Tangled Hearts (3 page)

Bloody lovely! He’d only been trying to stop her from getting away. Instead he’d thrown in her face the fact that she was now an orphan. She was alone in the world, without resources, and hunted by a torching mob. He’d also been orphaned way too young, but he’d never been alone. The old Macbain had taken Ewan in, raised him along with his own son, Caden. His stomach coiled the last vestiges of bannocks around in his gut.

He sat next to her and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, lass, for the shock. Was not my intent to—”

“What am I going to do?” she groaned as if he weren’t even there, as if he didn’t matter, as if he couldn’t possibly help her.

Ewan frowned. He’d sworn as a boy never to leave a lass in need, not after he’d left his mother to fend for herself. And he wouldn’t abandon his oath just because this lass was… well… unconventional. “I will protect ye. I saved ye once, and I’m not about to watch ye fall to ruin.”

The Lord knew he didn’t have time to protect a witchy, Catholic, pirate, heiress who was the daughter of a known traitor, even if he was intrigued by her spirit. She’d been hauled off by a mob, nearly burned, and she’d just met her extremely dead father. Any other lass would be sobbing hysterically and quaking. Aye, the lass had fortitude.

Dory turned her head in her arms so that she could see him. “You will help me?” She lifted her head and the moonlight painted her skin with brilliance, calling attention to lips soft and lusciously full. Could they possibly be that naturally red or did she stain them like some women? He wondered what color her eyes were in the daylight.

Ewan peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Aye, lass, I’ll help ye.”

“On your honor and immortal soul?”

Ewan stared at her hopeful expression. “What exactly are ye needing help with?” He wasn’t a fool, no matter how beautiful she looked in the moonlight, or how binding his oath had been years ago when he’d been a selfish lad.

She waved her hand as if there was nothing much to concern him. “This and that.”

“This and that what, exactly?”

“I would think a big, strong man like you would be up to just about any task, especially helping a little woman like myself.”

“Aye, I am.”

“Wonderful!” She leapt up.

He followed her as she turned to enter the manor. “Ye haven’t said what ye need help with yet.”

“I need to go to London,” she said and illuminated the entryway with a chestnut-sized ball of blue light.

“We, too, are headed there.” He could certainly watch over her as they journeyed to London. “I can give ye a ride, but ye can’t be blowing hats off and glowing. ’Twill get us all on a pyre.”

She stared at him in the blue glow and then slowly let it die away, leaving just enough natural light to show her solid stance.

He nodded. “If ye can promise not to use yer magic—”

“I have no magic,” she said. “If you take me to London, get me to court, I am but a simple maid.”

Och, she would never be a simple maid. He paused, listening to the feathering of her breath in the empty house. His face heated as he recalled the gentle roundness of her backside as he’d kept her over Gaoth’s back. And here they stood, completely alone. If he wasn’t an honorable man, she’d be in definite jeopardy. The thought of her asking help from some disreputable man tightened his jaw. Nay, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—abandon her; although she didn’t know that.

“I am journeying to Hampton Court on the outskirts of London,” he said.

She inhaled quickly. “Is King Henry there?”

“Aye, we have business with him.”

He watched her silhouette bounce up in silent excitement.

“I am not certain if we will stay there or at an inn, but I will find ye rooms for the length of time we are in London.” Perhaps she needed help finding other family members. That shouldn’t be too difficult.

“I have business with King Henry as well,” she said. “Urgent business. I was hoping my father…”

Ewan felt the heaviness of guilt again at having blurted out that her father was dead and rotting on the back of the cart out front. “As long as ye keep yer breezes and blue glow to yerself, I swear to help ye resolve whatever ye wanted yer father to help ye with.”

She paused in the shadows. Grateful enough for a kiss, perhaps? Though things had started off altogether wrong, this situation could be salvaged. She was the bonniest lass he’d ever seen and though he usually liked his ladies sweet and calm, there was something amazing about this Pandora Wyatt—or whatever name she wished to use.

“Do Scotsmen hold to their promises?” she asked cautiously.

Bloody hell! “I certainly do. My oath is solid as the earth below this great house.”

“You could change your mind, abandon me to the wolves of court,” she said, her voice timid, almost fearful.

“I said,” he repeated with force, “and I swear, on my life and honor as a warrior of Druim, as long as ye act like a normal lass, I will help ye resolve yer family issues.”

