His Lady Fair

by Margo Maguire

  But first he had to find Maria.

  “Nicholas!” Praise God, her voice came from below.

  He made his way to the winch and looked down. Maria stood there, nearly enveloped in smoke. He judged the distance and realized it was too far to jump without suffering serious injury. On the other hand, he had few choices.

  “I have your whip!” she cried. “You can use it to lower yourself down!”

  She wasted no time, but held one end and snapped the length of the whip toward the opening where Nicholas crouched. It did not reach him, but came close.

  “Try again!” he called. Flames crept nearer, and he could hardly see for the hot smoke that burned his eyes.

  He lay flat on the floor near the hole and stretched out his arms. Cracking the whip once more, Maria tried again to send one end to him. It took several tries before he was able to catch hold of it.

  The flames were nearly upon him. Smoke circled his head, making it difficult to breathe.

  Blindly, he tied the whip to the base of the winch, then quickly grabbed the opposite end. Wedging himself through the small opening in the floor, he lowered himself down, using the strip of leather. When he neared the end, and was dangling high above the floor, the whip came loose from its mooring, and Nicholas fell the final eight feet.

  Maria cried out and ran to him. “Nicholas!” she exclaimed. “I thought I’d never find you!”

  He wasted no time. Standing quickly, he picked up the whip and took her hand. “Where’s the door?”

  “There!” she shouted over the roar, pointing to a wall of flames. “We can’t go that way!”

  She was right. There were flames all around now, and they’d be seriously burned if they moved. “What’s below?”

  The pulley ropes went through another hole in the floor.

  “The river,” she replied. She pulled up her skirt and covered her mouth with one edge in a futile attempt to keep out the smoke.

  “Is there a platform down there?”

  “I don’t know,” Maria replied. “Nicholas, you’re bleeding!”

  “That’s the least of my worries,” he replied, ignoring the trickle of blood that ran down the side of his face. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  He tied the whip again and fed the length through the opening in the floor. “Wrap this around your wrist, then hang on. I’ll lower you down. There’s bound to be a platform for loading and unloading cargo.”

  She did as she was told. “Nicholas,” she said, just before she slipped through the hole. “Master Tournay is behind all this.”

  “Tournay?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “He’s the one who bashed you and had you dragged inside—”

  “Damn! We’ll talk later, love,” he said. “For now, just move!”

  A fiery beam crashed down next to Nicholas’s head. He ducked and began to lower Maria toward the water. Suddenly he heard a ripping sound and a squeal, and then Maria’s weight was no longer at the end of the whip. With his heart in his throat, he took the leather cord, wrapped it around a post that he could only hope would hold firm, then slid down its length to the end.

  Maria lay on a platform near the water. She was on her back, her arms and legs akimbo, her eyes closed.

  With his heart in his throat, Nicholas crouched next to her. He ran one hand over her forehead. “Maria!” he rasped, attempting to rouse her.

  She did not move. Not a moan or a sigh could be heard, but the roar of the fire would have masked any small sound she might make.

  Nick glanced quickly around. Flames were spreading to the outer walls and support posts down here. Smoke would smother them completely if they did not move soon.

  Coughing, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and grabbed one of her arms, then pulled her over his shoulder and stood. Staggering for a moment from the dizziness and headache caused by the blow he’d taken, he carried her to the end of the platform.

  Nicholas could hear voices now, over the raging inferno—men shouting in panicked tones. He heard hammering, too, and realized that the men were chopping at the wooden platform on which the building rested, hoping to send it into the Thames before any more damage could occur.

  Soon the structure would come crashing down upon them, if Nick did not act immediately.

  He saw several dark shapes in the water. He prayed they were boats, because swimming out into the current would be impossible, carrying an unconscious Maria. A few more steps and he was at the edge of the platform. Here he was able to see more clearly that there were two boats. Only one was within reach.

  ’Twas enough.

