by Pam Roller
“Interesting,” Alex said, standing beside Katherine’s chair. “What is it?” His fingers brushed the back of her neck, and she gave a little shiver of pleasure.
The doctor smiled and held it toward him. “An illuminator. My brother and I created it. Look here, into this eyepiece.”
Alex peered into the top of the lantern. “Mirrors!” he exclaimed, his face boyish in his excitement. “Katherine, see inside!”
Fighting the urge to slide her hand up Alex’s inner thigh, Katherine looked into the eyepiece, and gasped in wonder. Within the tube, dozens of tiny, angled mirrors reflected upon each other in sparkling splendor. Even at its thinnest point, the mirrors extended around the narrow curve.
“I will insert the tube into your mouth,” the doctor said, “and slide it back as far as possible. The light will shine down the tube and allow me to see deep into your throat.”
Katherine nodded, and renewed hope warmed her. This man would see what had happened more clearly than the other doctors, who had only taken her out into the sunshine to peer into her mouth.
The doctor lit the candle inside the lantern. The wick blazed with a brilliant white light, and Katherine heard Alex’s quick intake of breath. She found herself mesmerized by the fire’s radiance.
“There is a powder in the wax that makes the flame more intense,” Doctor Whittleby explained, “but it burns quickly. Do not stare at the light.” He brought the lantern near Katherine’s face.
Despite his warning, Katherine riveted her gaze on the radiant beam until she had to close her eyes. Behind her lids, white dots danced as if she’d stared too long at the sun.
“Open, now, please. Relax your jaw. Stay perfectly still.”
Slowly he inserted the cold, hard brass tube into Katherine’s mouth.
The other doctors had, with importance and finality, determined that her voice was completely gone. Now, as she closed her eyes and felt the tube slide along her tongue, she knew exactly what this doctor would say. ‘I have determined, after much study and on account of my vast experience, that you shall never speak again.’
She almost halted the procedure, unwilling to face more disappointment. Instead, she reached for Alex’s hand.
More than anything he had ever wished for, more than life itself, Alex yearned to hear Katherine voice.
He enclosed her cold hand in both of his and willed her all the courage he possessed.
“Now tilt back your head a bit,” the doctor said. “I will stop if you begin to gag, to give you time to become used to it.”
Alex wanted to help her as no one else had. He needed to prove that everything he touched was not destroyed. And she deserved to be helped even if her father had been a traitor to the king.
But another reason to help her regain her voice fought its way to the front of his mind, and no matter how much he denied it, this one took precedence over all the others.
If she could speak, she could tell him she loved him.
The thought jolted him. He considered the thought as he watched her take in the tube. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
Would she ever love him? Or did their marriage mean only that she would have the security she so had desperately sought?
The tube slid deeper into her mouth. Her hand in his became stiff and clammy.
“Calm yourself,” he said quietly, stroking her hand. “Doctor, do you see anything yet?”
“Too soon,” the doctor said, his brows creased in concentration. “Wait.” He moved the tube forward very slowly. “You may feel it deep in your throat now. I will move it down as far as I can. Just relax.”
Katherine’s hand went limp. Alex traced his fingers across the scar on her palm, and kept his eyes glued to the tube.
He desperately needed her to love him. Perhaps then he could let go of the doubt that plagued him.
The contraption had disappeared an impossible distance into Katherine’s mouth. How far would the doctor insert it?
Finally, the doctor paused. He peered into the lantern.
Time froze. Alex didn’t breathe. His fingers went still on Katherine’s damp palm.
The doctor’s eyes squinted. “Ah.”
Katherine’s fingers curled over Alex’s and clamped down.
“Ah. Yes. I see now.” The doctor slowly raised his head, his expression placid. “I will remove the tube now, Lady Drayton. You have remained most admirably calm.”
The tube came out much faster than it had gone in. Katherine gasped, swallowed, and then looked at the doctor with wide, moist eyes.
Millie, standing a few feet away, wrung her hands.
