“Knock again,” Randolph said with an impatient bark of command.
“Who is it?” Lucille asked in a sweet, singsong voice.
“It is Alexandra. I must speak with you immediately.”
Lucille opened the door. She was just donning her dressing gown, and when she spotted Randolph and Nicholas standing behind Alex, she covered her mouth with a hand.
“Good heavens, Your Majesty! I am not dressed. I do beg your pardon—”
Randolph brushed by her and entered the room to look around. The bed was in shambles, though the curtains were drawn to let in the morning light.
Lucille spoke shakily. “I am pleased to see you are looking so well, sir.”
“He is much improved since yesterday,” Alexandra replied, though it was hardly a time for polite conversation. “That is not why we are here, however. We must know the whereabouts of Mr. Carmichael. When was the last time you saw him?”
Lucille’s anxious eyes darted back and forth among all three of them. “I … I don’t know.”
Randolph approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Take your time, Lucille. Please tell me where he spends his days. And nights.”
The color drained from her face. “I really do not know. I … I have not spoken to him since…”
“Since when?” Nicholas asked.
She seemed to lose all capacity to put words together in a coherent fashion, and a tense silence enveloped the room.
Tick, tick, tick, went the clock. Then a hinge creaked alarmingly, like a whining cat.
All eyes turned to the wardrobe.
The door was open a crack. It was quickly pulled shut.
“Mama,” Alexandra said. “Are you hiding a man in your room?”
Lucille pursed her lips, as if trying to decide how best to reply. “Um … Well, you see … Oh, I cannot lie. Yes!”
Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose. “What a bloody circus,” he whispered.
“Mr. Carmichael. This is the king speaking,” Randolph said. “Come out of there at once.”
The door opened a crack, and Alexandra’s benefactor, wearing nothing but a loose linen nightshirt, spilled out of the tiny space onto the floor on all fours.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
Alexandra cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Good morning, sir,” Randolph said. “We have some questions to ask you. Have you any connection to the Countess of Ainsley?”
Mr. Carmichael paused. “I know who she is, but I have never had the pleasure of meeting her.”
Alex glanced down at his bare feet and scrawny ankles. This was awkward. Most awkward indeed.
“I suspect otherwise,” Randolph replied.
Carmichael’s mouth began to twitch. “I assure you, sir, I have never even been in the same room with her.”
Randolph approached him. “Have you ever entered into a financial arrangement together? Have you sent her funds in exchange for a particular task? Have you purchased gowns for her, or paid for her travel to Vienna?”
Carmichael shook his head frantically. “No, I have not!”
Randolph’s charming blue eyes turned to ice. Without ever breaking eye contact with Mr. Carmichael, he said to his brother, “Nicholas, take this man to the old wine cellar and lock him up.”
“Please, Your Majesty!” Lucille pleaded. “He has done nothing wrong!”
“That will be determined by the Royal Court,” Randolph replied as he shouldered his way past and took hold of Alexandra’s hand to pull her roughly from the room.
* * *
As soon as they were alone in the corridor, Randolph used his body to trap Alexandra up against the wall. “Tell me, Wife, what have you been plotting?”
Both his hands were braced on either side of her head, and his lips were mere inches from hers. She breathed in shallow, rapid gasps.
“Nothing. I have wanted only to discover who is responsible for the attempt on your life. I had nothing to do with this and you know it.”
“How am I to believe anything you say? I know about your private visits with the marquess while I was gone. You were not truthful with me about that.”
“Of course I was!” she replied. “I kept nothing from you! I told you he came to see me!”
Her husband released her and backed away. His chest was heaving with anger and hurt. He glanced down at her belly, then back up at her eyes. “God help me. I don’t know what to believe.”
Nicholas came striding down the corridor just then. “Carmichael is being escorted to the cellar now, and I have just spoken again with the dowager. She is distraught, but assures me the man is innocent. She believes she can convince him to talk. If you will both come with me, we may learn something.”
Randolph shot Alexandra a sharp look. “After you.”
Bouncing between outright umbrage and a terrible fear of eternal heartbreak, she pushed away from the wall, brushed by him, and followed Nicholas to the wine cellar.
* * *
There was no wine in the old cellar. It had been emptied of bottles and barrels and was now a cold dungeon with stone walls, an arched ceiling, and a heavy oak door with no window.
“Nigel, please tell them what you have told me,” Lucille pleaded. “If you do not, you may be charged with treason, and I will not let you accept the blame for something you did not do.”
Carmichael sank into the only chair in the room. “I cannot be a turncoat.”
“A turncoat against whom?” Lucille asked. “The Royalists? Might I remind you that the throne is now occupied by a Tremaine and you have therefore completed your mission. You have been loyal to that cause. What has now occurred is something else entirely, and I will not permit you to die for it.”
He looked up with tired eyes and laid a hand on her cheek. “You are a good woman, Lucille. Too good for me.”
“That is pure poppycock,” she said. “Tell them what you know and the king may be lenient.”
