Both Captain Jack and Nathaniel politely turned away after Nathaniel passed her another of the captain’s shirts.
“Have you climbed a tree before?” Cat asked, helping lower the gown off Ekua, so she could shrug into the shirt.
“Yes, with my brother.”
“The duchess?” Captain Jack asked. “Queen Catherine knew you would be climbing a ship’s rigging?”
Ekua stepped out of her skirts and tied the tunic at her throat. “She knew that I must be prepared when accompanying a Highland Rose.”
Cat turned so Ekua could help her unlace her stays under the mantua she’d shucked. Whipping the stays away, she threw off her smock and pulled the shirt over her head.
Jack peered through the glass. “Out the door and up the rigging, ladies. They are starting up the gangplank.”
Cat grabbed a quill on the desk and quickly tied her hair up in a bun, shoving the feather through to secure it as she’d lost her hair stick fighting at the first ship. “Keep your hair and face covered as best ye can,” she said to Ekua and turned to the young girls. “Stay with Captain Jack’s men until the soldiers leave, even if they find us.”
“Where will they take you?” Mouse’s brows lowered in worry, tinged with anger.
“Hopefully just to Whitehall, where ye can ask for Mistress Jane. Even if…” Cat glanced at Nathaniel. “Even if I am not able to get ye to the Highland Roses School, Mistress Jane Pitney will do so.”
Nathaniel nodded his agreement, and relief allowed Cat to swallow as she followed him out the door.
Jack and Nathaniel led them between rows of cargo, several of the sailors stopping to stare. Jack waved them off and held a finger to his lips. Hopefully his men were loyal.
One of the masts had metal spikes sticking out of it, rising all the way up. “Climb as far as ye can go,” Cat whispered in Ekua’s ear. “Into the topcastle,” she said, pointing at the underside of the small, circular platform encircling the thick mast two thirds of the way up the soaring spire. “Do not look down or at the deck or the river or at any of the men.” Ekua nodded and grabbed the spikes. “I will be behind ye.”
Nathaniel’s hand rested on her arm, and she turned toward him. His clear blue eyes were troubled. “I am sorry,” he said, shucking out of his jacket to lay it around her shoulders. “For all and anything.” He helped her pull the long sleeves over the linen shirt she had borrowed, rolling up the cuffs, the warmth and essence of him infusing her immediately. He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Whatever you do, stay safe.”
His words sounded like a farewell. Did she want to say goodbye to Nathaniel, leave him, perhaps on this ship, never to see him again, never to untangle the mess between them? The thought of never teasing or talking to or battling with or…loving him again made the muscles in her chest contract like someone was clenching their fist around her heart.
She cleared her throat, her right foot stepping onto the first rung. “I require more than that when this is over, Worthington.” She turned to face the sealed pine mast. “A lass likes sweets, flowers, daggers, jewels, a horse…” She didn’t glance back but climbed, not knowing if he heard her whispers or not.
Wrapping hands around the iron spikes, she scaled the mast. Ekua was two body-lengths ahead of her, her black hair hidden like Cat’s, under a sailor’s dingy cap, the length hanging over one shoulder before her to hide it from the guards. Hopefully they wouldn’t even look up. What woman would dare to climb to the top of a ship’s sail? She snorted softly to herself. One who’d been looking out for herself for a long time. One who was strong and proud to be a Highland Rose.
Catching up to her quickly, she noticed that Ekua was trembling. “Keep climbing,” she whispered. Would the two of them on the mast together call the guards’ attention?
“It sways,” she said.
“Like the branch of a strong tree, but it will not break. One handhold, one step, at a time.”
Cat let the princess climb up slowly first, so they wouldn’t be seen clumped together. Stepping with nimble confidence, she followed her into the top castle. Ekua was inside, flattening herself against the curved planks that made up the short wall. Cat pressed against the opposite one. They remained there, crouched down in their trousers, knees bent up to the chins.
“They will not look here,” Ekua said, though her mouth pinched tight.
