Linda Barlow (74 page)

During the trial, when Douglas had been called to speak against his son-in-law, he refused to do so. This had caused comment at the time. Roger had heard that Douglas' fortunes at court were no longer as high as they had once been, and there was no doubt that his daughter's marriage to an infamous traitor had done his career considerable harm. Sir Charles would have been wise to dissociate himself from the scandal by condemning Roger in suitably scathing terms and disowning his wayward daughter, but he had not done so. For Alexandra's sake, Roger was grateful.

"You haven't come to gloat, I trust?"

"No, of course not. Although, now that you mention it, I recall swearing, wild lad that you were, that one day you'd come to a bad end."

Roger grimaced. "So why are you here?"

"Two reasons. You're my daughter's husband. I want to be certain that she and her child will be adequately provided for."

"You imagine I have not taken care of that myself?" Roger's voice was harsh. "I have spoken with my bankers and drawn up all the necessary legal documents. I assure you, the matter has been dealt with."

"I only ask because you were arrested on the day of your father's death. You had no time to straighten out his affairs, let alone your own."

"I've had plenty of time lately, since the trial. Since the Queen has declined to strip me of the lands and the title—no doubt because Alix served her so loyally—all of this will pass to my wife and our child. If the babe is a boy, he will inherit the title. If it’s a girl, as Alix seems convinced it is, I suppose Alan will be the next baron, but he loves her and will protect and shelter them both.

"In addition, I have considerable funds of my own, secure in various banking establishments on the Continent. All of these have been bequeathed to Alix. After my death, my agents will be in touch." He paused, then added, "How does it feel to be the father of a woman who owns three trading ships that sail the Middle Sea?"

"I'll worry about that when she runs off to sail them. Knowing my daughter, I won't be astonished if that is exactly what she decides to do."

Roger smiled as he briefly envisioned his red-haired lady commandeering the quarterdeck of a full-rigged vessel in the Mediterranean. His heart twisted inside him. If there was an afterlife, how could he bear to experience it without her?

"Will you do something for me, Douglas?"

"Aye, lad. Name it."

"Get her out of London before the execution. I have ordered her not to watch, but she may decide that I need her presence, and you know how stubborn she is. I do not need her presence; in fact, nothing sickens me more than the idea that she might witness the barbarism the crown has planned for me. Anyway, there's the child to consider. She must not be there."

"Of course. I have told her so already."

"You must do more than tell her. I am counting on you, her father, to make sure she does not share in the spectacle of my death."

"Very well. You have my promise."

Roger let out a long breath. "And you have my thanks."

For several moments neither man spoke; then Roger ran a hand through his hair and said, "And the second reason?"

"What?"

"You said there were two reasons why you had come. You have mentioned only one."

"Ah, yes." Douglas looked strangely uncomfortable. "There is something else. A confession of sorts. I have debated this greatly within my heart, uncertain what to do, and at last I have decided to tell you. But it may be a mistake. I would not add to your troubles."

"Now that my curiosity is piqued, I think you must continue."

"Aye. Well..." He stopped again, then continued, "This is the way of it; many years ago I fell in love with a beautiful woman." Douglas sounded dreamy, as people do when speaking of the past. "I was unwed at the time, but she, unfortunately, was married. It seems her husband was a difficult man and she was not happy with him, so I had some small degree of hope. I pursued her for a year or two, but she would not grant me any favors. At last, resigning myself to the belief that she would never love me, I also married. But my own attempt at holy matrimony was no more successful than hers."

"Douglas—" Roger interrupted. Body of Christ! He knew what was coming.

"Hear me out. One day, years later, I met this woman in the forest. She had been thrown from her horse and was slightly injured. I took her on my own mount and attempted to convey her to her home, but we were caught in a violent storm. We took shelter in a cave. The solitude, the storm, the heady atmosphere, the powerful attraction that had long existed between us all seemed to make it inevitable that we should become lovers at last." He looked wryly at Roger. "Yet we did not. The lady was adamant about it, you see. She was married; she would not commit adultery."

"It was you?" Roger was staring at the passionate coloring and vigorous physique of Alexandra's father, who was so well known in London for his success with the ladies. "You were my mother's lover?"

"I loved her, yes. I do not apologize for that. But Alexandra has told me the reason we took you at Whitcombe; the tale of his unhappy marriage that your father insisted on confessing to you on his deathbed. My daughter did not know, of course, that it was I who was Catherine's mysterious lover. Indeed, no one has ever known. For the truth is, she never came to my bed. Your father was wrong, you see. He was always wrong when he suspected her of betraying him. Your mother was not an adulteress, not even at the end."

Roger's head was spinning. "But he said that at the end she acted guilty."

"She was guilty over the intent, not the commission of the sin. For we did intend it, Roger. That day of our meeting in the woods it nearly happened. I pressed her relentlessly, giving her no peace until she finally agreed to meet me once again in the same place. But she died, poor lass, before the deed was carried out. Her death was accidental. 'Twas no suicide, and that's the chief reason I tell you this tale. I decided you had a right to know, before you die, that your beloved mother was chaste, and that she died by misadventure, not by her own hand."

"And you know this because…"

"Because I was there. I was there in the cave atop Thorncroft Overhang on the day she died. She had come there to meet me and consummate our love."