  Nicholas stepped gingerly into it, keeping Maria balanced on his shoulder. The boat wobbled dangerously, but settled down as soon as Nick laid Maria on the bottom and sat down. He found the oars, then started rowing away from the quay.

  The vision of the burning building was terrifying. If the men did not chop it loose from the dock, the entire wharf could catch on fire…and then all of London could easily follow, going up in flame. Nicholas was sickened by the knowledge that Tournay would burn London intentionally to support the French. Yet property destruction was the least of it.

  Too many people—women and children included—would be killed.

  Once he got the boat out in the current, Nicholas could not spare a moment to attend to Maria. He rowed for their lives, anxious to get away before anyone saw that they’d escaped from danger. If Tournay or any of the men on the ship knew he’d survived the fire, they would come after him. Nicholas could not afford that, especially with Maria lying hurt and unconscious. He had to get her to safety.

  Nick continued steering the little boat until they got well beyond the harbor, nearer Temple Church. ’Twas not much farther before they’d reach the area near Bridewell Lane, and there he could pull the boat up into the shallows.

  Then he would try to awaken Maria before he took her home.

  “My lord!” Lady Alisia cried, pulling a wrapper around her. ’Twas nearly dawn now, and Maria lay nestled, and still unconscious, in Nicholas’s arms at the door of her house in Bridewell Lane.

  Nick knew his expression was grim. He was bruised and filthy, and his clothes were torn. Maria was in the same condition, which clearly alarmed Lady Alisia.

  The lady pulled open the door, and Nicholas walked in past a footman who held a lamp. With the faint glow to light the way, Nick climbed the steps to Maria’s room, entered it and carefully laid her on the bed.

  “What’s amiss?” Sterlyng asked as he came into the room. His tone was anxious. His white hair was disheveled, his feet were bare and he wore a long shirt that had been hastily donned. “Maria?”

  “Your grace…” Nicholas’s voice was harsh from burns. A spasm of coughing overtook him and he was unable to say more.

  “Kirkham!” Sterlyng frowned as glanced from Nicholas to Maria. “What’s happened?”

  “’Tis a long story, your grace,” Nick finally replied. “Lady Alisia, did I hear you send the footman for a physician?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she replied, frowning with concern. “He is to fetch Sir John.”

  Unmindful of his filthy, tattered clothes, Nicholas sat down on the edge of Maria’s bed. With blackened but gentle fingers, he brushed her hair away from her face. She was so pale, so vulnerable. Soot covered her clothes, and her gown was torn. Her hands and face were as filthy as Nicholas’s own.

  He would give his right arm to have her well again—conscious and spitting fire, telling him to go to the very devil.

  Silently, Alisia gathered clean cloths and a basin of water, and set them next to the bed.

  “Kirkham?” ’Twas not a question, but a demand from Maria’s father.

  Nicholas looked up at Sterlyng, who stood holding a lamp. The firelight flickered, causing shadows to play over his features. Nick had never before noted such deep lines in the duke’s face. He did not doubt that seeing his daughter brought in like this had aged the man. If it could have been any other way�
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  Nicholas’s throat was closed and he still felt choked, but knew ’twas not merely due to the smoke he’d inhaled. Emotion paralyzed him—fear and panic, love and tenderness for the one woman whose life meant everything to him.

  “Your grace…” Nicholas began again as he took Maria’s hand in his own. Her skin was so soft, so delicate now. He recalled that, when he’d first met her at Kirkham, her hands had been reddened and chafed, and he’d wondered about it….

  Should he spend a moment now trying to explain everything to Sterlyng, or leave immediately for the docks to see if he could apprehend Tournay?

  Nay. He would not leave Maria. For any reason.

  “Might I send a message?” he asked. “’Tis urgent.”

  Sterlyng paused a moment, then gave a slight nod of his head.

  “I will explain as much as I am able,” Nicholas said. “Maria…when she awakens…will have to tell the rest.”

