“Today, I believe.”
Her budding smile crashed into a moue of surprise. “But … that soon?”
“Do not wait. When they take me, return to your time. And … I will be with you soon.”
It would be soon for her. For him it would be centuries. The darkness of that thought threatened to swallow him, but he held it at bay, unwilling to spend this time with her mourning what was to come.
“I’ll go soon after … after.”
He knew it was hard for her to contemplate; her stammered promise told him as much.
As she sat atop him, he never took his eyes or his hands away from her. He wanted to remember every little detail; the way the dress bared her shoulders and her breasts, the way her disheveled hair fanned around her like spun gold. Her delicacy, her passion, her boldness.
“You make me so very happy, sweethot.”
“You’ve only begun to know the extent of how happy I intend to make you,” she whispered.
Catching her around the waist, he pressed up and rolled them again, leaning down to kiss her as she gasped at the suddenness of his movement. “I believe that,” he said before he rolled up and rose to stand. “There is something I must do.”
When he glanced back, she had propped on an elbow to watch him cross the room. Stripping the chain from his torso, he discarded the leather doublet next and tossed it over a chair, leaving him in a flowing white shirt damp in spots from his exertion. He fixed the front of his breeches and after retrieving his sword, Sebastian strode to the door and opened it, motioning one of his men inside. The young man’s face registered surprise, but he stepped in, standing at attention.
“Take this to Darkthorne castle and keep it safe,” he commanded the young squire in a quiet voice, handing him the sword.
“But my lord, your sw--”
“See to it man,” he cut in, clapping the boy on the shoulder to soften his momentary sharpness. “Go, quick now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The squire bowed his head and quit the room.
By the time Sebastian returned to Laurel, she had moved to sit at the edge of the bed. She looked tousled, fresh from a lover’s tryst -- which she was.
“Will you stay here until they come for you?” she asked, staring up at him with luminous eyes.
“I will not leave you. But you should hide when the time comes, lest you be accused of something and end up in the tower beside me,” he cautioned. Regardless of the gravity of his words, he tumbled her back on the bed with a laugh, snaking a hand beneath her skirt. She made a noise that sounded like a purr, and he grinned as her hand threaded up through his dark hair. Tender, loving.
Something in him told him it would not be long now, the minutes ticking away too fast. He could not be sad when he knew in some form he would go on. In some form he would have her again, with all the time in the world to spend.
God worked in mysterious ways.
Neither would he let her see him maudlin and bested in these moments. Rather he wanted her to remember him like this. As a man, alive, strong, and brave in the face of imminent torture.
He was stretched atop her, languidly touching and kissing when the knock came fifteen minutes later. Laurel's sated, languorous expression melted into one of instant fear. Her eyes went round and her fingers clutched his shoulders.
“A moment,” he called.
“No,” she breathed.
Sebastian ran his finger across her lips to silence her protests. “Shh, sweethot. It will be all right. I love you,” he whispered near her ear.
“And I love you, Sebastian,” she said, cutting off a sob before it could break free.
Rolling to a stand, he helped her up and pressed a last, sweet kiss against her mouth. Leaning back, he cupped her cheek while they stared at each other for a long moment.
“Hide, darling,” he said, urging her to a darker alcove where she would be hidden from the men.
With obvious reluctance, she released her hold on his arms and hurried to the niche, pressing deep into the shadows.
When she was out of view, he stalked to the door, threw back the bolt and opened it to see Charles Brandon standing on the other side. They had been childhood friends and Charles looked displeased about his current mission. With the King’s guard standing at his back, Brandon spoke formally.
“I come in the King’s name to remove you to the tower, Thorn. On charges of --”
“…high treason,” Sebastian provided with a wry grin. “No need to bind me, Suffolk. I will come along peacefully,” he said with an elegant inclination of his head.
He glanced back only once to the bed when Brandon stepped aside and gestured him into the corridor.
Chapter Nineteen
She didn't know how long she huddled in the alcove of Sebastian's chamber, sobbing into her hands. An hour, maybe two. The psychological trauma of knowing he faced days of torture made it difficult to think. Despair crashed onto the shore of her self control, eroding sanity and reason until she felt raw and hollow. Hours of mental preparation meant nothing when she knew he was in the hands of men with souls as black as the devil's own heart.
Thunder cracked across the sky as if a fist hammered the heavens, jarring her out of her haze. Scooting up the wall, she knuckled her cheeks and took a deep breath. Her body ached, a constant reminder of their recent passion. Their last encounter as mortals.
She glanced around the corner of her hiding spot into the main chamber and found it empty. Stepping from the shadows, taking hold of the amulet in her fingers, she advanced on the door. Halfway there, the enormous, rumpled bed snagged her attention. A breath caught in her throat. Hot, sensual images raced through her mind.
Sebastian.
Even now they were probably strapping him to a chair or a table, ready to force his confession with unthinkable devices and schemes.
Don't think about it anymore. Just go.
Sebastian would be there waiting in 2009 and they could put all this agony behind them. Pausing well before the door, she glanced at his bureau and the armor hanging on pegs nearby. So many personal things. Drawn to them, she let her fingers glide over the cool metal and the carved surface of a private box. His strength and power seemed to emanate from every object, making her fingers tingle.
