by Ruth Langan
Morgan felt his blood freeze. “What has this to do with the queen?”
“At this very minute Elizabeth is preparing herself for a hunt. But what she does not realize is that she will be the one hunted.”
“Elizabeth will not go to the forest without me.”
“She has already received a note from you telling her that you have been called away on urgent business, but that you want her to accompany me and the others.”
So his instincts had been correct. Morgan felt a rush of self-loathing. Though he had known of the queen’s peril, he had allowed his own troubles to blind him. “You are the one who caused those mysterious accidents.”
“Accidents. Aye. And each time I have been thwarted in my efforts. But not this time. Today the gods smile upon me, Grey. Today the monarchy will be brought down by my hand.” Windham chuckled, enjoying the feeling of importance. “The queen is dead. Long live the king.”
“Who has bought your loyalty, Windham?”
Never before had Windham dared to reveal his allegiance. But with success so close at hand, he was feeling expansive.
“Norfolk.” He spoke the name like a deity.
“He is the queen’s own cousin. Surely he would not give the order for her murder.”
“He covets the throne. And Elizabeth gives no indication of abdicating or of dying of natural causes.”
“Then he is mad. The people will not rally round him when they learn what treachery he employed.”
“The people will never know. Elizabeth will die this day of a hunting accident. Her subjects will grieve. And Norfolk will lead them in their mourning.”
Morgan watched the slight fluttering of the curtains at the window. If he were to fling himself at Windham, the momentum might carry them both through the open window. But if he were not quick enough, Windham would have time to cut Brenna. It was a calculated risk. There was a time when he would have easily risked it. But now, his love for Brenna changed everything. He was not certain he could risk her safety.
“What will you gain from all this?”
Windham tugged on Brenna’s arms, causing her to gasp in pain. “A grateful new king will grant me any request. My first may be marriage to the lady who has stolen your heart.”
“I would die first,” Brenna hissed. “And I would tell everyone what you did this day.”
Morgan felt a little thrill at the way Brenna, even now, would stand up to this coward.
“Careful, my lady. If you should become tiresome, I will see that your wish is granted.” Windham went on as though he had not been interrupted. “My second request will be your lands and titles, Grey.”
“My brother, Richard, is next in line to inherit. He would fight you.”
“After the queen’s accident, Richard will have to suffer a fatal attack. Perhaps I will have him fall from his chair onto a well-placed knife.”
Morgan felt a fresh wave of hatred at this monster who calmly planned the deaths of all the people close to his heart. His hands clenched at his sides. There was no time left for strategy. He leaped forward, catching Brenna by the arm and casting her aside.
Windham caught him with the sharp blade of his knife, tearing his flesh from shoulder to wrist.
Before Morgan could pull back, Windham lunged forward. “Prepare to meet your maker, Grey.”
Brenna watched in horror as the knife plunged into Morgan’s tunic above his heart. When Windham pulled it out, blood streamed from the gaping wound, soaking the front of Morgan’s clothes.
Morgan’s face was ashen. But despite his wound, he struggled with Windham and brought him to the floor where the two men writhed and thrashed and fought for control of the knife.
Brenna picked up Morgan’s sword and turned just as Windham scooped up the knife and knelt over Morgan. As he moved his hands in a downward stroke, Brenna thrust the blade of the sword, aiming for Windham’s heart. At the last moment he turned, taking the blade in his shoulder. With a shriek of pain Windham rolled away. Before Brenna could strike again Windham lifted the knife and again plunged it into Morgan’s body.
“Now, my lady,” Windham said with a sneer, “I fear you must join your lover in death.”
He towered over her, lifting the knife for the fatal plunge. As the blade came crashing down, Brenna felt it tear through her flesh and scrape against bone. Pain engulfed her. The sword dropped from her hand and she crumpled to the floor.
“I leave you to watch your lover’s lifeblood spill on the floor of a lowly tavern. And yours with it. As for me, I have an appointment with destiny.”