He stood up and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “I do this for you,” he said, “because I could not live if I felt you thought me cowardly or dishonorable.” Turning to Randolph, he began, at last, to explain.
“I accepted funds from the Duke of Kaulbach in order to bring Alexandra out into London society. He paid for her gowns and her lodgings, but did not wish to be identified as her true benefactor. I believed he wanted what I wanted—to put the true Tremaine princess back on the throne—but I have since grown suspicious of his goals, for he has been pressing me to sing the praises of his son Lord Cavanaugh in various social situations, and to encourage Cavanaugh’s friendship with the queen. I believe now that it was the duke’s desire all along to establish Alexandra’s popularity, wait for her to secure the throne with an heir, then replace you with his son.”
“Replace me…” Randolph shook his head in disbelief. “By having me assassinated by an unknown culprit? Then Leopold would marry Alexandra? Was that their plot?”
“This is madness!” Alexandra said, stepping forward. “I assure you I knew nothing of this. The marquess has never suggested anything untoward. He has always behaved as a perfect gentleman, and a friend, I believed.”
Randolph stared at her as if she had been infected with the plague.
“None of this was ever spoken aloud to me or communicated in writing,” Mr. Carmichael said. “It is merely my own conjecture. I said nothing before because they are serious accusations and if I am wrong … Well, he is a duke after all.”
Randolph moved to the door. “Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. Please remain here until we decide what shall be done with you.”
Lucille rushed to the king. “Please, Your Majesty. He knew nothing of the attempt on your life. He has been quite distracted, in fact. We have been together almost constantly. We are in love, you see.”
Randolph held the door open for her. “Yes, we can see that you have both become diverted. Please come with me, Your Grace. You must attend to the queen.”
Randolph pushed past all of them and addressed his brother. “Put my wife and the dowager together in the queen’s chamber,” he said. “Lock them in and post three guards at the door. No one shall come in or go out, and they are to remain there until I discover what is true and what is not.” He started walking but stopped to face Alexandra. “Was that your plan all along?” he asked. “To seduce me, then get rid of me?”
A sickening dread twisted around her heart. “Of course not. I wanted to sit on the throne beside you. Forever.”
He studied her with dark suspicion, then turned and walked away.
* * *
The Duke of Kaulbach was enjoying a fine breakfast of poached eggs and toast when a thunderous invasion at the front door of his town house caused him to rise from the white-clothed table and throw down his napkin.
“What the devil is going on here?”
The liveried footman had no time to respond before an armed troop of palace guards burst into the room. The door flew open and slammed against the inside wall, and four guards aimed pistols at the duke’s face.
He raised his hands.
They cocked their weapons while two more brawny sentries took hold of him. He struggled ineffectually.
“You are under arrest for high treason,” the commander said with one eye closed as he looked down the barrel of his gun. “This includes the murder of King Frederick and the attempted murder of King Randolph.”
The duke gave no further resistance as the guards dragged him roughly from the room.
* * *
At the exact moment the duke was being arrested on the east side of the city, Randolph was walking along the edge of the frozen reflecting pool in the palace courtyard. His heavy claymore—a gift from the duke himself—was buckled securely at his hip.
His old friend Leopold waited for him at the far end of the pool, next to a tall row of cedars.
Randolph approached him and came to a halt. “How long have we been friends, Leo?” he asked.
“Since we were children,” the marquess replied.
“And how long have you been coveting my throne?”
Leopold inclined his head curiously. “I don’t understand, Randolph. What are you asking?”
It was difficult to resist the temptation to shove Leo into the icy pool, but Rand maintained his focus. “Your father was close friends with King Oswald, was he not?”
“That is correct, but—”
“And he wanted a marriage between you, his eldest son, and the firstborn Tremaine princess. Is that not also correct?”
Leopold bowed his head and gave no reply.
“How unfortunate that my father destroyed Oswald’s dynasty before your marriage could take place,” Randolph said.
Leopold shook his head, as if he had no explanation.
“I trusted you,” Randolph said as he drew his sword—the very sword Leo had presented to him as a wedding gift. “I gave you my letters to deliver, but you tried to seduce my wife.”
“I never touched her,” Leopold argued, backing away. “I only wished to be a friend while you were away in Vienna. Lord knows she needed one.”
“Ah,” Randolph snarled. “There we have it. The plot revealed. What a shame I didn’t die quicker. Alexandra might have sought solace with you. She may have wanted a father for her unborn child, and to bear more children of course. Is that what you intended?”
Leopold continued to back away until he stumbled over a raised stone and fell to the ground.
Randolph pointed the broadsword at his throat. “Do not lie to me, Leo. Your father has already been arrested. Nigel Carmichael has confessed his part in all of this. Tell me how you got the arsenic into the palace and perhaps I will spare your life.”
“I know nothing of any arsenic,” Leo insisted.
“I don’t believe you. There was a third time you came to the palace, allegedly to visit the queen. I have witnesses to prove it, yet my wife reported no third visit, so clearly you had some other reason to be skulking about.”
“There was no third visit,” he insisted. “I came only twice.”