“Well?” Alex demanded, feeling ridiculously close to tears.
The doctor carefully set the lantern on the writing table and then placed an iron cup over the candle to snuff it out. Somberly, he faced Katherine.
“You shall speak again, my lady.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Alex bowed before the king, who sat on a lush red velvet chair on a dais in an elaborate room with white columns and hundreds of candles. The queen was not with him; mayhap she was in her chamber suffering from foul humors.
Charles was surrounded by courtiers dressed in so many dazzling colors and sparkling jewelry that Alex thought he might go blind with the unaccustomed brilliance.
Uncharacteristically self-conscious, Alex reconsidered his plain brown jacket, breeches, and boots. Perhaps he should have worn his fashionable wedding attire, which had looked too much like a dress but was more acceptable here.
The king’s court, with its colorfully dressed, painted nobles who had ulterior motives for everything they did, wasn’t his life. He couldn’t wait to get back home with Katherine.
Katherine. Oh, how his wife’s beautiful face had shown with happiness at the doctor’s declaration that she would speak! For once, Alex didn’t crush the joy that welled within him.
“Lord Drayton!” Charles cried merrily. “How do you do!”
“Majesty,” Alex replied with a smile as he straightened.
“What brings you to London?” The king’s smile was wide and friendly under his thin dark moustache, yet his eyes held a measured glint.
“I have business in town, Majesty,” Alex answered, hoping the king would be satisfied with that. “I wished to pay my respects to you while I am here.”
“Ah. Do you plan to stay long? We would enjoy your company this evening.” He glanced at a few of the women who milled about. “The ladies do love an unfamiliar face.”
Several of them were already scrutinizing Alex, boldly raking their gazes over his body. “I regret that I will leave when my dealings are concluded,” he said, nodding his apologies.
“Unfortunate. And not even Rochester here to flirt with them.”
Alex’s hands stiffened, yet he kept his expression bland. “Is Lord Rochester away?”
The king swung his head to the left as if to spit in contempt, but apparently thought better of it and returned his gaze to Alex. “Business? Ha! He left here three days past to go after Mrs. Mallet. He had his footmen forcibly take her from her grandfather, Lord Haly, at Charing Cross. Rochester put her into a coach with six horses and we haven’t seen the two of them since. It’s the Tower for him when we catch him.”
“And you wish to reclaim Mrs. Mallet?” Alex asked.
“We most certainly do. We had an...arrangement.”
Several of the courtiers glanced around, most likely for Lady Castlemaine, whose jealousy seemed at times to control England. Alex had always avoided the stunning yet forceful woman.
“Enough talk of the earl.” Charles’ mouthed widened, genial yet reserved. “Tell me, how is Thomas Seymour’s daughter faring?”
“She still cannot speak.” It was the truth, at least. “I inquired of eligible men for marriage, and she met a possible suitor.”
Charles’ brows rose. “When shall she marry?”
Candor would serve best with his monarch. “I married her, Majesty. ’Tis an honor to h
ave her as my wife.” Pride laced his voice.
“An honor?” A strong, feminine voice carried through the room, and the crowd swept aside. “An honor?”
Wishing he could say a quick farewell and escape, Alex smiled as Barbara Villiers Palmer, Countess of Castlemaine, sauntered toward him with a confident pout on her red lips.
Light on her feet despite having given birth to five children—the youngest only two years old—she was the most sensuous woman Alex had ever seen. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and her shapely breasts bulged from the low bodice of her dress.
Alex utterly disliked the king’s mistress. Holding his tight smile with effort, he bowed to her. “’Tis good to see you, my Lady Castlemaine.”
Raising painted brows, she raked her gaze over him, giving a weighted pause at his thighs. “Your clothing leaves little to the imagination, my lord.”
The tittering from the other courtiers caused further embarrassment for Alex. He stood still, and waited.
Lady Castlemaine turned toward the king with a smile. “Lord Drayton believes to honor himself by marrying a traitor’s daughter.”
