Bedding the Enemy (23 page)

The Tower was not known for its refinements. Many a prisoner had found himself at the mercy of guards who only fetched them what they wanted if there was a large bribe attached to the request. Farrell eyed the trunks with suspicion.

“What are ye planning, my lady?”

“To begin acting like a wife.”

The Scot raised an eyebrow. He planted himself in front of her, his hands settled on his hips. None of the McQuade retainers moved to pick up the trunks. They waited on his command. Farrell stood silently staring at her.

“Do you think your laird is being treated any too well in an English stronghold?”

“I'm trying nae to dwell on it or I'm likely to find myself run through when I charge the bloody bastards with keeping an innocent man prisoner.”

“There are other things that might be done.”

The Scot raised an eyebrow again and his fellow clansmen shifted closer to make sure they heard what she said.

“Noblemen have rights in the Tower of London. I plan to ask the king to allow me to take these trunks to my husband.”

“And do you think Jamie will be agreeing to that?”

“Only if I catch him in the hallway after morning prayers and alone.”

Several throats cleared. Farrell narrowed his eyes. “Nae alone. You will nae be alone while it's my duty to see to ye.”

“The king will bestow many things on a weeping bride that he might not grant to a woman who is surrounded by men.”

Helena abandoned her stiff composure and widened her eyes. She wrung her hands and allowed her lower lip to tremble. Farrell's complexion darkened. Alarm flickered in his eyes before she shook it off and regained her poise.

“Och well, now that's a low bit of trickery.” Relief coated his voice. “But it just might work.”

A gleam entered his eyes. He glanced at the horizon to judge the hour.

“We'd best make our way to the palace.”

The men behind him picked up the trunks a moment later.

“And you shall leave me alone?”

“It will look that way.” Farrell aimed a solid look at her. “But I swear on my mother's sweet head that McQuade eyes will be on ye at all times.”

 

The palace was already filling with nobles. Another day of competing for the king's favor showed on their faces. Helena tightened her resolve and resisted the urge to turn her head when the whispers began around her.

Her thoughts were on her plan and she hurried past the great hall and into the maze of corridors that connected the palace buildings. Each monarch added to it, and newcomers often became confused.

She glided easily to where she knew the king would pass. A shadow of guilt descended on her as she recognized that her brother was the one who had taught her the hallways.

Well, she would use something of Edmund for a good purpose. There was only the living to consider and she was all too aware of how quickly her husband might join Edmund in the afterlife. Without proof to clear his name, Keir might face the headmen's ax. Someone's blood would be spilled over the murder of a peer. Every lord on the privy council was no doubt anxiously awaiting the king to demand it.

They needed Raelin. Helena refused to allow herself to think about how she wanted her friend found. The idea of her death was too difficult to consider when she needed her composure.

Pain raked across her heart. Helping her friend was going to prove a difficult task, but she would do it. Helena cast a look around and discovered that Farrell was a man of his word. There wasn't a McQuade in sight; only the shadows of the early morning. But every corner might conceal someone. Her heart accelerated and her senses became acute. She heard the king and his entourage before they drew close enough to escape the gloom of the stormy morning.

The royal guard was not amused by her presence. They rushed ahead of their king to lock their pikes in front of her.

Helena sank into a deep curtsy.

“Your Majesty, I beg your permission to visit my husband.”

It was all too common a request from a wife who was soon to be a widow. Helena allowed the fear to bleed out into her voice. The king strode forward and eyed her. He waved his guard back. The men hesitated, earning a frown from their monarch.

“What do ye think the lass is going to do? Slay me with her tears?”

They withdrew but the king shot her a hard look. “Which I noticed ye do not have any of in yer eyes.”

Helena recovered, standing firmly in the face of her king. “Weeping is for the guilty.”

One of the king's eyebrows rose. “McQuade claims he was with ye every moment of last evening. Is that a truth?”

“It is.”

She held the king's stare. It was intense and she couldn't tell what the man was thinking but she refused to lower her eyelashes. Confidence burned inside her too brightly to pretend anything but solid belief in Keir's innocence.

“Why did ye run away the night before yer wedding?”

The question surprised her. It seemed so long ago that she allowed the answer out without hesitation. “Edmund told me I was to wed Ronchford by your command.”

“So ye ran away from your king's order?”

Her cheeks colored but she maintained her level chin. “Yes, I did.”