“Wonderful,” she breathed, and hiked her skirts high to tap up the steps. If there weren’t so many shadows, he’d be able to see her ankles at least. But he’d forbade her use of the light.

“Aye, we will be busy in London,” she said.

What was she talking about? Tension began to roll through his shoulders. She didn’t sound so fearful right now. In fact, she sounded victorious.

“Exactly what were ye going to ask yer father to do?”

She stopped at the top landing and looked back down at him, the moonlight through the broken clouds illuminating her face through the foyer window. Her lovely lips formed a saucy smile. “We’ll be freeing Captain Bart and Will from the tower.”

“What?” he yelled.

“You promised,” she threw back and skipped down the hall.

The lighthearted, teasing lilt in her voice broke his restraint. Tricked. He’d bloody been tricked!

…

The warrior charged up the stairs like a whale chasing a seal onto land. She yelped and turned, but he caught her before she’d taken two steps. He swung her up into his arms. Totally unwarranted!

“Ye tricked me. Into giving ye my oath for a suicide mission!”

She wasn’t sorry. Now that Rowland Boswell was dead, she had no other options. She’d already wasted a week in England traveling inland and waiting for a useless father. The smithy’s cousin who washed the linens of the damned at the tower said that the next hanging fair was just before Eastertide. Which meant she only had a little over a week to buy, trick, or rescue Captain Bart and Will out of the tower. They were truly her only family now.

“You did swear on your honor as a warrior,” she reminded him as he deposited her on the bed. Her heart sped along despite her ignoring the fact that he loomed over her on the very comfortable, large bed she’d been sleeping in. His chest moved in and out, presumably with fury, since his hard body couldn’t possibly be winded by the climb.

His ruggedly handsome face came near to hers. “I swore to take ye to London and help ye with family issues. Not put my head in a noose.” He backed away looking around at the shadowed room as if searching for a way to escape. “Bloody hell. Ye’re not only a witch, a Catholic, an heiress, and a pirate. Ye’re bloody insane, too.”

Uncalled for, but she’d let him have his rant. She watched his muscles bunch as he flexed his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. He was like a snorting bull in a Spaniard’s ring, readying to charge.

“Rescuing people from the Tower. It isn’t done. Has never been done.” He paced across the floor and she scooted to the edge of the bed, facing him. She didn’t dare blink, else she miss his intent, and nearly jumped when he pulled flint from his pocket to strike at a rush light near the empty hearth. A soft glow illuminated the room as he lit several tallow candles in sconces along the walls. The portrait of a lady and her baby daughter over the mantle seemed to catch the warrior’s attention. The painting was the reason Dory had chosen this room to sleep in.

Ewan paused, taking in the beautiful likeness done in oils. Dory breathed fully, thankful for the distraction, at least for the moment.

“She looks so happy, doesn’t she?” Dory said. “Holding her baby.”

Ewan pivoted and strode back over to her. “She was burned on false accusations of being a witch, her daughter lucky to have survived.”

She swallowed and blinked at the burn in her eyes.

“Which is exactly why ye can’t work yer magic where anyone can see ye or even think they see ye.” He rubbed a hand through his hair as if he wanted to pull it from his head.

“I will keep my side of the bargain,” she said, her voice low.

He shook his head. “Who are these men that ye would risk so much?”

“Captain Bartholomew Wyatt kept me alive when my mother died on his ship. He raised me as his own when he could have sold me into slavery. Will is my friend.”

“Why are they in the Tower?”

“It’s a long story.”

“One I deserve to know before I risk a single hair on my head.”

“’Tis a very noble cause.”

“Noble? Ye’re pirates. How is that a noble cause?”

“We are good pirates.”

“Doesn’t exist. The very definition of piracy is criminal.”

“In a world that doesn’t offer options, it’s making a living.”

“Killing and stealing.”

Granted there had been some of that in her time on the Queen Siren, though Captain Bart usually locked her in his cabin when he knew there would be trouble. She looked hard at the warrior, her gaze tracing the lines of his scars. “I’m guessing you’ve done your share of killing and stealing, warrior, or did you get those fine scars from needle pointing tuffets?”

Ewan met her stare, his voice low. “I will get ye to London and find ye a bed, even get ye an audience with King Henry if I can, but when my business there is done, ye are on yer own.”

