Improbable Eden (6 page)

Marlborough's gray-green eyes flickered over the pair with feigned indifference. “Leave them be,” he said. “They're of no consequence.”

The commander's eyes rested on Eden, unabashedly ogling her engaging if disheveled appearance. Then he raised his eyes to Max, scanning the great distance from the top of his blond head to the tips of his booted feet. “You're armed. Hand over that sword.”

With a shrug, Max obliged. The commanding officer still stared hard at the tall foreigner. “I don't know,” he muttered. “I could swear I've seen this one at ….”

She wasn't precisely sober, but Eden's state of inebriation had ebbed considerably. “We're servants,” she blurted, jabbing at Max. “This here's Max the Dutchman, His Lordship's valet.”

Eden's affected county accent might have fooled the pudgy soldier, but Max's impressive size gave him away. “Owr …” the commander rumbled, casting a baleful glance at Marlborough. “Do ye take me for a fool?” He pointed a stubby finger at Max. “I know this one, it's His Highness, Prince Maximilian of Nassau-Dillenburg.”

“
Ta! And I'm the Queen of Spain!” retorted Eden, clapping her hands and noting with relief that they made contact. She looked at Max and made a wry face. “Great heavens,” she whispered, “how inventive is this soldier!”

Max's first reaction was to ignore Eden's remark, but the color was rising in his high cheekbones. “It was my parents who were so inventive, God rest their souls.” Without further ado, he moved toward Marlborough and his captors. “Never mind, Jack,” he said with a careless lift of his shoulders. “It's an honor to be arrested in your company. By the way, what's the charge?”

Marlborough was adjusting the
steinkirk
at his neck. “A fancy one, I'm afraid, Max. High treason.” A truncated laugh escaped his lips. “Someone thinks I tried to kill the King.”

Eden's brain was reeling from more than the beer. It had been a day of shocks, and this latest blow rendered her speechless. All she could do was stare blankly at the departing backs of Marlborough and the alleged Prince Maximilian. But even as she tried to sort out the jumble of astonishing events, a strong hand took her by the wrist.

“
You, too, Mistress,” growled a florid-faced soldier not much taller than Eden. “For all we know, you
are
the Queen of Spain.”

It was useless to protest. Eden's world had spun out of control. Without a word, she let herself be hauled away, a suspected conspirator in a plot to murder the King of England. In less than two hours, she had gone from being the unwanted child in a Huguenot household to the daughter of an English earl. But instead of going to a warm welcome at court, Eden Berenger Churchill was headed for prison.

E
den's first glimpse of London came after dark, through patchy fog, as a cumbersome barge pulled up to the Tower's infamous Traitors' Gate. Until they reached the river, the journey from Kent had been made on horseback, with little opportunity for conversation. Never at ease in the saddle, Eden was sure she'd be killed before they reached London. At their only resting stop, the Earl of Marlborough had expressed his brief, if sincere, apologies to Eden.

“
I'm sorry, my dear,” he'd said, with fatigue in his eyes. “I had no idea this was going to happen. The King thinks I came to Kent to light a bonfire at Dover, signaling that an assassination had taken place. Absurd, of course, but there it is.”

It was more than absurd to Eden, it was incredible. But then it had been such a turbulent day, with one astounding revelation after another. That Max should turn out to be a Dutch or Flemish prince made Eden feel mortified at the way she'd treated him. Between her high-handed manner and her drunken behavior, she understood why he thought she was a foolish country simpleton.

But regret was replaced by fear as Eden was propelled up the lichen-covered steps to the Tower. In front of her she could make out Max's blond head, turned to gold by a torch hanging on the dank wall. Eden paused and shuddered on the top stair. Terrifying tales of the ancient prison had given her nightmares as a child. Briefly she closed her eyes, wondering if she'd ever taste freedom again.