From some distant part of her mind, Brenna heard his booted footsteps cross the room and descend the stairs.
With a cry of pain and rage Brenna forced herself to crawl until she was lying across Morgan’s still form. All the tears she had kept locked inside now spilled forth, mingling with the blood that spilled from his wounds.
Thick, impenetrable clouds of mist shrouded the waters of the Thames. Morgan struggled to keep his head above water, but each time he came up for air, the mist closed in, choking him. When he struggled to the surface, shafts of pain crashed through him. His lungs ached, his arm, his shoulder. The pain was too great. He longed to slip once more beneath the waters and drift until his life slowly ebbed. In death there would be relief from the pain.
He heard Brenna’s voice from a great distance. Brenna. His beloved Brenna. To see her face once more, to hear that voice, he would risk the pain. But only once more. Then he would give up the battle.
Setting his teeth against the pain he struggled to the surface. Her voice was close now. He could hear her calling his name. His eyes opened and were assaulted by blinding lights. Hundreds of candles blazed, burning his eyes. He quickly blinked, then tried again. This time, though the light was too bright, it did not blind him. He moved his lips, but no words came out.
“Morgan. Please, Morgan. You must try.”
Swimming? he wondered. Did she want him to swim? He could feel the water, all around him, warm, sticky. He gazed down at his arm and saw that the water of the Thames had turned to blood red.
Blood. He was not in the water. He was bleeding. And though Brenna was frantically tearing strips of her gown to stem the flow, the blood was seeping through the dressings.
He watched in horrified fascination as Brenna tightened a bandage on his arm until the blood slowed to a trickle. Working quickly, she applied another dressing, then moved to the wound in his chest.
By the light of the candle she saw the glazed look in his eyes and knew that the pain was unbearable. “Fight, Morgan. You must fight the pain and stay alive. The queen needs you.”
The queen. He struggled to remember. As Brenna bound him tightly, he clamped his mouth down on the oath that sprang to his lips. With the pain came remembrance. Windham was on his way to kill the queen. He had to be stopped at all cost.
“Help me to stand.”
“Aye.” Brenna draped his arm around her shoulder, then slowly helped him to his feet.
“My sword.”
She slipped it into the scabbard at his waist.
With her help he walked to the stairs. Each step brought a knife thrust of pain, swift, sharp, cutting off his breath. But at last they had managed to descend the stairs. When he pulled himself into the saddle, Brenna saw the way his lips whitened. But he caught up the reins and led the way as she struggled into the saddle and urged her mount to follow.
He noted that she held her arm at an odd angle. “You are wounded.”
“Aye. Windham thought he had killed us both.” Her gaze met his. “It is what saved us. Else he would have stayed to finish the job.”
“My brave little Brenna. Forgive me for the pain I have caused you.”
She brought her horse close to his. “I pray you will forgive me for lending Windham your jewels and falling into his trap.”
“Hush, love. There is still work to be done. We must find the queen’s party,” Morgan rasped.
“A
ye. But they could be anywhere in the forest.”
“I know these woods. Richard and I have explored them all our lives. I will find her.”
Brenna saw the beads of sweat on Morgan’s forehead as he urged his horse into a run.
Ahead the forest loomed. And as they entered the thick wooded area, Brenna felt her heartbeat begin to race. Somewhere very near, the queen was being stalked by a vicious killer.
“There, Majesty. A fine buck.”
“Aye, Lord Windham. I see him.”
The queen drew back her bow and took careful aim. The arrow sang through the air. At the last moment the buck lifted his head, as if sensing danger. But the arrow found its mark. Leaping high in the air, the buck executed a graceful death dance, then sank to its knees.
“A perfect kill, Majesty.”
The queen acknowledged his compliment with a slight nod of her head.
“If you hurry, you can have another trophy, Majesty. I spotted a second buck just slipping off to yonder woods.”
