Anne again glanced at Kit. Excitement filled his gaze. The queen, herself, would draw out the accusation against Lady Montmercy.
“Madame,” the lord raised his head, his brow creased in anger. The sun had set far enough to turn his bald pate a ruddy hue. “I again protest this whole inquisition. None of my accusers are fit rank to bring a charge against me.”
Elizabeth’s chin lifted as her brows rose. “It was our maid, a young woman under our protection, upon whom you left your bruises. The charge you face comes from this chair,” her index finger drilled into the chair’s arm, “and nowhere else.”
The nobleman gave an angry toss of his head as his lip curled in scorn. “I’d have left no bruises if Your Grace’s maid had been as forthcoming with her favors to me as she has been to Master Hollier. I say she got no more than she deserved for toying with me,” Deyville snarled, throwing his own accusation.
Once again Amyas’s cry rang out, but it was Elizabeth Anne faced. Fiery anger filled the queen’s dark eyes. “Have you lain with Master Hollier as Lord Deyville accuses?” This was no question.
Fear tore through Anne. Which would it be? Lie to her queen, or speak the truth and earn naught but ruin for it? Of a sudden Deyville’s earlier words echoed in her head. She straightened on her knees and looked boldly into her monarch’s face.
“Madame, I vow to you upon my mother’s life, whose existence I hold most dear, that I am the same woman now as I was the day Your Grace accepted me into your service.” The words filled the air around her, ringing with the truth, because they were.
“As for Master Hollier,” Anne again bowed her head against the possibility her royal mistress might read something she shouldn’t in her gaze, “he’s been naught but honorable in his behavior toward me. Not once has he forced a touch upon me or made any sly suggestion.” She coughed as she fell silent, daring to peer up from her meek pose at her monarch.
Elizabeth’s face was more relaxed as her gaze returned to the offending nobleman. “It appears you are mistaken about our maid’s morals, my lord. Now, how is it you knew where to meet Mistress Blanchemain?”
Lord Deyville’s spine was stiff. Outrage marked his expression at being thwarted in his attempt to turn accusation away from him. There was a long moment of silence.
“Speak, my lord.” ‘Twas a whipcrack of command.
“Lady Montmercy informed me of the maid’s destination and when to meet her there.”
Amyas’s gasp was deep and pained. Anne looked at her grandsire. His face was wan as he sagged back to sit on his heels, his lips moving as if in prayer.
“Why is it We’re not surprised to hear her name mentioned?” Elizabeth said, glancing from Anne to Kit. Anne watched the memory of the events surrounding Kit’s naming as Anne’s dancing tutor flashed through the queen’s eyes. Her sharpened interest showed as she turned her gaze upon Kit.
“Sir William,” the queen called to her secretary without looking up from her gentleman, “put your head outside the door and tell our page to bring the lady here. I think We must needs ask her a question or two.”
Anne’s knees grew numb as they waited. Elizabeth drummed her fingers against her chair’s arm, the tempo increasing as her impatience grew. Anne dared but once to glance at Kit. He tried to smile, but worry marred the attempt. As the sun settled into its bed for the night Mary set to lighting the many candles in their sconces and their branches.
At last the door opened. No sign of worry touched Lady Montmercy’s face as she stepped within and closed the door behind her. She glanced at the room’s occupants. Candlelight played against the jewels in her small cap and gleamed in her fair hair. Her ruff glowed like snow against skin only a little less pale.
When she was but a step into the room, she drifted down into a deep curtsy, her silken skirts flowing around her, her sapphire earbobs glinting. “Madame, you called for me?” the lady said, her head yet bent.
“Aye, my lady,” her monarch responded, her words chipped from ice. “We would know why it was you sent Lord Deyville to attack our maid.”
Anne eased to the side to better see the noblewoman. A wee frown touched the lady’s perfect brow as she shifted into a kneeling position. “Madame, I did no such thing.” The woman played her role to perfection. Rather than outrage, which might have been suspect, confusion filled every word.