Dory felt her stomach pitch as her heart dropped into it. “I was wrong about you, Ewan Brody. You might play the part of a warrior full of honor, but at the first difficulty you break your oath.”

He walked to the small glass window looking out onto the bailey. “I’m no fool who would surrender my head for a beautiful lass.”

“Beautiful?” she whispered.

He huffed and turned. “Just because,” he indicated her there on the bed, “ye look like that, all soft and lovely, doesn’t mean ye can trick me to do a dead man’s errand.”

Soft and lovely? No one had ever called her anything close to beautiful. Well, there were the drunken hoots from sailors at port, but then they’d end up slit, stabbed, or knocked unconscious by Will or the captain. God, what would she do without them?

“You swore to help me with my family issues. They are my family.”

His stare pierced her, his handsome face hard as the granite face of a mountain.

“If they die, I’ll have no one.” She swallowed hard, caught in the line of his gaze. “Please… don’t abandon me.”

It was difficult to tell in the low light, and it happened so quickly, but Dory swore the warrior flinched. His hands contracted into tight fists. If she could touch him, she could tell what was going on inside him physically. He wouldn’t even know that she could read him like that, and it might tell her something. She slid off the bed slowly and leaned forward. Before she could touch him, he grunted and strode toward the door.

“I don’t abandon helpless lasses. We leave for London before dawn.”

Chapter Three

5 September of the Year our Lord God, 1517

Dearest Katharine,

He says he poisoned the queen and thus prevented her from conceiving another after Princess Mary, yet there is no proof. Have him stay close to Henry, gaining acceptance into the king’s inner circle. We will yet have our day.

Yours forever,

Rowland

Dory covered her nose with the edge of her shawl as the stench of rotting flesh washed over her on an errant breeze. With a silent exhale and twirl of her finger next to her leg, she sent the breeze blowing the other way to carry the smell of her father, the decaying corpse, away. A quick glance showed that neither of the Highlanders noticed.

What terrible luck. Not only was her father dead and unable to help her, Rowland Boswell’s royal summons rang of King Henry’s fury. The corpse would be treated like that of a traitor. If Henry’s anger wasn’t assuaged on a dead man, it could bubble over to scald his only living blood relation.

The three of them agreed she should keep her relation to Boswell a secret. It would be wise for her to have no connection to the corpse at all, but there wasn’t another way to reach the king or the Tower. Traveling with the two Highlanders was the quickest way there. Although she didn’t have any idea what she would do once they arrived. How much would the warrior help her?

Dory’s glance ran down Ewan where he strode beside the horses, his boots crunching on pebbles in the dawn light. Her heart thumped sporadically at the display of muscles through the linen shirt. Her fingers ached to test the hardness of his arms. Hours of sword play had molded him into a formidable warrior. Legs strong and well-sculpted led to a firm, rounded backside.

“I can understand bringing the dog,” Ewan said and gestured to the fluffy, light brown mongrel trotting next to him. He turned back to look at them riding on the cart seat. Dory’s eyes shot up in case Ewan noticed where her gaze had rested. She released her breath as he looked to Searc. “But the cat, too?”

Searc shrugged and glanced at his feet where a small tabby cat slept in a Rosewood bathing sheet. “It’s still a kitten,” Searc said. “Ye don’t abandon lasses and I don’t abandon beasties.”

Ewan grumbled something in Gaelic and Searc reached down to rub the purring kitten. “Aye, but mine doesn’t scratch.”

Dory glared at Ewan’s head. She’d learned French and some Latin, but none of the guttural language of the Scots. Her fingers twitched to blow some dust in his face, but she intertwined them helplessly in her lap. If he suspected her of breaking her promise, he might very well leave her in the road. And she needed his help.

“So… what am I to call myself when we reach London?” she asked, throwing her voice forward so Ewan could hear her over the wagon wheels.

“Do ye want to be known as the Mereworth Wellington heiress?” He didn’t turn to meet her gaze. Irksome. If he talked to her, he should look at her.

“Do I appear to be an heiress?” She smiled, her heart thumping a little harder as he turned to assess her. She couldn’t help but sit up straight and tilt her nose in the air for show.

“Perhaps after a bath and a change of costume.”

“Well of course,” she snapped and batted at her hair where it curled in wild knots around her face. “I bathe daily on board ship but water is harder to come by when landlocked. If we could stop at a town to purchase a few items, I would fit in much better at court.”

