by Mike Rhynard
She sighed, flashed a bland expression. “So be it, Hugh. Let us be on our way.” She turned, started into the forest.
Tayler blinked at her abrupt departure, double stepped to catch her, then walked along beside her. “Let us follow this trail over here.” He pointed to a pathway into a deep thicket. After a few steps he said, “Emily, while we walk, I should like to tell you a sad tale, one that—”
She stopped, looked at him. “Verily, Hugh Tayler, have we not enough sadness about us already?”
“Yes, Milady, we have, but this tale serves an important purpose if you’ll hear me.”
She held her bland expression, hesitated a moment, blinked. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Milady.” He pointed down the trail. As they resumed walking, he said, “My mother had a cousin she was very close to, and one day a close friend and business partner of his was found murdered. The third member of their partnership accused Mother’s cousin, swore he’d witnessed the murder. The cousin proclaimed his innocence in private and in court, but no one listened, and he was condemned and hung. Six months after his execution, his accuser, who had taken sole control of their business, lay on his deathbed and confessed to the murder just before he died.”
“How awful.”
“Yes, Emily, ’twas awful; and I told you the story because the slander committed by your informant, or informants, places me in exactly the same position as my mother’s cousin: innocent and wrongly condemned . . . and in my case, condemned by the person I love more than my own life. And this is why I am driven to tell you what I’m about to say. Shall we sit?” He extended his hand to her.
Emily glanced around, noticed the dense wall of brush that completely encircled the small clearing in which they stood. “Yes, Hugh, though it seems we’re indeed quite isolated.” She took his hand, sat down on the bed of richly colored leaves that blanketed the clearing. She felt a brief wisp of anxiety that quickly surrendered to a smothering surge of empathy. I have been summary toward him, especially since I’m uncertain of the truth. So I must give him his moment.
Tayler sat close beside her, stared at the leaves for a moment, then looked into her eyes. “Emily, do you know who Sir Francis Walsingham is?”
“Of course. He’s the Queen’s Principal Secretary and her Secretary of State, the most powerful and influential person in England, next to Queen Elizabeth herself.”
“That is correct. But I’ll wager you don’t know that Sir Francis Walsingham is my father . . . not the late Richard Tayler as everyone thinks.”
Emily’s eyes bloomed wide.
“You see, when he was twenty-seven, Sir Francis had an affair with my mother, who was already married to Richard Tayler, and I was the result. Richard Tayler eventually found out about the affair and that I was not his child, and he hated and resented me for it until the day he died. He also thereafter resented my mother and abused her for the rest of her days, which ended with her suicide.”
Emily laid her hand on his arm, stared at him with compassionate eyes, parted lips. “Oh, Hugh . . . I . . .”
Tayler swallowed hard. “Well, throughout my youth, Sir Francis kept himself informed of my life . . . from afar, of course. But when Richard Tayler died, he sought me out, told me the truth, and pledged to be my benefactor. John White knows this because Sir Francis told him when he insisted the governor bring me on the voyage. And now for the important part.”
“Hugh, what could be more important than what you’ve just told me?”
“You’ll soon see, my dear Emily.” He looked away for a moment, took a deep, dramatic breath, looked back into her eyes as a sudden sadness shadowed his own. “Sir Francis detests Sir Walter Raleigh, the sponsor of this colony—first, because Raleigh is a commoner who has the Queen’s ear, and second, because Raleigh’s influence challenges his own. And what do people in high places in England do when they feel threatened by other people in high places? They find a way to discredit them and, if possible, have them charged with treason and executed. And such is Walsingham’s design with Raleigh; the failure of this colony is the first step in his plot.”
“Hugh, how can that be? Walsingham wouldn’t scheme against an English endeavor, his own innocent countrymen. Nor would he sacrifice our lives for his own benefit.”
He stared at her in silence for a long moment. “Em, unfortunately, such is not the case. Rather, such actions are everyday occurrences for the powerful. Naught but power and influence drive them. But there’s more.”
“Good sir, I do not know that I can bear more.”
“You must hear what comes next, Emily. ’Tis everything that matters to us.”