Randolph glanced up and nodded at Nicholas, who was waiting with five guards behind the cedars. They trotted over on foot and took Leopold into custody.
“I knew nothing of the attempt on your life!” Leopold shouted. “I give you my word!”
Rand watched in agony and despair as they dragged Leo away in the direction of the palace prison, for he had never expected to be betrayed by someone he considered a friend.
Sadly, this was not new to him. It was something he must learn to accept, for he was king now. There would always be enemies.
Carefully, he resheathed his sword.
“He’s lying,” Nicholas said as he approached. “I know when a man is hiding something.”
Drained of all strength, Randolph dropped to his knees on the icy ground. He was still so bloody weak from the poison. It was a miracle he had not collapsed before now.
Nicholas knelt down beside him. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”
Randolph held up a hand to refuse any help. “I’m fine.”
All he needed was a moment to recover.
Placing all five fingers on the ground, he carefully steadied himself and rose to his feet, then turned to face the palace.
For some unknown reason his eyes lifted, and there she was.
His wife. His queen.
Alexandra was watching from her bedchamber window on the second floor. She stood with one palm pressed open against the glass.
He stared at her for a thoughtful moment while his body relaxed in the winter chill and his mind woke up to this new reality.
He had almost died two days ago—just like his father—but he had been given a second chance, all because of Alexandra and her steadfast, unwavering attention.
A flood of sensual memories came streaming through his mind just then as he recalled all the intimacies they’d shared since the first moment they met. She had held nothing back. She had given him all of her heart, and he felt as if he owed her a great debt that would take a lifetime to repay.
All at once his world seemed clear as he watched her in the window.
She was the woman who had captured his soul and saved his life in the process, and he knew, somehow he knew, she was innocent.
Just then, Rose came bursting through the palace doors and ran out onto the terrace. “What is happening?” she shouted, her rapid breaths visible like tiny puffs of smoke on the cold wintry air.
Resting his hand on the hilt of the sword that had been presented to him by an enemy he took for a friend, Rand put one foot in front of the other and walked purposefully toward his sister.
“The marquess has been arrested for high treason and attempted murder.” Just speaking the words aloud broke his heart, for he had always trusted Leo.
“No, that cannot be.…”
Rose stared after the marquess in shock while Randolph entered the palace to confront his wife.
* * *
“What will happen to us?” Lucille asked. “What if we are accused of treason? What if the duke says you were a conspirator? You received his son on two separate occasions while Randolph was away, did you not?”
“Yes, but I knew nothing of any plot to kill him,” she replied. “How could I know of it? I was completely infatuated and blind to anything but the love I felt for him and for the child we created together. It killed me to see him collapse in the courtyard just now. He is still so weak. I cannot lose him.”
For the next few minutes they sat in anxious silence with bated breath, waiting for the palace guards to march down the hall and pound heavy fists against the door.
What would happen next?
She—the queen consort—would likely be stripped of her jewels and taken to Briggin’s Prison. Or perhaps she would be locked up in that cold damp wine cellar below.
Just thinking about it made her flesh crawl. She began to tremble as frightful images
of rats and darkness invaded her mind.
“God help us,” she said. “He doesn’t trust me. He never has. He thinks I bewitched him.”
“As he bewitched you,” Lucille said, “when he pretended to be Nicholas.”
A key slipped into the lock just then, and the door swung open.…
Chapter Thirty-five
In walked Alexandra’s husband—King Randolph, the handsome prince who had captured her heart.
Despite the blinding fear that encumbered her, she was at least pleased to see that the frosty chill of the winter air had put some color back into his cheeks. His life was no longer in danger from the arsenic—but whether or not their love could survive all this treachery, she had yet to discover.
“I must speak with you in private,” he said.
Nicholas appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, if you will come with me,” he said.
As Lucille crossed to Rand’s brother, she glanced uneasily at Alex. “Where will they take me?”
“I don’t know, Mama. You must be brave.”
“Have no fear, Your Grace,” Nicholas charmingly replied. “You will be quite comfortable, I assure you.”
Not entirely convinced, Lucille followed him out.
Alex swallowed uneasily while Randolph shut the door behind them and locked it.
“What happened out there?” she asked. “I watched you knock Lord Cavanaugh to the ground and point the sword at his throat. What did he say?”
Pray God he did not spew lies to incriminate her in order to save himself.
If he was guilty. She honestly had no idea.
“I didn’t knock him down,” Randolph said. “He tripped and fell.”
“I see.” She paused. “But you did hold the sword to his throat.”
“Yes, that I did.”
She took a deep breath. “In that regard … well done, sir.”
He gave no reply. He merely blinked at her and swayed slightly as if he were about to topple over, unconscious.
“I think I need to get off my feet,” he said.
She rushed forward and cupped his face in her hands, looked carefully into his eyes. “Oh, my darling. You are still not well. You should not have gone out there to confront him, Randolph. Not today. Promise me you will not do anything like that again until you are stronger. Send Nicholas instead. I am quite sure he would be more than happy to swing a sword at the smallest request.”
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