FLAME OF DESIRE (49 page)

All his life Rafael had searched for a woman who was truly beautiful within her heart, one who was not gilt but gold, and now he had found her. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Just get well,” she whispered, averting her eyes. Reaching down, she sought to pull a blanket up over him lest he catch a chill from the open window, her eyes lingering like a caress upon the strong planes of his body. He was all strength and beauty. “Let me close the window.”

The fragrance of her skin, like fresh morning flowers, assailed him, but it was her voice, that low, melodious lilt, that drew his heart. He could listen to her for eternity and never tire of hearing her. And her eyes. If the eyes were indeed the mirror of the soul, then she was truly beautiful.

“No. Don’t move. Stay by my side.” He reached out and took her hand, longing to gather her into his arms. He wondered if her lips would really be as soft as he imagined, as sweet. It was thus that Blythe Bowen found them, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, but Tabitha quickly moved away as her mistress entered the room.

“You have seen Heather?” Tabitha asked.

“Yes. She is pale and thin and I worry…” Blythe Bowen broke down in an uncharacteristic flood of tears. For so many years she had been the strong one, a strength underneath her gentle disguise. Now her strength was crumbling as she thought of the fate which awaited her daughter.

Tabitha tried to soothe her. “All will be well. They cannot prove her guilty. They cannot.”

Blythe shook her head. “They can and they will, just as they did with Richard Morgan. I brought her into this world only to witness her suffering. God give me the strength.” Burying her face in her hands, she gave vent to her anguish. “Oh, that I had not met Rodrigo de Vega, never borne Heather to suffer this pain.”

“Rodrigo de Vega,” Rafael repeated, remembering his conversation with Heather that day on the ship. “Of course, I should have remembered.”

Blythe looked toward the bed with confusion. “You know him?” she asked.

“Yes. Heather and I talked about him. She had thought to find him so that he could help Richard and help her as well, in their new life in Spain, but fate was not kind to them.”

“Rodrigo de Vega!” Blythe spat in anger. “Is he still sailing around the world in search of his fortune?”

“No, he is living in Spain. He is Philip’s closet adviser. I heard it rumored that he would be accompanying Philip to England.”

“To England after all these years,” Blythe breathed, trying without success to push away the bitterness the years had brought. “I shall tell him that he is too late to see his daughter. I will watch his face when I tell him of her fate.”

Forgetting his pain, Rafael sat up in bed. “Oh course, I should have thought of this before,
señora
. It is said that your  queen is insanely fond of her new consort, that she dotes on his every word. Would she then put to the torch the daughter of one of her husband’s advisers? And what of Philip? Surely he would show lenience to this half-Spanish daughter of yours?”

“We have no time. The trial is in a few days,” Blythe answered. And yet, if it was possible… She would throw away her pride if it would save Heather’s life. Surely no father would stand by and watch his own daughter burn at the stake. But could she get a message to him in time? Could she stay Mary’s hand for just a short time? She had to try.

Tabitha, silent until now, remembered a bit of gossip she had heard on the street. “I heard it said that a Spanish envoy is to arrive in four days’ time. Dare we to hope? There was talk that it is for the purpose of arranging the wedding ceremony that this envoy is to arrive in London. I heard it said that Mary fears they will be pelted with stones as the other envoy was in January when they arrived.”

“A Spanish envoy,” Blythe Bowen repeated. “It is perhaps our only hope.” She who had been meek for so many years was now to take a hand in saving her daughter’s life.

Chapter Seventy-One

The trial had gone much as Heather had supposed it would. The verdict was guilty before the jurors sat upon their benches along the far wall, before the judge took his place at the front of the large room. Now Heather had been returned to the Tower to await her doom.

“Please let me stay with her. For just a few moments. Please. I am her mother,” Blythe pleaded, wiping away her tears. The guard grunted in answer, opening the door, and Heather felt the warm comfort of her mother’s arms wrap around her.

“Guilty. I am judged guilty,” Heather whispered tonelessly, wondering what dreadful evil could have brought about such a travesty of justice.