She cringed at his use of the word us but took a deep, calming breath. “Proceed.”
“Before we left, Walsingham himself approached me with his plan, told me he wanted me to be his spy and lead three others who’d already agreed to undermine the colony and perpetrate its failure. He didn’t tell me their names but made the uncharacteristic mistake of telling me they were all soldiers: an officer, a sergeant, and a corporal.” His look hardened. “He also said he’d arranged for the colony to be outfitted with inadequate supplies and had bribed the pilot, Fernandez, to abandon us at Roanoke rather than bringing us here to Chesapeake. He well knew the history of Roanoke and that our chances of survival there would be greatly diminished by the hostility of the Savages.” He paused, looked away then back into her eyes. “He knowingly sent us to almost certain death . . . but he then assured me we’d be rescued at an appropriate time.” He snickered. “However, he neglected to address the reality that many of us might already be dead by that time.”
Emily’s chin dropped to her chest, her eyes billowed with astonishment. “Hugh . . . what did you say to him?”
He looked at the ground with lifeless, despairing eyes. “I refused.”
“Oh, Hugh, what did he say?”
“He was not happy, and he commanded me to remain silent on the matter . . . or face most serious consequences. So, Emily, I’ve now defied him, and I shall tell you further that I know who the three soldiers are. Truly, ’twas not difficult to deduce since we started the voyage with but one officer and two sergeants, one of whom I floated with on a board the night we left Roanoke. He was certain we wouldn’t survive and foolishly revealed his role in the plot to me.”
Emily stared at him with tight eyes. “And the corporal?”
When we sailed, we had but one corporal, and he’s now a sergeant . . . Johnny Gibbes.”
“Lieutenant Waters, Sergeant Myllet, and Sergeant Gibbes.”
“Yes, Milady. And now you know why they seek to discredit me: I know of their plot, and they fear I’ll accuse them.”
Tears of frustration, guilt, conflict at once rushed to Emily’s eyes. She shook her head, started to extend her hand to touch his, held back. “Hugh, this . . . this is astounding. I don’t know what to say.”
“Aye, ’tis, Milady, but every word is truth.”
She stared silently at him, grappled with a flood of discordant thoughts, intuition, convictions. “Hugh, I haven’t told you where I heard the things said against you. How do you know ’tis one of these three?”
“No you have not, Lady; but I know ’tis one of them, and my wager is on Johnny Gibbes; for as I’ve told you, he hates me and my family and has an obsessive passion to harm me.” He took a deep breath, let it waft slowly between his lips. “But the greater misfortune is that regardless of what I know of their plot, I cannot say or do anything until one of them makes a conspicuous move to execute it. And, of course, all of this ignores the grim reality of my father’s wrath toward me if I’m party to uncovering his conspiracy. So for obvious reasons, ’tis fruitless to pursue any course against these three until the governor returns, hopefully with additional soldiers and some loyal officers.”
“You could go to Roger Baylye and the Assistants.”
“Aye, but to what avail? They’re powerless without the soldiers, and the conspirators command
the soldiers.”
“ ’Tis true.” She stared into the forest, heard her heart tell her to believe him, her mind plead for caution. I know not what to do . . . so confused. Yet . . . ’tis almost too outlandish to be untrue . . . and what if ’tis true, and I’ve believed slander? But could Johnny Gibbes simply compose the intricate tales he’s told me? I think not. And are there not two issues: the welfare of the colony and my own heart? And is the latter not given to Isna . . . my dear Isna. How I love him. Oh, Mother, what should I say? She looked squarely into his eyes. “Hugh, your revelation frightens me . . . yet . . . yet I can conceive of nothing I can do, for I’m but a young lass with no power to influence anything of the consequence you describe. And you’re right. We must wait for John White to return . . . and pray we survive until he does. Truly, Hugh”—a sudden deluge of caution pummeled her mind like a crashing wave—“I want to believe you . . . but I know not what to believe. Nor do I know what not to believe. So I can do nothing, believe nothing until some future event—one more persuasive and demonstrable than anyone’s spoken words—reveals the certain truth.”
