Fugitive Countess

by Anne Herries

  She had learned something of Robert Melford’s history from Claire. He had been with Henry Tudor when he took the throne of England, and his family had served the monarch since that time, rising from humble beginnings to great power and wealth.

  ‘I will send hot water and food, my lady,’ the housekeeper said, and bobbed a curtsey.

  Marietta explored the room after she had gone. There was a large armoire, carved and polished, coffers and a padded stool, also a lyre and a music stand. She opened the armoire and saw gowns of costly silk lying on the shelves. They must belong to a lady of the house. Marietta touched one with reverent fingers. As the Comtesse she had owned gowns almost as fine as these, but they had been left behind. All she had was the dress she was wearing. It was travel-stained and looked creased after so many days of being constantly worn. She would ask the housekeeper if something could be done to freshen it, so that she might be presentable when she was brought before the King.

  What did it matter what she looked like? A wave of despair swept over Marietta. She clutched the silver cross she wore on a chain about her throat and kissed it, then sank to her knees.

  ‘If I have sinned, forgive me,’ she whispered. ‘I ask only that the truth be believed…’

  Hearing a knock at the door, she called out that the servant might enter, but when it opened she turned to see that her visitor was Anton. She rose to her feet, heart pounding. She wished that he would take her in his arms, kiss her and tell her that he could not give her up—but she was dreaming again! He would not risk his King’s anger for her sake.

  His dark eyes went over her, his expression grave.

  ‘I came to see that you have all you need. I hope your chamber is comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, quite comfortable. Is this Lady Melford’s chamber?’

  ‘Once it may have been. She does not come to London these days. My grandparents stayed here often in the past, I believe, but now they allow my parents to use it. My cousins and uncle stay here too, when attending court. Uncle Harry is most often here, I believe, for he is called to attend the King several times a year.’

  ‘Will the lady whose chamber this is mind that I am using it?’

  ‘This is a guest chamber. It is not a family room these days.’

  ‘I thought…the gowns in the armoire…’

  ‘Are for you. I commissioned them before I left London to return to my uncle’s house, for I knew that you had none of your own. If the King allows you to return to my cousin’s home, you may take them with you.’

  ‘They are very costly. I cannot repay you…’

  ‘I ask for no payment, Marietta.’ He moved towards her, his gaze suddenly intense, burning her with its heat. ‘Forgive me for bringing you here. I should have fled to Spain and taken you with me…I could do it still…’

  ‘You fear for my life…’ Her eyes opened wide and she gasped, because she sensed his urgency. ‘I thank you for the thought, sir—but I shall not allow you to put your own life at risk for my sake. If you disobeyed His Majesty he might punish you—he could punish your family too. Besides, you were right when you said that I should never be free if I did not face the King’s justice.’

  ‘Henry is just. I believe he will treat you fairly.’

  ‘Then why do you fear for me? Do you still doubt my innocence?’

  Anton stared at her, his face working with passion. ‘I do not wish to think you capable of any wickedness, Marietta. However, life has taught me not to trust a woman’s smile.’

  She felt chilled as she saw the look in his eyes. ‘I think someone has hurt you, sir. You are at times bitter…angry. All women are not faithless. My father married me to a man many years my senior. I did not love him as I might a young, passionate lover, but I tried to be a good wife. I denied him nothing he asked of me—and I nursed him faithfully when he was ill. If that makes me faithless or a witch, then so be it.’

  ‘Marietta…I have promised I shall speak to the King in your favour, and I shall keep my word.’

  ‘Even though you do not trust me?’ Her clear eyes met his. ‘Tell me, do you think I lay with you so that you would help me to evade justice?’

  He hesitated, then, ‘I do not know.’

  ‘If you do not know there can be nothing more to say, my lord. If you will excuse me, I need to wash away the dust of the road—and then I should like to be alone.’