Cat nodded. “We will wait.” She glanced down the hole to see Nathaniel stuffing their petticoats into a barrel. Jack had walked to meet the soldiers, and the girls were nowhere in sight. With a last glance up, Nathaniel strode around to the far end of the deck as if he were walking from the upper deck and came forward to meet James’s soldiers.
She couldn’t hear what was being said with the wind rushing around to snap the slack in the tied sails and vibrate the lines. The soldier pointed off the ship where his horse stood with Stella.
“Mo chreach,” she whispered, watching as the armed soldiers took Nathaniel off the ship. At least six more boarded, briskly inspecting all the decks and below into the hull. None of them passed more than a cursory glance above at the rigging.
Trotting off the ship, the soldiers took Stella and Gaspar with them as they led Nathaniel, along the docks to the street beyond, likely back to Whitehall Palace. Would they accuse him of helping Ekua escape? Saying that the horses were found together, proving that Nathaniel had been with them?
Would it be his word against Lord and Esther Stanton’s about the princess’s guilt? Heaviness pressed in on Cat’s chest, making it hard to draw breath.
Ekua’s hand reached across to land on her knee, and Cat lifted her gaze to hers. “The eyes show the soul,” Ekua said. “There is love in them.”
Did Nathaniel love her?
Cat dipped her nose into the warmth of his jacket, breathing in. I will never let you jump rashly into danger. I cannot. Do you understand me? It was not so much his words that had caught at her heart, making it thump. It was his tone, heavy with regret and… Could it still be love?
She squeezed her lips tight, blinking slightly at the unexpected moisture in her eyes. “I…I do not know what is in his eyes.”
A gentle smile raised the corners of Ekua’s mouth. “I’m talking about your soul. I see love there, and love heals the festering wounds of anger.”
Cat pressed her mouth against her knees. “’Tis hard to feel past anger.”
“With whom are you angry?” the princess asked, glancing down the hole where Jack stood casually at the bottom, watching the last of the soldiers leave the dock.
Hadn’t she heard her discussion with the duchess? “Nathaniel didn’t tell me that he commanded—”
“The obvious answer is rarely the right answer,” Ekua interrupted and squeezed her knee. “Who tore a hole in your heart?” After a moment, Ekua pushed to stand, her hands going to the sides of the topcastle. She glanced down, took a steadying breath, and whispered what sounded like a prayer in her beautiful language.
Cat stared at the grain in the curved wooden side before her, focusing on a large knot, which had darkened with weather. She’d been angry for a long time now, since her father was killed. Nay, before that. She closed her eyes for a moment, the distant memory of weeping in the wind that blew over the edge of the enclosed platform. Who tore a hole in your heart? She wiped at a tear that leaked out of her eye. Her mother’s face slack with hopelessness despite all Cat’s efforts to bring a smile to her. Her father’s grimace and curses of frustration. Damnation. She breathed out long, willing the low-simmering fury that she’d had all her life out with it. It was a start.
Her fingers curled around the lip of the topcastle, her nails digging in for a moment as she stared out toward Whitehall. She was a Highland Rose, the most lethal and brave of lasses. With a new plan in place, Cat lowered her foot to the first rung down.
…
“You tore from the palace like the devil fleeing the crucifix,” James said, his face red, his heavy brows lowere
d. “Without my permission. You dare abandon me again?”
Nathaniel stood before the king, tamping down his annoyance like he used to do standing before his father. His time away from court, living in the freedom of the Highlands, had stripped away his tolerance for men being as peevish as a child who had been deprived of a new pony. “Your majesty, I have served the crown with loyalty, both for your brother and yourself. I would that you trusted me to act in your interest.”
James frowned even fiercer. “Yet you would have abandoned me in the gardens had Lady Campbell not appeared to show she was alive and healthy.”
Nathaniel glanced to the queen. “Would not your husband do the same to ensure your safety?”
Queen Mary allowed a slight smile and folded her hands together, her many rings catching the candlelight in the formal room. “I would pray so.”
James threw himself back in his chair as he glared at Nathaniel. “She is my wife and the queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland, not some female Highland warrior whom I had bedded.”