He looked at the ground for a moment then back at Emily. “And what of our relationship, fair lady. Does the truth I’ve presented persuade you enough to allow us to step back in time and rekindle the relationship that once grew between us? Do I receive a reprieve or remain condemned?”
Emily’s heart pounded; her mind staggered in confusion; anxiety burned in her stomach like a flaming torch. She swallowed, stared silently at him, blinked. “Hugh, what you have told me is indeed dire and of great import to the colony.” She swallowed hard again. “And when the truth of it is confirmed, ’twill truly embarrass me for hearing falsehoods and certainly compel me to think differently of you. But”—her face assumed a soft, tender, almost apologetic look—“ it can have no influence on what was between us . . . for . . . for I love another.”
The ends of his lips curved downward; his eyes clouded with sadness, disappointment. He held his breath, stared vacantly into her eyes. “And might I ask with whom you are in love?”
With a bland look, she said, “Hugh, I do not wish to be cruel, but that is immaterial to this discussion.”
His eyes flashed a crazed glare; his lips twisted into a harsh sneer; his face flushed red. “ ’Tis that Savage, is it not?”
Emily held her inscrutable look, felt a gush of fear rush down her back like a flood of icy water.
“I know ’tis so, for I’ve seen you with him.”
Her body tensed; her intuition screamed at her to stand and run, call for help.
“So I’ve lost to a Savage. How can this be? An uncivilized, mindless, primitive heathen? How can it be?”
Her hands and fingers trembled; she pressed them against the sides of her legs, so he wouldn’t see.
He again looked away, stared at the forest for a moment then back at Emily, now with a soft, composed, admiring look. “Emily Colman, you know that I love you with all my heart and soul . . . and that you mean more to me than anything in this world. We are meant to be together . . . and we will be together . . . and you will learn to love me as I love you.”
Fear gripped Emily’s face. Why had she been so foolish, let him lead her so far into the forest, away from help? She shook her head slowly, ignored her mind’s command to remain silent. “No, Hugh. It cannot be so.”
He canted his head slightly to the right as if to see her better, stared at her with intense, focused eyes, sneering lips, said nothing.
Emily sensed his agony, his churning mind, knew he was deciding something. Fear raced through her like an invisible gust of wind; her senses swirled in disarray. “Hugh, the sun is nearly down; we should start back.”
His crazed expression returned; he canted his head to the left.
Emily started to stand. “Truly, Hugh—”
He seized her shoulders, pulled her into a tight embrace, his right arm around her back and left arm, his left elbow over her right arm and his left hand behind her head and neck; he pressed his lips to hers. She tried to twist free, but he held her fast. His right hand slid down her back to her waist; he pulled her shirt and smock from her skirt, slipped his hand beneath them, caressed her soft back and side.
Terror flashed in Emily’s eyes; she twisted, squirmed, tried to free herself, felt his wild panting, her heart racing, pounding, her own breath quickening; she screamed, heard only a muffled moan.
He laid her on the ground, moved his right leg between hers, again feathered her soft body with a slow, lingering touch that unhurriedly drifted to her breast and nipple, tenderly fondled them like fragile works of art. His warm, rapid breath blew against her cheek; he reached down to the hem of her skirt, pulled it up to her thigh, smoothly caressed the outside of her leg and buttock then the soft inside of her groin, found the patch of hair above, the soft lips that shielded her virginity. He eased his fingers between the lips, spread them apart, found her entrance, gently explored inside, smoothed and spread the dampness within, touched the tiny organ at the top where the lips met, brushed it briefly, softly, teased it with repeated, wispy touches, again . . . and again . . . yet again.