  Anton stared at her, then inclined his head. ‘You are angry, and justly so. I am little better than the man you ran from in terror, for I took advantage of your vulnerability. Yet I do care…’

  She shook her head, unable to bear more of this. ‘Please go now.’

  Marietta was fighting to hold back her tears. How could he not understand that she loved him?

  Someone had hurt him so badly that he could not love or accept love. She had fallen in love with a bright-eyed young man, eager for life and its pleasures. This man was not the man she had enshrined in her memory for so many years. He was honourable, and he would help her, but he could not love her.

  Someone had robbed him of the power to love.

  Chapter Seven

  Anton stood staring out of the window at the long garden that ran down to the river Thames. It had begun to rain, the wind howling through the trees that fronded the river’s bank. He felt as if he were being torn apart, little by little. His body ached to know the delight he had found in Marietta’s arms, but still his mind would not let him accept her for what she seemed. Her beauty beguiled him, and her smile turned his insides to molten fire, but was she honest? If he trusted her, asked her to be his for ever, would she betray him?

  Miguel had made it plain in little ways that he did not trust her. He had said nothing outright, couching his words in innuendo and suggestion rather than saying outright that he believed her a witch and a murderess.

  Was Anton a fool to feel as he did about her? Despite his doubts and his caution, the scent of her haunted him. He longed to snatch her up on his horse and ride away with her, to keep her safe for the rest of her life. Yet he knew that if he disobeyed the King in this it might mean that his whole family would be slighted and shut out—his own liberty forfeit if he ever returned to England. It was foolish to think of such wild plans. Marietta would never be safe until she had the King’s pardon, and with it his protection.

  ‘Your message has been sent.’

  Anton turned as Miguel entered the parlour. He knew that his friend hoped they would be rid of the Frenchwoman once she was taken before the King. Miguel was no coward, but he saw no point in spending lives to keep her safe. Indeed, Anton strained the loyalty of his men by asking it of them, for she was no kith or kin to any of them. Only if he offered her the protection of his name could he expect the men to give her their wholehearted loyalty.

  ‘You sent word to His Majesty in my name?’

  ‘It was the reason you brought her here—or has she bewitched you?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps she has,’ Anton replied, his eyes thoughtful as he returned his friend’s stern gaze. ‘I have almost felt that I could find happiness with her.’

  ‘You were betrayed once. Do not put your trust in women, Anton. If you let her rule your heart she will destroy you—as Isabella did.’ Something flickered in Miguel’s eyes as he spoke Anton’s wife’s name.

  ‘I swore I would never love again, but this woman…’

  ‘She uses witchcraft to bind you to her. Do not trust her, or you may rue the day you saved her life.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right. I have been wondering…but you did what I ought to have done as soon as we reached London.’ Anton’s expression softened. ‘I do not know what I should have done had you not been my friend when Isabella died.’

  ‘I shall always be your friend. You should marry again, Anton—but choose wisely, a good woman you can trust. The Frenchwoman is too beautiful. Her kind take a man’s heart and bring him to his knees. You should choose a plainer, gentle lady.’

  ‘You dislike her very much,
do you not—the Comtesse?’

  ‘I do not trust such as she. I fear her magic for your sake. After Isabella was killed I thought you might lose your mind for a time.’

  ‘Was killed? What do you mean? She tripped and fell to her death…’ Anton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know something I do not? Have you kept something from me all this time?’

  ‘It was a slip of the tongue, Anton. As you say, Isabella slipped and fell…’ He made as if to turn away, but Anton crossed the distance between them swiftly, catching his arm.

  ‘What do you know?’ he demanded. ‘You must tell me!’

  ‘It will do no good…’ Miguel faltered, and then inclined his head. ‘The servants whispered that she had been pushed. I kept it from you, because it was nonsense…’

  Anton’s eyes narrowed. ‘What else did they whisper?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Miguel’s mouth tightened as the pressure on his arm increased. ‘If you will have it…they thought that you had killed her in a rage when you discovered her faithlessness. Raised voices were heard by a gardener—a man and your wife’s, he said. I questioned him and told him he would be dismissed if he continued to slander your name. He ran away and the whispers stopped.’