Across from Anne, Kit loosed a bitter breath. Sour amusement twisted in her. Had he truly believed Lady Montmercy would walk into the room and admit all? She watched as he undid the middle buttons of his green doublet then pulled a small packet from against his shirt. At his sign, Mary came to take the fold of paper from him.
“Majesty,” he said, as Mary placed the paper into the royal hands for him, “perhaps this will help to clarify matters.”
The queen turned the packet in her hands, touching the wax that sealed it. “Whose signets are these?”
“Madame, they are mine and Lady Montmercy’s,” Kit replied.
Only then did Anne understand this must be Kit’s contract. Even as fear for him filled her, she glanced at Lady Montmercy. The noblewoman maintained her humble pose, head bent and eyes focused on her clasped hands.
“That cannot be, Madame,” the lady said without raising her head, a touch of sharpness to her tone. “I’ve never had occasion to use my signet when Master Hollier was present.”
“Is that so?” the queen replied. The faint line of her red brows rose. “Shall We look upon what it is you haven’t set your ring to?”
As she opened the paper, Mary stepped close with a branch of candles. The queen scanned the contract. Her breath hissed from her as she threw the paper from her.
“What is this foul thing!” The words dripped like venom from her lips. She glared at Kit.
He kept his neck bent. “Madame, there is no way to explain myself, save to say I was a desperate man, hounded by my creditors. My only defense is that after I signed that sheet I discovered myself incapable of doing as the lady required. To this end, Mistress Blanchemain has already attested. But the lady refused to release me, threatening vengeance if I didn’t comply.”
“This is so, Madame,” Master Wyatt seconded. “When I tried to repay the sum Lady Montmercy expended on Master Hollier’s behalf, she refused my coin.”
The queen’s gaze shifted to Lady Montmercy. “What have you to say of this?”
“Madame,” the woman said meekly, her head yet primly lowered, “I know nothing of what lays upon that paper. Ask anyone. I am barely acquainted with Master Hollier. I cannot imagine why the gentleman should go to such efforts to impugn me.”
“So you’d charge forgery, then?” Elizabeth’s expression stiffened. “You’d vow you never asked Master Hollier to take Mistress Blanchemain’s maidenhead in trade for the payment of his debts and the marriage of your daughter to Squire Nicholas Hollier?”
Master Wyatt made an odd gagging sound and wobbled on his knees. From the back of the room Anne’s grandfather’s voice rose to a keening cry. The sound was so terrible that Anne turned to look, fearing the same fit of madness that had taken him after her presentation. Moaning, he buried his face into his hands and rocked on his knees.
Sir William crouched down beside the old man. “Amyas, what is it?” he said, catching his former friend by the wrists to still his movement.
Amyas drew a shuddering breath and let his hands fall. Pain etched deeply into his face. His gaze was fixed on Lady Montmercy. The lady didn’t look up from studying her twined fingers.
“So does God strike another blow against me,” Amyas said with a shuddering breath. “She is a temptress, a Jezebel.” This was more aching cry than harsh accusation. “She drew me into sin. In retribution, our Heavenly Father has done to me as he did to Job, stripping me of all I held precious and more.”
Anne’s brows rose. Did he count the deaths of her sisters and her cousins as his payment, or was it only the loss of his manhood he bemoaned? She shot a glance at Kit. He met her ga
ze with astonishment at her grandsire’s blatant loss of control.
Elizabeth’s brows drew down, and her mouth tightened into a narrow line. “God’s teeth, what’s he babbling about, Sir William?” she demanded.
“I know naught, Your Grace,” her secretary said with a shrug as he returned to his feet.
Anne cleared her throat. “Madame,” she said, forcing the words from her throat, “I do. My grandsire and Lady Montmercy were intimate many years ago. I suspect he promised marriage to her upon her widowhood,” she said, editing Mistress Alice’s tale to protect Andrew. “When the lady became available he rejected her. Thus her plot. She seeks to wreak her vengeance on my grandfather through me.”
