Connie Mason (21 page)

“So, you really do love the Jacobite,” Kimbra said in an aside while they waited on the king and Pelham. “How droll.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Kimbra. I’ll never have with you what I had with Elissa.”

Kimbra shrugged. “It matters not. I never asked for love. Your body will satisfy me.”

“I promised the king I would do my duty by you, and so I shall,” Damian said grimly.

Kimbra gave him a sultry look beneath fluttering lashes. “’Tis all I want, Damian,” Kimbra said.

The conference between the king and Pelham ended. Damian snapped to attention. He had spoken so boldly it wasn’t unreasonable to think he’d end up in the Tower with Elissa.

“Lord Clarendon,” Pelham began, “His Majesty acknowledges your courageous defense of king and country and wishes you to remain Lord of Misterly. Therefore, he will grant your request. Mistress Fraser will be released from the Tower and escorted to the St. Mary by the Sea Convent, her original destination.

“If you agree to those terms, His Majesty and the queen will host a wedding reception for you and Lady Kimbra.”

Elissa was to go to the convent. Though it was less than Damian had hoped for, it was far better than the Tower and certain death.

“You are more than generous,” Damian allowed, choking on the words. “I will wed Lady Kimbra.”

“Oh, Damian,” Kimbra gushed. “I knew you’d come around. I can’t wait to begin the Season as your wife.”

“Leave me,” King George said, waving them away. “We are exhausted.”

Kimbra clung possessively to Damian’s arm as he escorted her from the Privy Chamber. The planes of Damian’s face turned stark as he considered the dim future stretching before him. The king could force him to wed Kimbra, but no one could make him love any woman but Elissa.

Wrapped in her cloak, a blanket bundled around her shoulders for added warmth, Elissa huddled on the bed, listening to the wind howling through the window. She felt nothing, nothing at all. In order to survive, she had willed her body and mind into a state of numbness. Time had no meaning. Had she been residing in the Tower one week, or two? It felt like an eternity.

She watched the rats playing tag with scant interest, for she’d lost all fear of the odious creatures that had grown fat on her uneaten food. Their antics had been diversions that served to take her mind off her misery.

Inured to external disturbances, Elissa paid little heed when the door to her chamber opened. She knew without looking that the warder had arrived with a bowl of gruel, which the rats would doubtlessly enjoy after he left.

Not for the first time Elissa wished for something decent to eat, but she knew she was unlikely to get it. She could no longer deny what she’d suspected since leaving Misterly. The signs were unmistakable. She carried Damian’s bairn and needed healthier food if her child was to survive.

Unless her circumstances changed, however, Elissa feared she wouldn’t live long enough to bring her bairn into the world. She had no mirror, but she knew weight had melted off her body and her cheeks were hollow, her eyes lusterless. Could death be far away?

Why had Damian abandoned her? Had everything he’d told her been a lie? Her head drooped against her chest. She was hurt, disillusioned, and devoid of all hope. Justice was not only blind; in her case it was completely lacking.

“Mistress, are you unwell?”

Elissa’s head shot up. The voice didn’t belong to the warder.

“Did you hear me, mistress?”

Lieutenant Belton. “Aye, I heard. What do you want?”

“You’re to come with me. The king wishes to see you.”

The dullness faded from Elissa’s eyes, slowly replaced by wary comprehension. “The king wants to see me? Has he condemned me to death?”

“I know not. Once you leave here, you are no longer my responsibility.”

Elissa rose unsteadily, a remnant of innate pride reasserting itself. “I canna appear before the king like this. I stink. I’ve not had a decent bath in more days than I care to recount, and my clothing reeks.”

Belton approached Elissa, his nose wrinkling as he cautiously sniffed the air. “Aye, mistress, there is indeed a rank odor about you.”

“Well,” Elissa demanded with a hint of her old pluck, “what do you intend to do about it?” Asserting herself again made her feel so good she automatically assumed the posture to accompany her attitude.

“Follow me. There’s a bathing room near my quarters. You may use it.”

“What about clothing? I refuse to appear before the king dressed like a pauper.”

“I’ll see if my wife has something suitable for you to wear. Come along.”

Elissa picked up her satchel and followed Belton along twisting passageways to the bathing chamber in his private quarters. Excitement raced through Elissa when she spied the large wooden tub that sat in the center of the tiny room.

Belton summoned a servant and ordered hot water for the tub. “Don’t tarry,” he warned. “The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

A half-hour later, wearing a drab, but clean, twill dress Belton’s wife had generously provided, Elissa was ready to learn her fate. That kind lady had even brought a bar of sweet-smelling soap and a towel, and had wished her well.

Elissa had just finished running a brush through her wet hair when Belton returned.

