Authors: Katherine Vickery
“Food? I can take it to him1” The guard licked his lips and it was obvious that the basket would not get much farther than beyond the door.
“No. Please. We want to see him and give it to him personally. As his servants he will need to tell us things that must be done to look after his estates,” Heather quickly interjected.
“He has been ever a kind lord and we would be with him on this night,” Tabitha whispered.
The guard started to protest, but seeing that it would be easier to comply than to argue, he mumbled, “All right.” No doubt he had been disturbed from his dice game or other such entertainment and thought the two women a bother. Nonetheless, he led them up the spiral stone stairs. Surely no harm could come from one visit, he undoubtedly thought. “Watch your step,” he barked, but Heather could think of only one thing: she was going to see Richard. Tripping, she nearly fell, but Tabitha quickly helped her regain her balance. “I told you to watch your step,” he growled.
The guard presented the two women to a surly looking prison guard who led them through winding passages until they came to a thick iron-studded wooden door. Jiggling his many keys, this guard at last found the right one and opened the door.
“Only one of you can see him. Which one be it”
Heather quickly stepped forward.
“I will wait for you downstairs,” Tabitha announced, fleeing down the stone-floored corridor before the guard could change his mind. In her hurry she nearly collided with a tall handsome man with hair the color of dark wood. He touched her gently on the shoulder with hands that made Tabitha quiver. Looking up, she met his sparkling brown eyes and felt a tidal wave of emotion sweep over her.
“You are in a great hurry,
señorita
,” the man said in a voice lightly touched with an accent. “Do you flee to or from a lover?”
Tabitha blushed hotly. “Neither. I accompanied my friend to see the man she loves on the day before his trial. He is innocent, yet we fear he will be condemned.”
He looked at her with interest. “I too have a friend imprisoned within these walls. We have much in common, you and I.”
“A friend? Who? Perhaps I have heard of him.”
“Richard Morgan is his name. Rafael Mendosa is mine.”
Tabitha stared at him. “Richard Morgan? That is the man Heather has gone to see.”
He shook his head. “Ah, I see. Then perhaps it would be better if I spoke with him later. Three would be a crowd, no?”
“Yes,” she answered, feeling an instant liking for this man with the face of an angel and the body of a Greek god. Now more than ever she wished that she were beautiful. What would it be like to love a man like this?
“Then let me escort you home,” the man said.
“No. I promised I would wait. I would not want Heather to be alone. The night offers many dangers.” Tabitha started to leave him, but he quickly caught up with her.
“Then we will wait together, you and I.”
Tabitha cast her eyes in the direction that Heather had walked, wondering what was happening. “We will wait together.”
Heather heard the heavy door close behind her and tried desperately to grow accustomed to the dim light of the cell. “Richard,” she called out softly. There was no answer, and for a moment she feared that he was not within the room, but the familiar warmth of his arms encircled her waist, drawing her near.
“Heather! Heather! My God, I must be dreaming. If so, I hope I never wake up.”
Heather put her arms around his neck, clinging to him, burying her face in the strength of his chest. “Did you think I could stay away?”
He kissed her then, a kiss which spoke of his love. Her mouth searched blindly for his and found it, her lips parting beneath the caress of his mouth, arousing them both to hunger.
“You taste of honey. So sweet, my love.” He touched her face with gentle, probing fingers, as if to memorize her features. “I hunger for you every day, every night. You fill my thoughts and my dreams. My need for you is like a fire in the blood.”
He kissed her savagely then, with all the flame of his longing. At last he said, “If I must die, at least I will die happily, having loved you and been loved by you.”
Heather felt the warmth of his mouth, the hardness of his body, the rapture of his roaming hands caressing her. The hunger of her own desires overwhelmed her. It was as if the world fell away beneath them in a shower of sparks flaming into fire.
“Make love to me, Richard,” she breathed, bringing him down with her to the hard stone floor.
He groaned, his mouth moving to the softness of her throat, his hands cupping her breasts. “Yes. Yes.” Suddenly he moved away. “No, I cannot take you here. Not here. I do not want to put you in any danger. It is not good to be within the arms of a traitor.”
