by Unknown
Captain Bart sat in the seat next to her and took her hand. The man she knew as her father squeezed her fingers as he spoke. “Lord Cromwell. Before Katharine Wellington died she spoke of her sins.”
Dory could hardly breathe. Captain Bart very rarely brought up the time when she was born.
“She rambled in her fever about a right number of things: letters, meetings… but never killing or poisoning anyone. She made it clear that she loved her country and her king. She was distraught at the thought of me taking her baby back to London, for she feared Pandora—I mean Rebecca—wouldn’t be safe. I assume from the person you are hunting.”
“Did she give a name?” Cromwell leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk.
Captain Bart shrugged. “She didn’t mention a name when she confessed except she seemed afraid of her brother by marriage.”
“James Wellington,” Ewan said. “Who is right here at court and quite close, it seems, to your king.”
Cromwell’s eyes narrowed to near slits. “I will speak with him.” He focused on Captain Bart. “You have a ring left by Katharine Wellington on your ship.”
“Aye.”
Cromwell studied him, his eyes shifting between Bart and Will. “What does it look like?”
“A rose.”
“What color is the rose?” Cromwell asked.
“I haven’t seen it for a good many years and only as I spied upon the lady taking it from a hidden pocket and locking it in the box,” her father answered and scrunched his face.
“A box?” Cromwell asked.
Dory sighed quietly, waiting for the usual response.
“Aye, Pandora’s box,” Captain Bart said, and a small snort came from Will. “I knew my little girl was trouble, so I named her Pandora. I knew the ring was trouble, too. So I left it locked up in there.”
“What color is the rose on the ring?” Cromwell asked.
“Gold, I believe.”
“Lancaster ring, like the one Boswell had,” Cromwell mumbled. This information didn’t seem to improve his mood. “Is there an inscription in the ring?” He said the words low and the room held its breath.
Captain Bart stared back. “I never saw it up close. The lady kept it hidden until she locked it up tight. It seemed to worry her.”
“You will retrieve it for me,” Cromwell said. “I must examine it to ensure that there is no further threat to our king.”
“The threat,” Ewan said, “has been dormant for twenty years. It does not mean there is a situation now.”
“A traitor waits for the right opportunity,” Cromwell said. “Queen Anne has also lost sons mysteriously. Perhaps the surviving traitor is still determined to leave England without an heir. The Princess Elizabeth may be in danger now.”
Cromwell grabbed a leaf of vellum and scrawled across it, folded it, and dripped melted wax on it to seal it with his own ring. He handed it to Captain Bart. “This will ensure safe passage within England. Retrieve the ring with him,” Cromwell said glancing at Will. “Rebecca Wellington remains here at court, in place of her mother.”
Ewan stood tall beside Dory. “The lass is not her mother, and should not be abused in her place.”
“No one mentioned abuse, Scotsman,” Cromwell said. “Lady Wellington will remain here, with you, her husband, where she belongs. You two will continue to investigate possible unlawful activities with regard to Boswell’s letters and report any findings to me.”
Dory’s stomach relaxed. When had the thought of leaving England become sickening?
“Has the king accepted the fulfillment of the summons given to Meg Boswell of Druim?” Ewan asked. He still held her shoulder, and she could feel the tension coursing the sinew in his body.
Cromwell fanned the parchment toward Captain Bart until he took it. “Aye, Boswell has been delivered and taken this morning to Tower Hill where his body will be hung as a traitor, in warning to all others who consider treasonous acts.”
Although he didn’t show it, Dory felt the small relaxation in Ewan’s body. “Then my wife and I must remain in London due to the threat of a traitor that King Henry feels is connected to Lady Brody.”
“You’ve wed a Wellington, Lord Brody. If the family is found guilty of treason, all parts of that family must be investigated.”
Blast! Ewan must wish he’d never encountered her. Her numb lips moved as if on their own. “I’ve pondered divorcing my Lord Brody,” she said and all eyes snapped to her. “If I do, would he be free to leave England?” She held her breath, not knowing what answer she hoped for.