  ‘I wish that you had told me. I should have liked to question him myself. I did not follow Isabella into the garden that day. I was too angry, too hurt—but she may have been pushed by someone else…’ His eyes became flinty. ‘If the gardener heard a quarrel it could have been with someone else—her lover. Perhaps he wanted her to run away with him.’

  ‘There was no one in the garden. The man imagined it all.’ Miguel’s eyes slid away. ‘I should not have told you. You will brood on it and the pain will send you mad.’

  ‘No.’ Anton frowned. ‘I thought I had driven her to her death because I was cruel to her—but if she argued with someone, if she was pushed, it means that he and not I was responsible for her death.’

  ‘The gardener ran off. You could not have questioned him. At the time you were in such despair. I did what I thought right.’

  ‘I know that you acted out of concern for me, and I thank you for it,’ Anton said. ‘However, in future I want to know everything. I shall send to Spain when this business is over and see if the man can be found.’

  ‘I had a search made for him. I doubt you will find him, but you must do as you see fit.’

  ‘Yes…’ Anton nodded. ‘Your advice has served me well in the past, Miguel, but in this you were wrong.’ He turned back to the fireplace, taking a glass of wine from the mantle. ‘I shall not rest until I have the truth…’

  Anton remained staring into the fire. He did not turn as the door closed when Miguel left the room.

  Marietta was ready when the summons came. She had chosen a dark blue gown, very plain, with a squared neckline and a band of gold braid beneath her breasts. It suited her well, making her look what she was—the widow of a wealthy nobleman. She had only the silver cross she had been wearing the night she was abducted, for her other jewels and possessions were still with Lady Claire. Her hair was dressed simply and allowed to fall onto her shoulders, covered only by a black French cap.

  She went downstairs to find Anton waiting for her. He was dressed finer than she had ever seen him, in black and silver, a jewelled sword at his side. She made him a curtsey and he smiled.

  ‘You look very well, lady. I am glad that you did not spurn my gift.’

  ‘I did not wish to wear a stained gown to meet the King of England. It was thoughtful of you to provide gowns for me, sir.’

  ‘I have done no more than was owed you. Everyone is entitled to a fair hearing—and you should wear clothes befitting your rank.’ Anton’s face was expressionless.

  Marietta inclined her head. ‘You sent for me. I am ready.’

  ‘Then we should leave. Today you will ride pillion with me.’

  ‘Do you think I might try to escape?’

  Anton smiled briefly as he saw the flash of pride in her eyes. ‘Many might in your position, but it would be useless. I shall deliver you to the court, as I must—but I have promised to speak for you, and I shall see His Majesty first.’

  ‘I thank you for your goodness, sir.’

  Anton hesitated. ‘I would do more for you…’ It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he wished to offer her his hand and fortune, but at the last he drew back. ‘Do not fear too much. I have a little influence, and I shall use it on your behalf.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She glanced at his hand. ‘I see you no longer wear my husband’s ring. Did it come off easily?’

  ‘With some effort. It is in my pocket. I shall give it to the King before he speaks to you.’

  ‘I do not know why it is so important.’

  ‘Perhaps that is a secret known only to your husband and the King of England.’

  Marietta’s eyes widened. ‘My husband went often to court in France. Do you think…?’

  ‘I think it is not for us to speculate.’ Anton held out his hand. ‘Come, we must leave, for if we are late the King’s temper will not improve.’

  ‘Anton of Gifford. We are glad to welcome you back to court, sir.’ Henry looked at him. ‘We are pleased that you have succeeded in both the commissions we gave you.’

  Anton bent his head. ‘I hope this is the ring you sought, Sire.’

