FLAME OF DESIRE (4 page)

Breathing softly, closing her eyes, Heather said a silent prayer for his safety and wished with all her heart that they would meet again.

Chapter Four

Richard Morgan rode at a furious pace toward Hunsdon. The wind howled about him; the rain soaked him to the skin as he shivered against the chill and gathered his cloak about him in a futile effort to keep dry. He would not be daunted in his mission despite the misery, he vowed. His only concern was that he get to the Princess Mary before Northumberland or his cronies did.

“Mary,” he whispered, his voice lost in the wind. “My queen.” He knew well the dangers which lurked behind the bushes. Outlaws roamed the countryside, ambushing unwary travelers. And what of Northumberland? Was he even now following him?

More than once he looked behind him, watching for any signs that his enemy was following, and thought with relief that it did not appear that he was being pursued. At least for the time being.

At last the rain stopped as the fading sun tried desperately to come from behind the thick clouds and give to the earth its warmth. The condition of the road was deplorable, little more than bridle paths linking one village with another, and he soon decided that perhaps it would be safer and more comfortable to his aching backside to travel across the fields instead of the muddy road.

The night seemed to fly by as he galloped north, pushing at a furious pace. When he could stand no more, when his body was exhausted beyond endurance, he pulled at the reins to urge the horse to a halt. In the shelter of an old gnarled tree he gathered together twigs and leaves to make a soggy bed for himself.

His eyes burned and throbbed from lack of sleep, yet sleep was long in coming to him, his mind instead haunted by the memory of a sweet smile, of hair the color of red wine, of skin as soft as velvet. The young woman came vividly to his mind and he thought of how lovely she had been. If only they had met under different circumstances, perhaps…. But no, he had to forget her! There was no future for them despite the hunger he had felt when he held her in his arms.

Forget her? It was easier to say the words than to do the deed. “Sweet Heather,” he whispered, aching to hold her in his arms again but sufficing himself with his warm woolen cloak. Dreaming of her, he drifted into a deep slumber.

The sound of cruel laughter awakened Richard form his sleep. Opening his eyes with a start, he found himself being surveyed by a grinning bearded man he knew all too well.

“Hugh Seton!”

The stocky brown-haired man took a step forward, hands placed upon his thick tree-trunk thighs, his cold brown eyes squinting against the light of the sun.

“Yes, it is I. Did you think none would stop you from your traitorous journey?”

Richard’s eyes blazed as he sat up. He would not be called a traitor by this man or any other. “’Tis you who are traitor, not I.” He reached for his sword but he was not fast enough. The pressure of his enemy’s blade pricked his shoulder.

“Move one inch and you are dead!” With a grace which belied his girth, Hugh Seton kicked Richard’s weapon aside as if it were merely a twig. His eyes took on a wicked glint. “You don’t know how long I have wanted to kill you! And now I can do so and be well rewarded.”

Richard’s eyes met his adversary’s and he could see the hatred and jealousy blazing forth. If he did not want to breathe his last this day, he had to make good his escape.

“Rewarded by Northumberland?”

In reply the stocky man nodded his head, pressing the sword he held in hand so hard against Richard’s arm that it drew blood. “I wonder how your head will look atop London Bridge.” His mouth curled in a sneer.

Richard’s eyes darted from the weapon which threatened him, to the sword which lay upon the ground, his sword. Was there any way to retrieve that blessed weapon without causing his death? Could he take this boasting braggart by surprise?

Seeing the direction of his glance, Hugh Seton once again gave vent to his mirth, a cruel, wicked sound more animal than human. “Oh, I think not, my friend. One false move from you will find this sword pierced through your heart.”

Richard refused to cower before this man, this bully. He could not forget that it was by this man’s lies that his uncle had been executed for treason. And all for what? Power. Such a fleeting treasure in these times.

“You are going to kill me anyway. Why not do it now?” He steeled himself for the thrust, his eyes blazing his hatred.

The other man shrugged. “I wait for Northumberland. He is due to meet with me before the sun is high in the sky. I want him to witness my act.”