"Sweet Christ." Roger remembered the strange feelings he had experienced on that stormy day when he and Alix had confronted one another in the cave at Thorncroft Overhang. It was a cursed place. Ned, the half-wit, had died there, and he had wrestled Alix to the ground, and barely restrained himself from hurting her. "What happened? How, then, did she die?"

"May I sit down?" Without waiting for an answer, Charles dropped onto the end of the cot and buried his tawny head in his hands. "'Twas a bad day, wet and foggy the way it often is in Westmor Forest. The path up the cliff was slippery. We got to the top and a storm broke. Catherine was frightened of thunder, as perhaps you remember. There was little else in life that scared her, but in thunder, she used to say, she felt the power and wrath of God." He broke off for several seconds.

"In sooth I grew impatient with her," he went on. "Instead of entering the cavern with me, she pointed up at the sky, declaring the storm to be a sign from God that she should not break his commandment. It began to pour rain, and I had had enough. I put my arms around her, kissed her, and tried to coax her into the shelter of the cave. She broke away, angry. It happened quickly. I can still see it, even now, so many years later. Thunder cracked and a great fork of lightning came down. She shied and lost her balance. She was too near the edge. Her feet slipped on the wet ground; she slid and fell. I tried to grab her; I nearly went over myself trying to save her. When I realized she was gone, I almost jumped to join her... I went a little mad... the storm itself was drowned out by my howls of grief." Douglas shuddered visibly. "The memory of it still makes me want to howl, even now, so many years later."

"You told no one."

"How could I, man? She was the baron's wife. No one would believe her innocent if they knew she had met me alone in the forest. Besides, I had promised her that no one would ever know the secret of our love." He met Roger's eyes. "I do not break that promise lightly. But I loved your mother, and I would see you at peace with her. Alix says you forgave your father at his deathbed. I would ask you to forgive Catherine too." He paused, adding heavily, "And me. For this, and for all the other wrongs I've done you."

Roger closed his eyes. His father's pleading for forgiveness haunted him still. Had he truly forgiven him? If forgiveness meant the giving up of all anger and bitterness, he feared he'd failed, for he was bitter still. "You ask too much of me, all of you." He rose and paced, his steps rapid and jerky. "Damn you. Am I supposed to turn into some sort of saint because I've been condemned to die? What am I supposed to say, to feel? If you had told me this story at some other time, it would perhaps have been different. I would have felt something more, done something more. But my mother is dead. My father is dead. And despite what I know will happen to me two days from now, I am still alive."

He slammed his fist against the stone wall. "I'm alive and I'm not sitting here thinking about sin, guilt, and forgiveness. All I care about is my wife, whom I love, and my child, whom I will never see. The truth is, I don't give a damn about your tragic lovers' triangle. It's nothing to me now. All I can think of is Alix, my own sweet love, whom you have cruelly pulled, time and time again, from my arms!"

Charles bowed his head in silence. Roger rubbed a hand across the moisture on his cheeks and added, "I am not reconciled to death, you see. They tell me I'll go straight to the devil, but I don't believe that. For I swear to you, when I am dead and my spirit is free, no demon's chains will keep me from my beloved's side. Other folk may wing off to heaven or to hell, but not me, Douglas. I'm staying here, with her, for the rest of her earthly life. And when at last she dies and joins me, I defy both God and Satan to separate our immortal souls."

Douglas shook his head under the force of this declaration. "I warrant they ought to have tried you for heresy after all," he said gently. He rose. "I have said what I came to say." He held out his hand. "Farewell, my son." His voice quavered a little, then came once again under control. "God give you the strength you need."

Roger clasped his hand, then moved closer and embraced the man who had loved his mother. "If the affection and respect I feel for you constitutes forgiveness, then you have it freely of me. Go now. I've been unmanned enough for one night."

Douglas clapped him on the shoulders once and left.

Chapter 44

Dressed in a long loose gown and high-heeled slippers that added several inches to her height, Alexandra was getting ready to meet her co-conspirators the following evening when one of the Whitcombe House servants came into her chamber to announce the arrival of her father. Reluctantly she went down to meet him, covering her head with a cap so he could not see the pitifully short curls that were all that remained of her hair.

"Father? I did not expect you tonight," she said uneasily as she embraced him. "How is Mother?"

Her parents had been living together at her father's town house for several months now while Alexandra maintained her own residence at Whitcombe House. When she had come to London, they had pressed her to stay with them, but she had refused, insisting that she was the head of Roger's household now and intended to behave as such. The dowager baroness Dorcas was with her there, as were Alan and Priscilla Martin. They would have made a merry group, Alexandra suspected, were they not all so heartsick about Roger.

"Your mother is well, but she misses you. I've come to take you home. Lucy and I don't want you to spend this night alone."

Alexandra was touched; she could see the love and sympathy in her father's eyes. Roger was to die; her parents wished to comfort her. She was grateful, yet she must convince her father that she did not require their help. She must convince him to leave so she could go about the business of saving her husband’s life.

"I thank you, but I do not need you yet," she said gently. "Tomorrow I will need you."

"We want you with us tonight. In the morning, early, we will set out for Westmor together."

"No!"

"Roger was right. You have every intention of going to watch the execution."