Shock and panic hung in Emily’s mind like a long winter storm; she pulled her left arm free, pounded his shoulder, thrashed, squirmed, screamed another silent scream, felt his hard prick through his pants, throbbing against the top of her leg, wondered how something that large could enter a woman. She sensed her own involuntary arousal: gasping breath, pounding heart, tension, firm beasts, erect nipples, a warm craving in her body and mind, dampness where his fingers touched, the swelling of the organ as he gently caressed it, the strange anticipation of ecstasy rising within her. Her mind raced. How can it feel good? He means to rape me. Can’t feel good. Can’t happen to me. I’m a virgin. No! Dear God, make him stop. Must remain a virgin. Don’t want this. Only my husband. Isna. Mother, help me. She saw her mother’s words: chastity . . . most wonderful possession . . . essence of you . . . given only to the one you love more than life. His hands are gentle. Feels good. Can’t think. Can’t do anything. She pounded his ear with her fist, reached behind his head, grabbed a hank of hair, pulled his head back far enough to get her teeth around his lower lip, bit it with all her strength.
Tayler groaned, pulled his head back, rolled completely on top of her, sat on her stomach, pulled her arms under his knees, then pressed his left hand over her mouth. He noticed the blood dripping from his cut lip onto her shirt, wiped it with his forearm. “Emily, listen to me! Stop! You will be mine, and you will learn to love me. Fight me no more.” He wiped the lip again, held his right forearm against his mouth.
His weight forced the air from her lungs; she gasped for breath, twisted, tried to roll to her side. Can’t breathe; someone help me. This can’t happen. Please, God. Make him stop. I’m a virgin. Cannot do this. Isna, please!
He leaned over her, his face but an inch from hers. “Emily! Emily! Stop! Hear me! Listen carefully.” He held her chin with his right hand, forced her gaze to his eyes.
She stopped twisting, stared at him.
He spoke slowly, almost inaudibly. “Emily . . . I regret what I’m to tell you, but you’ve left me no choice. So hear me . . . and listen very carefully . . . I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth and get off of you. But if you scream or do not submit, something terrible . . . something unthinkable . . . will befall one you love dearly . . . one who is very small and helpless . . . and her death will torment you the rest of your days.”
Another frigid chill ripped through Emily, doused her involuntary glow of arousal; she felt as if a sword had been thrust through her heart. Virginia. He means to kill Virginia . . . no . . . he’d never do such a thing . . . yes, Emily . . . yes, he would. Oh, Lord, God, Mother, Isna. Help me. What am I to do?
Tayler felt his lip, saw that the bleeding had nearly stopped. “You see, Emily, my love is such that I shall let nothing, including an innocent young life, prevent me from having you.” He swallowe
d hard, looked suddenly unsure of himself. “And if I must, though I would detest it, I will hurt you. But one way or another, I mean to have you, and when you are mine, we will be bound together forever, for no other will have you once I’ve taken your soul and your body. So you see, you shall have no choice but to love me.” He paused, glared into her terrified eyes. “Now think of that beautiful young child whose life now lies in your hands. . . and make your choice.”
Emily stiffened like a deep winter freeze; her numb mind swirled like grains of sand in a windstorm. No one can save me. Virginia, my dear Virginia, so precious, so helpless. Must protect her. Oh, Isna, I wanted this for you. Please forgive me, find me, save me . . . now. Virginia must live. He’ll do what he says. No choice . . . my virginity, my life, my Isna, gone forever, unworthy of him . . . but I shall never love Tayler. Never. I shall kill him, be a whore . . . yes, and go to hell when I die . . . perhaps I should die now. Fight him, make him kill me . . . no . . . for then I’d be deprived the joy of killing him. Tears filled her eyes, flowed down her cheeks to her hair; her heart pounded. No escape. She took a deep, trembling breath, exhaled slowly, closed her eyes, nodded.
Tayler’s hard look softened to a compassionate one. He looked suddenly unsure, hesitant. “I shall be gentle, Milady; I shall not hurt you.”
She held her eyes closed, trembled; her voice cracked as she spoke. “And I shall never love you, Hugh Tayler. Do you hear me? Never! And one day, I shall kill you . . . now have your way with me and leave me.”
He looked at her silently, uncertainly, then slid off to her side; unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her shirt, the tie strings of her smock; bared her chest, stared at her full, erect breasts; leaned down, gently kissed her neck then her chest. His right hand caressed her stomach then her left breast and nipple. He eased his lips down her chest to the other breast, kissed it, caressed it with his tongue, sucked gently on it as it stiffened further.