Hugh Seton’s answer gave Richard Morgan new hope. He was not to meet his maker immediately. Taking a deep breath, he leaned away from the tip of the sword.

“Well, if you are not going to murder me, I daresay I’ll return to my nap.” He looked at his captor defiantly and was even so bold as to flash him a grin. “Please awaken me when our
guest
arrives.” Closing his eyes, he feigned sleep as if finally giving in to his fate, as if resigned to death, perhaps even scoffing at the idea.

“I’ll wipe that smile off our face when Northumberland joins us,” was the reply. Richard could see his enemy’s face turn red with rage as it had so many times when they were at each other’s throats.

“We’ll see,” he said beneath his breath. Controlling his breathing, ignoring the pounding of his heart, Richard reached his left hand behind his back ever so slowly, clawing frantically at the earth, clutching up the precious substance. Opening one eye, he watched the short, stocky figure pacing the ground before him, his hand still clutching the executioner’s sword. Moving with the rapidity of a striking snake, Richard flung the fistful of mud into the face of his hated captor, rolling away from the strike of the sword thrust blindly into the soft soil just inches away from Richard’s head.

“Missed me, Seton!” he taunted.

“Damn you!” Hugh Seton swore violently as he wiped his brocaded sleeve across his eyes in an effort to regain his sight. Richard had just enough time to reach for and grip the hard hilt of his sword before the large man struck out again. The blow was parried just in time.

“I have always been more than a match for you, Seton,” he chided.

A cry of anger was his answer as the man lunged again, but as before, found his thrust parried. The sound of sword on sword rent the air as the two fought a furious battle, a test of strength and of skill.

Again and again Hugh Seton lunged, his anger at having been thwarted making him careless. Reacting to the warning of his senses, his sword arm swinging forward, Richard blocked each thrust, at last knocking his enemy’s sword to the ground. The tables had turned quickly. Now it was Richard Morgan who held a sword at Seton’s heart.

“Go ahead and kill me.”

“I ought to kill you, Seton, but you are not worth endangering my soul. I think in time your own ambition will cause your death.” Disarming his enemy, he stood before him, searching his face for any sign of his father in the man who claimed to be his bastard half-brother. He saw none, yet could not draw this man’s blood. What if there was truth in his claim?

Reading his mind, Hugh Seton sneered. “You will not kill me, though you would do well to do so for I swear that someday I will cause you such pain that you will remember this day and wish you had drawn my blood.” He wanted to say more but the sound of horses’ hooves in the distance drew his attention. His small piggish eyes glanced in the direction whence they came. A smile touched his lips and Richard cringed in revulsion at this man who had taunted him since childhood. Although he did not want to shed his blood, he could not stand here and chatter while Northumberland even now rode toward them. He had to act, and act quickly, and thus, raising his sword, he aimed a blow with the side of the blade, rendering his enemy unconscious.

“I hope that I am not foolish in sparing you, Seton,” Richard said between clenched teeth, bending over the still form. He had an overpowering urge to finish the job, to revenge his uncle and his father, but he instead held back. Murder was not in his blood. He would not stoop to Seton’s level. In stead, he mounted his horse to begin his journey anew.

Richard rode at a furious pace now, threatened by the fact that Northumberland would by now have found his henchman Seton and would be following close behind. Only once did he stop, and then only briefly to quench his thirst.

Near the end of the day he entered a part of the land far different from that which he had traveled before. Gone now were the gently rolling hills, the wide meadows and moors; now steep rocky hills loomed in his path, bordered by swiftly rushing streams. The terrain slowed his pace and he fought his way over the stones and rocks. At last when he reached the top of the hill he shifted on his horse to look around.

“Northumberland!” he whispered, his voice hardly more than a croak. Frustration and alarm knifed through him like the sharpest dagger as he saw the approaching horsemen descending upon him. In their somber clothes of black and brown they looked like insects creeping over the hill. There were too many to fight; he had to escape.

Across the rocky hillside his horse galloped, toward the forest. Its leafy branches beckoned him like the arms of a lover as he fled his enemy.

