Authors: Katherine Vickery
“Is his grave marked in any way? I would like to see him buried upon church grounds. He was a most loyal Catholic. It would be important to him.”
He flushed. “Unmarked. The grave is unmarked. All the prisoners were buried at one time. Now, away with you. There is nothing that you can do for him now.” He strode away, looking back at her once or twice to make certain that she would cause no more trouble.
It was as if the pain of his death now struck her anew. She grieved for him a second time. Dead. He was dead. Where was he buried? Where?
Turning her steps homeward, she wandered aimlessly along the streets of London, feeling lifeless, not caring what happened to her, wishing in fact that she too would die and be relieved of this overwhelming pain and sadness.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Tabitha stared with fascination into the flickering flames of the fire, waiting anxiously for Heather to return. As usual, she was daydreaming about the handsome Spaniard she had met at the Tower, imagining him smiling at her again as he did then. She had been so tongue-tied that she hardly said a word to him, only looked at him with her adoring eyes. She thought of Heather, feeling her pain. How sad to love someone as much as Heather loved Richard Morgan, only to lose him in such a way. How would she feel if she and the man, Rafael Mendosa, were lovers, only to be so parted?
“Oh, Heather,” she sobbed, feeling the full force of the pain the other woman must be feeling. “To have found love only to have lost it.” And what of this Mendosa? “I will never see him again,” she sighed. The man had been polite to her, perhaps even friendly, and of course concerned for her well-being, but a man as handsome as he would never give a second look to a tall, gangly, awkward servant girl. It would be just as well if she put from her mind any foolish dreams. And yet….
“Dreaming again by the fire instead of going about your chores. Get to work, girl.” The stout figure of Thomas Bowen stood in the shadow of the door, his hands folded in front of him in a surly manner.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me, sir. I…I…was only…”
“I know well what you were doing, you lazy chit.” He cocked his head toward the doorway. “There is someone downstairs at the door. I presume that you have the good sense to answer it?”
Like a frightened mouse, Tabitah hastened away, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly tripping in her haste. Reaching for the latch, she pulled the door open, gasping in surprise at the sight of the tall imposing figure of the man whose face had haunted her dreams these past nights.
“You!”
He bowed gallantly, his eyes raking over her tall, slim form. He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Señorita Tabitha. How pleased I am to see you again. It is like beholding a blossoming flower in the early-morning dawn.”
Wiping her hands on the folds of her apron, she stepped back from him. Embarrassment flamed her cheeks as she raised a trembling hand to brush back the stray curls which framed her face. The night they had met, she had not told him that she was the Bowen’s serving girl. Luckily she had on a fresh gown and apron that were not too tattered or torn. Thomas Bowen was not overly generous, and only Heather’s charity to the girl in giving her some of her own dresses to wear saved her from being ragged, but the dresses were too short for her, hitting her well above the ankle. Now she could see that the Spaniard’s eyes were focused on just that area.
Tabitha winced in her humiliation, fully expecting to see scorn upon his face, but his warm, gentle smile stirred her heart.
“Is your friend Heather Bowen in?” he asked, looking anxiously about him. It was obvious that he was worried about something.
Tabitha shook her head ‘no,’ looking down at her feet in an attempt to avoid his searching brown eyes. “She…she has gone to the Tower to…to try to find out what happened to Richard Morgan.”
“
Caramba
!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I was afraid such might happen.”
“What is it? What has happened?” Forgetting her usual shyness, she touched his arm, then drew her hand back as if regretting her familiarity.
Rafael Mendosa’s voice hushed to no more than a whisper. “It is about Richard that I am here. He has escaped and is even now waiting for her aboard my ship. Though his own life is in danger, he will not leave without her.”
“Escaped!” Tabitha covered her mouth with her hands as the word bubbled forth. In joyous mirth, she seemed to dance on air as she twirled around in a circle.
“Please, you must find her! We cannot wait much longer. All of London will be searching for him.” The somber tone of his voice sobered Tabitha’s levity.