  Sterlyng pulled up a chair next to his daughter’s bed and listened while Nicholas told of his work for Bedford, of the recent events that had caused suspicion to fall on Sterlyng. As Nicholas spoke, pen and vellum were brought to the room. He interrupted his narrative to write a quick missive to Sir Gyles and hand it to the footman.

  “Your grace, my lord…” Alisia said, “if the two of you will quit the room for a few moments, I will see to Maria…get these filthy clothes off her and bathe her before the physician arrives.”

  Nicholas hardly heard her words. Maria looked so small and fragile. Alisia had washed most of the soot from her face, but her brow remained unnaturally dark, and there were smudges under her chin.

  Still, Nicholas did not think he could have loved her more. She’d risked her life to get him out of the burning storage building, cleverly making use of his whip. He wished he’d tied it around her waist before lowering her down to the water, rather than having her hang on to it.

  But there’d been no time. He’d had to get her out before they were both burned alive.

  “Your grace?” Lady Alisia prompted.

  “Very well, Alisia,” Sterlyng said, though he was clearly reluctant to leave. He put a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Kirkham, come with me.”

  The two men retired to Sterlyng’s study, where Nicholas resumed his explanation of recent events as they pertained to Maria’s condition. He told Sterlyng that Maria had become aware of his suspicions and had taken it upon herself to prove him wrong.

  “And you allowed this?” Sterlyng demanded, grabbing a handful of Nicholas’s tunic.

  “Nay, your grace,” Nicholas quickly replied. He made no move against Sterlyng, whose distraught state was plainly understandable. Besides, Nick felt guilty for involving Maria, however inadvertently. He did not blame her father for holding him responsible for her injuries. “I told her that ’twould be too dangerous for her to pursue it. Yet I know she was anxious to show your innocence.”

  Sterlyng sighed and let Nick go. “She has her mother’s temperament,” he said. “My Sarah was head-strong. She often acted before thinking.”

  “Aye, Maria is a fiery one.”

  “And I know she had to scrape for her living at Alderton,” the duke added. “She was treated as less than the lowest servant there. Once her old nurse died, Maria had to fight for everything she received.”

  Nicholas had suspected as much, after hearing the rumors surrounding Maria’s arrival in London. Knowing how she’d been treated by her mother’s relations made him fume inside.

  Sterlyng let himself drop into the chair near his desk. “Do you know, I’ve actually received letters from Olivia Morley—her aunt—insisting that Maria’s property belongs to her son? The woman is delusional.”

  “No one will take anything from her again,” Nicholas said vehemently. He paced the floor, restless, angry. He wanted naught more than to tear back up the stairs and shake Maria awake.

  She could not remain unconscious much longer!

  Sterlyng leaned back in his chair and observed as Nicholas moved impatiently across the room. “How was she injured?” he finally asked.

  Nicholas shrugged in frustration. “I cannot imagine how she happened to show up in that warehouse tonight, your grace,” he said, stopping his pacing for a moment. “Or how she learned of my secretary’s part in the conspiracy. I only know that she saved my life. If anything happens to her—”

  At Nicholas’s words, Sterlyng stood and commenced pacing in turn. “Naught more will happen to my daughter,” he said, his voice breaking as he spoke. “Not when I’ve only just found her.”

  “Aye, your grace,” Nicholas breathed. “I pray that is so.” Nay, nothing more would happen to Maria. He vowed to keep her safe and cherished as she should be.

  He was relieved that Sterlyng seemed to feel no animosity toward him. If it had been his own daughter brought home in such a condition, Nicholas was certain he’d be shouting down the walls. Or throttling the man who carried her.

  Sterlyng stopped in front of Nicholas, running a hand over his whiskered jaw. “Your eye…it does not look good, Kirkham.”

  “No, your grace,” Nicholas replied absently. “I don’t imagine it does.”

  “And your hands are burned.”

  For the first time, Nick glanced at the blisters that had already begun to form. He had not noticed, nor did it matter. He could think only of Maria, of her courage…of her continued unconsciousness.