The kindling of rage within Nathaniel shot through him, an inferno that would see him directly to the executioner’s block if he hadn’t had years of practice in dealing with his father. So, it would seem that Benjamin Worthington would save his son’s life after all.
“Lady Catriona Campbell is…” He paused. What was Cat to him? Lover, angel, temptress. She had captured his mind from the moment he’d first seen the perfect spattering of freckles across her face. She had captured his need from the moment she’d responded to his feverish kiss. She had captured his respect when she’d awkwardly climbed upon a feisty horse, riding all day without excuse. She’d won his admiration when she’d risked her life to save a drowning orphan. She’d stolen his breath when she’d revealed her lovely form to him before the fire.
And his heart?
It had nearly cleaved its way from his chest when he thought she might sail away from him forever.
“Well, Lord Worthington, what is it?” James asked impatiently, his fingers tapping the arm of his throne in agitation.
From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw movement, and his heart began to pound as relief unfurled throughout him. Cat. His face turned toward her, and he sucked in a full breath as if the sight of her was an icy cool ale after a fierce battle. Her red and gold braid snaked down over one shoulder. Long legs ensconced in curve-skimming black trousers, strode with purpose down the center aisle. Still wearing a flowing white sailor’s shirt under his large jacket, she walked through the press of guards and paunchy men toward him.
Nathaniel filled his lungs as hope teased him. She’d returned. “Lady Catriona Campbell…” his voice rang out, “is a valuable Highland Rose, a unique, brave, and beautiful person, and…I hold her in utmost esteem.”
Cat stopped, her face giving away nothing of her thoughts. Valuable, unique, beautiful, utmost esteem.
She churned the words over in her mind. Did the words combine to equal love? The intense look in his gaze said they did. Her breath came shallow and fast, and not just because she’d run all the way back to Whitehall and practically had to slit a guard’s throat to get back inside.
Nathaniel turned to the king, and she marveled at the broad muscles in his back, his strength so evident through the thin linen of his shirt. She still wore his jacket, the smell and warmth of him wrapped around her.
“I, therefore, would risk treason to ensure her safety,” he said.
James sat forward in his chair, an ugly bent to his mouth, but before he could open it, Queen Mary laid her hand upon his arm. There was a shine in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips.
“Your majesty,” she said. “James.” He glanced at her, anger still contorting his face. “The heart changes one’s loyalty, does it not? Making one do things for their love that the ministers of government and officials of the realm advise against.” She, of course, spoke of James converting to Catholicism to worship beside her even though his country found outrage in it.
James sank back into his throne, taking her hand in his to bring it to his lips for a kiss. Mary smiled gently, love in her eyes for the man who acted as her husband above his desire to placate his future parliament. He cleared his throat, turning back to stare at Nathaniel, his voice booming out.
“Come closer, both of you,” James said, beckoning them. Cat strode forward past Nathaniel. He followed, standing next to her. James cleared his throat, his voice booming. “For your insubordination in allowing Princess Ekua of the Ashanti Empire of West Afrika to escape when she could be part of an assassination plot against me and my queen, I am stripping you of your position leading the King’s Guard here in London. In fact, I am banishing you from London.” He pointed his finger at Nathaniel in a jabbing motion. “Go back to Scotland.”
Cat’s breath caught in her chest, her hands clenching into fists as if she could hold onto James’s decree.
The king sat back in his chair, but then leaned forward again. “And I am giving Hollings Estate to your sisters, Viscount Worthington. You have nothing but your title…” James looked past him to Cat. “And your Highland Rose.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If she will go with you.”
The whole room seemed to shift their eyes to her as if waiting for her answer. Was James asking her if she was loyal to Nathaniel, if she loved him? The silence grew until Cat cleared her throat. Nathaniel turned toward her, a pained look on his hard features.
When she didn’t answer, he turned back to the king. “Lady Campbell—” Nathaniel started.
“Will answer for herself,” James interrupted, each word a snap in annoyance.
Cat looked past Nathaniel directly to the king and queen. “I have not yet heard a question,” she said, her face a mask of strength and apathetic forbearance that hopefully hid the trembling inside her, a fluttering as if her heart wished to take flight in fear of being slashed mortally with Nathaniel’s words or lack of them.