A rough hand shoved her forward, and she almost slipped on the slimy stones. In a weary daze, Eden watched a dignified Tower official speak in low tones with Marlborough. The exchange was civil, even amicable. And then the Earl was taken away, while she and Prince Maximilian were led in another direction. The corridors and stairways seemed to wind on forever, like an endless stone maze. At last a cell was opened and Max disappeared inside. Eden felt a surge of desperation and strained forward, but her guard put out a beefy arm.

“
In here,” he muttered, gesturing toward an open cell.

She froze, seeing only darkness and feeling a raw draft at her back. Her captor cuffed her smartly on the temple, and Eden stumbled then lurched into the cell and slumped to the floor as the iron door clanked behind her.

She sat for a long time, huddled against the cold, feeling miserable and alone. Finally, Eden struggled to her feet and looked out through the narrow barred window. Cold, wintry stars studded the blackness of the night, and though there was no moon, the fog had lifted so that she could make out an expanse of grass patched with snow. Eden saw clusters of buildings where lights burned behind some of the windows. Tower Green, she guessed, and wondered dolefully how many hapless souls had ended their lives on the notorious block. Directly below, two men in flowing capes moved leisurely along the limewalk. Their freedom made Eden acutely aware of her confinement.

Just as the church bells tolled eight o'clock, the sound of the cell door opening made her jump. A guard stood before her, holding a tray with two covered dishes and a mug of ale. Eden stared at the repast, then turned away. She was ravenous, but the sight of the ale upset her stomach.

“
I prefer water,” she said, her back turned. The guard, a squat man with eyebrows like a crow's wings, had set the tray down on a little stool.

“
It's ale ye got and ale ye'll drink,” he asserted, starting to leave but pausing when he saw Eden whirl around in annoyance. “Well, who might ye really be? The Prince's doxy?” He was rocking back and forth, boldly studying Eden with voracious eyes.

“
Hardly.” She held her head high, her back straight. “Surely there is water in the river?”

The man cocked his head. “There is. But it don't bring itself in here. What'll ye pay for a cup, Princess?”

Eden shot him a scornful look. “Go away.”

The guard snorted. “Fancy, eh?” Someone was coming along the passageway and he quickly retreated from the cell. Eden didn't turn around until the sound of his footsteps had faded.

She ate little of the underdone mutton, less of the stale bread and drank none of the ale. The church bells chimed nine and ten and then eleven. At last Eden lay down on her lumpy pallet, her heavy cape wrapped securely around her. Despite her fatigue, she couldn't sleep. Somewhere out there, Eden thought dismally, there is music and laughter and excitement …. There is all of London and the court and the King.

There is freedom, too, Eden told herself just before she fell asleep. The one thing she had possessed upon waking that morning in Smarden was freedom. In the hours that had followed, glittering promises of a new life had been dangled before her. But as London's lights dimmed, Eden's future seemed as empty as the night. She slept dreamlessly, as if the theft of her liberty had also robbed her of illusion.

Eden had been awake for some time when the squat guard showed up with what passed for breakfast in the Tower of London. A crust, a piece of cheese and another mug of ale were placed before her. Eden gazed bleakly at the unappetizing meal but said nothing.

The guard was not so reticent. “Well? Might ye be accustomed to gold plate and crystal goblets? Eh?” Eden chose not to reply. But the guard wasn't giving up so easily. “No curiosity and no appetite! Tsk! Tsk!”

When she remained unresponsive, he touched the claret-colored waves of hair at her neck. “Eh, doxy, pretty doxy ….”

Eden pulled away and held up a hand. “Wait!” The seed of an idea was taking root in her mind. She gestured at the breakfast tray. “I asked for water last night, I ask again this morn.” The haughty glance she threw him was softened by the hint of invitation in her eyes. Noting slow if unmistakable comprehension spread across the guard's blunt features, Eden grew specific: “A large amount of water, in a great heavy basin, so that I may not only drink, but also—” she flicked her tongue over her lips in the most provocative manner she could muster “—bathe.”

“
Ah!” The guard all but danced at the prospect, then he was gone, scurrying down the passageway.