Lady Montmercy gave a single, sharp cry as she raised her head. Panic replaced her blankness. She pressed a fist to her chest. “You cannot know this,” the noblewoman cried, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Indeed I can,” Anne said. Despite the wrong the lady meant to do her and Kit, pity woke. There was no victory in revealing that the only one this lady yet trusted had betrayed her in order to foil the very vengeance she sought. “My lady, you’ve forgotten that Mistress Godwin was my mother’s governess before she came into your employ.”
“Nay,” the noblewoman whispered as horror shot through her blue gaze. Even as she understood she was revealed, her shoulders tensed in resistance. “This is but another lie.” What should have been a protest of outraged innocence was a shaken breath.
Elizabeth slammed her fist against her chair’s arm. “Will you say again, my lady, that you didn’t tell Lord Deyville where to make his attack against our maid? By what means did you ferret out that information?”
Lady Montmercy shivered as if suffering the ague. “Madame, I said nothing to Lord Deyville, nor do I have any means by which I would know where and when Mistress Anne might be.”
“Lying bitch,” the nobleman shouted at her, loud enough to make her flinch. “Tell Her Grace the truth! You overheard me speaking with the maid in the Presence Chamber, or so you said when you came this morn, offering the very opportunity I wanted.”
“Nay,” the lady cried out, control slipping from her grasp with this assault.
“Your Grace,” Kit said, addressing the queen even as he kept his gaze on the noblewoman, “she sought out Lord Deyville because I refused to comply with the terms of her contract.”
Lady Montmercy pressed her fists against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut as she sought to escape her accusers. “I know nothing of this, Madame.” Her voice shook like a leaf in a storm.
Elizabeth stood, every line of her body afire with outrage. “How dare you persist in your lies when it seems only you could have done this! Sir William, we’ll have her Tower-bound for planning the assault of one of our maids.”
A strangled sound left Lady Montmercy. She threw back her head. Her lips were drawn back into a vicious snarl, her pale cheeks blazing. Leaping to her feet, she turned on Sir Amyas.
“I loved you,” she shrieked, throwing herself across the space between them. Her fists fell. Even as Amyas cried out, he made no attempt to shield himself from her blows.
Sir William caught her from behind, holding her by the arms. “My lady, you must not,” he commanded her.
The noblewoman only leaned forward against his grip to put her face near Amyas’s. “I bore your son! How could you return and call me Delilah? You said what I felt for you was sin, and I must wipe you from my heart as you had removed me from yours.” As the last word dropped from her lips, she sagged against Sir William’s grasp, sobbing.
Anne’s heart broke for Andrew. She dared a glance at her royal mistress. Disappointment, not surprise, filled Elizabeth’s eyes. This could only mean the queen had suspected Andrew’s bastardy. Now, her hand would be forced by what the lad’s mother revealed.
“Take her from our presence,” Elizabeth commanded her secretary, her gaze shifting to the nobleman who’d been the lady’s accomplice. “Attempted rape of one of our maids is a serious matter. Lord Deyville, We command you on your honor to present yourself to the Tower, content to wait there for our decision as to your punishment. Leave us, and do no more harm to those around whom We have set our hand.”
Even as Deyville’s face twisted in rage, he yielded to his monarch’s command. “I am at your mercy, Your Grace.” Rising, he backed from his queen’s presence, until he could throw open the door and storm from the room.
Sir William turned. The yet sobbing Lady Montmercy lay limp against him as he bore her from the chamber. Mary followed to shut the door after them. When she’d closed it, she set her back against it and faced the room.
Amyas’s panting breaths echoed against the walls as he sat upon the floor. His legs were sprawled out before him. His head hung, his hands lay, open and upturned, in his lap. His shoulders shook.
It didn’t matter that her compassion might never be returned; Anne couldn’t bear his pain. “Madame,” she said to her royal mistress, “might I go to my grandsire?”
The promise of the coming storm darkened Elizabeth’s face. “Aye. See if you can settle his senses. We must speak with him as regards his son.”
Taking care to step backward until she reached her grandsire, Anne dropped to kneel beside him. Since her touch had once before stirred him from a similar state she lay her hand upon his shoulder. “Grandfather, you must gather your wits.”
He raised his head. His gaze was unfocused, his tears laid their tracks upon his stony cheeks. As Anne stroked her hand down his arm, a sigh escaped him. His gaze slowly centered on her.
