Ondine (23 page)

She gasped. “He asked you—today—to arrange for a— divorce?”

” Aye.” Charles’ s wonderful dark eyes found hers with empathy and curiosity. “He feels now that his plan to marry you was a careless one. Lady, he does not want you harmed.”

He does not want me at all, and certainly not as wife! she thought with such ardent anguish and dismay that she feared she would scream or burst into tears before the king.

“I asked him about his child, and he betrayed by his baffled expression that you are not enceinte. When you leave here this time, he plans to go home but a night to see to all your things, then send you to the Colonies by way of Liverpool.”

She lowered her head, still unable to speak.

“I am warning you, my dear, of his plans, for although he is among the best and most valued of my friends, I have yet to betray a woman with your beauty, honesty, passion—and honor. Perhaps you may find you are forced to desert his cause to see to your own.”

She found her voice at last, though it was hoarse and broken. “You have not told him—who I am?”

“I do not betray what I consider to be a confidence.”

“Thank you. Bless you, sire,” she whispered.

“No tears! Tonight we banquet together. And I claim the dances again. The future will come, and when I may help you, know that I will.”

She nodded, aware only that they had paused and the others were behind them. She could not speak at all as they walked to the river to board the barge.

Justin was silent. Only the king, Anne, and Warwick found conversation, and Anne’s was exceptionally merry. Ondine caught Anne’s eyes frequently upon her, and she was very wary, for it seemed that Anne knew something she did not and was, perhaps, preparing to strike.

Strike? Ondine queried herself uneasily. Was it possible? Could Anne have taunted her in cape and talons at Chatham? Had she, in fact, taunted Genevieve unto death?

This did not seem such a thing. It was more open; blatant, perhaps, as if she held some prize.

Ondine lowered her head, weary of it all, numb. Warwick would have to pursue his own demons. If he intended to send her to the Colonies, she would have to start worrying about her own future. The Colonies! She couldn’t leave England! There was still the matter of her own life and the treachery played against it to be solved!

In the courtyard at Hampton they parted ways, Justin seeing Buckingham and determining to speak with him, the king muttering something inaudible, and Anne waving to Hardgrave across the walk, laughing gaily at Ondine, and rushing off to join the viscount.

Ondine had nothing to say to Warwick as they returned to their chambers, nor did it seem to matter; he was so withdrawn. Her head splitting, she decided to lie down for a while and left him in the outer chamber.

Lying down, she slept and, sleeping, dreamt. Her visions came and went like whispy clouds, but none was soft. She saw the jailer in Newgate, rotten-toothed and leering, then that image faded and returned, and the face she saw belonged to the masked creature in the chapel. She fought that masked creature and saw herself on her father’s arm, at the king’s side at Westchester, saw a sword rise and fall, heard screams and the rage of guards …

She saw blood, red blood, staining the stone floor—her father’s blood. In her dream she remembered the anguish, the terror, and herself running and running, for if she did not escape, none would believe her pleas …

She did not know that she screamed aloud until she was startled awake. Her arms flailed wildly, and the cry she sounded was only stopped by the hand that was fitted tightly over her mouth.

“Sshh! What demon you wrest, lady, I know not, but you’re about to raise the palace in arms!”

Warwick’s voice was tender; he held her gently to his chest and for long moments she lay there, gasping, fighting to escape all the shadows and lingering ghosts. The strength of his arm was a tower to which she might cling; the steel of muscle beneath fabric was security; the living, vibrant wall of his chest a great harbor.

“Lady, tell me, what battle do you wage?”

She stiffened at the question, pushing furiously from him. He’d asked the king for a divorce that very day, and now he quizzed her. He wanted her to be a commoner, easily cast away. By God, she’d never be more to him! She would never betray the truth of her birth to him, or the mysteries and deceit that plagued her past.

“None who you will ever meet, Chatham!” she snapped. He caught her wrist and forced her eyes to his.

“What new venom is this, lady? You dream, and I soothe you, only to find your claws more deeply drawn.”

She jerked at her wrist. He did not release it, but held it taut.

“No new venom,” she told him wearily. Perhaps he did care for her safety. “Only that which has always been. Warwick, please! Will you leave me be!”