Chapter Five

Richard bent close to the churning muscles of his horse as if to become one with the animal. He sought a firm grip on the reins as he guided the horse onward. His death sentence. That was what it would mean if her were caught. He could see the last rays of the sun fading behind the hilltops and knew the light would soon be extinguished, adding further safety. This gave him hope as he urged the stallion onward. He would beat Northumberland yet!

The sound of horses’ hooves coming closer and closer echoed in his ears. He was drenched in perspiration from the strain and exertion of his ride, his heart was beating like a drum in his chest, yet he smiled, knowing that each moment he was getting closer to the forest. Once there he could seek the shelter of its dense foliage, double back, make a large circle, and emerge from the trees to take a different path to Hunsdon.

Feeling the pulsating rhythm of the horse’s flanks beneath the high leather of his boots, he at last reached the foliage. Reining in his mount he hid behind a tall, stout tree, scarcely daring to breathe. From his position he could see the shadows of the men on horseback as they rode past him. He could hear their shouts, the plop of their horses’ hooves, could nearly smell the sweat of man and beast as they passed him.

Ride, ride, you bastards!
He thought. For your journey will be all in vain.

Only when he was certain that they were gone did he come forth from his concealment to ride in the opposite direction. He knew a shortcut to Hunsdon, a dangerous one to be sure, but he had to take the chance. He had to reach Mary before Northumberland did, before the queen fell into the duke’s clutches.

Using only one hand on the reins, clutching his sword in the other, Richard Morgan rode through the wilder nooks in the forest, that area where robbers and thieves were known to hide. His fancy velvet and brocade clothing would surely invite ambush, he thought, but he had to take the chance. Strangely enough, no such attack took place, although he could sense that he was being watched from behind many a tree. It came to mind that perhaps those who had admired his uncle, mourned his death, would leave the nephew alone to complete his journey. Right he was in his supposition, for he reached his destination safely, though not as quickly as he would have liked.

Dismounting his horse, Richard appraised his appearance. He was covered from head to foot with the dust and mud of the road, hardly a fitting figure to stand before the queen, and yet, it could not be helped. Time was of the essence.

Taking the steps of the rambling brick manor two at a time, he found his way blocked by two men-at-arms, their scowls telling him that they thought him to be a vagabond.

“I must see Princess Mary at once!” he ordered, ignoring their appraising looks upon his person.

“She is preparing herself for a long journey,” came the answer. “She has no time for the likes of you.”

So, thought Richard, Northumberland has already sent a message to her bidding her to come to London. He could imagine what the fate of the princess, now the queen, would be if she did as she were told.

“She must not go!” he shouted, taking a step forward. Strong arms pushed him back.

“You hardly look the sort to tell a princess what to do.” One of the guards growled. “Now, be gone.” He gave Richard a push which sent him sprawling.

“No!” he shouted, standing up again and moving forward. “Tell her Richard Morgan is here and must speak with her.”

Laughter was his answer and he cursed these buffoons beneath his breath. All the danger he had faced would be for naught if they kept him from seeing Mary.

“Your heads will roll if you do not at least tell her that I am here,” Richard barked. His voice was so forceful, so commanding that the men-at-arms stopped their chuckling and stared at him.

At last one of the guards spoke. “I’ll go to her but it will be
your
head if she is angered by the interruption.” He was gone but a short while and when he returned he nodded his head at his companion. “She says to let him in.”

Richard pushed his way through the door and stood in the hall to await his queen. His eyes roamed over his surroundings, taking in the silken hangings drawn back from the latticed windows, the murals, paintings, and tapestries. A fire was burning in the great hearth and Richard welcomed the warmth. The night was growing chilly. The enticing aroma of cooking food made his mouth water. He had not eaten all day.

“Richard,” he heard a deep, slightly mannish woman’s voice say. “It has been so long.”

He turned and watched as she entered the room. Dressed in blue brocade and velvet, her full skirts over the stiff farthingale rustling as she walked, the princess greeted him with an outstretched hand in welcome. Her usually tight lips were drawn in a half-smile.