Rivals for the Crown (22 page)

"Isabel," he said softly. "Would you like your position restored? Would you like your wage portion to be increased? I alone can make both happen. You do not need to live on the street." He touched his lips and looked at hers. "You will come to me tomorrow at my office in the Wardrobe Tower. Just before midday."

"No."

He leaned forward as though to kiss her again, but instead his hand closed on her breast, then tightened. He thrust his mouth forward. She struck his face, then again. He caught her wrist, lowering her arm to her lap. His other hand went to her throat and squeezed. And then again, tightening his grasp until she could not breathe. Her vision darkened. She clawed at his hands and fought for breath, kicking at him and striking flesh. Then suddenly he released her and stared at her. Then slowly, deliberately, slapped both her cheeks. And again. And again. She screamed, but her throat could make no sound above a hoarse whisper.

"You are a madman," she said, fighting her tears. "You are mad."

"Tomorrow. Come alone. And do not think to evade me. I know where your mother is. I know where your grandmother lives. I will find you." He tucked his hands beneath the robe and smiled that repulsive smile again.

"What do you want with me?"

"Oh, please, do not play the innocent with me, madam. We both know you have been, how shall I put it, on the friendliest of terms with two men, Sir Henry de Boyer, and the Scotsman MacGannon, who you brought to the Tower to flaunt before me."

"No. I thought you were in Greenwich."

"Ah, so the truth at last. I have heard so much about you lately, my dear, that you are very sympathetic to our expelled Jews, so much so that you raised your voice in their
defence
at a meal at court. And that you ridiculed King Edward's actions in Ireland and Wales and Scotland. How angry he becomes when he hears of such disloyalty, such questioning of his motives and actions. It is almost as though you are speaking treason, is it not? And poor Edward, will he want to hear this, do you think, so shortly after putting his wife in the ground? And you, one of her own ladies. I do worry about you, Isabel, if he were to hear any of this. He is so short- tempered these days. Think of the betrayal he would feel, that a young woman his own departed Eleanor had trusted in her inner circle would, within a month of her death, mock her husband, and

question such things as his expulsion of the Jews and his war in Wales. Alis de Braun says you frequently told her, in the queen's own chambers, that the king was cruel and heartless and unjust. And Lady Dickleburough tells me that you imitate the king to the queen's ladies, that they have asked you to stop, but you will not. You even suggest that he call himself 'Potentate of Scotland.' Now how, sweet Isabel, will you defend yourself when Edward asks you to explain?"

"I never meant
—
"

"It is not important what you meant. Nor what you said. Only what others will swear they overheard. You were unwise at the midday meal at court, Isabel. Many heard you, and some are willing to swear to it." He leaned forward to stroke her cheek. "I can make it all go away. I make all things possible. Come to me. Just before midday."

He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes. She calmed her breathing, ready to scream and kick if he touched her again, but he did not move. She would have thought he'd gone to sleep except for his hands, moving rhythmically beneath the robe. At last he groaned, bucked up from the seat, then sank back, opening his eyes and watching her. She felt her stomach heave and pressed as far back in the seat as she could. Could there be a man more foul?

The ride seemed interminable. She was determined to jump out as soon as the coach stopped, or even slowed. But when it did stop at last, the door was thrown open and she looked into the face of a

Westminster Palace guard. Stifling her sob, she scrambled toward the door and reached for the guard's hand, letting him help her out.

"Tomorrow," Langton said languidly.

She stared, shivering, as the coach drove away.

"Are you all right, Mistress de Burke?" the guard asked, his tone kind.

"No." She knew she must look like a madwoman, but she shook her head. "No. No. No. I am not all right. I will never be all right again."

"You will not do it!" Mother's voice was shrill and rising. "You will not!"

Isabel wiped her eyes again. She'd managed not to cry as she'd made her way through the palace rooms, avoiding everyone who'd come near, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. But once within her mother's door, she'd burst into tears and poured out her story in a frenzy.

"I was so foolish, Mother! One meal, one time, I was foolish enough to say what I thought. They twisted everything I told them, Alis and Lady Dickleburough! They betrayed me!"

"You betrayed yourself, Isabel. I warned you not to trust anyone. I warned you that there would be men after you, but did you listen? No. You already knew everything, did you not? And now, you stupid chit, you have destroyed everything you were given. I will be tossed out into the street and we will starve together, if you are fortunate enough not to hang. I warned you about your friendship with Rachel! But you persisted. And this is the result, the destruction of everything we had hoped for. You have taken it all from us."

"The queen's death took it all from us, Mother. And I would never have been a queen's lady if not for Langton. It was all an illusion. What do you wish me to do now, Mother? Do you want me to go to him? Is that what you want, so all of this can continue to be yours?"

"I forbid it!" Mother cried. "You will not!"

Isabel burst into hysterical laughter. "I am not arguing with you, Mother! The man terrifies me. I will not go! I will kill myself first!"

Mother paced the room while Isabel cried. "We must think of something. First, we must get you out of here. Gather your things. You will go to your grandmother's. Hurry, Isabel. Hurry!"

"He said tomorrow, Mother."

"Do you want to risk him changing his mind?"

Grandmother's maid opened the door, her eyes widening when she saw Isabel's face. "Jesu, Mary and Joseph, Mistress Isabel, what happened?"

Isabel shook her head, unable to speak of it, and let the woman pull her through the door. Her grandmother cried out in dismay, then hurried her to a chair before the fire.

"Isabel? Sweet? Tell me what happened. Where is your mother?"

"She sent me to you," Isabel said, her tears falling again. "Oh, Grandmother! It was so horrid!"