He released her and stood, staring down upon her. “Aye, milady, for now I’ll leave you be! Yet I think there is a graver fear, for Anne and Hardgrave whisper and plot, and I wonder what discovery has been theirs.”

She froze, shaken anew. Was that Anne’s great pleasure that afternoon? Had she found out that Ondine was the old Duke of Rochester’s daughter?

Warwick turned to leave her, bowing deeply at the door. “We leave for dinner shortly, if you would prepare.”

She sat long, quaking with fear. Then something settled over her, something that was perhaps a sense of fatality. She stood and was not pleased with the gown she had chosen to wear to dinner. Tearing through her trunk, she sought another and settled upon one with a bodice and looped sleeves in organdy, and an overskirt in deepest mauve. Pearls gleamed elegantly from the hem, and she knew that once she had dressed her hair, she would appear striking in any crowd. If Anne meant to do her harm, Ondine decided she would not hide from the attack.

She exited that inner chamber with her head high to find her husband at the mantel, his elbow against it as he sipped a whiskey. He raised a high arched brow at her appearance and gave her a dashing bow.

“My lady, I grant you this: You are no coward.”

“Shall we go?”

“If you’ve sins in your past, perhaps it might be best to confess them now.”

“Warwick Chatham, of all men, you’ll never be my confessor.”

He shrugged and took her arm, leading her from the room. But at their door he paused and pulled her close.

“Ondine, eternally you forget one thing: You are my wife.”

About to be cast out! she thought, feeding the fury that held her tears in check. She could not betray the king’s confidence.

“And you eternally forget one thing, great Lord of Chatham. I truly do not give a damn.”

“This night you should; the sharks are waiting.”

“Sir, then I shall sink or swim.”

“Perhaps you might need an arm.”

“Never yours!” she cried in fury and watched his eyes narrow darkly, felt the grip of his fingers wind tightly around her arm.

“Then, lady, drown if you will!”

She lowered her eyes, afraid of the fear enveloping her. Why? Oh, why on this night had she battled him so, despised his offers of assistance?

There was no help for it; it was done. Stiffly they walked into the hall, and desperately she worried what Anne might say.

She did not have long to worry or wait. They had barely reached the dining hall, peopled with nobles and ladies, chatting and laughing, when a man’s voice, harsh with vengeance, cried out upon them. “There they are now! Chatham—and his lady!”

The last was said with sarcasm. Ondine stiffened. A pathway parted between the crowd, and she saw Lyle Hardgrave, sneering as he approached them.

Warwick stiffened, hard and primed as a blade. A hush fell; the crowd drew back.

Ondine felt herself pulled forward on her husband’s arm. She realized that Justin had appeared from the crowd and stood in back of them, ready at his brother’s defense.

She doubted if Warwick even knew. His eyes were gold, a blaze upon Hardgrave.

“Aye. ‘Tis Chatham and his—lady. Do you say, sir, that it is not so?”

Ondine heard a whisper from the crowd. “Someone should summon the king!”

Hardgrave and Warwick ignored all else but one another. Hard-grave openly leered at Ondine and bowed low with graceless mockery. “Nay, good neighbor! I say no such thing. ‘Tis the lady Anne by chance discovered from whence she came.”

Anne stepped up from behind Hardgrave’s shoulder, in the greatest, most dramatic pretext of agitation.

“Warwick! I am ever so sorry! Let there be no discontent here!”

“Yes!” thundered a voice of authority, and the king stepped in amongst them. “Let there be no discontent here!” He frowned severely at the assembly, whirling to Anne.

“What is this?”

“Your Grace! ‘Tis true she is no lady!”

“And why is that?”

“I’d rather not say—”

“Then, madam, may I suggest that you don’t?”

Traitor, traitor! She will call me traitor, Ondine wailed within. She didn’t know how she stood in those moments, her fear was so great.

“Your Grace!” Hardgrave said. “She came from the gallows! Warwick Chatham married a common poacher, pulled from the hangman’s noose!”

“She’s a common wench, straight from the streets!” Anne announced.

The king turned about, mildly interested, appearing as if he knew nothing of the matter.

“Is this true?” he inquired with polite interest.

