The Abducted Bride

by Anne Herries

  She refused to weep or continue to break her heart for him. Pride had reasserted itself. She was the daughter of Sir Edward Stirling and a gentlewoman. Let others think what they would of her. She would hold her head high and be damned to them all.

  But, oh, she did wish that Nicholas would come!

  ‘Where have you been all this time?’ Henri demanded when Nicholas approached him after the bride and groom had gone upstairs. ‘I had begun to think something must have happened to you.’

  ‘I had business I could not ignore.’

  Nicholas glared at him. The King had sworn him to secrecy over the part he had played in bringing back Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham, for he had not merely been a part of the escort but had done what he could to learn the truth of the affair.

  ‘No one must know aught of this, laddie,’ James had told him when they spoke privately together at the palace. ‘Let history say what it will. And I doubt not that much will be said about this sorry business.’

  Nicholas nodded his agreement, knowing the King would not be pleased by what he had to tell. ‘I have heard the Spanish marriage contract was signed—and that both the prince and Buckingham agreed the terms. In Spain they expect the marriage of Prince Charles and the Infanta to go ahead at the appointed time. If it does not, they will see this as an insult to both the King and his daughter.’

  ‘Aye, I know it.’ The King looked angry. ‘I have had to endure many complaints against the prince and Buckingham—but I canna say what is true and what false. We shall see what transpires. Yet if I believed what I have been told, I should say that Buckingham had served me ill.’

  Nicholas wisely held his tongue. James was angry at his favourite over the failure of their plans—to say nothing of the waste of so much gold and jewellery!—but he was at times capricious and could be swayed by those he cared for, right or wrong.

  Buckingham and the prince were home again, brought back to England by an English fleet, of which several ships belonged to Nicholas, and those courtiers who had spoken out against the duke while he was away were not as vociferous now. Everyone knew that the rascal would likely persuade the King to his side, though his rash behaviour in seeming to agree to so many of the Spanish King’s demands had brought about a serious situation. The Papal dispensation had arrived and there was nothing to stop the wedding taking place by proxy—except the prince’s instructions to his ambassador not to present them.

  On his arrival in England in early October, Prince Charles had been greeted with scenes of wild joy because the people believed the marriage would not now take place. It had always been unpopular—and had the details of what the prince and Buckingham had promised in King James’s name become common knowledge, the throne itself might have been threatened and James might have lost his crown. Perhaps the prince had realized this and drawn back because of it at the last moment—though there were whispers that hinted that he had changed his mind for quite another reason. For the prince had seen another lady he admired at the French Court—the Princess Henrietta Maria.

  Even if the prince had acted for the best of reasons, James had the right to be nervous. The Spanish had demanded too much, but there was no doubt that the duke and the prince had behaved badly, and the prince’s refusal to honour the contract could easily lead to a war between England and Spain.

  Nicholas had asked permission to leave the Court as soon as he had completed his mission, by passing on his observations, but James had been in an uncertain mood and had kept him hanging on until the last moment.

  ‘Ye have our leave to go,’ he had told Nicholas after he had spent several days chafing at the bit. ‘But I want your promise to return within the month. And bring the lassie with you. I would have words with Mistress Stirling and her father.’

  Nicholas’s patience was almost at an end. He was tired of being at the beck and call of kings and princes. When he was back in France, he would not venture to London again for a long time—nor to the French Court, where he would be welcomed for his father’s sake.

  He wanted to live peacefully with his wife, and in time their children. But was Deborah still willing to be his life’s companion?

  Arriving at her home late in the evening to discover it was Mistress Palmer’s wedding day, he had kept in the background so that he could observe the celebrations without Deborah being aware of him. He had imagined that she would be in low spirits, uncertain of the future and perhaps missing him a little. It had been both shocking and painful to see her flirting with the man he had thought of as his closest friend.

  Henri’s words recalled his wandering thoughts with a start. ‘Surely your business could not have been of such importance that it kept you from Mistress Stirling all this time? Did you not think she might have need of comfort from you?’

  Henri’s anger was evident—as was the fact that he was in love with her! He was daring to reprimand Nicholas for neglecting her. Nicholas felt the rage rising inside him. It was all he could do to keep his fists from striking the other man’s face.

  ‘It would not appear that she lacked for comfort while I was away,’ he said smoothly. His manner was outwardly cool but his tone was sharper than the point of his sword.

  ‘Damn you, Nico!’ Henri cried angrily. ‘She hath been sore of heart this past month waiting for some word from you. I cannot understand why you abandoned her. Why could you not have taken her to France so that she understood you meant to keep your promise to wed her?’

  ‘Perhaps she does not mean to keep hers.’

  Henri looked at him in disgust. ‘Has your soul become so warped that you think so ill of her? She was innocent when you took her, Nico. Nothing but God’s grace has kept her that way—and I do not speak only of the time she spent with that monster. You yourself came close to seducing her…’

  ‘God’s breath!’ Nicholas glared at him. ‘I could kill you for that!’

  ‘You could try.’ Henri’s hand went to his hip as if to threaten his willingness to fight, though he had not worn his sword to the wedding.