“She set Lord Deyville to use you,” he muttered, “and I in my arrogance didn’t see the evil he intended.”
This was more apology than Anne ever expected from him. She offered a small smile. “Aye, but she failed. You must give your thanks to Master Hollier, who not only refused her evil, but stopped Lord Deyville from doing his,” she said, hoping the queen could hear her. It wouldn’t hurt to remind her royal mistress that Kit had contemplated wrongdoing, but done no wrong.
“Now, give your attention to our queen’s grace. She must speak with you about Lord Andrew Montmercy.”
The mention of Andrew’s name sent pain flowing through her grandfather’s gaze. Here was proof that he knew Andrew was his son. Anne bit at her lip, wishing there were aught she could do to stop the young lord’s destruction.
Amyas watched her as if seeking to decipher her reaction. Anne caught her breath. He wasn’t going to claim Andrew. Since he’d lost the title he so craved for his legitimate line, he meant to see his illegitimate line kept its peerage. A certain stiffness followed, as if he expected her protest.
Anne let the corners of her lips lift in approval. Surprise started in her grandfather’s gaze then his face softened. Lifting his hand, he touched his fingers to her cheek as if in thanks.
Anne’s smile grew. He offered her his acceptance, just as she’d given him hers. They weren’t much, these last two Blanchemains, but they were all they had.
Drawing a deep breath, Amyas struggled to right himself on his knees. Anne caught his arm to aid him. “Majesty,” he said, his head bent and his voice yet thready with pain.
“Sir Amyas, is Andrew Montmercy your son?” Harsh and uncompromising, Elizabeth’s words rang in the room.
Amyas drew a shuddering breath. “Majesty, he is not.”
“You can say so after the lady’s claims and her hysteria?” There was frigid skepticism in his queen’s voice.
Raising his head, Amyas stared boldly at England’s monarch. “Madame, I admit the lady and I did sin, but our affair ended before she came with child. If it is proof you’d have from me, then I can offer it. I cannot be the boy’s sire; I am impotent. This is what God demanded of me in retribution for my adultery with the noblewoman.”
Overcome by the shame of his admission, his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Even as Anne grabbed for him, he toppled back onto the floor.
Kit stared in shock as Amyas spr
awled, senseless, upon the floor. By God, the man had opened himself up to the worst of shame to save his son’s title. Forgetting the right and wrong of what was done Kit couldn’t help feeling new respect for Old Amyas.
Anne looked up from his prone form. “Have no fear, Madame,” she called out, her voice hoarse and strained, “he is but fainted.” His Nan knew well enough that her royal mistress was no lover of illness or death near her person.
With that assurance Elizabeth turned her attention to Kit. New color touched her cheeks, her eyes blazed. There was nothing left of her lips, so taut was her mouth. She set her hands on her hips.
“God’s eyelid, but you are a miserable piece of misbegotten manhood!” she shouted at him.
“Aye, Madame,” Kit agreed. Satisfied now that he’d achieved Anne’s safety, he readied himself to take the full brunt of his monarch’s rage. She didn’t disappoint.
“We are appalled! To even consider so foul a plan besmirches your honor and your estate. We should have you drawn and quartered. All that saves you is our maid’s testimony that she is yet untouched.” Her words thundered in the room.
Kit flinched at the thought of such a death. “I am at your mercy, Madame,” he said.
“That’s God’s own truth,” she raged, moving to her desk. “Both you and your godforsaken brother had best acknowledge it’s our mercy you beg for and our mercy you do not deserve for your plots and plans!”
Grabbing a handful of paper, she thrust it toward the branch of candles that stood upon the desktop. Beside him, Jamie made a choking sound. Kit’s eyes widened. Nick’s contracts! May God damn him, but he’d destroyed Nick’s hope of regaining his title!
Just as one edge began to brown, England’s queen gave a muted shriek and snatched the papers away from the flame. Tossing them toward the room’s corner, she whirled and stormed to the window. Fists clenched, she stared out into the darkness, her back to the room.
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