“I had prayed for a miracle. Oh, if only Perriwincle could have found Undine, but perhaps she has vanished into the fog.”

“Perriwincle will find her. He has to. He must. It is our only hope!” Time was running out for Heather and for Richard. Only Hugh Seton’s desire to make them suffer a long while had kept them alive this long; otherwise they would have been burned days ago.

Blythe looked at her daughter, hiding her own fear. After  talking with Rafael Mendosa she had begun to have hope, had tried in vain to find Rodrigo de Vega, to plead with him if necessary, but just like Undine, he was nowhere to be found. If Periwincle could not find that old woman, if Blythe could not locate Rodrigo in time, what hope was there for her daughter’s life? It was a thought which sent chills of fear up her spine. Heather was her life, her baby. How could she bear to see her suffer such a torturous agony as death by fire?

“How could they have lied? How could they have whispered such evil things about me?” Heather sobbed as the proceedings floated before her eyes. It was a mockery. She could still see the woman called Agnes leering and pointing her finger as she told of how Heather had boasted openly that she would soon rid them all of Edlyn.

“Right from the first she made it clear that she was to be mistress of the manor,” Agnes had said. “Why, she even had me fired.
Me
, who was ever loyal to his lordship. It was plain to see that she had bewitched him. She is a witch!”

Heather had risen to her feet in indignation. “I am no more a witch than you are!” she had cried out. “I wanted you to leave the manor because of your ill treatment of Edlyn. She was ill and you…”

Agnes had stood up, her eyes pools of malice. “She poisoned that poor dear child with her evil concoctions. I say burn her for her sinful transgressions, let her suffer the pangs of hell!” Agnes had told of seeing Heather fly, her shadow blocking the moon. She had blamed her for causing stomach cramps and for the death of her stillborn grandson. At the conclusion of her testimony there was a clacking of tongues and a shaking of heads as the assembly bent their heads to look upon Heather. Testifying in her own defense, Heather was constantly interrupted with reminders of how she had run away with the man, the traitor and heretic named Richard Morgan.

Hugh Seton insisted that it was by magic that Heather had called forth Richard Morgan that day of his wedding. “She enchanted him as she did me,” he exclaimed, waving his fists above the air. “Death to the witch!”

Silence had pervaded the courtroom, an eerie silence.  When at last the sentence was passed, Heather was not surprised by the outcome. She had little doubt that the jurors had been bribed by Seton. The way they averted their eyes attested to that fact.

“I was not tried for murder, nor for witchcraft,” Heather whispered, clinging to her mother, “but for going away with the man I love. What is the crime in that? Is it evil to love?”

“No,” Blythe answered sadly. “Only to be beautiful.” She squeezed her daughter tightly, then pushed away from her, looking deep into her eyes. “Now, listen to me, and listen well. Plead your belly. Tell them that you are with child, whether it be true of not….”

“I have just had my monthly time.”

“It does not matter. Tell them. It will save your life for at least six month’s time. Meanwhile I will see that we find this Undine and your father as well. Rodrigo de Vega. Perhaps he can save you. Please, Heather.”

Heather was adamant. “No. Not and let Richard die alone. Without him I have no life.”

“Heather, you must! You must!”

“No.” The look in her eyes told her mother that there was no use in arguing further.

A rattle of keys and the harsh voice of the guard tore Blythe from her daughter’s arms. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, but that would only have caused her daughter pain, and so instead she maintained her self-control.

“Good-bye, Mother.” Heather’s voice was a choked sob.

“Good-bye…” The harsh reality struck Blythe in the chest. “No. Not good-bye. Somehow….”

“Come along with me!” With hands that were far from gentle, the guard pushed the merchant’s wife from the cell.

Blythe lashed out at the guard with flinging hands, helpless in her misery. “They sold their souls by this act. She is innocent. Innocent.” Her eyes met those of the guard. “And well you know it, too. I only pray that God will forgive them, for I know well that I cannot.”