Everyone was silent. Helena heard the rain hitting the glass in the windows but the king suddenly chuckled.

“Ye're a better match for McQuade than I ever imagined. God grant me patience to deal with the children ye will give him.” His amusement vanished. “Providing we can discover the truth of this mess.”

“Raelin McKorey will prove it.”

“The girl is likely drowned.” The king's tone was hard with authority. “Which leaves me with a dead peer and a pair of lords who were fighting over you for the gain ye would bring them.”

Helena shook her head but the king held up his hand. “Ye may visit yer husband. Once.”

James Stuart resumed his progress down the hallway. Helena didn't bother to lower herself. The man wasn't looking at her but many of his entourage did and she refused to show them anything except confidence.

“Well now, I'm impressed.” Farrell moved out of the shadows to grin at her.

“Don't be. The difficult challenge is still in front of us. The king may have two lords in the Tower, but the one who wed me shoulders more suspicion.”

The sort of suspicion that cost lives. Helena shivered, unable to suppress her foreboding any longer. It grew inside her chest every moment that she waited for the parchment that would allow her to enter the Tower. When the king's royal guard returned with it she took it with a hand that trembled.

“Let us go to the Tower.”

The McQuade men closed around her, escorting her toward the yard. Every set of eyes in the great hall turned toward their progress. But Helena's attention was focused on the journey in front of her. It was one many had traveled on their way to their deaths.

One that led to the Tower of London.

T
he Tower of London was a fortress that struck fear into those who entered it. Helena decided that the dark weather fit the moment. The outer walls were protected by a moat, and somewhere along the stone walls was the traitor's gate. The storm had likely saved Keir from entering the Tower through that infamous opening.

But that wasn't much mercy.

The walls rose up above her, sending a shaft of fear through her. The solid stone and iron was inhabited by too many ghosts to name. Past the outer walls and towers there was another entire set of walls and towers before you reached the tower green where the scaffold stood. At the very heart of the fortress stood the white tower. Its walls rose ninety feet into the air, built to impress Norman rule after Britain had been conquered.

Black-uniformed yeomen stopped them. Helena felt the rain splatter on her cheeks when she stretched her neck to watch Farrell hand the parchment over to one of the yeomen. He looked up, his gaze settling on her face.

“Bring the lady closer.”

She climbed down from her seat at the front of the wagon that hauled her trunks before any of the McQuade men offered her a hand. She didn't blame them. They were uneasy and watching what was coming toward them. Her own stomach was twisted into a knot. The sight of the outer wall sent terror through her. The Earl of Essex had lost his head not a full two years ago.

And now her husband was imprisoned inside it.

Helena moved closer to the yeomen.

“Push your hood back and open your cloak.”

Farrell protested but the yeoman silenced him. “It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to sneak in wearing a dress.”

“I am a woman.” Helena did as instructed and the rain quickly soaked into her hair. She opened the wool cloak wide. Heat burned in her cheeks when she watched the man's gaze settle on her breasts.

“All right then.” He waved his hand and there was a groan from the iron gate. It creaked and moaned while it was pulled up. “The lady may enter. Only the lady. Her escort will remain here. My men will take the trunks and deliver them once they have been searched.”

Arrogance and authority edged his words. Helena bristled beneath it but she knew the way the Tower worked. There was only one way to survive inside its walls. She reached into her doublet, the yeoman's eyes following her motions. A hint of lust flickered in his eyes but it quickly changed to greed when she plucked a pound coin from her bodice. He licked his lower lip with anticipation.

“I place my faith in you, sir.”

The coin disappeared in his gloved hand in the blink of an eye. The rain continued to fall, drenching her dress. The cloak became heavy with water, pulling on her shoulders. Walking across the drawbridge, Helena shivered when she passed beneath the raised gate. The yeomen sent men into the rain to pick up her trunks. They hurried back across the length of the bridge on their way to shelter.

Helena stopped just on the other side of the raised gate. Farrell and the other McQuades looked more at ease in the weather than any Englishman in sight. They had a portion of their kilts pulled up over their heads but there wasn't a miserable expression among them. They looked strong and invincible, exactly as she recalled from the first day she had laid eyes on Keir.

“We will be waiting on yer return, my lady. Right here.”

“I will not be leaving until you have found Raelin.”

