face. Her body. Nothing but pain.

  As Anne returned to consciousness a dark, gray film enveloped her mind. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tear it aside or pull it closer and remain protected from whatever evil lurked beyond.

  She heard a chuckle and the film began to dissolve.

  No, no.

  She realized danger lay beyond. She must pull the film back over her mind. She must!

  “Ah, thou wast once a beauty.”

  Norfolk.

  The gray film lifted and reality slammed into her mind. Kidnapped. Brutalized. A dungeon and shackles. She tasted blood and remembered his fists.

  How long had this gone on? Days? Weeks?

  Jonathan!

  She felt a tear ease out of her eye.

  “For whom dost thou weep, traveler?” Norfolk asked. “For those thou hast left behind in future times? Or for thy family here? Dost thou recall what happened to them?”

  Shuddering, she tried to remember what happened, but her mind was blank, except for the fear and pain.

  “Thy family is dead. Doth thee not recall that fact?” he asked. “Trampled into the muck, the little girl was. Such a tragedy. However could it have happened?”

  No! Rose is dead?

  “And a traitor’s death Brandon finally had. I visited his head atop London Bridge afore coming to see thee today. Poor man, his looks are gone. The crows have seen to his eyes, of course, and the gulls are making neat work of the rest.”

  Dry heaves wracked her body, and she cried out, “No, no, my sweet darlings. No!”

  This, she recalled, was the horror that waited beyond the gray film. Not Norfolk. Not the beatings. No, it was the deaths of Jon and Rose.

  Oh God! They are gone, they’re gone!

  The duke had used that evil mantra to try to break her spirit. At first, she refused to believe it, but then Norfolk gave her details that made the horror a certainty—Rose in her favorite blue dress when she died, and Jon’s act of revenge using poison, accidentally killing Norfolk’s wife instead of the duke. Jon had been drawn and quartered for it.

  She gagged again.

  Norfolk laughed, his breath touching her cheek. “Thou hast nothing more to live for, traveler. What of the future? If thou reveals what thou knowest, I shalt dispatch thee quickly to join thy family. If not, the torture shalt continue until I have what I want.” He chuckled. “I found this witchly blade in the pocket of thy cloak. Is this not the very blade thou used to kill my man, Geoff Bly? How fitting that I shalt use it on thee now.”

  Hatred filled her, and Anne gathered what strength she had left, seized up, and thrust her head forward.

  Crack!

  A solid head-butt. Pain tore through her skull, but it felt good, right for a change.

  “Bitch!” Norfolk screamed.

  A fist slammed into her cheek, bringing back the misty gray, but only momentarily.

  “I can keep thee alive for months—mayhap years—as my prisoner,” he seethed. “All outside this room think thou art dead, and none look for thee. Thou art mine, and I will wrest the information I seek from thee, be sure of it. How much pain canst thou endure? It is up to thee. A swift end after giving me what I want, and a heavenly reunion with thy family? Or hopeless, endless torture?”

  He stopped talking and moved away. He was right, hope was useless. Her family was gone. Only her unborn child remained. And he would certainly kill it, too, if she lived long enough to give birth. She cried out. What horrible things would he do to her baby? He would torment them both until he’d broken her spirit and she finally told him everything she knew, just to stop the agony. And then they would die. She had to stop that from happening. She must not, could not, ever tell him about the future, or he would win more than this horrible victory over her family. There was nothing left, no reason to live anymore. He’d taken all of it away.

  But… She did have something to die for.

  I will not tell him anything. I must protect my baby from him. And my friends. Oh, Elizabeth! Robert! Henry and Cath! I won’t let him hurt you.

  Help me be strong.

  Only one option remained.

  It is time, she told herself as her mind calmed with this new-found certainty. She must find a way.

  Brisk footsteps, then he gripped her shoulders and she was slammed against the wall, the switch-blade at her throat.

  Now! Now!

  Once again, she thrust her head forward—and down this time—onto the blade.

  “What?” Norfolk shouted, leaping away. “What hast thou done? Bitch!”