“Time to leave, mistress. Your escort awaits you,” Belton said.

Elissa followed Belton through dank corridors and down a narrow staircase to ground level. When he opened the door, unaccustomed light stabbed against her eyelids and she closed her eyes against the glare. When she opened them, she was surprised and somewhat heartened to find Captain Harding waiting for her. He was, after all, a recognizable face.

“Have you been ill, my lady?” Harding asked with concern. “You look peaked.”

Elissa stifled a humorless laugh. Saying she didn’t look well was a gross understatement. “A stay in the Tower isna conducive to good health,” she stated dryly.

Harding merely nodded as he helped her to mount, attached her satchel to the saddle, and guided their horses through the gate and across the bridge into London’s teeming streets. After being confined for so long, Elissa watched the people go about their business with rapt attention. Though she had little liking for London, she thought it an interesting city with its diverse population.

They reached Whitehall sooner than Elissa would have liked. She wasn’t eager to hear the fate the English king had decided for her. Captain Harding handed her down, retrieved her satchel, and ushered her directly to the king’s Privy Chamber and left her.

“God be with you, my lady,” Harding said as a palace guard opened the door to admit her.

Elissa froze, her fingers curled around the handle of her satchel as if it were her lifeline to sanity. The king beckoned to her but she couldn’t move. Facing her own mortality took tremendous courage, a commodity she was currently lacking.

“You may approach us, mistress,” the king ordered. When Elissa failed to respond, he said in an aside to Lord Pelham, “You tell her, perhaps she didn’t understand us.”

“Did you not hear His Majesty?” Pelham asked impatiently. “You may approach. Don’t forget to make your curtsy.”

Suddenly realizing she was making a spectacle of herself before the men and women attending the king, Elissa squared her shoulders and walked forward with all the aplomb she could muster. She performed her curtsy without appearing to grovel and waited for the hammer known as English justice to descend.

She heard a strangled sound coming from someone standing nearby but paid it scant heed, until she recognized the sound as her name. She turned her head, surveying the faces staring at her with avid curiosity. Her gaze swept past Damian, then snapped back to him. He wasn’t alone. Kimbra was with him, pressed close to his side. Rigid with disbelief, she blinked, but they were still there when she opened her eyes. Pain squeezed her heart. She needed no further proof that the man she loved had abandoned her.

How could she have been such a fool? Elissa wondered. Damian hadn’t wanted her, he wanted Misterly and would do anything to keep from losing his prize. Exactly how far would he go to that end?

“Mistress, are you attending us?”

Elissa forced her attention back to the king. “I’m sorry, Sire, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Did you hear nothing we said?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

The king snorted his disapproval. “Tell her of our decision, Lord Pelham.”

“What His Majesty was trying to tell you,” Pelham repeated with waning patience, “is that he is releasing you from the Tower.”

Elissa went still. “Releasing me? I’m free to leave?”

“Not exactly. His Majesty is aware of your Catholic faith, and he hopes you will appreciate his generosity. An escort will take you to St. Mary by the Sea Convent, where you will devote the remainder of your life to prayer and good deeds. Should you leave the convent without permission, the Mother Superior will notify us. You will be declared an outlaw and put to death when you’re apprehended.”

Elissa gasped. She was to be sent to St. Mary by the Sea. The convent was but a day’s journey from Misterly. Since few convents still existed in Protestant England, she supposed that sending her to Scotland was more expedient than banishing her to a convent in France or Spain. Secretly she rejoiced. Though a convent was restrictive, she preferred it to the Tower.

“A word of caution,” Pelham continued. “The convent and its inhabitants are beholden to His Majesty for their very existence, so don’t try to leave without permission or expect special treatment.”

Elissa considered Lord Pelham’s words and decided she would leave the convent despite the warning. Becoming an outlaw didn’t frighten her, for she would be free. After she left the convent, she knew it would take weeks for word to reach London. It would be enough time to collect her mother and sister and take them to Glenmoor. The only problem was that it had to be accomplished before Damian returned to Misterly.

Elissa’s silent rumination abruptly ceased when Damain approached the throne and asked the king if he might have a word with her. After a moment’s hesitation, the king gave his grudging consent. Elissa could tell Kimbra wasn’t pleased, for she snarled something to Damian that made him frown and remove her hand from his arm.

Damian turned to face Elissa and stared directly into her eyes, as if trying to convey a message. “I but wanted to wish Lady Elissa a safe journey,” he said earnestly. “And to tell her that Lady Kimbra and I are to be wed.”

Elissa reeled as if struck. She should have expected it, but it still hurt unbearably.