“Over my dead body,” Ewan said. His fingers dug a bit harder into her shoulder, but she refused to look at him. She focused on Cromwell’s one raised eyebrow.
“I don’t…” Cromwell started, stopped, then started again. “Divorce, Lady Wellington, is a long, tedious process that cannot be done for reasons of whimsy.”
“He beats me.”
“Bloody hell, I do not!” Ewan stepped in front of her, his frown so fierce she almost smiled in response.
“And he sleeps with other women.” She leaned to the side to see Cromwell. “I think it best if you let him go back to his rough, unruly country. He is too coarse for a refined country such as England.”
They all stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Dory felt a panicky little bubble of laughter start up in her throat, but she kept her lips shut tight. If she could get Ewan out of this mess, she’d be free of the guilt. Surely it was the guilt that made her feel so sick and not the thought of him leaving.
“Or an annulment,” she continued. “The marriage has not yet been consummated. Yes, I wish for an annulment on the grounds that he will not do his duty in my bed.” She nodded to punctuate the truth.
Ewan snorted and turned back to the royal advisor’s desk. Cromwell’s mean face actually cracked into something similar to a grin. Little brown teeth peeked through the thin lips.
Despite Ewan’s head shaking and huffing, she nodded again. “Annulment,” she whispered.
“Lady Wellington.” Cromwell folded his hands so that his fingertips made a steeple. “I will not support a lie, and no one on the council, having looked at the two of you, would believe you.” He gestured to Ewan. “Lord Brody is quite young and strong, and you, my lady, are of exceptional beauty.”
She almost blushed at the compliment but since it came from a man with the king’s power over life and death, her stomach turned instead.
“I swear on my mother’s soul that I am still whole.”
“Your mother’s soul may already be lost.” Cromwell frowned and looked at Ewan. “I would rectify the situation before your wife decides to press the issue of annulment, in some bizarre effort to protect you by sending you home without her.”
“Rectifying the situation is not so easy,” Ewan said, “with our room being inhabited by her father, her… brother, and now a young lady’s companion.”
Dory’s face felt scorched as if the sun beat down on it. Cromwell pointed to the parchment in Captain Bart’s fingers. “They are free and encouraged to return to their ship to retrieve the ring. And the companion will be given a servant’s room. The house is not filled to capacity since Queen Anne remains at Whitehall.”
He stared hard at Captain Bart. “Know that if you do not return with the ring, Lady Wellington will take your place in the Tower.”
“Things happen at sea, Lord Cromwell,” Captain Bart said. “Storms, pirate attacks. What if we are delayed?”
Cromwell smiled. “She is young yet. She will wait for your return, as long as it takes.”
…
Ewan followed Dory out of Cromwell’s office. Black fury swarmed through him, making him feel weak and invincible at the same time. Five steps. He’d give her five single steps.
One, two, three, four… she paused. Bloody, blasted, swiving hell! She re-sheathed her blade and took a step. Five! He grabbed Dory’s arm, steering her into an alcove.
“We will meet you two back i
n Searc’s room,” he called to Captain Bart and Will.
“Where are you taking Dory?” Will asked.
“Come along, boy,” Captain Bart said wisely. “I think those two have some words to exchange. We bloody well better stay inside in case Panda starts throwing lightning bolts.” He said that last statement loudly, most likely as a warning, but Ewan didn’t care.
He loomed over Dory until she had to tip her foolish head far back if she wanted to glare at him in the eyes. He had never used his height or his physical strength to bully a woman. An angel, he was not. But he’d never cross the line of hurting a woman. Though this was the closest he’d ever come to throttling one.
“What the bloody hell were you doing in there?” he gritted out. She opened her lush little mouth to answer but he beat her to it. “Being utterly foolish, stupidly throwing false information at the second most powerful man in England! First of all, he can spot a lie as soon as it’s uttered. Second, you weren’t at all convincing.”
