FLAME OF DESIRE (17 page)

“I felt like a cur to leave you.”

“You had to leave.”

“Heather, oh, Heather!” His fingers touched her breast, sending a spark of desire through her. “How I wish that we were somewhere alone, away from the threat of peering eyes and rattling tongues. I want you so.”

From inside the Tower they could hear the sound of laughter and revelry, voices raised in praise and in song, yet there were only the two of them on the earth as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Heather was mesmerized by her happiness, afraid to move for fear that this moment would dissolve as so many dreams had done these past few days. Would she awaken to find it morning again and be alone? Alone without him?

Richard looked deep into her eyes. She loved and trusted him. He had to tell her the truth. Now. “Heather,” he whispered. “There is something I must tell you….”

“Hush,” she breathed. “Let us not spoil this moment.” Reaching out to touch his mouth with her fingers, she was filled with the sweetness of the moment. He was hers again, no matter for how brief a time. Forgotten now was all else but their love. They were unaware of the eyes which watched them. Cunning eyes.

“So, I find the way to wound you, Morgan,” the man hissed between clenched teeth, watching the lovers in their embrace. He had noticed the way Richard’s eyes had sought out a figure in the crowd. That was why when he saw him push through the throng he followed him, intent on finding a way to compromise his hated half-brother. Now he was not disappointed. “Such a lovely creature. It will be my pleasure to use her to torture you.” From the doorway he laughed softly, a sound which drifted on the wind to Heather’s ears.

“Someone is watching us,” she said, breaking away from Richard’s arms. She had been so happy to see him, longed so much for his touch that she had forgotten all about propriety.

“Who is there?” Richard asked, irritated at the intrusion. He had thought that the crowd would be too enthralled with the proceedings inside to gawk at him. Obviously he was wrong, and he cursed himself for being careless. He did not want Heather to become an object of gossip. Standing in front of her in an attempt to hide her identity, he whispered, “Go, but meet me tomorrow at the barber’s shop, in the courtyard behind. There is much that I must tell you, but for now I must get back before the queen is angered by my absence.”

Heather left him with reluctance, longing for his arms the moment she had left them. “At noon in the courtyard,” she said, taking to her heels, running from him while she had the strength of mind to do so. Only the knowledge that she would see him upon the morrow gave her the will and heart to abandon him now.

Watching her go, Richard was filled with a great tenderness. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and more. Beauty, grace, a kind heart, and courage—all were of abundant supply in this red-haired maiden named Heather Bowen. If only she could be his wife.

“I must tell her. She must know about Edlyn. It is not right to keep such a secret from her. Tomorrow, when we meet in the courtyard, I will explain all, and if she then still wants me, I will make her mine again.” The thought of making love to her stirred his blood, and taking a deep breath of the summer air, he sought to quench his ardor.

Looking about, he saw no sign that anyone was nearby; indeed whoever had made the noise had vanished without a trace, and he began to wonder if it had been only their imagination or some grisly ghost of the past who had stirred the air.

“Tomorrow.” Putting all caution behind him, looking over his shoulder just once, Richard Morgan left the Tower Green.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Tabitha, what ails me? My hands are shaking so violently that I can scarce hold my brush?” Heather exclaimed as she stood before the tiny mirror in her bedchamber.

“It is called love,” Tabitha answered with a laugh, taking the brush from Heather’s hands to run its bristles through the mass of red tangles, fashioning them in soft waves on either side of her head, the back hair hanging freely to touch below Heather’s waist.

“Yes, love.” The thought of meeting Richard had caused Heather anxiety as well as pleasure, tossing and turning in a sleepless night as so many unanswered questions plagued her. What was it he had to tell her? He had sounded so stern that for just a moment she had thought he had bad news, and yet the way he had kissed her, held her…Was that not the way of a man who cherishes his lover? “But what has he to tell me?”

“You will soon know,” Tabitha said softly, putting down the brush. Heather turned to look at the servant girl, who was quickly becoming her friend. Tabitha was at least a head taller than Heather, a large woman by the day’s standards, yet there as an attractiveness about her height, which sadly the young woman was not aware of.