Looking at him with wide blue eyes, she promised, “I will look for her and send her to you. On this you have my word.” Their eyes met and held for only a moment, but in that moment she was totally lost and knew that she was hopelessly in love with him. He was so tall, so strong, so handsome, and his smile seemed to turn her very bones to pudding.
“I will trust you in this, Señorita Tabitha,” he answered, reaching for her hand and drawing it to his lips. As he kissed her hand, the touch of his mouth sent shivers up her arm. She wanted to reach out and touch the dark brown hair of his beard, bring his face close to hers and feel his lips brush her mouth. What would it feel like to be kissed by those soft lips? She could only wonder, speechless, unable to answer him as he turned away from her to walk through the doorway. She wanted to call him back, to cling to him, but merely watched as he walked away. A ship. He would be leaving England and she would never see him again. The thought brought a sob to her lips, and he turned to look at her, saying, “It will be all right. Richard will be safe. But hurry.” Then he was gone.
“Tabitha! Tabitha! Who was at the door, girl?” The booming sound of Thomas Bowen’s voiced thundered down the stairs, shaking her out of her lethargy. Years of faithful service seemed to mesmerize her, and she drifted toward the stairs, eager to be at the man’s beck and call, but as her foot touched the step, she shook herself free of his spell. She couldn’t take the time to answer to him now. She had promised Rafael that she would find Heather and send her to the ship.
“Tabitha! Get up here quickly, girl!” he called again. At the sound of his angry voice she winced, remembering the sting of his wrath. Pausing for only a moment, she remembered that the Spaniard had said he would trust her; she thought also of Heather’s kindness over the years. Heather’s happiness depended on her now. Without a backward glance, she fled from the house and down the cobbled streets of the city.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Dressed in plain leather jerkin, coarse sailcloth trousers, and shaggy fur hat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled high above his elbows, Richard Morgan resembled neither the noble lord who had fought for his queen nor the saintly priest who had so recently left the Tower of London behind him. Indeed, he blended well with the other seafarers who swarmed across the deck, climbed the rigging, and made ready to sail upon the
Canción
.
Balancing himself against the rocking and swaying of the deck beneath his feet, he scanned the shore, watching for any sign of a red-haired young woman. The docks were bustling with early-morning activity: suntanned and red-faced sailors loading their ships with cargo destined for Spain, young women saying good-bye to the men they might not see again, and the more imposing and threatening queen’s red-clothed guards searching the docks for a bearded noble who had escaped from the Tower of London on the very day he was to have been executed.
One such guard had questioned Richard, but by fate or God’s will the man had believed Richard when he said that he had not laid eyes on the escaped man. The guard had been totally unaware that his quarry had been right beneath his nose. For the time being Richard was safe.
Weaving in and out among the Spanish sailors, Richard moved to the back of the ship to stand upon the poop deck and look again toward the shore. “Heather, where are you? Where are you, my love?”
The thought tormented him that she might not want to leave her country. He was asking a great deal of her. The queen had been incensed with her for leaving her bridegroom at the altar and running off with Richard to the north country. How much more outraged would Mary be when the tale was told of the merchant’s daughter sailing off to Spain with a man judged to be a traitor? Heather might never be able to come back to the land of her birth. Richard was now a fugitive. A man with no country. What could he offer her now? Would their love survive?
And what of Mendosa? What would Philip of Spain think to know that a man who was judged the enemy of his intended bride, the Queen of England, was at this very moment standing on the deck of a Spanish ship ready to set sail for Spain? Mendosa put himself in the clutches of danger in the name of friendship.
“And I, who sought to keep England from Spain’s clutches, am now forced to seek safety in that very land I would have defied,” he murmured to himself. He should have been angry, filled with outrage at what Mary had nearly done, but he felt only sorrow that she had been so blind. His heart would always be in England, no matter where he went, no matter how long he was gone from her shores. He was, and always would be, an Englishman.
As an English ship left port, its sails billowing in the breeze, he was conscious of yet another worry. Privateers. In the last year they were becoming bold and were ever a source of dread to every sailor. There was the risk of danger upon the sea, and if he brought Heather along with him, he might put her life in jeopardy as well. Spanish gold was a tempting prize, but so was a beautiful woman. Heather’s beauty might well mark her for danger.