Thunder boomed outside.
“And I don’t care if ye send a whirlwind to take this castle apart brick by brick, Dory Wyatt Wellington Brody,” he said low. “Don’t ye ever try to divorce or annul or get rid of me again.” His words had become softer, the threat even heavier.
“You can’t divorce or annul something that doesn’t exist,” she whispered, and he swore there was a stab of hurt behind her words but her beautiful features only pinched in anger.
“Everyone here knows us as wed, therefore, here in England, we are wed.” Och! That didn’t make sense and he’d always stayed away from any such commitment, but… hell, he meant every word.
Dory blinked. “So as soon as we cross the border or sail away from shore, we are done, finished, as if it never happened?” she asked.
He only stared, not sure how to answer. Either way seemed wrong.
When he continued the silence, she finished for him. “That is the definition of annulment, never happened,” she snapped and tried to push under his arm.
But he stopped her, tugging her back. She refused to look up.
“Dory,” he said, anger honing the edge of her name. His finger fought with her chin until she finally gave in and she turned her gaze to him. His breath thickened in his throat, unable to pass. Her eyes shone as if they were full of moisture, making them look like full storm clouds. He barely heard the heavy downpour of rain outside.
He tugged her in gently and studied her face. The anger seemed to have bled out, leaving a vulnerable paleness in her face. He much preferred the spark.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” he asked again, but softer and without the bloodlust in his voice. Could he have scared her with his reaction to her foolish lies?
“I won’t let you die because of me,” she said.
“I don’t intend to die.”
“People rarely do.”
“I’ll get the two of us away before that can happen,” he said. The promise would have made him twitch just a month ago, but now… och, it felt right.
“But…” She paused as if she were swallowing back words. “You won’t go home, will you?”
True. He wouldn’t be able to return to Druim, at least not publicly. If King Henry thought Caden Macbain was harboring a fugitive, he could bring war to his people, something he would never allow. Could that thought upset her?
He shrugged lightly. “I’ve been wanting to journey abroad, see the world, perhaps on a ship. I’ve been told Highlanders are much like pirates.”
“I’ve destroyed your life,” she said as if the world were coming to an end. He’d never seen her so distraught. Thunder crackled outside.
Ewan caught her face in the palms of his hands, cradling it so that she could see his eyes. He knew that she would be able to tell if he lied from his physical response, just like Meg could read Caden. He thought for a moment and spoke truthfully. “If my life were destroyed, lass, I don’t think I would feel this good.”
His answer confused her, enough that she didn’t retreat when he leaned in and captured her mouth. Her lips were still, cool at first, and he almost pulled back to apologize for his callousness. But then she slanted ever so much, a tiny tilt to her face, and her soft mouth opened on a breath.
Ewan’s hands slid from her face to her back. His whole upper half encompassed her, sucking her into his strong shield. Och, but if he could keep her safely tucked within his arms. Then maybe he could breathe fully once again.
Her whispered moan against his mouth licked flames inside him. He stepped them back deeper into the shadows of the windowless alcove. A curtain easily yanked closed, blocked them from any view. His legs bumped against something, a large chair, big enough for two. He pulled Dory with him down onto it, so she came to rest on his lap. Could she feel what she did to him through her heavy skirts? Of course she could. Her magic could detect all his honest, ready-to-do-his-duty reactions to her sweet warmth.
Ewan’s fingers tangled in her hair. He left her mouth to trail kisses from her ear down the side of her slender neck. She tasted better than sweets at Christmastide. “I will kiss and nibble ye from head to toe,” he whispered and felt her shiver. His teeth grazed the delicate skin at the base of her throat.
“Ewan,” she murmured on a ragged breath. “What are you doing to me?”
“Not enough yet,” he managed to say before kissing her parted lips once more.