“You are right, Tabitha, I will soon know. Though I am nervous just the same.” There was a long pause, a silence between them as each woman succumbed to her own thoughts. The fear nagged at Heather that her father would in some way hinder her meeting with Richard. At first edgy and in constant fear of being thrown into the Tower, Thomas was quickly coming back to his old self, especially since Mary was showing mercy for most of those who had tried to keep her from her throne. Mercy for all but Northumberland and six others who had been condemned to die. It was said that the queen wanted to pardon even Northumberland, but that Simon Renard, now her imperial ambassador, had persuaded her otherwise. And Jane—poor lady Jane was to be kept confined within the Tower grounds.

Tabitha seemed to sense Heather’s fears. “If your father tries to detain you, I will lend a hand. There will be some way to smuggle you out of here, even if under his very nose.” As much as Tabitha feared Thomas Bowen, she was determined to see Heather happy with the man she loved.

“Without Richard I am but half-alive,” Heather whispered. But much to her good fortune, no such problem arose. When it came time for her to leave, Thomas was nowhere in sight and Blythe Bowen was too preoccupied in her housecleaning to notice her daughter’s departure. Dressed in the same blue gown and farthingale that she had worn to take Mary’s letter to the Tower, Heather now made her way to her lover.

Richard Morgan stood alone, half-hidden by the foliage which encircled the courtyard of the barber’s shop. His back was turned to Heather and he seemed to be deep in thought as she approached. Although the sun shone overhead, he had a cloak flung about his shoulders and a hat upon his head.

“Richard?”

He did not turn around. Heather crept closer, wondering what there was about him that did not seem quite right. Only when she was right behind him did the truth dawn on her. It was
not
Richard. This man was too stocky, too short. He whirled around, reaching out his strong arms to pull her toward him, and it was then that her worst fears were realized.

“Hugh Seton!” Terrified, she struggled, but he was much too strong. “Let me go!” Her eyes searched frantically for Richard.

“He will be a little late. The queen, at my suggestion, detained him.” He laughed while dragging her along with him as he walked to the shelter of a row of hedges. His voice became gruff and sinister as he spoke to her. “Keep your silence or you will be the worse for it. There is something that I wish to say to you, and it will be spoken if I have to sit on you to make you listen.”

Heather’s hair, pulled free of its confinement, blew in wild disarray about her shoulders, and her blue gown had snagged and torn from the scuffle. As she looked at the man, her breasts heaved in anger. “I do not know what you could possibly have to say to me. You are a beast to so treat a lady.” She turned to leave, but he made good his threat, pushing her to the ground and straddling her so that she could not get up. Fear that he would ravish her overcame her and she squirmed and sought to cry out. As his hand clamped over her mouth, she thought about that time when Richard had held her captive. Even then
he
had been gentle, not brutal like this man.

“I said you were going to listen, and listen you will, woman!” His eyes raked over her with the leer she knew only too well. “You think I’m going to force myself on you, don’t you? Well, still your fears, at least this time, although I am tempted to sample the fare that you have no doubt given freely to him.” Pressing himself closer against her, he intimately writhed his body upon hers. Heather shut her eyes in terror, but he moved away and only laughed at her expression of abhorrence, taking his hand away from her mouth for just a moment.

“Please!”

“I told you I am not going to take you. I haven’t the time, but sooner or later you will taste of me. I’m going to be your husband, Mistress Bowen.”

“Never!” she spat.

“Never is a long time.” Seemingly amused by her answers, he left her mouth free. “I know some things about your father that the queen would be all too happy to learn. She has shown tolerance to some, but with the right word spoken here or there, she could very well change her mind. My influence is great with her majesty.”

“You are a traitor! I know that you were on Northumerland’s side. You cannot implicate my father without endangering yourself as well.”

He rolled to one side of her, reaching out to hold her wrists securely in his big paw like hands. “The queen knows well that I was Northumberland’s man but that a miracle came upon me so that I took up her banner instead.”

