A sense of utter desolation and loneliness settled in her heart, but she forced herself to shake it off. These feelings were useless, she thought as she hurried around to the back entrance of the fortress. She should be accustomed to being alone. These last few days with Hugh had changed nothing. She still had decisions to make, plans to—
“Tudor, by God!” a harsh voice demanded as someone grabbed her and slapped one clammy hand over her mouth. Her captor put his other hand around her waist and hauled her into a darkened corner. “Didn’t think I’d figure it out soon enough?”
Wrexton! Siân realized in panic. Siân tried to pull away, but it was no use.
“You’re far from Pwll. Far from Clairmont! Imagine my surprise, the other morn at Castle Clairmont,” he said with a seething anger, “to find you standing over my bed, knife in hand…I wonder what you thought to accomplish.”
Siân tried to speak, but the hand remained clamped over her mouth. She struggled to free herself, but he was too large, too strong. He had her overpowered.
“You thought to steal the king from under our noses?” Wrexton stated more than asked. “The council will not take kindly to the abduction of their king. The penalty is severe, Tudor wench! You will hang!”
No! she thought in a panic. She’d only done the queen’s bidding. Surely she wouldn’t be accused of taking Henry away unlawfully. The very thought was absurd!
Wasn’t it?
She had to escape! She had to find Hugh and get him to help her before Wrexton twisted the facts as he’d done years before when he’d had her young friends killed. Siân knew little of the workings of the courts, but she was certain that Wrexton was devious enough to make it seem that she and Hugh had abducted Henry unlawfully. Owen would be of no help to her, especially if he thought Wrexton wielded some power with the ruling council.
She had to try to get away from him.
Siân tried to bite Wrexton’s hand, but he crushed her face with it, punishing her for her efforts against him. She tasted her own blood and knew he was dead serious.
She tried to go limp, but it was to no avail. Not only did he hold her solidly, he let one hand go long enough to give her brutal blow to the back of her head.
It was the last thing Siân was aware of before complete blackness settled in.
Chapter Fourteen
“Your visit is not altogether convenient at this time, Beaufort,” Wolf said, standing at ease near the massive hearth of the great hall. Hugh could hear him from his concealed position in an alcove off the great hall. “My wife is not yet out of childbed and we have other guests due to arrive soon.”
“I will baptize the infant if there is a concern…”
“My son and his mother are in good health,” Wolf said. “As is Father Fowler, our chaplain.” This last piece of information was unnecessary, and bordered on insulting. Who in the kingdom would not prefer to have his heir baptized by the kingdom’s most prestigious cleric? But Wolf, like Hugh, had known Beaufort for years, and his aversion to the cleric was long-standing.
Beaufort frowned and sat down in front of the fire, obviously weighing the benefits of pursuing this conversation. The bishop’s men gathered and warmed themselves by the fire.
“Beastly cold tonight,” Beaufort finally said, then turned his beady eyes up to Wolf. “What other guests?”
“Your nephews,” Wolf replied. “Someone summoned Bedford from France, and Gloucester is riding in with him from London.”
Hugh could feel Beaufort’s anger and frustration. The presence of these two men could do nothing but thwart his plans. The bishop said nothing, just continued holding his hands out in front of him, warming them, as though he were not discomfited in the least.
Hugh was surprised to hear that Bedford and Gloucester, the brothers of Henry V, were due to arrive. He vaguely remembered Wolf saying their presence had been requested at Windermere, but he’d been too ill to think what it meant.
Between the two dukes and their uncle Beaufort, there would never be agreement. Beaufort could not force Catherine into marriage, nor would he be able to remove Henry from her custody. And the bishop could not afford to offend his two powerful nephews openly. He would lose too much sway within the council if his own play for power were too obvious.
Hugh slipped out of his alcove, satisfied that Wolf would keep the wily bishop occupied and feeling relieved that Wrexton had not come to Windermere with Beaufort. Moving quietly down a darkened gallery, he approached Kit’s door and tapped lightly. Maggie, her maid, opened the door to a room lit only by a small fire in the grate and one long taper, which she held in her hand.