“If I were any kind of man at all I would leave her behind, but I am selfish. The thought of living without her is not to be borne,” he said to himself. His emotions were at war with each other as he paced the deck of the ship.
Mendosa had still not returned. What if he could not find Heather? What if something had happened? Was Seton even now holding
her
prisoner in exchange for the one he had lost? Knowing the man as he did, he knew there was nothing that bastard would not do.
“I should have gone to her myself, despite the danger,” he swore so loudly that a wizened old sailor turned to look at him, mumbling words in Spanish which Richard could not understand. The ship was ready to set sail, and neither Heather nor Mendosa was on board.
When at last Richard was about to lose all patience, when the temptation to go in search of them himself was at its strongest, he saw the familiar figure of the brightly clad Rafael striding toward the ship with his jaunty air, pausing to talk with another velvet-bedecked figure, one that Richard recognized as one of Seton’s men. Ducking behind the mizzenmast, he shrank from sight lest somehow the man recognize him despite his sailor’s attire. Looking out to the waters, he resolved himself to let the crystal blue channel take him before submitting again to the confines of the Tower or the threat of the headsman’s axe.
He was still in hiding when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Flinching, he half-expected to find himself prisoner again, but it was Rafael’s face that greeted him.
“Heather was not at home.”
“Not there? Where…?”
“Looking for you
señor
. A brave one she is, or so it seems. She has gone to the Tower.”
Fear was clearly written upon Richard’s face. “The Tower!”
“And that is why I must leave you again. I have told the captain that we cannot sail yet. I must find her. Her life is now in danger.”
“What do you mean?”
“That man Godfrey that I was just talking to, Se
ñ
or Seton’s man, told me what Seton is about. It seems that your wife has died and some have claimed that it was poison that killed her.”
“Edlyn? Dead?” He shook his head sadly. He was free now. Free. No more bound to Edlyn, to his childish, insane wife. If only he had been freed in another manner and not by her death. “Poor Edlyn.”
Rafael gripped him by the shoulders. “You do not understand,
amigo
, just what I am trying to tell you. Mourn your wife as you must, but listen well. Seton is even now sending out guards to go to your Heather’s house to arrest her.”
“Arrest her?”
“For the murder of Edlyn Morgan, the murder of your wife.”
“What? That is absurd.” In his anger he forgot all the danger, and as he looked over his shoulder, he could see that his outburst had stirred the interest of Godfrey, the man Rafael had been talking with.
“Calm yourself,
amigo
, or we are all in danger,” Rafael hissed, reaching out to slap the Englishman on the face, acting out a drama for the eyes of the man named Godfrey. “You will do as you are told or find yourself upon another ship.”
Bowing his head in a gesture of meekness, Richard shook his head. “
Sí. Sí
.” Looking out of the corner of his eye at their enemy, he saw that now the man had lost interest in their conversation, thinking it only a dispute between sailor and Spanish nobleman and of no consequence. “Mendosa,” he whispered, “what are you telling me? How could anyone believe Heather guilty? She has been in London these past weeks.” Seeing Godfrey turn around again to look, Richard busied himself by pulling the ropes of a hemp loading net, easing a cargo of gold down into the opening of the treasure hold.
Mendosa pretended to be directing him, jabbing his finger in the direction of the deck as if to tell the sailor to hurry. “That does not matter,
amigo
. In a matter of witchcraft there is no logic. This Seton is drawing the trap tightly about your s
eñorita
, thinking it a way to cause you to play foolishly into his hands. That you must not do. You must wait here! Let me try to find her and bring her here to safety.”
“I will go find her. Do you think me a coward?”
“No,
señor
, no coward, but a fool if you do other than wait here where you are safe. I do not want to have to rescue two.” Richard started to argue, but Mendosa shushed him. “I will be back within the hour with your Heather. Meanwhile I would advise you to look busy.” Without a backward glance he stalked off, leaving Richard in a haze of bitter anger.