Damian looked like he wanted to reach out to her but Elissa knew she was imagining it. “Were you aware that our marriage was declared illegal?” Damian asked in a gentle voice that confused her.

Was he deliberately trying to hurt her? “Aye. I knew. Will you and your bride return to Misterly immediately following the wedding?”

“Nay, Lady Kimbra wishes to enjoy the London Season first,” Damian replied.

The agony of Damian’s betrayal was nearly unbearable, but she’d be damned if she’d let his callous words destroy her. Besides, if her plan to get her mother and sister out of Misterly was to work, it was best that Damian wasn’t there to stop her. For all she cared, he could indulge his new bride all he wished, for it suited Elissa’s plans perfectly.

“When is the wedding?” she asked with little enthusiasm.

Damian opened his mouth to answer, but Lord Pelham forestalled him. “The wedding is to take place in His Majesty’s Privy Chamber in ten days. That’s all you need to know. You will be escorted to the convent immediately.”

Elissa wasn’t surprised at this abrupt dismissal. She knew she was as welcome as the plague. Neither the king nor Damian could stand the sight of her. The sooner she was gotten rid of, the better. She was puzzled, however, by the Crown’s decision to place her in the convent instead of executing her. Had someone petitioned the king for her life?

Elissa’s thoughts skidded to a halt when the chamber door opened, admitting Captain Harding…her escort, she supposed. She caught a glimpse of Damian’s face as she dropped into an awkward curtsy. His expression shocked her. Pain, pity, anger, anxiety, and something else. Love? Surely not. The love she thought had existed between them was a myth. Damian had everything he’d ever desired now, while she, she had nothing but the bairn he had put in her belly.

“I am ready, Captain,” she said as Harding grasped her arm to escort her away.

Damian watched Elissa walk away, head held high, her spine stiff. Never had he been so proud of her. It nearly killed him to stand by and watch the love of his life walk out of it. Never again would he hold her in his arms, or make love to her, or tell her he loved her.

He had saved Elissa from certain death, but at what price? Though Misterly was still his, he’d happily relinquish it for just one more kiss from Elissa’s sweet lips. Kimbra was no substitute for the wife he’d just lost, and God knows he’d have to force himself to bed her. And each time he bedded Kimbra it would be Elissa’s face he’d see, Elissa’s lips he’d kiss, Elissa’s body he’d love.

A slow smile curved his lips. It suddenly occurred to him how he could see Elissa and tell her the truth about Kimbra. Could he make it work? A hasty plan formed in his mind as he escorted Kimbra to her bedchamber.

“That went well,” Kimbra said smugly. “The Jacobite is out of our lives for good. Will you escort me to the Cavandish musicale tonight? It will be the perfect occasion to announce our upcoming nuptials.”

“I have other plans,” Damian said.

“Can’t they wait?” She placed a hand on his chest. “I need you,” she purred seductively. “We are betrothed. I want you in my bed tonight.”

The harshness of Damian’s expression should have warned Kimbra, but she appeared too absorbed in her own needs to notice as her hand strayed from his chest, moving boldly downward to his flaccid sex.

“I can make that hard for you, Damian.”

Damian seized her hand and flung it away. “Ours is not a love match, Kimbra. We both know I’m wedding you to save Elissa’s life. I’ll do my duty, but not until I have to.”

Turning on his heel, he left Kimbra without a backward glance.

Despite the cold, misty drizzle, Elissa easily kept pace with her escort as they journeyed north from London.

“We’ll stop at coaching inns as we find them,” Captain Harding informed her as he fell in beside her. “And seek shelter at private homes when no inns are available. We’ve also brought along a tent for your comfort.” He searched her face. “You appear excessively wan, and far thinner than when last I saw you, so I’ll try to make this journey as easy as possible for you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Captain,” Elissa said warmly. “The Tower isna a healthy place. Fresh air will do wonders for me, though I could do without this rain.”

As if to mock her words, the skies opened up and rain poured down on them. Elissa pulled her hood over her head and shivered beneath her cloak. She was surprised when Captain Harding removed his own cloak and placed it around her shoulders. Compassion still existed in this harsh world, she thought, as she smiled her thanks.

She was only a little damp when they rode into the yard of the Royal George Inn. A lad ran up to take charge of the horses as Captain Harding hastened with her into the inn. Elissa went directly to the common room to warm herself before the hearth while Harding arranged for rooms and food. No one noticed the hooded man who entered the inn a short time later and sat at a table in a dark corner obscured by shadows.

Elissa dined on savory meat pie, creamy yellow cheese, and soft white bread, washing it down with hot tea. She even found room for a generous slice of apple cobbler.

After she finished eating, she rose and requested permission to leave. “May I retire now?”