Farrell scowled at her. He stepped forward but the yeomen instantly lowered their pikes to keep him on the outside of the tower.

Helena raised her voice so that the men behind him heard her.

“You promised Keir that you would not leave me unprotected. Look around; there is no more secure place than the Tower of London.”

“That is nae what my laird meant and you know it.” Farrell cast a look at the pikes, judging the men who held them. Helena stepped back and he frowned at her.

“Come back here.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you plan to place your faith in the English to recover Raelin McKorey?”

Several of the retainers behind him scoffed at her words. Farrell pressed his lips together.

“Ye're trying to confuse me.” He dug into his own purse and produced a silver pound. He held it up. “One of ye be a good lad and give me mistress a push this way.”

“I have the king's permission to see my husband.”

The captain of the yeomen gripped her arm. “You do, and you shall see him. That is my duty.”

Farrell snarled. “Be a good fellow and bring her back here.”

Another pound appeared in his fingers. It was a large amount of coins and a few of the yeomen looked at the grip the captain had on her.

“Farrell, stop it. Can't you see that this is the only way that I can help? Keir is your laird. You must go looking for Raelin.”

The burly Scot was torn. She witnessed the battle in spite of the rain. The other clansmen frowned, clearly divided between loyalty to Keir's last order and the need to do something other than stand watch over her.

Farrell replaced the money. He reached up and tugged on his cap. Approval shone from his eyes and it humbled her to see it.

“Are ye sure ye are nae a Celt, my lady? You have a very clever nature.”

Relief flooded her. “I am a woman. No matter where we are born, we females need be clever to survive.”

“See that ye do that, ma'am.”

There was a groan as the gate began coming down. So close to it, she flinched at the harsh metal-on-metal sound of the chain grinding against itself. The black iron gate shook when it connected with the drawbridge. It was such a final sound, one that shook her to her soul. How many nobles had listened to that same sound and never lived to cross back over the drawbridge? Farrell turned and took to his horse in powerful motions. She could see the impatience in every motion. Smiles split the lips of the other McQuade retainers, many of them turning to offer her a quick tug of their bonnets before they dug their heels into their mounts and galloped into the afternoon gloom.

It gave her hope. She clutched it tightly against her heart as she turned to look at the inner wall of the tower. The captain of the yeomen led her through a maze of stone corridors and walls. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the rain—it was the emotion rising from the walls, all of the suffering that had happened between their hard surfaces. A raven called out and others answered. The black birds swooped down from the sky to land beneath the eaves of the tower roofs. They stared down at her, looking sinister with their feathers slick and shiny from the rain. Their steps echoed on the cobblestones and she swore that she heard the faint sounds of drums echoing from an execution.

“We gave Lord Hurst a decent room. Not bad at all.” The captain pointed up at one of the round towers that was built into the inner wall. “That's the bell tower. Our good queen Bess was staying there when she was just a princess. It's got a view of the Thames.”

And the scaffold on Tower Green…

Helena swallowed her horror. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Well now, we appreciate the noble behavior of your husband. That Lord Ronchford made quite the fuss. We stuck him somewhere where we don't have to listen to his bellowing.”

There was a sick enjoyment flickering in the yeoman's eyes. But Helena imagined that it was the sort of thing that kept a man sane while living and working within the Tower.

“You'll have the use of the wall up there once the weather clears up a bit. Of course, your husband is Scottish, so I imagine a little rain doesn't bother him any too much.”

“How nice.”

The yeoman's lips twitched, almost as though he was enjoying her struggle to maintain civility while they moved deeper into the fortress.

“Right up these stairs. You understand that you have the right to leave, but once you go, you may not return.”

The stairs were narrow and dark. Wind blew down them but it was still musty. None of those things deterred her. Keir was there, up the last few steps and behind a locked door. The rattle of keys bounced between the sides of the stairway as the yeoman pulled a ring from his belt.

“Do you understand, my lady?”

Helena lifted her chin. “I do, sir. I will not be leaving until my husband does.”

He didn't believe her. The look on his face showed her a man who had seen too many prisoners deserted by their spouses when the years began to pass. Helena stared straight back at him, unwavering in her determination.

“Well then. I wish you well, lady.”