A low, eerie moan rode the wild storm and whipped into the room through the window. Laurel frowned, stricken by the thought it was Sebastian. Impossible. She wouldn't be able to hear anything from the tower.
Still, she had the urgent desire to go to him, to be moral support. To help him. She didn't want him to suffer alone. The thought became an idea and the idea turned into a plan. It was risky to stay behind but she knew it was the right decision.
She felt it all the way to her soul.
Suspecting Sebastian's apartments might be searched soon now that he'd been arrested, she investigated the box on his dresser and a few of his drawers for money. She found a handful of silver coins in a small, velvet pouch and helped herself to five, unsure exactly how much she might need.
Departing his chamber with one final, agonized glance, she stepped into the hall. Sebastian's man bowed but she had nothing to give. No smiles, no nods. Navigating the corridors, she found her way to her room. Finding it empty--Katherine was probably locked in gossip elsewhere about all the arrests--she closed the door and sat on the cot. Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed a knot that kept forming in the back of her throat.
Eventually she slept, curled into a tight ball, the blue dress a shocking splash of color in the otherwise dank, dark space.
Over the next six days days, she set her plan into motion. While she had access to Anne's chamber, in the guise of doing her 'duties', she stole two pieces of Anne's personal paper and her seal. She took it before Anne could be arrested in case the ladies in waiting were barred from her rooms.
Laurel knew what the consequences would be if she was caught. It did not deter her.
She jotted out a fake note and signed it with Anne's sig
nature, using the seal on a few drippings of melted wax. When she was done, she returned the seal to Anne's desk before anyone noticed it missing. There was so much chaos and upheaval in the castle that her coming and going wasn't watched as closely as it might have been otherwise.
Later in the great hall, she played the shocked lady in waiting whenever anyone asked about the rash of arrests, feigning ignorance about the rumors. She had the hardest time when Sebastian's name was mentioned and struggled not to get upset in front of the women. It was paramount that she kept the subterfuge going and only reminding herself of the grand plan helped keep her emotions at bay.
She siphoned information out of Katherine every chance she got, gaining knowledge about the castle and the guards and the tower.
At night she agonized and sometimes cried, her imagination running wild over Sebastian's torture. She remembered that he'd been so badly beaten he couldn't even walk to his own execution. What horrors had been visited upon him? What nightmares, what injuries?
On the afternoon of the seventh day she heard whispers in the hallways that Sebastian's execution had been set for the following morning. Nobles and courtiers stood in stunned groups, heads bent together, frowns on their brows. The Duke of Darkthorne's friends, and he had many, disapproved of the King's orders. Their whispers never reached Henry's ears, of course.
The entire ordeal made her sick.
Laurel went back to the room when she couldn't take any more of the conjecture and allegations. She changed into a cream dress with burgundy accents, donned a dark cloak, and filled the pockets with everything she needed. She pulled the hood up to cover her pale hair.
When night fell, she left the castle by way of the kitchens and walked across the grounds toward a stand of trees. A young man waited with a wagon that she'd prearranged to drive her to the Tower. He asked no questions, believing her to be on royal business, and helped her into the seat. On the way, hugging the cloak around her body, she went over her plan one more time in her mind. It had to work. If it didn't, she might wind up arrested for treason.
The risks didn't outweigh the benefits.
Determined to see it through to whatever end, she endured the jolting ride and steeled herself for the acting job of her life. The initial guard had to be convinced that her lies were the truth or the game was over. Somewhere along the way, a strange calm came over her. A heavy pall that cloaked most of her fear. Ahead, Sebastian sat in a room, waiting to die, and her determination to bring him even a small amount of peace from the pain was stronger than ever.
Accepting the aid of the driver when they arrived, she climbed to the ground. She set two coins in his palm, hoping against hope that it would be enough. His eyes went round and he bowed.
“Wait here. I will return shortly,” she said in a crisp, no nonsense voice.
“Yes, my lady.” The coins disappeared into his pocket and he took up a position near the wagon.
Facing the enormous building, she sent up a silent prayer, crossed the wooden bridge that straddled the moat, and approached the first guard. He stood in front of a tall, wrought iron gate. Setting her shoulders, lifting her chin, she pulled the note from the pocket of her cloak and flashed the seal at the man.
"I am on the queen's business," she said with authority. Only a select few people knew why the men had been arrested recently. The semantics of 'treason' hadn't been explained, and no one realized yet that Anne's own arrest would be next. Lucky for Laurel, because it gave her a good reason to be here.
He glanced at the seal and then her face. They made brief eye contact and she arched a brow. Without any questions or detaining her further, the guard opened the gate. Laurel breathed a small sigh of relief. The first hurdle was over.
Walking on like she knew what she was doing and where she was going, she advanced on a large door recessed into the stone wall and pulled it open. A hinge screamed, echoing through the night. She stepped inside and adjusted her hood, making sure her hair was covered. It bought her a few seconds to try and orient herself. Spaced far apart, the candlelight cast a mellow glow over the opening to several corridors and a creepy staircase on her right leading up. Her skirts whispered over the dirty stone as she ascended.