She told her grandmother all of it, sobbing through the telling and unable to stop shivering. "There is something so dark, so foul about the man! As if—"

"He's said to be in league with the devil," Grandmother said. "Perhaps that's what you sensed. I've never met the man, but I have heard stories enough."

"I will not go to him! He is evil!"

Grandmother nodded. "That's what I've heard. Here, drink this."

Isabel drank the wine she was handed, sipping slowly, willing the warm liquid to calm her. Someone knocked on the door below, and Isabel leapt to her feet.

Grandmother waved her back from the window, peering out the tiny diamond-shaped panes at the street. "It is no one," she told Isabel and slipped out to the landing, where she spoke softly to her maid.

A moment later the door downstairs opened and closed, then Grandmother was back with her, handing her another cup of wine. Isabel could not stop her tears. How had her life changed so quickly? The second cup of wine calmed her considerably. She still cried constantly, but more than anything, she wanted to go to sleep. She nodded off, and when her grandmother suggested a nap in her bed, Isabel gratefully agreed.

She woke hours later to find Grandmother asleep in her chair and her maid stirring the fire back to life. It was dark, which meant she'd slept the afternoon away. And Mother was not here.

Nor did she come until very late that night, waking them with quiet knocks on the door. She embraced Grandmother and Isabel, then sank into a chair, accepting a cup of warm wine with grateful thanks.

"I have solved it," she said. "You are safe. No one will look for you now."

"He will find me," Isabel said. "He told me he knows where Grandmother lives. I will not go to him! I will kill myself first!"

"There is no need," Mother said. She sipped her wine and looked into the fire. "You are already dead."

Isabel and Grandmother exchanged a look.

"That is what I told everyone, that you killed yourself after you were released from the queen's service. Everyone I told believed it. They talked of how distraught you were when you heard the news. Lady Dickleburough will gleefully spread the word everywhere. And except for Langton, who will question it?"

"But how?..." Isabel asked.

"There was an old woman pulled from the river this morning," Mother said wearily, sipping the wine before she continued. "No one knows who she was. I paid the man who found her.. .1 had him bring the wrapped body to the palace, and I wept as though it were you. There was a bad moment when Lady Dickleburough wanted to see your face, but I wept like a madwoman and she backed away. She talked of how volatile you were, how unpredictable. There are a few servants who might not swallow this, but most will accept it, or know it for what it is and keep their silence." She sipped the wine, then looked up at Isabel. "What I want to know is what you did to get yourself dismissed."

"I do not know. I tried to be good." She thought how foolish she had been to trust Alis and Lady Dickleburough, of her careless words about the king and Scotland and Ireland, and she cursed herself. How had she been so unwise as to say all that in front of others? Henry had warned her.

"I was imprudent. I talked about the king's policies and I should not have."

"Fool!"

"But Lady Dickleburough was also let go."

Mother shook her head. "No. She was not. She told me she asked to stay behind. The rooms have not been closed permanently, only until the other ladies return. You had it all wrong."

"No," Isabel said, looking from her mother to her grandmother. "That is what Lady Dickleburough told me. She lied to me."

"You did something, Isabel," Mother said. "You were told to stay behind. Something changed."

"What changed," Grandmother said, "is that she caught the eye of Walter Langton. Do you really think there are not other women that Langton has approached? I'm sure he arranged all of this, your dismissal and then his offer to you. There was no word of you staying behind until the morning you were to leave. And it would not be the first time Lady Dickleburough lied—or laid—for a price."

Isabel's mouth fell open. She closed it and nodded. She was indeed a fool. She should have been more suspicious. Langton had confessed that he'd gotten her the position in the first place, but still she had not imagined that he would be so despicable. But even if she had suspected, who was she to have questioned the queen's household's steward, who had told her to stay behind? In retrospect, the man had seemed unaccountably nervous, but she

had attributed his odd behavior to his dislike of the task given him. It looked different now.

"What can I do to remedy this?" she asked her mother.

"I told everyone you were dead, Isabel. Would you show me to be a liar?" Her voice rose. "No. Your life at court is over. I have written to your father. I bought you passage on a ship going up the coast. You leave with the morning tide. You will sail to Newcastle and await your father's arrival. It's time he shared the responsibility of you. You may have a long wait, I am afraid, for he lives quite close to the Scottish border, and it is December." She held out a coin purse. "Here. It is enough to see you through until he finds you. You must be frugal."

"No! Surely there is someone in London who could shield her?" Grandmother cried. "She can stay here. I have friends. They will help."

Mother's smile was pitiless. "They are old women, Mother, as you are. And Langton would find her here with you. No, she must leave London."

"Look at her!" Grandmother cried. "She might have been unwise, but you have been hasty. And now you send her away, to a man who hasn't seen her in a decade? What are you thinking? At least go with her, to be sure she is safe."

"I cannot leave London. I am still engaged by the king. And would it not seem strange if I were suddenly to leave? No, it's better that I stay here and repeat my story." She looked at Isabel with narrowed eyes. "You need to ask yourself one thing, Isabel. How did you cause this? What were your actions that led Langton to believe you would welcome his attentions?"

Isabel stared at her mother.

"Damn cold. Tell me why we dinna live somewhere that's warm all the time."

Kieran pulled his cloak hood back over his dark head after the wind tossed it from him. His face was pinched with cold, but his expression was cheerful.

Rory was grateful for that, and that his cousin had not argued when Rory had told him they were returning to London. Nor when Rory had suggested they sail to Leith rather than make the long trip overland. And all because Isabel had not been with the king's party. Nor had she been at the palace, where no one seemed to know why she was not with the king. But something had happened, for when he'd asked for her, the servants had exchanged looks, then nodded to each other, as though they'd agreed to keep their silence. He'd gone to her grandmother's house then, but the maid had refused to admit him.