“Kit?” he asked quietly.
She answered him from her bed. “Hugh, I’m here.”
He realized that, outside of whatever was going on in her home, Kit was weary and needed to rest. It had been a mere week since she’d delivered her child and she had yet to recover her strength.
“Where is Siân?” he asked.
Kit shrugged. “We have not seen her.”
“My lord,” Maggie said, “Eleanor remains here with her mother and the baby, as does little Parry.” They had all taken to calling Henry by the Welsh name given him by Siân.
Now that she mentioned it, Hugh could see two still little forms in the bed next to Kit.
“We put them to bed in here, my lord, when we learned that Bishop Beaufort and his men had entered the town walls.”
“Beaufort will have little sway at Windermere, Hugh,” Kit said, stopping him from leaving. “Henry will be safe, whether or not Wolf tells the bishop he is here. Even so, don’t show your presence until you know what my husband has planned.”
Hugh nodded. He had already intended to wait it out until he saw what strategy Wolf intended to use.
He headed back down the gallery until he reached the room he knew was Siân’s. He tapped gently and waited, but when there was no response, he let himself in. There was no fire in the grate, so the room was chilled and completely blanketed in darkness. She was not there.
Leaning against the doorjamb, Hugh frowned, considering where she might be.
It was entirely possible she’d stayed in the garden, or gone back to the chapel. If Siân discovered the horses belonged to Bishop Beaufort and his party, she very likely assumed it was necessary to stay out of sight to keep the bishop and his men from realizing that Henry was at Windermere. She could not know the kind of power he and Wolf wielded.
Wherever she was, Hugh decided, she knew enough to stay out of sight. Determined to go and find her, he was about to head down the back steps again when he heard more voices in the hall, the voices of surprise and of new arrivals.
Gloucester and Bedford had arrived.
The first thing Siân was aware of was the smell of the sea. She came to her senses slowly, only to be overcome by an overpowering nausea, and an intense throbbing at the back of her head. When she opened her eyes, she knew it was late. The moon was already down. It had to have been many hours since she and Hugh had split up, many hours since she’d run up against Wrexton in the courtyard.
Where was Hugh now? More to the point, where was she now?
Siân pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked around. Was Hugh nearby? He’d spoken of being imprisoned beneath Windermere Castle, but Siân knew that wherever she was, she was not indoors. The sky was definitely up above her, but it was thick with clouds and few stars were visible. It was too dark to see much, but she could tell she was lying on a wood-planked floor, and her back was to a wall. The smell of the sea was all around her, and very intense.
She did not know if Windermere was close to the seashore, or whether Wrexton had taken her some distance away while she was unconscious. Her body felt sore all over, but there were no clues as to where exactly she was, or how she had gotten there.
The queasiness increased and Siân felt dizzy, as well. She was shaky and ill. She lay back down on her side to quell the roiling inside her. Where was she?
Ther
e were odd sounds here, too, sounds she did not recognize. Creaking and strange echoing sounds…the wind causing flags to flap, only…different. Oh, if only she could think clearly, but this pounding in her head and the nausea in her belly were making it impossible!
She sensed movement, but couldn’t be sure if it was the dizziness or if she was truly moving. Nor did she have time to consider it at length, because she began to retch, and then blackness took her again.
As soon as Wolf offered the information that the King of England was sleeping peacefully in an upper chamber of Windermere Castle, Hugh joined the group near the hearth. There was no point in remaining concealed any longer. It would soon come out—if Beaufort did not already know—that he and Siân had been the ones to smuggle the king away from Clairmont at the queen’s request.
John, Duke of Bedford, was a handsome man, not many years older than Hugh, though the war effort in France had aged him since last Hugh saw him. His light-brown hair was now gone white at the temples and weary lines were drawn about his eyes and lips. He still had the bright beat of intelligence in his hazel-brown eyes, and the powerful voice of command.