As Blythe was pushed down the flight of stairs the word “guilty” rang in her ears. Guilty of witchcraft and heresy and sentenced to die in flames at the stake. As she was pushed out the door she fell in a heap to the ground.

“Tomorrow. They will kill my child with the dawn.” She could not let this happen. She must save her lovely daughter. Somehow. Tears welled up in her eyes as she buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Alone in her tiny cell, Heather thought of Richard. If only she knew which cell he was in. “What hour is it?” she murmured. Time moved so slowly in the darkened cell that she could not be certain.

“If only I could see him. If only I could be nestled in his arms one more time, I could die bravely,” she breathed. Her love for him was the only reality in this tiny room.

Looking through the grille of the wooden door, she could see the shadow of her jailer coming toward her. He was an older man of about her father’s age, but unlike the others, he had been kind to her.

Is he bringing me my dinner? She thought bitterly. How could she eat when with the first light of the morrow’s dawn she would be burned into cinders? At the thought she wept softly, not even turning around as she heard the creak of her door.

“Come with me,” said a gruff voice. “Quickly now.” She turned around with a start. Was it already morning? Had he come to take her to her doom? She had thought she would be brave, but now all her resolve crumbled and she fought to still the trembling of her hands.

“So soon I am to die,” she whispered. “I had not thought it morning yet.”

“It is not morning,” came the answer. “I do not come to take you to your death, but to your lover.”

“To Richard? Why? How?” She searched his face for the  answer and found only sorrow there.

“I have a daughter about your age,” he replied to her questioning gaze. “I am of the reformed faith. I have no stomach for this burning. I…I heard what you said to your mother, about not pleading your belly, about wanting to die with the man you love, and I…somehow I…well…I can’t save your life, nor that of this man you love, but I can at least bring you the comfort of being with him during this last night. I can give you that.”

Heather touched his arm. “You have given me the greatest gift of all. You have shown me kindness and given me hope for this world.”

He looked quickly away. “Come. We must hurry. If I am found out, it will be my head. If anyone asks you, please do not tell them how you came to be with your lover.” He hurried her along the dark corridor, glancing over his shoulder from time to time. When at last he pushed her into another cell and shut the door behind her, Heather found herself standing before the tall, erect figure that she recognized so well.

“Heather?” He looked at her, hardly believing his eyes. “How?”

“It is said that love can move mountains and calm oceans. Just see what magic our love can bring,” she said softly. She had hope now. Love
could
bring forth miracles.

“The guard?”

“The guard. He overheard me telling my mother how much I love you and has sought to bring me comfort in these last hours.”

“Comfort. Oh, if only he would free you. I could die knowing that you were spared. But how can I bear to see you suffer?”

“Hush!” She ran to his arms and buried her face in the warmth of his chest. “I love you. Always remember that. Our love will free us.”

He kissed her savagely then, with all the hunger of his soul. “We have only tonight, my love. Tomorrow they will take our lives, but we will love, you and I with a flame brighter than those that will claim us.”

Heather’s heart hammered so loudly that she feared the guards outside would hear it and come to take her away. Her eyes were huge as she looked at this man she loved. After all that they had been through, she wanted only to feel his hard warmth against her, reassuring and strong.

She moved against him in a manner that wrenched a groan from his throat. They couldn’t waste any of the precious time they had together. Reaching down, without any trace of modesty, she pushed the bodice of her dress from her shoulders, baring her breast to his gaze and to his touch.

“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he breathed, cupping her full breast in his hand. With hands and mouth he explored her soft body, searching out her most sensitive places as she writhed under his touch. Like a flame his lips burned over the soft peaks of her breasts. He stepped away only long enough to strip off his garments and when he came to her again he was all naked power and throbbing strength.

She had been accused of being a witch, and yet it was he who worked a powerful magic, he who was the weaver of spells. She felt as if she were floating. Let the sunrise come, she thought with a smile. They had the nighttime, and for now that was enough. Pulling the remnants of her gown from her slim body, spreading it upon the straw for their bed, she reached up to bring him down to her.

“Your beard is growing back,” she whispered, wondering why of all things she had noticed that.