Ewan turned fully around, walking backward with the horses. “We may not be able to get into Hampton Court.”

“Isn’t that where you are going with rotting Papa?”

He shook his head at her comment and Searc chuckled.

“Just to drop him off with the letters proving he was a traitor.”

She raised her eyebrows. “From what I’ve heard from the ladies in Swindon, when you go to court for anything, expect to stay for at least a fortnight before you can present to the king.”

“Bloody hell,” Ewan cursed. “I will put ye up at an inn in town. No need to purchase court clothing.”

She scooped up the stretching tabby and settled her into her lap. “I have my own moneys.” Since she was Boswell’s surviving child, his gold was her gold. She’d helped herself to the contents of a small wall safe she’d found and plundered the third night at Rosewood after the townspeople told her his servants had deserted. It would buy fabric but wasn’t nearly enough to buy the freedom of two men in the Tower.

“It is safer for ye to stay away from court.” He turned back and clicked to the two horses to get them moving again. The large one he called Gaoth shook his head and snorted. Ewan spoke softly to him and stroked his neck.

“But there I’d have a better chance of discovering a way to release Captain Bart and Will.” She nodded to emphasize her point and huffed in frustration at his back. “I’m going with you to court.”

When Ewan didn’t reply she turned to Searc. “He is beyond stubborn.”

“A good match,” Searc replied with a lopsided grin.

She glared at him. “A good match for whom? Not I. A farmer’s donkey, perhaps.”

Another hour rattled by and Ewan led the horses off the road and into a small meadow dotted with cornflowers and buttercups. “I need to water the horses. We’ll stop here to eat before heading into the next village.”

“Where I can purchase a few undergarments and cloth.”

“Do ye plan to store the cloth next to Boswell?” Ewan asked. “His taint will certainly ruin it.”

Dory climbed down and raised her arms over head to stretch. She wasn’t used to such inactivity. On board ship, every member of the crew scurried and climbed the rigging and kept the ropes and equipment in pristine order. She bent over and touched the ground with her palms, stifling a groan at her stiff muscles. When she straightened, both men stared at her.

“I suppose I will wait to purchase cloth then. But I need at least a change of costume.” She indicated her torn and sooty dress.

“If ye must,” Ewan said and turned back to untethering the horses. “Perhaps ye should keep the name Rebecca Mereworth Wellington a secret until we find out the standing of both sides of yer family.”

Dory heard the stream, and followed him and the horses through the sunny, open woods.

“Have ye heard about a grandparent or an uncle or aunt?” he asked.

“No, only Boswell.”

“So we will find out about your other relatives before ye claim blood ties to any of them. And I still think ye must have a link to Meg Macbain and Rachel Munro.”

Dory didn’t answer because the brook came into view. It plunged from a rock face to the right, splashing onto wide, moss-covered boulders to sluice into the gully that had been cut over the ages. Farther to the left downstream, the brook widened with a few pools gouged into the hard packed earth on either side.

“I need to wash the fire from me,” she called to Ewan and headed downstream. Surely they could give her a few minutes to wash the mats from her hair. She’d been able to wipe off much of the soot but the smoke still clung to her hair and skin.

Dory kicked off her boots and waded into the churning eddy created by a boulder in the middle of the stream. Her toes squished into the silt and splashed water up her bare arms. She’d taken a sliver of honeysuckle-scented soap she’d found in a drawer in the Rosewood Manor room and ran it up and down her arms and legs, washing the grime from yesterday away. Oh how she wanted to strip the rags away and truly bathe. Perhaps… she glanced downstream and caught sight of a small wooden bridge.

She waded toward it, soap clutched in one hand. Would Ewan leave her if she took too long? He’d promised to see her to London. He wouldn’t just up and leave without a warning. “I’ll just be a minute!” she yelled toward the wagon.

A muffled sound stopped Dory just a foot from the quaint arched bridge. Weeping? She crept through the water silently to the wooden planks. A slight woman sat on the other bank, knees drawn under her chin, hands covering her eyes. Halting sobs hiccoughed out from her.

“Do you need help, miss?” Dory asked.

The girl’s head snapped up with a screech and Dory held out her hands, the one still holding soap. “No fretting. I’m just washing up and heard your weeping.”

The woman pushed upright and stood. By the look of her rich gown, she was wealthy, might even have a title. Her fair hair was swept to the side and dangled all the way down to her narrow waist. She was of low height but made up for it with grand presence. She swiped away her tears, though they’d soaked a spot on her skirts over her knees. “I do not require the help of commoners,” the woman said and sniffed.