Bedford had been well respected among King Henry’s lieutenants in the French wars, and ever since Henry’s death, he commanded the war effort in France. His presence in England was very potent, and he was often summoned from the continent to mediate between his headstrong younger brother, Humphrey, and his cunning uncle, Henry Beaufort.
“Dryden,” Bedford said, looking Hugh over. Satisfied with what he saw, he added, “You appear fit enough.”
“That I am, Your Grace,” Hugh replied.
“He’s Alldale now,” Wolf corrected. “Your brother saw to that two years ago.”
“Ah, yes…I recall now,” Bedford said. “You wouldn’t have any interest in returning to the front with me? I have need of men such as yourselves,” he added, including Wolf in his invitation.
Wolf shook his head. “I’ve given France all I care to,” he said. “There is more than enough to keep me occupied here, on home soil.”
Gloucester muttered something unintelligible, which Bedford ignored. “What of you, Alldale? I need skilled commanders, fearless officers, men of—”
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Hugh said, “I’ve neglected my estate too long already.”
Bedford accepted their declinations and turned to his uncle. “What brings you to Windermere, Beaufort? I would have thought your diocese held more than enough to occupy your time.”
Gloucester snorted and received a pointed glance from his uncle Beaufort.
“The bishop has been playing at politics again,” Gloucester said sardonically. “Though this time, his game took him far from London.”
“Nonsense,” Beaufort said, glowering at the young man who bore a remarkable resemblance to his brother, all but the signs of age. “I merely chose to take advantage of a quiet moment in my episcopate to check on the well-being of my nephew. I do not trust that Frenchwoman who is his moth—”
“Caution, Your Eminence,” Bedford said. “You are speaking of the Queen of England…”
The conversation continued in this vein as food and wine were served. Gloucester remained petulant and resentful, while the pompous Bishop Beaufort made excuses for his own actions. Bedford mediated.
Evening turned into night and still the noblemen sat and talked, their discussions bordering on petty accusations and recriminations. Hugh would have left the table to go search for Siân but for the look Wolf shot him, requesting that he stay. He let the Lancasters argue while his own thoughts drifted toward the chapel and the time he’d spent there with Siân, his hands aching to touch her, his mouth to kiss her. He’d never touched skin so soft, nor tasted lips so sweet.
How could he ever leave Windermere without her? How could he possibly have thought to wed her to Nicholas or any other man?
Life had been so simple before, when he’d passed his days in numb resignation. Siân changed all that. He was not indifferent. He was no longer satisfied existing in an isolated shell on the fringes of society. He needed Siân.
And, equally important, Siân needed him.
Hugh decided he would send a message to Clairmont immediately, to withdraw his proposal to Marguerite. It was clear that the lady did not particularly favor him—she’d been more than a little reluctant to agree to a marriage between them—and Hugh didn’t doubt she’d be glad of the reprieve. There had to be another man who would be better suited as her husband, and Hugh had no doubt that Marguerite would release him from his proposal.
And he would be free to take Siân to Alldale, to wed her there, and make her his countess.
While the others talked, Hugh mulled over the things Siân said to him in the chapel and marveled at her common sense. He realized belatedly that she was right. He’d been an overproud, petulant fool not to have seen it.
Siân’s experience at Wrexton’s hands had given her an insight most women would never have. She understood what it was to have friends whose lives were in danger; she knew the risks of standing up for them, of trying a dangerous ploy to accomplish what needed to be done.
And he didn’t doubt his fearless lady would do it again if necessary, though he fully intended to keep her safe and protected in the future. She would never again have reason to be frightened or to worry for the safety of her friends.
Hugh’s hands fairly itched with the need to touch her again. Without doubt, Siân had given him life again. With her honesty and ready smile, she had won him a hundred times over. Carrying a babe in her arms, or kicking a ball in a courtyard, dressed like a princess or in the rough clothes of a townswoman, Siân Tudor was a treasure. A woman without equal in his heart.