  For some moments the two friends glared at each other, all the warmth and companionship of years as naught. There was a moment when they might have sought to shed each other’s blood, but then Henri laughed.

  ‘At least you have some heart left in you,’ he said. ‘I had begun to think it was buried in Isabella’s grave.’

  Nicholas stared at him, curled fists gradually uncurling. ‘No—did you?’ he said and the anger left him as suddenly as it had come. ‘I would have wed Isabella for I had no hope of finding the kind of love my father had for my mother. Isabella’s death weighed heavy on my soul, for I knew I had caused it.’ He held up his hand as Henri would have denied it. ‘Yes, it is so, my friend. Deny it if you will, but he killed her because he hated me.’

  ‘But you could not have known what he was—what he truly was.’

  ‘No,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘I had certainly seen no sign of the sickness that came upon him at the end—but I had sensed there was evil in him. He was a cruel child by all accounts, but I think no one—save perhaps his father—suspected the truth.’

  ‘The face of an angel and the mind of a devil.’

  ‘A dangerous combination,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘But what kind of a man is Don Manola? I think that perhaps his sins may in truth surpass those of his son.’ A flicker of revulsion entered his eyes. ‘Think of what might have happened had we not taken her when we did, Henri. The Don would have made certain neither she nor her father saw anything untoward until after the wedding.’

  ‘And then she would truly have been the bride of that devil,’ Henri said and he too shuddered.

  ‘Yes.’ Nicholas frowned. ‘At least we have spared her that. Whatever the future—she has been spared the worst.’

  ‘And now what?’ Henri asked. ‘Is it your intention to claim her?’

  ‘I think the decision must be hers,’ Nicholas replied. ‘The King has commanded me to take both Deborah and her father to Court.
We shall see what we shall see.’

  ‘You would release her if she asked?’

  ‘I should have no choice,’ Nicholas replied. ‘I shall have my bride willingly—or not at all.’

  ‘Then we shall shake hands and let the best man win?’

  Nicholas laughed. ‘A duel between us but without swords. I warn you, Henri. I shall do my best to win her.’

  ‘And I shall do what I must,’ Henri replied, a smile on his lips.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Deborah dressed herself in a simple green gown that morning. It was still early. She imagined many of the guests would still be sleeping off the quantities of wine they had consumed the previous evening. She was too restless to stay indoors, and though there was a hint of rain in the air she would feel better for a walk.

  She needed to think carefully about the future. It seemed that Nicholas no longer wanted her. He had never loved her, of course, but for a while it had amused him to court her. Perhaps, at first, he had thought she would be content to be his mistress. She had come very close to letting him seduce her, and her body still tingled when she remembered his kisses and the feel of his hardness pressed against her showing his urgent need.

  Deborah allowed herself to think about the night when he had threatened to take her to his bed—or there against the stable wall. What would have happened if he had? Would his honour have demanded that he marry her at once? Or would he still have abandoned her?

  She walked, lost in thought, towards the summerhouse where Henri had once found her. The little shelter had become her refuge these past weeks, offering solitude when she could no longer bear Sarah’s constant chattering.

  She did not grudge her cousin’s happiness, but it only made her heart ache the more when she thought of the future. Sarah was married now and would be leaving for her husband’s home later that day. How fortunate she was to have found her gentle, caring Master Henderson.

  Deborah sighed. It was the fault of her wilful heart. If she had not chosen to fall in love with a charming rogue—yet her heart had chosen for her. She had resisted for as long as she could, but his smile had won her almost from the first.

  ‘Why so sad, my lady?’ The teasing voice made her swing round in disbelief, her heart racing like the wind. ‘Could it be because you miss me a little?’

  Deborah stared at Nicholas. He was laughing at her as he had in France—as if all that had happened since had never been. Her first surge of delight was lost in the tide of anger that immediately followed. How dare he! How could he behave in such a manner?

  ‘So…’ she said, her head tilted defiantly at him. ‘You have not forgotten us after all, sir. I had begun to think you could not tear yourself from the pleasures of Court.’

  ‘It was hard to do so,’ Nicholas replied. ‘But I decided it was time I came. I trust you have recovered from your fever?’

  ‘Yes, I thank you. It is more than a month since I was ill, and it was but a trifling thing.’

  ‘Ah, yes, now that you remind me, I believe it is almost a month.’

  Deborah was seething. Oh, he was a mocking devil! He deserved to be roasted alive—or that she should show him she was indifferent.

  ‘A pity you were not here yesterday,’ she said. ‘It was my cousin’s wedding.’

  ‘Yes, Henri told me so,’ he replied. ‘I shall send Mistress Henderson a gift.’

  ‘I am sure she will be pleased.’

  ‘Mistress Palmer was never difficult to please, I think?’

  Deborah glared at him. Was he saying she was? She refused to respond to his baiting. She would be cool and dignified, forcing him to treat her with respect.

  ‘When did you arrive, sir?’

  ‘Oh, not long ago,’ Nicholas replied vaguely.

  ‘And for how many days shall we have the pleasure of your company?’