He fit the key into the door and turned it. A grinding sound issued from it before the latch opened and he pulled the door wide. The chamber was dark, with light coming only from the fireplace. She stepped boldly inside, seeking the man for whom she longed. He was sitting in a chair, staring at the embers of the fire. Wood was stacked up near the hearth but he had not fed the fire; it was only a faintly glowing bed of coals.

Her husband swore.

His eyes glowed and he cursed even fouler than the first time. His body rose in a powerful motion that made the yeoman next to her reach for his sword.

“Easy now, my lord.”

Keir stepped forward, his anger clear on his face.

“The lady has the king's permission to visit.”

Keir froze. “Permission to visit?” Suspicion darkened his features. His attention shifted to her and she felt her throat tighten.

Her husband was not pleased.

“Are ye telling me that ye asked to be here?”

His brogue thickened with his anger. He looked at the yeoman. “Would ye excuse us, man?”

The door of the chamber slammed shut. There was the sound of the key grinding in the lock that made her flinch. It sent another shiver down her spine but she did not regret her choice. Even angry, her husband was the dearest sight she had ever beheld. The first true smile lifted her lips since they had been interrupted in their chamber.

“Now dinnae do that.” Keir shook his head, even raised one finger and pointed at her.

“I am not allowed to be happy to see you?”

He closed his eyes and groaned. His face lost its stern expression. It was replaced by a need so fierce it drew a gasp from her. His eyes opened and she stared into eyes that hungered for her.

He scooped her up and she wasn't even sure when he crossed the distance between them. Helena didn't care. She clung to him, her arms trying to pull him even closer. She wasn't near enough, couldn't seem to hold him tightly enough to drive the chill out of her heart.

“Good God, ye're freezing and soaked to the bone.”

“But I'm with you. That's all that matters. We've time aplenty for my dress to dry.” Her feet touched the floor but she kept her hands on his shoulders. Her husband frowned and picked her up once more, depositing her in front of the fireplace. She trembled when the heat touched her chilled skin. She hadn't noticed the chill, hadn't allowed herself to be concerned with such things as her own comfort. What was a bit of rain compared to the possibility that the Privy Council might well be urging the king to sign an execution order even as she had her reunion? Keir tossed a log onto the coals. It began to snap and pop almost instantly.

“How did ye give Farrell the slip?”

“You assume he did not agree with my choice to join you.”

He unlatched her soaked cloak and hung it on the wall. Keir slid his arms around her without a care for how wet she was, placing his body against her back to warm her.

“I know my man. He's going to blister me ears when I see him again, isn't he?”

“Perhaps. Yet he did tell me I was clever.”

He muttered something in Gaelic. “More like irritating, madam. I told ye to stay with me men.”

She turned, pushing at him and frowning when she had to glare at him and wait for him to decide to release her. The hands she had planted flat on his chest were no real inducement when pitted against his strength.

“And I believe your men are far more needed to find Raelin. Since I am with you, they may begin to search for the witness that will clear your name. You see? Very logical.”

He growled but his face told her that he agreed with her. Reaching up, she smoothed one of the creases from the side of his face.

“Don't be angry with me, Keir. I couldn't stand being away from you. It hurt too badly.”

He captured her hand and held it against his lips. He turned it over and drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her skin. Heat flickered to life, a tender passion that sent tears into her eyes.

“Aye, lass. I understand what ye mean.”

His eyes opened and she gasped. So much need shimmered in their dark centers. It cut deep into her heart, laying her emotions open to his keen gaze. She loved her parents because they were her parents, but she loved him because she could not resist. The tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

“I cannae stand the sight of yer tears.” He caught them with his thumbs, easing them across her cheeks.

“I only cry for you, Keir.”

He stiffened. “Ye cried the night afore our wedding and the slash of that still pains me. Tell me why.” His voice was raspy with need. The hands cradling her head suddenly held her more firmly. “Tell me.”

“I was half in love with you and I didn't want to see reality shatter it.”

Surprise flashed through his eyes. “You mean to say that you believe all this nonsense about love nae belonging in a marriage?”

“Well, you told me that you didn't think that you would ever fall in love when your mistress was leaving you.”

She tried to shake off his hand but he held her head firmly. A grin offered her a flash of his teeth.

“I keep telling ye, Helena. I am a Scot and we do things a wee bit differently.”

She scoffed at him. “You cannot say that you expected love from your marriage. Admit that you are as surprised as I.”

“Right after ye tell me ye love me.”