  The arrival of the physician roused the two men from their dour thoughts, and they hastened to the front door to greet him.

  “Has someone taken ill, your grace?” he asked.

  “Not exactly, but my daughter has been injured. She is in need of your skills, Sir John,” Sterlyng replied as he took the man’s elbow and started walking up the stairs with him.

  “She took a fall and was knocked unconscious,” Nick said, climbing right behind them.

  “She has not yet come ’round, and it’s been some time since the fall….”

  “How long?” the physician asked.

  “More than an hour,” Nicholas replied. “Possibly two by now.”

  The physician pursed his lips and shook his head. “Show me to her.”

  When they reached Maria’s room, Sterlyng held the door open for the physician and followed him inside. Nicholas went, too.

  Alisia had gotten all the soot from Maria’s face and hands. The bedclothes covered her nearly to her neck, though Nick could see that she’d been dressed in some sort of gown, laced up to her chin.

  The physician set down his satchel, took one of the lamps and held it close to her face. He opened each eyelid in turn, then touched the pulse in her neck.

  Nicholas shuddered at the sight. He could almost taste that pulse. He’d recently had his tongue on that sensitive spot. He gritted his teeth and vowed he would do so again.

  He would not lose her now.

  Suddenly, the physician turned. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to give me a moment with Lady Maria…”

  Nicholas stared blankly at the man, but Sterlyng was slightly better composed. He put his hand on Nick’s shoulder and turned him, then ushered him out of the room. Nick heard the healer ask Alisia to stay.

  The waiting was interminable. Nick and Sterlyng remained in the passage on the second floor outside Maria’s room while the physician made his examination. The two men did not speak, but every now and then one sighed in frustration or ran a troubled hand through his hair.

  Finally, the door opened.

  “Stay with her, my lady,” Sir John said.

  “What?” Sterlyng asked. “Will she…recover?”

  “Let us retire to your study, your grace,” the healer said. Then he turned to eye Nicholas. “There, we shall talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “’Tis a nasty bump on the back of her head,” Sir John said. He lifted the cup of wine to his lips and sipped. “And though she has a number of bumps and bruises and burns…I believe she will recover from them.”
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br />   Nicholas heard the physician’s unspoken “but” and refused to credit the possibility that Maria had sustained any lasting damage. She would be all right. She would soon awaken and he would wed her and take her to Kirkham, and—

  “’Tis her child I fear for.”

  The silence in the room was palpable.

  Nicholas felt as if the air had been forcibly siphoned from his lungs. The heart that used to beat so strong and steady in his chest faltered.

  “Her child?” Sterlyng finally said. His voice was strained, and Nicholas was still speechless.

  Sir John nodded. “There is some bleeding…only a few spots, mind you, but I’ve seen this sort of thing progress,” he said. He set down his mug and stood. “She must be watched carefully. If there is an increase in blood loss, send for me immediately. Or if a good midwife is known to you…?”

  Since neither Sterlyng nor Kirkham seemed capable of further speech or movement, the physician saw himself out. Sterlyng was the first to recover from the shock. He turned to Nicholas and spoke. “You’d know about this, I suppose.”

  Nick shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered in awe. “She never said anything. But it is mine. The babe is mine.”

  A flurry of recent memories suddenly swamped him. Maria turning green in the boat at Lady Eleanor’s party. Holding her stomach and running from the baker’s stall at Dunstan Fair. Other times when she’d looked peaked for no good reason.

  He knew now there’d been very good reason.

  She carried his child!

  “I care for her, your grace,” Nicholas said. “With all my heart.” He turned on one heel and hastened from the duke’s study, heading for the stairs. He took the steps by twos, and when he reached Maria’s room, he opened the door and stepped in without knocking.

  If his entrance startled Lady Alisia, she did not show it. She pulled open the drapery and let in the dawn. “Lord Kirkham?”

  “You knew….”

  Alisia tipped her head slightly. “I suspected.”