Dory couldn’t help but smile at her. She looked like a ruffled, indignant kitten.

“Are my tears humorous to you?” The woman placed her hood back on her head.

“Nay, miss. I’m just glad you have spirit.” Dory nodded. “That spirit will get you through whatever your tears are about. Excuse me for interrupting.”

Dory bowed a bit, feeling suddenly foolish. She’d definitely need some guidance before arriving at court. Did one bow or curtsy? And what did one call the king? Your grandness? Your supreme majesty? Your uppity arse who wants to kill my family? Maybe Ewan would know.

“Spirit won’t help me,” the woman wailed, fresh tears pouring from her red eyes. “Nothing will.”

Dory watched her. Should she stay or go? “If you would tell me what ails you, perhaps I could help.”

The young woman wiped a lacy bit of fabric across her runny nose. “Can you make me pregnant? And while you are at it, make the child a boy.”

Dory wiped an arm across her forehead. Maybe the heat was getting to the woman. “I am no man, miss, and only God can give you a son.”

She opened her huge eyes. “I have prayed and prayed and still…” She waved her hand down across her abdomen. “Still nothing.”

Ah, the woman was infertile and wished to give her husband a son. “Perhaps it is fault with your husband, m’lady.”

She shook her head. “I am not married yet, but if my family keeps pulling strings, I will be within the year.”

Jitters at the thought of wedding? Dory had no experience with marriage. “Why then are you already worried about a babe?”

She glanced around as if more people might pop out of the woods. “I have no monthly flux. Never have. I must be barren.” She began to cry all over again.

Dory trudged across the creek and touched the woman’s arm as if to comfort her. With a quick pulse of her power focused on the woman’s abdomen, she could sense the problem. Aye, her women’s organs felt… stuck. Otherwise she seemed of fine health, but without intervention her women’s organs would remain dormant and she’d never have her courses or conceive.

“I might be able to help you,” Dory said tentatively. She wasn’t about to expose herself to another hysterical female, nor could she let Ewan know what she was doing. But the woman’s tears squeezed at her heart. She’d never been able to leave someone in need. Captain Bart grumbled about it all the time.

“Will you use magic?” the woman whispered, eyes wide.

Dory shook her head, an easy lie. “Not at all. I’ve learned of a drink that helps a woman’s cycle start. I can make it for you if you’d like.”

“Yes.” A real smile lit her face and she looked rather pretty. “I will pay you.” She glanced at Dory’s ruined clothes. “I have many dresses from last season that should fit you.”

They did look about the same shape and size. Dory’s mind churned. She had to get to London soon, but she couldn’t show up at Hampton Court looking like a beggar. King Henry wouldn’t even see her dressed like this. And she still wasn’t certain what she was going to say to him.

“Pandora!” Ewan’s voice cut through the gurgles of the brook just before he appeared. “There ye are. We need to move on if we’re to reach London by nightfall.”

Nervousness pinched the happy face of the lady. Dory squeezed her hand and yelled back over her shoulder. “I must help someone first.”

“Good day, m’lady,” Ewan said and bowed to the young woman. “I’m sorry if we have trespassed. We are leaving.”

“Nay,” the lady said and giggled. Dory watched her bat her eyelashes at Ewan. Irritating, though understandable. The man had a dangerous way of making serious thoughts break apart in a woman’s head. The lady pulled Dory close to her with a strength she hadn’t expected, and Dory smiled at Ewan’s frown. He was fun to irritate. “The lady Pandora—”

“Dory, please,” she answered.

“The lady Dory has agreed to make a drink for me, one I need greatly. She will accompany me back to Wulfhall, my home.” The woman pointed behind her where Dory could just make out a large manor surrounded by gardens. “You are very welcome to come along.”

“Forgive us, please, but we really must be on our way,” Ewan said and the lady tugged Dory even closer.

“Ewan, I think she will fight you for me,” Dory said and the lady twittered like a songbird. “And she has a gown for me.”

“Several,” the lady added.

“We wouldn’t have to stop to find me a new costume.”

Ewan looked between the two of them, his face stiff. “Very well. A short stay, an hour, perhaps.” He waved them toward the house. “I’ll tell Searc and we’ll be along with our… burden.”