Eden moved on wobbly legs, trying to make herself limber by the time the guard returned. It never occurred to her that the scheme she'd just concocted was wildly imprudent. For Eden, brought up on the strict Huguenot code of right and wrong, the King's men had acted unjustly by imprisoning Marlborough and Prince Maximilian. Clearly, neither was guilty of plotting against his sovereign lord. Marlborough had said as much, and it must be true. Even more outrageous was her inclusion in the arrest. Thus, since the night had passed with no apparent effort to release them, Eden had decided to take matters into her own hands.

The guard was panting with a mixture of exertion and anticipation when he arrived with a much-dented tin tub and a big pewter jug. Fighting repugnance, Eden reached out to take the water. But the guard had no mind to wait for the niceties. He banged the jug down so hard that some of its contents splashed onto the rushes. Eden's attempt to play the coquette was foiled. The guard lunged across the narrow room and fell upon her, almost knocking them both into the tub. Jarred, Eden gasped for air and was about to try reasoning with the wretched man when he began ripping at the muslin of her bodice.

“
Hold,” she breathed, fighting to keep panic out of her voice. “I must bathe first!”

The guard's answer was to rip her gown on the diagonal, then paw at her thin chemise. Eden wiggled beneath him, trying to escape his greedy hands. The game had gone badly; her inexperience had disqualified her from the start. The protest that rose to her lips took on a shrill note as the guard yanked down the chemise to reveal her full breasts.

“
Damn!” he whistled between the spaces in his teeth, “now there's a lovely sight!” To prove his point, he covered her breasts with his sweating palms, squeezing and flattening them as if they were bread dough. Eden's cries were strangled in her throat; her entire body throbbed with revulsion. Was this what men and women did when the kissing was done? She couldn't imagine it, couldn't equate such bestial savagery with the smug faces of Cybele and Genevieve after their wedding nights.

Eden stretched out one arm so tautly she was sure it would snap. But a great, straining effort permitted contact with the pewter jug. Squirming under the guard, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and brought it down on his bald head with a resounding thud.

She did not see the stupefied expression on his face, for the water cascaded over them both. His groping fingers fell away, his squat body went limp, and Eden kicked free. Struggling to her feet, she brushed the water out of her eyes with one hand while she tried to fasten her bodice with the other. At her feet lay the guard, a nasty red bump swelling on the top of his head. She marshaled her thoughts, then leaned down to remove the heavy iron loop that held several keys. She hurried out into the passageway and was relieved to find that it was empty.

She had no plans other than to escape the guard and her cell. Having accomplished both, she puzzled over what to do next. Locking the door behind her with the proper key, she decided to turn to her right. The guard had come from the opposite direction; his post must be avoided.

Moving on tiptoe, she noted that the three other cells in this part of the Tower were unoccupied, though she knew that Max was being held somewhere nearby. She hesitated, unsure of where to go next, then froze in place. From around the corner of the corridor's bleak stone walls, she could hear the approach of brisk footsteps.

Terrified, Eden glanced around her. There were no hiding places, no privy stairs, no recesses of any kind. She would have run, but it was too late. The other person came around the corner, all but tripping over her cringing figure.

“
Eden!” Max grabbed her by the arm to make sure she didn't topple over. “What in the name of St. Hubert are you doing here?”

Eden swayed, then put a hand on his chest to steady herself. “Well, now.” She swallowed hard, feeling awkward in her torn dress, embarrassed by the disrespect she had shown him earlier, but most of all, conscious of his solid presence, which she found surprisingly reassuring. Her long lashes dipped with chagrin. “I escaped.”

Max was staring at the top of her head. “So it seems.” He checked an urge to laugh, and marveled at himself. This grim fortress was scarcely the place for merriment, yet even within these cold walls the silly chit managed to provide more amusement than he'd known in the past four years. To his dismay, he found that it took an effort not to place his big hand over the small one that rested on his chest.