  The heat around the wound was intense and very focused. Anne could feel her blood, the warmth of it, coursing down her neck, and then the misty gray film returned. The feeling was altogether different this time, inviting and peaceful, and with that peace came the release she so desperately sought.

  As the film bound her to it forever, she heard, as if from afar, the sound of her final breath as it left her body in a long, slow gasp of freedom.

  * * *

  “Dawkins!” Norfolk shouted down the passageway deep inside the catacomb. “Dawkins!”

  He heard running and soon saw the man hurrying toward him.

  “Aye, sir—holy shyte! Art thou injured? I shalt summon a—”

  “The blood is not mine, most of it, anyway. Desist and listen to me. The witch is dead. Get Hugh, and make sure no one sees anything, else you’ll both end up as dead as she.”

  Shrinking back, Will nodded. “Wha—what wouldst thou have me do with it… The body?”

  Norfolk thought for a moment, then grinned when he came up with the perfect retribution.

  “Thou willst gather it up and dump it outside St. Bart’s door,” Norfolk ordered. “And no one must see thee. Dost thou understand?”

  Will nodded again, sweat beading on his forehead.

  “It must be done tonight, afore dawn brightens the skies.”

  “Aye, me lord,” Will said. “As thou hast said, so shalt it be done.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Late September, 1562, England

  Brandon slumped at his dining table at St. Bart’s, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. How long had it been? He knew, almost to the minute, but found it hard to believe Anne’s abduction had occurred nearly two weeks ago. It seemed an eternity.

  The waves of anguish and fear paralyzed him at times, but mostly they drove him to stalk London’s streets and alleyways, as he’d done this night, no matter the weather, no matter the time. He hoped Anne was still alive. No, she is. She is still alive.

  He rubbed his burning eyes and reconsidered what he knew. There was Hugh Wallace, who had vanished along with Anne. Was he an accomplice or a victim? At this point, Brandon didn’t give a shit one way or the other, but he feared the man was a bloody turncoat, no doubt hired by Norfolk himself. As for the duke, Brandon knew he had Anne, the rat bastard, and he was determined to find the location and rescue his wife.

  Norfolk’s London residence, his country estate, and his other holdings were all searched by order of the queen, but Norfolk himself seemed indifferent over Ann
e’s disappearance.

  Lord Dudley questioned him daily, the queen had people scouring the city, and Cecil had even gotten involved, but Norfolk’s demeanor remained so unperturbed that opinions were changing in favor of an abduction by a stranger. The duke couldn’t possibly be involved, they said, especially since there was no trace of Anne at any of his holdings.

  Brandon knew better.

  A search of the Stews proved equally fruitless, even though Norfolk was known to frequent The Fighting Cock brothel. Brandon accompanied Dudley’s men there and they’d searched the place top to bottom, to no avail.

  Anne hadn’t run away, as some suspected. She hadn’t traveled through time, either, as Lord Henry suggested in a moment of hopeful—albeit desperate—speculation.

  No, Brandon thought. She did not leave us. She would never leave Rose. I can feel her here. She can’t have vanished or died—not yet anyway, not yet.

  He glanced at the wedge of cheese and hunk of bread he’d grabbed on his way in the door from another all night search. I should eat. I have to keep up my strength, he reminded himself. I should go visit Rose.

  No, the last time he picked her up she’d reared back, terrified by his ragged appearance and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked as awful as he felt.

  Brandon took a bite of food and washed it down with red wine. Sleep. He needed sleep, too, but not now. That would come later. Once Anne was found. Once his darling was returned to his side.

  She had so much to live for. Little Rose—and the new baby. He lowered his head to the table and wept for both of their children.

  There was a loud noise. Is someone yelling? He sat up to hear more clearly, the rapid thumping of his heart making it difficult to make out what was happening outside.

  A scream! Yes, people were screaming. Brandon leapt up and ran toward the disturbance.

  Dawn was just brightening the sky and near the main gate a crowd of people, mostly those who worked at the hospital, yelled, screamed. Someone fell and the crowd parted enough to show him Mary on her knees, her apron pressed against her face, weeping, weeping.