Her fingers caught in his hair then ran down his neck and back. It was as if she wanted to touch as many parts of him as she could. She wiggled in his lap, her full backside sliding hard against him until his own groan escaped.
He shifted her to the seat next to him before he threw all principles to Hades and stripped her down right there in the hall. Though he set her off his lap, he still held her close, tasting her sweet mouth. Her fingers found his shirt under his doublet. Down, down, down they explored, stroking his chest, his abs, fanning his fire. Until… he caught her hand.
“Dory,” he rasped against her mouth. “We are in a corridor.”
“I don’t care,” she said and stroked against him. His muscles clenched as his pulse raced. “I think Adela was right. Swiving must be the best thing in life.”
Ewan’s chuckle changed into a low groan as it literally pained him to restrain himself. She was practically begging him to take her, but instead he brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss it. He was starting to think this went beyond lust. “I won’t ravish a maiden in a public hallway.”
She kissed him. “I can keep quiet.”
He ran his lips back along to her ear. “Not when I’m between yer legs, lass,” he said low and felt her entire body shudder. He groaned and stood, leaving her to collect herself. When he looked down, he realized that she was now on level with his quite obvious arousal.
She continued to stare at his crotch even when he helped her stand. Living on board a ship of men, she must have seen one naked. “Dory?”
Her eyes were a bit rounder than normal. “Are you larger than most?”
“That’s not something I’ve investigated,” he said and adjusted himself. “Have ye never seen a naked man?”
She shook her head, and Ewan felt the need to heartily thank Captain Bart. He lowered his face to hers. He’d never seen her timid before, and he rather liked it. A passionate tornado hid inside, and he would definitely be the one releasing it. “Don’t worry, lass. It all fits together,” he said.
Her face flushed and she opened her mouth to say something. Just then boots stomped down the hall. He put his finger to her lips, still warm from his kiss.
“What does he want?” a man snapped. Ewan glanced out from the curtain to see James Wellington stride up to Cromwell’s door in front of the page.
“My Lord Cromwell would like to ask you some questions,” the page explained as Wellington charged into the advisor’s office, slamming the door in the page’s face. The servant called him a bastard, glanced around, and clipped back the way he’d come.
&nb
sp; “He’ll be in danger now because of me,” Dory said as she peaked around the other side of the curtain.
“He can maneuver through these waters better than ye.”
She nodded. “Captain Bart always says that if you find yourself being chased by a shark, you don’t have to outswim the shark, just the bloke swimming next to you.”
She looked guilty, but Ewan smiled at her jest. She had the heart of a warrior. She’d be fine. He pulled the curtain back and led her down the hall.
“We’ll continue this,” he paused, his hand caressing the gentle slope of her spine, “discussion later,” he said, meeting her gaze. His words were as serious as an oath.
Chapter Eleven
11 April of the Year our Lord God, 1518
Dearest Kat,
Do not fret. I am honored by your news. John will think the babe is his, but when we rule, the child will be our heir. Perhaps I will finally have a son as Isabelle’s womb spouted only a daughter and I can no longer stomach her. You are the one I think about, my love. You calm my raging spirit.
Your Servant,
Rowland
“Cha… leig le.”
Dory woke slowly to the mumbled sound of a man’s voice. She blinked her eyes open to darkness. Where was she? Her only movement was her fingers under her pillow, finding the cool handle of her knife.
Even in the deep night of the room, she could see the little head lying on a pillow in front of her face. Moonlight penetrated the glassed windows. Charissa. Safe and asleep, she sighed, in their bed as the servant’s room would not be ready until the next day.
But that wasn’t the voice she’d heard.
“Shhh, lass, the wee one is sleeping.” Ewan’s low voice was deep and slow as if he, too, had just woken.
Dory stilled as Ewan’s arm pulled her body against his under the heavy blanket. Although he sounded drowsy, his body felt very much awake and ready for mischief. Her heartbeat thumped hard in her chest. She felt his lips touch her nape where her hair had been tucked away.