Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (97 page)

Emily stopped, tensed, grasped Emme’s wrist, parted her lips, stared ahead with piercing, unblinking eyes. The man stood ten yards away, wore a large fur around his shoulders, and fur leggings that rose from his moccasins to his knees. His dark eyes bored into Emily’s, questioned her, waited patiently, expectantly for a reply. Her chest pounded, legs buckled, breathing quickened. My God, must go to him, hold him; need him so.

“Emily.”

“Isna.” Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks; she trembled, moaned softly. Want to run to him, hold him. No. Cannot dishonor him, must bear this alone, ashamed, unworthy. She tugged on Emme’s hand, turned, started back toward the palisades, moaning softly as she walked. She suddenly stopped, looked back with mournful eyes, saw him watching her; she turned, sobbed as she trudged back toward the palisades.

Tayler sat on a stump a foot from the fire at the back of his cottage, a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He laid a pair of logs on the fire, watched them catch. Fie on grass houses in winter, damn heat goes but a foot or two before the cold swallows it. Back’s freezing. He shivered, wiggled his stool a little closer to the flames, tucked his hands under his armpits. Acted impetuously today . . . stupidly . . . not cleverly, as I
should
act. Too much attention, they watch me now, who I talk to, how I behave. Made them more suspicious, jeopardized my mission. Fool. Keep your head down, bide your time, and keep your mouth shut for a while; let things settle, appear to be your old loyal, dedicated, hard-working self. He took a bite of smoked venison. Don’t need to be on the council of idiot Assistants to complete my task . . . work through Willes and the others; let them bear the suspicion and distrust while I muster more support and guide their actions from afar . . . easy to persuade people when they’re weary of work and starving. Promise them anything, and they believe it . . . and all accept a good bribe. Thank you, Lord Walsingham—Father—for your foresight. A
consummate conspirator you are for provisioning me with such a bounty of funds. He wondered what his life would have been like if he’d been raised in Walsingham’s household, wondered if he’d have been happier, been a better man, mayhap even one whom people looked up to rather than despised. He shook his head. No. I
am
who I am. So I must make the best of it and have my way with life, do what I want, take what I want, no matter who from, and let nothing stand in my way. But what if there
is
a God and a hell? He shuddered, quickly cast the thought from his mind.

He thought he heard a sound at the door, turned, stood, hoped it was Emily. No, no one there. Hearing things, Hugh. He sat, squiggled closer to the fire. So when things have calmed . . . when they believe they’re in control again . . . then . . . then we will act. Meanwhile, what do I do about Gibbes and Waters and the other two? Though all be fools, I think they know I’m up to something . . . but they can’t possibly suspect the truth . . . not yet. But what if they do? What then? Perhaps ’tis why they watch me so closely, especially that son of a whore, Gibbes. Would that I could put a ball in his brain this very moment. And Waters, as well. Curse the day those two entered my life . . . but must be cautious . . . both excellent marksmen . . . far better than I . . . and fearless. Dare not face either of them, or Myllet or Smith, in a
fair
fight. He smiled. The credo of your life, Hugh Tayler: do
nothing
fair. Fairness is for fools.

He tossed another log on the fire. Burning too fast. Damn cold out there. “Brrr.” Damn cold in
here
. And what of Emily? Must soon feel her close to me again. My God, I crave her . . . not just her body but her whole being . . . truly love her. He smiled, imagined her lithe, exquisitely proportioned body standing naked before him. ’Tis blissful to know that none but I have had her . . . to know I own her forever . . . to use as I wish—the only person in this world who can turn me from my ways, make me the person I long to be but cannot become on my own. He took another bite of venison. Must make her love me, convince her to give me a chance. Yet, despite the ecstasy of being the first to have her, ’twas another foolish mistake. Should never have done it . . . terribly wrong. Should have been patient, rebuilt our relationship, regained her trust. He shook his head. Blather, patience is for fools. I want her
now
; and if I’m to
have
her now, I must use
whatever means are necessary. But what of the consequences? What if I kill the young child and am discovered? “Christ, ’tis cold in here.” He eyed his shaking hands, again thrust them under his armpits. They’ll draw and quarter me . . . there will be hell to pay.
Hell
.
Hell
. The word again conjured up his recurring horrific vision, planted it in his mind. He trembled as he visualized himself writhing in everlasting flames.