“I did not see it, Windham. Are you certain?”
“Aye.”
The queen glanced around toward the rest of their party, who had fanned out on either side of them. “We will lose the others if we do not tell them where we are heading.”
“I will slip back and tell them which direction to take. You follow this trail around to the other side of those trees, Majesty. And I will show you where the buck is hiding.”
The queen hesitated. “My groom…”
“He is tending to your kill, Majesty. Hurry. Else we will lose the finest buck I have ever seen.”
“Truly? How large?”
Windham’s voice took on a note of excitement. “At least ten points, Majesty.”
“I must have him.” The queen urged her mount forward. “Wait until Morgan sees what I have brought down.”
“Aye, Majesty. He will be impressed.”
“I do not care about impressing him. I want him to regret missing this perfect day.”
Windham turned away. On his face was a smug smile. He waited until the queen disappeared beyond the line of trees. Then he carefully studied the others to be certain that no one was watching. With a flick of the reins he urged his horse into a thicket. He pulled an arrow from the quiver he had stolen from Morgan’s room. By the time the queen reached the appointed place, he intended to be ready for her.
By sheer force of will Morgan was able to sit his horse. He could feel his strength ebb as he ducked in the saddle to escape low-hanging branches.
A short distance away Brenna, unmindful of the briers that snagged at her hair and raked her flesh, peered through the brush.
“I see a movement, Morgan.” Her voice was a soft whisper.
“Where?”
She pointed. He brought his mount closer. There was a sudden flash of color, then it was gone. He nodded then took the lead.
This had been his favorite part of the forest. Thickly wooded, it was strewn with boulders and pockmarked with small burrows where wild animals took shelter. He felt the sweat form a river along the small of his back at a sudden thought. It was the perfect place for a man to hide himself from view if he were stalking game.
Signaling to Brenna to follow his lead, Morgan dismounted and tied his horse. Walking as quietly as a deer, he moved through the shadowy forest until a movement caught his eye.
He stepped behind a tree and pointed. Brenna came up beside him and studied the area carefully, then nodded. Some distance away the figure of a man could be seen standing perfectly still behind a tree. His bow and arrow were at the ready, the bowstring drawn tautly. Following the direction of the man’s gaze, Morgan caught his breath.
Just stepping into the man’s line of fire was the queen astride her horse.
Morgan and Brenna assessed the situation and realized that they were moments too late. Before Morgan could cross the space that separated him from Windham, the arrow would be fired.
If they were to shout a warning, the queen would hesitate, allowing Windham the time he needed to get her into his sight and release the fatal arrow.
Though they spoke not a word, they were of one mind. Morgan raced toward Windham while Brenna sped toward the queen.
Lifting her skirts Brenna dodged fallen logs and the sharp edges of half-buried rocks. As she ran she blessed the training she had received in the company of her father’s men. With a last burst of speed she leaped high into the air and caught the queen in a great hug, knocking her cleanly from the saddle. Both women fell in a tangle of arms and legs and billowing skirts.
Elizabeth was outraged. “How dare you!” As she struggled to sit up, her famous temper boiled over. “Scotswoman, you have sealed your fate. It is not marriage to which I condemn you—’tis the hangman, for causing bodily harm to the queen.”
“Forgive me, Majesty.”
Brenna regained her feet, then offered a hand to the queen. Elizabeth refused to accept her offer. Instead, she slapped away the offending hand and lumbered to her feet.
“Hanging is too good for you. I should have you…” The queen’s gaze was arrested by the arrow imbedded in the tree. She glanced at Brenna, then back to the arrow. She guessed that it was just about where her head had been when she was on her horse.
“Was that intended for me?”
“Aye, Majesty.”
“Who…” Turning, she saw two men locked in a desperate struggle. “Morgan? Lord Windham?”
“Aye, Majesty. Morgan and I discovered Windham’s plot to kill you. We feared we would not find you in time.”