“You are no traitor. I know that as surely as I know that I breathe. But I would have come to you even if you were.” She felt for his hand and laid it against her cheek. “My dearest love, I want you so.”
“You must forget me,” he whispered.
“No. Never,” she denied his words fiercely. “I will remember you until the day I die.”
His hands stroked her hair. “You have your entire life before you. You must marry and raise the children we were denied, with a man who is free to give you his name.” The very thought tore at his soul, but he must think of her happiness.
She sobbed softly. “I want no other man, no one else’s children.” She reached out to touch him. “Oh, Richard, what is to become of us? I cannot live without you. Not for one hour, not for one more day!”
“If I am judged a traitor and beheaded, it will be necessary for you to do so,” he murmured in her hair, fighting back his own tears.
“If only we were back at the manor in Norfolk. We were happy there,” she cried. “We will find some way. You have done nothing wrong. God cannot turn his back on you. No. You will not be judged guilty.”
“But if it happens, if it is God’s will…”
“Hush! I won’t hear of it.”
“You must. If something happens, I want you to seek aid from my brother Roderick, from Father Stephen. Do you promise?”
Her voice was choked with misery. “Yes, yes, I promise. Though I will not live without your love.” She thought of the man who had brought them to this, Seton. She hated him with a fury that was overpowering. “Seton! How can a man like him triumph? It is a travesty of all that is holy. He speaks of God, though he himself is godless!”
“He has had his revenge upon me in the cruelest of ways, for he takes me from the world I love, now that I have found you.” He held her tightly, murmuring words of love.
The footsteps of the guard sounded like the thundering of a cannon. “You will have to leave now, miss. You can stay no longer.”
“No.” Heather clung to Richard. “I will stay with him. Imprison me too.”
Richard put her from him roughly. “No. Go, Heather. Take my love with you. If God wills, I will see you on the morrow. If not, pray for me and remember how deeply I have loved you.”
One last embrace was granted to them before the guard stepped forward to stop them. “You must leave!” the words echoed in Heather’s ears like the drumbeat of the executioner’s song. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her as she walked away.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The large room was a veritable sea of faces: the curious, those who were to be tried, witnesses, and those who would offer up life or death with but the nod of a head.
Heather sat between Tabitha and her mother, with Perriwincle sitting far behind in the back of the chamber. As Richard entered by a side door, Heather reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand as hard as she could to keep from crying out. She wanted to run to him, to beg the court’s mercy, but she knew that this was a thing that she must not do. Instead she must sit and watch this ghastly mummery and pray that God in his wisdom and mercy would reach out and touch the hearts of those who sat in judgment.
The queen entered through the large double doors at the far end of the room, and all heads turned to look upon her. Dressed all in black and gold, she looked awesome and unforgiving. Her eyes swept the crowd before she sat down, and Heather felt a thrill of fear.
“You may begin,” Mary said in her mannish voice, nodding toward the black-robed judge sitting at the front of the room on a high dais. Along one side sat the nobles. Richard would be judged by his peers.
It was a living nightmare, a mockery from start to finish. Richard would have no justice; Hugh Seton had seen to that. Up and down, the evil man walked, smiling at the nobles who would have the power of life or death.
Is it possible that he can convince this entire council of Richard’s guilt
? Heather asked herself. He seemed so sure of himself, so jovial and at ease. It was as if he were at a cockfight or other social gathering, not at a trial.
Hugh Seton offered up his own evidence against Richard, stating that he had jailed him earlier for his suspected part in the upcoming rebellion. “I was having him carefully watched,” he said, offering up Richard’s message to Stephen Vickery as support to his claims. The letter had been torn in half, only the words which were damaging to Richard remaining. It put Stephen Vickery in danger as well, though since he had never received the message, his life and liberty were not at stake.