  ‘Not more than two or three, I fear.’

  ‘I suppose you have more urgent business?’ Her eyes glinted with the annoyance she could not hide. ‘Pray do not let us detain you, sir.’

  ‘The King commands me to return soon,’ Nicholas replied. ‘He also desires to speak with you and your father, Mistress Stirling.’

  ‘With me?’ Deborah looked at him in surprise. ‘He did not so much as notice me when we were there earlier in the summer. What can he want of me?’

  ‘Perhaps to hear your opinion of whether I should hang,’ Nicholas said. ‘Kidnap is a serious offence, punishable by death. You might dance at my funeral, mistress.’

  Deborah’s eyes smouldered. ‘You are pleased to jest, sir. Your levity is unbecoming. Have a care. I may well complain of you to His Majesty.’

  Nicholas swept his hat off and bowed to her. ‘I am entirely at your mercy, mistress.’

  She gave him a fulminating glance, her good intentions flown. What was she supposed to answer? He was impossible! Did he mean to claim her for his own or not?

  ‘Have you seen my father yet?’

  ‘A few moments ago. He was not best pleased by the summons—but he will obey. Your father is a wise man, Mistress Stirling. He knows that kings can be capricious.’

  ‘Kings and men!’ Deborah muttered beneath her breath.

  ‘What was that you said, Mistress Stirling? I did not quite hear you.’

  She itched to strike him, but that would be beneath her dignity. If he imagined she would fly to his arms the moment he arrived, he should be taught the error of his thinking.

  He had used her most ill, indeed he had. Snatching her and carrying her off to his home. Oh, that lovely sunlit house! How she longed to be there again with him—but he must show her that he truly wanted her as his wife.

  She would not be won lightly. If he had been here when she needed him so badly it would have been different, but he had put his business first. Now he must dangle on her string. He must court her if he would wed her.

  ‘I said that kings must be obeyed,’ she lied and lifted her chin proudly. ‘Besides, I shall not be sorry to spend a little time at Court. It will soon be November and winter can be very dull here in the North. I like to dance and laugh. Yes, it will suit me very well to go to London.’ She smiled at him. ‘Tell me, sir—does Henri go with us?’

  ‘If you invite him, I dare say he may.’ Nicholas frowned as he saw her eyes spark. What mischief was this? Was she merely playing him at his own game? Or had she given her affections to Henri these past weeks?

  ‘Then I shall,’ Deborah said serenely. ‘Henri has been a great comfort since we came home—both to my father and to me.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ Nicholas said. He smiled too, but this time it did not reach his eyes. ‘You must naturally ask him if he would care to accompany us.’

  Oh, the wretch! Deborah had meant to provoke him, hoping he might take her in his arms and kiss her as he had when they had argued before.

  ‘I turn cold,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should go in. I would not wish to take a chill before we leave for London.’

  Nicholas glanced at her and could not quite hide his concern. ‘You must learn to take more care of yourself,’ he said. ‘You were unwell not so long ago.’

  ‘It was merely a touch of the sun,’ she replied, and turned away before he could read her eyes. She did not want him to pity her.

  ‘You were fortunate it was nothing more,’ Nicholas said more harshly than he intended. ‘I warned you not to stray too far from the château while I was gone. Why could you not have obeyed me?’

  Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. He blamed her as she had known he would!

  She began to walk away, towards the house, refusing to answer. He was unkind. She could not accept his blame because she already felt her guilt too keenly.

  ‘Deborah…’

  She refused to look back. It was too cruel! She had suffered enough for her foolishness. She had wanted him to hold her, to kiss away her fears—and all he did was scold her. Henri was so much kinder!

  ‘Deborah, I did not mean to hu
rt you,’ Nicholas said, but it was said so softly that she did not hear.

  She had hoped he might come after her as he had once before, but he made no attempt and it hurt her that he could let her go. Would he never forgive her for what she had done? Would he never try to understand?

  Nicholas watched her go into the house. He was half inclined to go after her and reason with her—but if he did he would end by taking her in his arms and kissing her until she surrendered to him as she so nearly had once before. Yet if he did that he would never be quite sure.

  She must choose. If she would be happier with Henri then she must have her way. He had given her no choice the last time and he had been tormented by his doubts. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will.

  Nothing less would do!

  He saw her disappear into the house, then turned away. He had been a fool to quarrel with her. If he wanted to win her heart, he must be gentle—and give her a reason to want to leave behind her home for him.

  Yet she had been happy in France. He knew she loved Chalfont as he did. If only he could be certain that she loved its master.

  Deborah dressed herself in the youth’s clothing she had sometimes worn for her fencing lessons with her father. She was restless and felt the need to ride alone. In her disguise, with her hair tucked beneath a cap, she would not be noticed and could easily slip back into the house before anyone was about. She had done it often enough in the past without detection.

  She ran down the stairs and let herself out of a side entrance, heading for the stables. The grooms would not be stirring yet, though they had seen her dressed this way when she had ridden out with Sir Edward and would not be surprised. They were all fiercely loyal to her, and she did not believe they would betray her by loose talk.