He couldn’t imagine what made him think he could endure a life with Marguerite Bradley. Hugh realized now that the staid and demure Marguerite would never have been able to reawaken his manhood, his pride. He’d have done his duty by her, forever believing he was less than a man, that he’d betrayed Wolf, that his only value was as the protector of Clairmont.
Hugh thanked God that he crossed Siân Tudor’s path that day in the woods…that he’d been able to keep her from harm when the boar attacked.
“…it was that idiot Welshman that did it!” Beaufort shouted as he slammed down his cup, interrupting Hugh’s thoughts and nearly shaking him out of his chair.
“What of the Welshman?” Hugh asked, frowning. His thoughts had been so far from the discussion at hand that he hadn’t followed a bit of it, though he had no doubts of the Welshman’s identity.
“That damnable fool, Tudor, insulted Wrexton, who has no fondness for the Welsh in any case,” Beaufort said. “Wrexton ran off at the mouth about Tudor and his ‘high’ position in the queen’s household…”
Well, Hugh had no great liking for Owen Tudor, either, but Wrexton should have been more circumspect if he had any hope of winning Queen Catherine’s hand. It was well known that Catherine favored Owen, and would stand for no insult to the man.
“Spouted off about Tudor’s ‘traitor’ sister, too,” Beaufort continued. “Is she here, by chance?”
“What about his sister?” Hugh asked ominously.
He made a disparaging noise. “Some cock-and-bull story about a…a…” The bishop’s eyes went hazy for a moment. “By God’s Cross, his tale doesn’t bear repeating.”
“Why did Wrexton not accompany you here?” Hugh asked, painfully aware of the tale Wrexton must have told at Clairmont.
“He did, but he left for the coast immediately,” Beaufort said. Then he looked around uncomfortably at the assemblage. “He, uh…”
Hugh and everyone else knew then that Beaufort’s plans had run completely aground. There would be no marriage between Wrexton and the queen, and Wrexton was, even now, running to the coast with his tail between his legs, in some haste to return to his own estates. The earl could not afford the wrath of the council, of which Wolf was a powerful member. If word got out of Wrexton’s collusion wi
th Beaufort, there could be repercussions.
“Why to the coast?” Wolf asked. “Why would Wrexton not remain at Windermere for the night?”
“His, uh, ship is harbored at Morecambe Bay,” Beaufort replied. “He was anxious to return home.”
“By way of Morecambe Bay?” Hugh asked, relieved that the man was nowhere near Windermere. He did not wish to risk a confrontation between Siân and the cruel nobleman. “I had the impression his estate was south…on the Welsh border.”
“What do I know of it?” Beaufort replied, irritated by all the questions. “He fancies himself a sailor. He’ll travel by sea to some port near home, then ride inland the rest of the way.”
Wolf shrugged. Men of means often preferred to travel by ship when convenient. It was possible to reduce travel time, especially when traveling through craggy, mountainous regions. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me,” he said as he stood. “The hour grows old and there is a newborn in my chamber. Have no doubt that I will be present to greet the dawning sun to my son’s raucous tune.”
Hugh stood to take his own leave as the men chuckled at Wolf’s words. He went to Siân’s room again and knocked, but she was not there. Rubbing the back of his neck, he went down to the rooms Kit and Wolf shared, and tapped lightly. Wolf opened the door.
“Is Siân here?” Hugh asked.
“No,” Wolf said with a quick shake of his head. “And Kit’s asleep.”
Puzzled, Hugh headed down the back steps of the castle and went out the door into the black night. He made his way through the courtyard and garden, then reached the little chapel that was partially concealed by trees and foliage.
“Siân!”
There was no answer to his call.
Worried now, Hugh went into the chapel and lit a candle to illuminate the empty stone room. What could have happened? he wondered. Where would she have wandered? And as he pondered that question, an image of Wrexton came to mind, and Beaufort’s information about the earl and his ship.
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