Queen Mary gestured toward Nathaniel. “The lady requires your question to give you an answer.” She turned a gold ring on her finger lovingly, and Cat glimpsed the deep etching of a rose in the surface. “Do you not agree Lord Worthington?”
The room was full, some even coming in from the gallery beyond. Lucy Kellington and Francis Wickley edged around toward the front, and the duchess herself stood half-hidden in an alcove off the side. The men in the room had been friends with Nathaniel’s father, noblemen from bloodlines that went back before Henry Tudor from what Jane had taught her.
They loved only governmental procedure, expensive bourbon, and the stale laughter of their fellow parliamentary prigs when they passed a cutting remark against another. They thought love and sentiment foolish and were obviously judging Nathaniel as lacking. Did he feel the crush of their derision?
He took a step closer to Cat, turning toward her. “Catriona Campbell,” he said, drawing her gaze. She didn’t smile, nor frown, just looked at his handsome face. “I…have nothing except my name and title and must now rely upon my sisters’ generosity until I can find suitable employment.”
Did his heart pound within him like hers? Blast it all. She was almost trembling.
Cat had climbed a tree to cut her mother down from hanging. She’d evaded a cruel English soldier bent on rape. She’d fought rough, desperate men to save Queen Catherine. She’d won the life of a three-hundred-pound wild boar. And she’d battled courtiers and assassins to save herself, Nathaniel, and a king. None of that had caused her heart to flip as wildly as it was now, her stomach and mind churning, and her breath a mere thread of exchange keeping her from disgracing herself with a swoon.
“But,” he began again. “I offer you my protection and my name.”
Was that a request for marriage? Her lips opened slowly as she clasped her fists tightly against her legs. “I can protect myself, and I have a name.”
It was as if they stood together on a narrow limb high above the earth, staring into each other’s eyes. The wrong words might knock
her to the ground. Cat inhaled and took two steps forward to stand directly in front of him. Around her, the courtiers and king and queen seemed to fade away. Only he remained in focus. She reached out her hand, and saw it tremble, yet she pressed forward to lay it palm open on his heart. His skin was warm through the linen of his shirt, a balm to her chilled hands. Could he feel her quake?
“What I want,” Cat said, her lips moving slowly. “What I want is your love, Nathaniel Worthington. If ye give me that, I will take your name.”
Nathaniel’s hard mouth relaxed, and his eyes closed for a moment as he exhaled. He ran a hand up through his hair and sucked in a breath, and the edge of his mouth tipped upward into a smile.
A joyous tightening leaped up inside her with it, and a little grin grew on Cat’s lips as she continued. “And I will support ye until ye can find some suitable employment.” She took a half step closer. “I hear that the Highland Roses School is still looking for a sheep farmer.”
He stared into her eyes. “Buin mo chridhe dhuit,” he said, his English accent sliding along the Gaelic words with the conviction of truth. “I love you, Cat Campbell.” He drew her into him, and before everyone in the court, he kissed her. The lightness of joy rushed within her, making her dizzy with the pounding of her heart.
Nathaniel’s hands came up to her face, cupping her cheeks, as their lips melted together. Far from a chaste peck before the onlookers, he slid against her in a kiss that promised a lifetime of passion and love. He pulled back gently, and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze.
His look was serious. “Cat, I cannot promise you that I will never be taken from you as the world is unkind to mortals, but know that as long as blood courses through my body, my heart will never leave you.”
The press of tears ached in Cat’s eyes, and she let them leak out as she smiled, reaching up to touch Nathaniel’s face. “I love ye, Nathaniel Worthington.”
His powerful arms drew her into his warmth, and she saw Queen Mary rise behind them with gentle applause. Cat’s laughter bubbled out as the rest of the room filled with the sound of clapping. When she looked out at the throng of paunchy parliamentarians, several actually looked pleased, and Lucy raised up on her toes in her excitement, her smile huge. Even Francis waved her handkerchief in celebration.
The Wicked Viscount Page 30