“So he said.” Charles scrutinized Alex, his face unreadable.
Slanting her eyes back toward Alex, Lady Castlemaine’s pretty lips turn downward in a scowl. “You surprise me, Lord Drayton. After what her father did, I would think that you’d grind her until you tired of her, and then bring her back to London and leave her on the street to beg and whore until she starved to death.”
Alex’s jaw clenched. If the countess were a man, he would run her through with his sword. “Majesty, Katherine knows nothing of her father’s deeds. No one told her why she was sent to me. She thinks only that you were kind enough to provide for her.”
“You are aware that her father wanted her to spy for him?” Charles asked.
“Yes,” Alex said, “but I do not believe she knew it.”
Charles regarded him for a moment, then rose to his feet. Every man and woman present turned to him and bowed or curtsied.
“Walk with me,” he ordered. Leaving Lady Castlemaine behind, he led Alex through the vast room, between two massive marble columns, and outside to a sumptuous walled garden.
They were alone save for two guards who stood at alert attention a few yards away near a bronze sundial. In the warmth of the sun, Alex faced King Charles—his equal in stature.
“I did hate to make the decision to give her over to you. She is a lovely young woman.” His voice hardened. “But we demand loyalty, Drayton. Someone has to pay for Seymour’s crimes, and she is the only one left of her family. Her two brothers and mother died of the Plague. When we found his trunk full of the proof of his treason, we decided to allow you the satisfaction of exacting payment.”
“Yes, Majesty, I understand that,” Alex said, and his throat tightened with distress. The wrong words could jeopardize Katherine’s safety. “But I have no doubt of her innocence. She knows nothing. Please, do not command me to hurt her.”
Charles’ dark eyes shone with a surprisingly amused glint. “I would never command that a woman be hurt. ’Twas not my intention that you punish her at all, Drayton. Of course, my Lady Castlemaine wondered why I went along so easily with her plans.”
Relief welled within Alex, but the discussion wasn’t finished. “Yet she is to pay, somehow, for her father’s crimes.”
“Therein lies my dilemma. I cannot simply forget it happened.”
Alex, sensing a solution, didn’t flinch from his sovereign’s gaze. “Perhaps knowing the whereabouts of Mrs. Mallet would help to settle the score.”
Charles’ expression remained unchanged. Yet Alex, knowing Ellis Potts had run off with a woman the king wanted in his bed, noted a slight forward movement his head and an increased intensity in his stance. Between the king’s legs hung England’s masculine pride.
“That may help,” Charles quipped. He turned and commenced a leisurely, long-legged stroll through the pebbled garden path. “And what of our exquisite Katherine? Shall I trust you to rectify Lord Seymour’s treachery?
Alex, keeping stride with ease, said, “You shall, Majesty. Katherine’s misery will be punishment enough for her when she learns the truth. She believes her father was a staunch Royalist.”
“And you?” Charles asked, sliding his long fingers along a tree’s tender white blossom. “What of your own recompense?”
“If you are speaking of my parents’ murder,” Alex replied with a shrug, “’tis long past.”
“Is it now?” Charles halted once more and faced Alex, his gaze both kind and forceful. “Drayton, there is a specific reason we sent the woman to you. A personal reason.”
His next words turned Alex’s blood to ice.
****
“Herbs, heat, lozenges.” Millie bustled about the bedroom of the inn with no apparent purpose, almost chanting the words as Katherine sat cross-legged on her bed sipping from a cup of foul-tasting broth heavy with chili powder and salt.
She worked to swallow the vile concoction as she fingered the cloth pouch beside her containing lozenges made up of angelica root, myrrh, and cinnamon.
The doctor had wasted no time gathering his prescribed herbs and spices and giving specific instructions. Tomorrow Katherine and Alex would leave London, and in two days return to Drayton Castle as husband and wife.
Wouldn’t Elizabeth be surprised! And Agnes would have quite a shock. Katherine couldn’t help the glee coursing through her.