Heather looked about wildly for any sign of help. Where was the barber? Could he not see from his window what ill fate had befallen her? No, this big beast had made certain that they were well out of sight.

“A miracle1” she scoffed. Laughter was her answer.

“I have no doubt that your father will see the advantage of such a match as ours. Marriages joining prosperous burgher families and nobility are common enough. I am in great need of money. It will be a fair enough exchange, your father’s money for my title.”

“You have no title.”

“Ah, but I will. I will.”

Heather sought to remember what Richard had told her of this man, but could not recall his words. There had been so much excitement, so much happening. All she knew was that he was Richard’s enemy. His words seemed to have some threat attached to them, and she suddenly feared that he sought in some way to harm the man she loved.

“I will never marry you. I love another,” she said defiantly. If he was Richard’s enemy, then he was hers also.

His face turned red with rage. “You whore! You think that he will marry you. I tell you he will not. He cannot!”

His words made her tremble. Did he know of whom she spoke? How could he? His next words answered her question.

“I saw you with him, with Richard Morgan, my half-brother.”

“Half-brother!” she gasped.

“I am the bastard son of Richard’s father and a blacksmith’s daughter. Humble beginnings, but then, so had Thomas Cromwell, and he became Henry VIII’s chief minister. I will one day have what is rightfully mine, but I fear that you will never have what you so long for. A man can hardly have two wives.”

“Two wives?” Her voice trembled, as her mind refused to accept the possibility that he meant Richard.

He let her go, knowing full well that she would not seek to run from him now.

“Two wives,” he repeated, taking satisfaction in the look of shock which passed over her face. “He cannot marry you. My dear half-brother is already married. He has been happily wed for two years to a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman of nobility. Edlyn is her name. She is his
wife
. Do you her me? Richard Morgan is a married man.”

“Married! No! No!” It was as if a knife tore at her heart. “You are lying. Lying!” Slowly she got to her feet, staring at the ground, wanting to run but feeling as if she could not move a muscle.

“Ask him yourself if you do not believe me, or better yet, ask the queen. She knows well of the Lady Morgan.” He bowed mockingly, taking his leave of her. “I will leave you to think heartily upon my proposal of marriage.”

She hardly knew that he had left; she was only aware of the stabbing ache within her heart, of the numbness she felt, the utter sense of loss. Of course she would ask Richard if Hugh Seton’s words were true, but a voice inside her whispered that they were. Why would the man lie when such a thing could so easily be found out? What would Hugh Seton gain by telling her a falsehood?

“No,” she whispered. “Let it not be true.” Sobs racked her body as she gave vent to her sorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Richard thought that she looked like a painting by Hans Holbein the Younger as she stood there, still and silent. A beauty, that’s what she was. Lord, how he loved her. Would he ever find the words to let her know how much?

“Heather.” In two strides he was beside her. “Forgive me for being late. The queen had maters of state to discuss with me. There was no way that I could tell her no.” He reached out to take her in his arms but she was cold and unresponsive. “Are you ill? Heather, what is it?”

Heather tried to speak but her words were choked and she feared that she would collapse in a heap at his feet. Only with the greatest effort was she able to maintain her dignity, saying at last, “tell me that it isn’t true.”

Their gaze locked in silence for the length of a heartbeat. “Tell you that what isn’t true?”

The ache in Heather’s throat threatened to choke her, yet she managed the words: “Are you…are you…married?”

His eyes answered for him, a spasm of pain that flitted briefly across his face. “Heather….”

She stiffened as she heard him speak her name. Was this the man who had held her, loved her? Now he seemed to be a stranger, one who had taken her love knowing well that he was not free.

“It is true. I can see the answer written on your face!” A soft groan of despair tore from her throat.

He tried to take her in his arms but she flung herself free of his embrace. She felt used, dirtied. Together they had committed adultery, a grievous sin, and all the while she had been so naïve, loving him, dreaming of the day when they would be together. But that day would never come. He belonged to another—Edlyn.