When the image faded, he again thought of Emily. Days since I’ve seen her . . . avoiding me. But today is the day she
will
come to me. His heart quickened at the thought. But what if she doesn’t? He stared at the fire for a moment. If she doesn’t, then I shall go to her and . . . careful, Hugh, you dare not attract
more
attention. ’Tis not the time for a noisy argument
or
to be smothering the governor’s granddaughter. But my need is great, uncontrollable. The thought of Emily’s firm, tight, naked body, warm and sweaty against his own, stiffened his prick, made it throb with anticipation while warming his blood and quickening his heart. Pox on caution, I must have her now. But this time . . . this time ’twill be different: gentle . . . slow and loving. She’ll savor the slow rise of her passions, the wild release, the rapture. True, she felt it last time, but this will be better: endless; she won’t be so afraid and will therefore allow herself to savor the ecstasy I bring her—and, yes, let herself drown in the glorious intoxication that follows. And she
will
beg me to do it again and again and again, and the joy of it will make her begin to love me.

He suddenly scowled as his idyllic daydream yielded to shadows. She will not come to me unless forced, and . . . and she still loves her Savage and will
continue
to love him, at my expense, until . . . until I kill him. So I must do so soon. He stirred the fire with a stick, added another log. But what of today? How do I
quietly
force her to satisfy my passion?

He stood, walked to his chest, opened the lid, and removed a quill, an inkwell, a thin, six-inch square board, and a small piece of paper. When he’d reseated himself in front of the fire, he laid the paper on the board, placed the board across his knee, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and wrote:

My dearest Emily
,

       
It has been an unbearable
. . .

From his hiding place behind a large tree, the Panther had an unobstructed view of the white warrior’s back. This one was well within bow range; the others, who stood around the four women gathering firewood by the frozen stream, were longer shots but within easy range for his men across the clearing. He nodded at the other warriors near him, drew his bow, then stepped from behind the tree, aimed, and released.

Phffft
! The arrow ripped clean through Johnny Gibbes’ neck. He fell forward into the snow, felt a warm wetness flowing down the front and back of his neck onto his chest and back. Shot . . . groggy, mind spinning, want to sleep. He heard a woman scream, then a bevy of loud, chilling cries behind him, more on the side. He heard someone crying, felt hands on his shoulders, felt himself being rolled over, prayed it wasn’t a Savage. He blinked, looked into Emme Merrimoth’s desperate eyes, heard her scream.
Phffft
-
thunk
! She screamed again, but the sound caught in her throat as she lurched forward, fell limp and silent upon him. He felt the arrow graze his cheek as she fell, her blood dripping steadily onto his face. More war cries, screams from across the clearing. He gripped Emme, rolled her over, saw the front half of an arrow sticking through her chest, just below the shoulder and inward from her armpit. He shielded her with his armored back, snapped off the point, lifted her limp torso with his left hand, and pulled the rest of the arrow out through her back. My God, she’s dead, saved me, my Emme. He jerked his helmet off, laid his ear on her chest, thought he sensed a faint pulse but couldn’t be sure, for his own heart pounded like a deep-toned drum.

Emily removed the note attached to her cottage door, stepped inside, unfolded it.

My dearest Emily
,

        
It has been an unbearable period since that wonderful and matchless moment when we shared the deepest pleasure of each other’s company. My
heart now yearns to relive the grandeur of that moment, and I pray your heart, being of like mind, will persuade you to meet me tonight at the place we’ve frequently discussed. I shall prepare a warm, hearty fire for you as I eagerly anticipate your complete pleasure and satisfaction at the time we pass together. But alas, if some unforeseen misfortune prevents your presence, be certain that I shall bear my boundless misery graciously, and in the manner I have so often described to you. With highest affection and hope, adieu until tonight
.

With undying love
,

Hugh

A wave of despair flooded her mind as she stared at the note quivering in her hand. What am I to do? As she walked slowly and thoughtfully toward the fireplace, she heard the rumble of a distant matchlock, then another. Chills raced through her body. “The firewood party, Emme, Johnny, under attack.” She stuffed the note in her pocket, rushed out the door, saw Myllet and Smith, five soldiers in tow, jogging out the palisades gate.

Myllet shouted at some soldiers standing in the village center, “Find Waters, take cover, prepare to defend, may be a trap!”

Gibbes looked across the clearing to where he’d heard two matchlocks discharge, saw one of his men lying face down and motionless on the ground—an arrow in his neck, one buried to the feathers in his side where his front and back armor met, and yet another in his leg. Gibbes rolled to his knees, stood.
Phffft
! He ducked at the sound, grabbed Emme’s hands, pulled her farther from the tree line. “Fie!” He let go of Emme, stumbled back to where he’d fallen, retrieved his matchlock, then crouched and inched back to Emme. He heard the other soldiers yelling, glanced at them. One was reloading his matchlock while the other two pumped arrows at the tree line as fast as they could nock them. Must organize fire, hold for help. “Over here, men.” He lifted Emme over his shoulder, grabbed his matchlock, plodded awkwardly to the stream; he dropped the
gun then laid Emme gently on the snow-covered ice of the streambed, a foot below the banks.