“Newly laid eggs. Cabbage broth with fat an’ honey an’ the finest wheat. An’ garlic. Garlic with everything.” Millie stopped and turned to Katherine. “But ye must eat lightly, m’lady. And nothing cold. Only warm white maguey wine for ye.”
The doctor had written other instructions, and Katherine lifted the paper to read the long list. Juice of cinquefoil. Flowers of the Mallow plant boiled in oil, mixed with honey and alum, to be gargled daily. Sage and Rosemary were also listed, as was mustard seed—which, the doctor had warned her in grave tones, could stir up bodily lust. He had given her a small bag of each and advised planting more as soon as they returned home.
Home. Her home. Drayton Castle would see some changes, the first being the restoration of the dilapidated gardens. Then, the bedchamber she’d been using would be redecorated for guests.
Perhaps she could convince Alex to open the drapes.
Millie approached and checked Katherine’s right arm where the doctor had bled her with leeches. “Already healing,” she declared, replacing the bandage.
Katherine was surprised to feel a deep calm that, she knew, wasn’t a result of the contents of her drink. She forced a swallow of her broth while Millie turned and muttered her way around the room once more.
Alex. He’d astounded her with tears in his eyes at the doctor’s announcement. More than relief, however, had passed between them, and more than their mutual bodily lust that needed no help from mustard seed. As he held her hand in his, she’d found a newfound trust, a warm, deep stirring within her that spoke of security and companionship. And love.
Yes, by the heavens, could it be? She loved him. He didn’t feel the same—he’d made that clear although he certainly loved her with his body—she would speak, for him, because of him.
He wanted her voice back as much as she. And her first words after seven months of silence? I love you, Alex.
If only he could say them, too.
Chapter Twenty-four
Where was he?
The moon’s pale light washed the rough planks of the inn floor and guided Katherine as she paced about on restless feet. He’d not returned since paying his respects to the king.
Would he have remained at Whitehall Palace to join the nightly frolics? It didn’t seem like him—although if he were looking for entertainment, the palace provided an abundance of activity.
No. A man like Alex wouldn’t seek to dance and play Court games. Would he? Katherine paused at the window, pensively nibbling at her tender l
ower lip.
She really didn’t know him at all.
But after kissing her senseless this afternoon before leaving, he’d promised her that he would return before dark. From the loving warmth in his eyes, she knew he spoke the truth.
Was he safe? Katherine resumed her walking, envisioning him lost in London and unaware of the dangers of the city. She pressed a hand to her trembling mouth. Perhaps he’d been attacked and even now lay bleeding in a stinking gutter!
But this was silly. He was a big man, he carried a sword, and he certainly knew more about London than she gave him credit for.
But by the heavens, where was he?
Finally, the moon high and the hour late, she fell upon her bed in exhaustion.
Dawn’s pink light colored the window when Millie woke her. “Somethin’s wrong!” she whispered. “Lord Drayton just came back. He wants us to leave now. Without him.”
Blinking herself awake, Katherine slid from the bed in confusion. Millie moved aside, and Katherine saw Alex slouched in the doorway, watching her with haunted eyes—as if she were a complete stranger.
Alarm twisted in Katherine’s belly as she ran to him. The hand he shot up may as well have been a sword, for it stopped her cold.
“Go home,” he said in a voice so emotionless it could have come from a dead man.
She reached for him, but he stepped back.
“No. Please. I just...need some time.”
He turned from the door and left her standing there.
****
Alex warned his footmen to guard Katherine with their lives or they would answer to his blade.
He remained at the inn for a week, loath to go home and discuss this with her. He had to think. To grapple with the truth.
Finally, he chartered a horse and left London. Katherine was his wife. He owed her the knowledge of their tied past.
The mount, used to walking short distances along London’s streets, had not Neos’ spirit nor stamina and tired easily. Alex was forced to halt many times during the day. At night, he lay wrapped in his cloak in a field or the woods. He stared blankly at the sky or listened to the soft rustle of leaves on the trees, and tried to sort out what he had to do.