“My dear Stephen,” the letter read. “I must meet with you to discuss this most unfortunate matter of the queen’s marriage. Something must be done to stop Mary in this unwise and most foolhardy venture. I have been so blinded by my own happiness that I have failed to do my duty to God and to my country, but now it is evident that action must be taken. Meet me at the Cap and Crown on Wednesday next so that we may decide what steps to take.” It was here that part of the message was missing, torn away. Heather knew that it was here that Richard had told Stephen about the pantomime that the mummers had given, but to the court it would seem most damaging because the words read, “….to kill Philip by striking him with a sword.” Again parts of the writing were missing, ending with only Richard’s name. Hugh Seton insisted that in the struggle to obtain the message, it had been torn asunder, but Heather knew the truth. Hugh Seton had doctored the missive to suit his own ends.
A young soldier was questioned next, admitting that he had set Richard free. “I believed him when he said he was innocent of plotting against the queen, but I was wrong. May God forgive me for what I did. I showed mercy where none was due,” Looking in Richard’s direction, he spat. “Traitor.”
Two other men in Seton’s employ, would-be soldiers, were called forward to testify that they had indeed taken the man named Richard Morgan prisoner. “He is as guilty as Wyatt himself,” the brawny one swore, pounding the arm of the chair with his fists. Heather watched the attacks as if in a trance. Only when Catherine Todd came forward did her anger bubble to the surface.
“Richard pretended to be a good Catholic in front of Mary,” the dark-haired bitch said loudly enough for all to hear, “but he was instead bitter toward the church for tying him to a woman he did not want. He often talked of how it was Mary’s fault. He thought her a fanatic and—forgive me, your Majesty—a simpleton. ‘I can wind her around my finger as easily as a weaver winds thread around a spool,’ he said to me many times. But I had no idea to what lengths his bitterness would lead him. Still, his talk completely turned me against him. I swore I would have nothing more to do with him, and thus he turned his attentions in other directions.” Her eyes settled upon that spot where Heather sat. “A merchant’s daughter, of all people. A known reformer. I have little doubt that
she
has a part in this.”
Heather wanted to pounce upon the viper-tongued woman and tear out every hair on her head. “The witch. The foul, lying witch,” she said beneath her breath. Only her mother’s firm hand upon her shoulder kept her from rising from her seat. “How could her jealousy be so potent as to take a man’s freedom from him, his very life?” It was obvious to see that the woman’s testimony had had an effect; the rumbling in the room attested to that. “And all because he spurned her, because he loved me and not her.”
Anne Fairfax was next to speak, rising eloquently to her feet in defense of Richard’s character. She spoke of him as a most loyal subject, a devout Catholic. “Only the strength of his country, the well-being of his queen, concerned him. He was never an ambitious man, though some,”—her eyes focused upon Hugh Seton—“might have flattered the queen to gain their power. Never Richard. He loved Mary. Deeply. Mary and England.” She said again and again that he was innocent, but Catherine Todd’s testimony just moments before had spread its venom. It was impossible to turn back a tide once it had begun to flow in.
Stephen Vickery also spoke in glowing terms of Richard’s character, praising him for his valor in the struggle against Northumberland, risking his own life to warn the queen of the duke’s intentions the night Edward VI died. He denied that the message sent to him was in any way meant to incite rebellion. “As I was worried about what a Spanish king might mean, as many of us were, he too was concerned, out of love and affection for Mary and loyalty to our country. If there are any of you sitting out there who have not had like worry, rise to your feet now and speak out.” He gestured to the room, but none rose to their feet. “If Richard Morgan is guilty, then we are all guilty.” He swore again and again that Richard had been riding in defense of his country, not against it that fateful day. “His love for the woman sitting in this room bade him seek her out. Is it a matter of treachery to love? Are there any of you who might not have done the same? It was cold and dark and a mass of confusion that night. Is it not possible that these men who say that he was riding with Wyatt were mistaken? Think on this, gentlemen, before you condemn this Richard Morgan. If you have any doubts, then I beg you to offer your voice up to free him.”
“Bless you, Stephen,” Heather whispered under her breath. His statement had seemed to turn the tide. The chamber room was silent now, as if each man was in deep and contemplative thought.