The smell of sweat and blood and other bodily fluids didn't quite overpower the wet, damp scent that hung in the air. A sense of foreboding threatened to unnerve her, as if death itself lurked in the shadowy corners. She had to ask another guard directions to Darkthorne's cell, taking care to sound almost impatient to be done with her chore.
In the final hallway, she came upon another guard standing to the side of a heavy door. A thick piece of wood and metal kept the prisoner locked inside. Laurel took the same tone, lifting her chin while flashing Anne's seal.
"I am here on the queen's business."
The guard frowned and leaned closer to eye the seal. "I was not informed the Duke was allowed visitors--"
Laurel cut him off, gaze flinty in the gloom. "I am no visitor. Unless you would like to personally tell the King that you denied his queen her business, then I suggest you open the door." She counted on Henry's unpredictable actions of late to help sway the man. Few people, men or women, wanted to get on the King's bad side.
The guard only hesitated a moment before he hefted the wooden bar out of the way and swung the door open.
"I will summon you when I have delivered her missive," she said, stepping into the room.
The guard grunted and closed the door with a thump behind her.
Laurel put the note away and pushed back the hood of her cloak, frowning at the smell. Her eyes went straight to a pathetic cot against the grimy wall and the man who lay broken and bloody upon it. Even from there she could see he was naked barring a tiny scrap of stained cloth draped over his hips. Burns and bruises and lashes marked his skin in too many places to count, his wrists caught in iron manacles behind his whipped back. Blood oozed out of festering wounds that looked infected and irritated.
Sebastian tried to turn over when he heard the door, his face beaten into almost unrecognizable lumps. "Come for more, Cromwell?" he said, voice cracked and rasping.
A wave of protectiveness and pride washed over her. Even now, he refused to grovel and beg. He meant to face them with whatever dignity he had left.
Taking slow, small steps, she crossed the room. At the edge of the cot, she knelt into a square of moonlight falling in through a high, lone window. Her cloak stretched behind her like the train on a bridal gown. The anxiety and anger in her expression shifted into love and compassion.
"They have abused you badly, my lord, and still you meet them with defiance. The man I love is a lion among men," she whispered. His eyes were so swollen, she wasn't sure he could see her.
She knew he became aware of her when he flinched and drew his thigh forward like he meant to cover his genitals, trying to hide the damage. Laurel could guess that he might be embarrassed or chagrined to have her see him this way, that he had wanted her to remember him as the man who'd taken her with such power and masterful skill in his chamber. She loved him then, and she loved him now. So much that she risked her own life to be here in these final hours bringing what little comfort she could. She couldn't abandon him to his fate and allow him to spend this last night alone.
A bloody tear leaked from the corner of his ruined eye and she impulsively reached out to catch it with the tip of her finger, bringing it to her lips to kiss.
"Sweethot." The endearment quivered on the air.
"Worry not," she said, trying to reassure him. "For I have already seen you thus. You showed it to me once in a dream." Laurel wanted him to know that his present state did not make him any less of a man in her eyes. He would always be larger than life, full of virile power and passion. From another pocket she took a damp cloth and blotted it with care over his face and forehead, appalled at what Cromwell's men had done.
He shivered, the manacles clanking against the dry straw.
"Remember that I love you a
lways," she said.
"…and I you." He scraped the words past the chattering edge of his teeth.
She could see he watched her past the puffy slits of his eyes. Bathed in moonglow, she pocketed the cloth and took out a small bible, spreading it open in her hands to a marked page. This had been part of her preparation. Her voice was soft and soothing as she read.
"Then the King commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into the den of lions. Thy God whom thou servest, he will deliver thee." Laurel saw another bloody tear trickle toward his hairline. She continued to read, the book open in her hands, gaze flickering from the text to his face often. Twenty minutes later his body went slack and his eyes closed, and she knew he'd succumbed to unconsciousness. Laurel had no doubt that he swam in and out of lucidity on a constant basis and she felt blessed and lucky to have had these precious few minutes with him.
Mortal Sebastian was gone from her forever.
Leaning over, she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. "I love you."
Rising, she closed the bible and tucked it away. Drawing up the hood, she gazed down at his battered body, seeing not a broken man but the confident, strong knight who'd stolen her soul.
Turning away, she went to the door and knocked to be let out. She said nothing to the guard, thankful for the hood that cast dark shadows across her face. Holding onto her control by sheer force of will, she found her way out and crossed the bridge to the wagon. Climbing up with the help of the squire, she kept her face averted and endured the ride back to the castle in strained silence.
Halfway across lawn between the trees and the Whitehall, the eerie calm that had gripped her in Sebastian's cell gave way to horrible, heartbroken sobs. She knew she should use the amulet and go back tonight. Right now. The urge to see him in the future was overwhelming.
When she got back to the small room she shared with Katherine, who was already asleep on her cot, Laurel decided that she would make one final show of support before departing.
In the morning, right after his execution, she would go home.
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