  He held it out to Henry, who took it, twisted the gold-encased cabochon and took something from the cavity inside. He glanced at the small piece of parchment, seemed to read something, and then threw it into the fire with a grunt of satisfaction.

  ‘You did not discover the secret, then?’

  ‘If I had, Sire, I should not have disclosed it to anyone else—but I was unable to solve the mystery.’ Anton’s tone was bland, his expression unchanging, but there was a hint of something in his eyes.

  Henry’s gaze narrowed, an expression of anger mixed with appreciation about his mouth. ‘We thank you for your loyalty, sir. There are things I would not have my ministers know concerning certain negotiations…if you understand me?’

  ‘How should I understand, Sire? I have heard rumours that you seek an annulment of your marriage to the Queen from the Holy Father, but that is not my affair…’

  ‘Indeed—though others seek to make it theirs. I shall not be thwarted, Gifford. In this I shall have my way—the future of England depends upon it. I need a son!’ Henry had dropped the royal we to speak plainly.

  ‘Yes, Sire. A King must have a son to follow him.’

  ‘Then you understand that this business must remain within this room?’

  ‘You have my word as a gentleman and nobleman of England.’

  ‘Then this is done…’ Henry’s gaze narrowed as he slipped the ring inside his jerkin, returning to his royal stance. ‘You have served us well, sir. Have you a request of us?’

  ‘Yes, Sire.’ Anton met his eyes. ‘There is something I would ask of you…’

  Marietta looked around the small chamber where she had been told to wait. The walls were hung with rich silk tapestries, perhaps from France, she thought, for the work was very fine. There was but one small table in the room, and a Bible lay on its surface.

  Had it been placed there to comfort or to threaten? The priests threatened the pain of everlasting hell for the crimes of murder and witchcraft. Marietta wished that she might sit down. Her throat was dry, and she would have liked a cup of water or ale, but there was no one to ask. She felt like running away, but she suspected there were guards outside the door. She would not get far, and it would seem to prove her guilt. She must wait and pray.

  She walked to the window to look down, and saw several ladies walking together. They were laughing and talking, clustered about one very beautiful lady who seemed to be the centre of attention. The sun had decided to shine and the rain of the previous day had gone.

  How much longer was she to be kept waiting? Marietta paced the floor, her nerves as tight as the archer’s string. Anton had been with the King for so long.
When would it be her turn—and would His Majesty listen?

  She turned in sudden fright as she heard footsteps, and her heart raced when she saw the servant. He did not smile as he beckoned to her and she feared the worst.

  ‘Will His Majesty see me now?’

  ‘You are to come this way, lady.’

  Marietta followed him down the narrow passage. He stopped in front of a pair of large doors, which were gilded and embossed with symbols of royalty. The man pushed open the doors and indicated that she should go in, closing them behind her with a sharp bang that made her jump.

  At first glance she thought that the room was empty. It was richly furnished with hangings and heavy furniture; some pieces were fashioned of walnut and carved, the legs twisted in the Dutch manner, some oak, plainer, and clearly English. Then, as she hesitated, a heavy curtain moved at the far end of the room and a man entered.

  She knew at once that this must be the King of England. He was a tall, well-built man, handsome, with red hair and beard, his clothes richly embroidered with jewels. As he came nearer she was aware of his eyes on her. For a moment she met them, then she sank into a deep curtsey, her head bent.

  ‘So you are the Comtesse Montcrief. Your husband was our good friend, madame. We are glad to have been of service to you. Sir Anton tells us that he snatched you from the bastard who stole your son’s inheritance.’

  ‘Yes, Sire. I owe everything to Sir Anton.’

  ‘He has performed a service for us. In return he asks that we give you a fair hearing—which we are inclined to do. Tell me, madame—did you cause your husband’s death?’

  Marietta’s head came up, her face proud. ‘No, Sire. I was a good and faithful wife to the Comte, and nursed him through more than one illness. Without my nursing he would have died last winter. Why should I take his life? He was good to me, and I had no reason to want him dead.’