As they watched, Morgan’s sword slipped from his hands and clattered among the rocks. With a valiant effort he lunged at Windham. But the wounds suffered at the inn had taken their toll. Windham evaded his grasp and with a vicious kick sent Morgan stumbling to his knees.
Windham seized Morgan’s mount and pulled himself into the saddle. As he disappeared among the trees, Brenna and the queen hurried to Morgan’s side.
“You are safe, Majesty?”
“Aye. Thanks to you and Brenna. But you are badly wounded, my friend.”
“My wounds will heal. But we must find Windham.”
“Let your soldiers find him. We must get you back to Greystone Abbey and have those wounds tended.”
“Greystone Abbey.” As a sudden, terrible thought struck, Brenna turned to the queen. “Who is left at Greystone Abbey?”
Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Besides the servants, only Richard and Adrianna.”
“God in heaven.” Brenna stared down at Morgan, who had come to the same conclusion and was already struggling to his feet. “We must mount and ride. And pray we make it in time.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Richard sat alone in the rose garden, snipping ruthlessly at the thorny stalks. When he had finished pruning he realized that he had cut away too much of the stem. Poor flower, he thought with a trace of remorse. This was not a day for delicate work. He was far too agitated. He let the pruning shears drop to his lap.
He had ordered a servant to bring him out here where he could sort out his thoughts. But the more he thought, the more confused he became.
He had been without a woman too long. In his loneliness he had begun to spin fantasies. All of that was well and good, as long as he could distinguish fantasy from reality. But ever since Adrianna had arrived, he had begun to believe in miracles.
She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. She was quick of mind, sweet-natured and a delight to be around. Despite her natural shyness there was a vitality about her that lit up a room. And though she appeared docile, she had learned to stand alone against her overbearing brother and sister. Aye, she was all he could desire. But what about her desires?
His hands curled into fists and he slammed them against the arms of the chair. This hated chair. When Morgan had devised it, it had offered Richard freedom. The freedom to move from room to room, and even out into the garden. But it had also become his prison. It teased him and
tantalized him into thinking that he could be free once more. But he was free only to watch. He could no longer participate in life. In this chair he could only sit and stare at the world passing by.
His thoughts returned to last night. Adrianna had come unbidden to his sleeping chamber. She had stood beside the bed, wearing a night shift of gossamer and lace, looking as beautiful as any bride. Gazing at her from his bed he had felt his passions rise and knew that what she offered was the sweetest, most generous gift anyone had ever offered him.
How much courage must it have taken, for the shy, virginal Adrianna to come to him? Could he show any less courage? Though his basest instincts were to take what she offered and feast on what he had so long been starved for, he knew that she deserved better. If he gave in to his desires, she would be forever sullied in the eyes of other men. Who would marry a girl who had given her virtue to another?
Adrianna had pleaded with him to reconsider. She swore she loved him and wanted only to stay with him. How his heart had soared at her words. Dear God, how he wanted her. But he knew that her good and generous nature was blinding her to the truth. How could she possibly love him for a lifetime? When their passion cooled, she would realize what a difficult path she had chosen. A man who could not walk would become, in time, a burden. And so, though she thought Richard had chosen a nobler route, the truth was, he was saving her from herself. Holding his passion in check, he had sent her away and told her to save herself for someone who would truly deserve her.
He felt the pain, sharp and swift. On the morrow Adrianna would leave with Madeline and Cordell. His life would be as before, only worse. From this day on he would be tormented by what he had been forced to give up. Even in his dreams he would see her, breathe her in the perfume of the roses, taste her in every drop of honey that passed his lips.
With a scowl he looked up to see the object of his thoughts moving toward him along the garden path. As always the desire rose in him, swamping him with need. He carefully banked his feelings and composed his features.
“Mistress Leems said you were out here.” Adrianna continued walking until she was standing directly in front of him.