Seconds passed. Ondine did not know whether to be relieved that the real truth was not known, or horrified that Anne had chanced upon this damning information. And, oh, what a perfect moment for Warwick to turn against her! He could cry that she bewitched him, and plead that he be rid of her on account of sorcery …

He did not. At that moment he turned to her, his amber gaze a glorious fire. He drew her hand slowly to his lips, bowed over it, and kissed it most reverently. His eyes met hers, lingering, as if he were, indeed, bewitched. And then he returned his gaze to the king, still holding her hand tight.

“Your Grace, it is true. Yet, who could blame me? Across a great expanse I saw her face, the beauty in her eyes, the pride in her fair countenance. Never had I seen a more glorious creature called woman, condemned to such a terrible fate. I came to her and, seeing her, knew that never again would I find such sweet beauty, never would I know such a chance for love, and so, aye, Your Grace, I did marry her, then, on the spot, and, by God, sire, what man would not reach out so for a touch of heaven?”

Charles was still for a moment, slowly smiling, bemused and quite taken with Warwick’s witty salvaging of the situation.

Charles laughed and applauded, and the assembly applauded with the king, all taken with the wonderful romance of it. Charles pummeled Warwick upon the back.

“By the rood, Chatham, most wonderously stated, and most certainly, I could not have passed such a great beauty by!” The king bowed whimsically and gracefully to Ondine. “Lovely creature, you are indisputably a countess; I claim you to be among the greatest ladies of all my domain. Now, shall we have dinner?”

The king walked by; the assembly followed him.

Hardgrave and Warwick continued to stare at one another; Anne appeared furious and deflated.

Ondine trembled with a rush of warmth that brought color to her cheeks, and she felt faint. Oh, dearest God, after all, he had defended her, with far more than mere appearance would dictate. She did not want to be grateful, but she was. Breathlessly so. Achingly so. No threat or rage of his could have ever humbled her. The amazing reverence of his kiss upon her hand had done what words and warning might never accomplish. She wanted to thank him; she didn’t know how.

“Hardgrave,” Warwick said icily, “slander my wife, and you slander me. She might be defenseless to your malice and your sword; I, most assuredly, am not.”.

He led Ondine after
the
king. Ondine heard Justin comment cheerfully to Anne as he followed behind them.

‘
‘Tsk, tsk,
Anne. My dear sister might be from the streets, but that’s far better than the gutter, from where some females do come!”

Anne snapped out an oath that had definitely been born in the gutter. Justin laughed. Warwick turned to him, and they chuckled together, and each took one of her arms in a most gallant fashion.

She lowered her eyes, deeply in love with both the brothers Chatham.

Dinner came and passed, a feast with many courses. Jugglers performed, a bear danced, and the minstrels played. Ondine danced with the king, with Justin, with the rogue Buckingham …

And with her husband.

But Charles never seemed to tire, and even as the hour grew late, he told Warwick that he had a kingdom to rule and needed some counsel, if Warwick thought he might be able to set his personal problems aside for an evening.

Jake materialized to take Ondine to her chamber; she knew that he would remain outside the door.

For a long time she walked the floor, deep in thought. Pride burst in her, for the evening, for the man she loved. Anguish touched her, for already he planned to be rid of her. But—oh, God!—she owed him so …

She gnawed upon her nails and walked again with agitation. The hour grew later and later, but she suddenly cast open the door and asked Jake if she might summon a maid and a bath.

Jake seemed surprised and even a little disgruntled, but he called to one of the guards, and minutes later, a sleepy little maid appeared, and then a trail of pages brought a gigantic tub, filling it with steaming water.

Ondine bathed long and luxuriously in wonderfully scented oils. And while she soaked she sipped upon a glass of port for the courage she felt she needed.

When the water cooled, she emerged. She dressed in her sheerest gown, and the little maid brushed her hair to a high gloss, one that rivaled the fire of splendor.

Then the boys returned for the tub, the maid bobbed a curtsy and left, and she was alone. She found a high-backed chair, dragged it to the fire, curled her toes beneath her, sipped more port, and waited.

It was long past midnight when she heard the door twist. A flush rose within her, and an unbearable tingling sensation of warmth and nerves danced inside her.