FLAME OF DESIRE (9 page)

“Are you lost, fair lady?” he asked with a grin.

“No!” she said quickly, feeling a fierce revulsion for him and not knowing why. There was something sinister about him despite his smile.

“Well, then, allow me to accompany you to wherever you are going.” He took her arm before she could protest. “My name is Seton. Hugh Seton.”

Heather could not recall why, but somehow she had the feeling that she had heard that name before. Whoever he was, she had to get rid of him.

“I can find my own way,” she said coldly, trying to shrug off his hands. Instead, he gripped her more firmly.

“No, I insist. It is not safe for a lady to be upon the streets alone. One is never certain what sort of rabble can be met upon the road.” He eyed her up and down, taking in every inch of her person, including her full breasts. His penetrating gaze made Heather fear for a moment that he could see the letter, but he said only, “Blue becomes you.” His full lips turned up in another smile and she felt like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf. She was more determined than ever to rid herself immediately of his company.

“This is my favorite gown,” she mumbled, her eyes darting to and fro for means of an escape. This man made her flesh crawl. Fearing that he might guess her destination, she stopped in her tracks.

“Your favorite gown. Then it will be mine also.” He sounded as if he had put some claim upon her and Heather fought against her anger, instinctively knowing that a show of temper would do her no good with this man.

Thinking at last of a way to rid herself of his company, she said, “My fan. I left it at the cobbler’s” Bowing her head, she took leave of him, walking in the opposite direction, but she had not taken more than three steps when she felt his hand on her arm again. The man was worse than a leech.

“What is your name?” he demanded loudly, causing all about them to stare. “I have told you mine.”

“Jane,” Heather answered quickly, that name coming to her lips. “Jane Dawson.”

“Jane, like our queen. The name suits you well. Let us hope that you are not as virtuous and pious as is that royal personage.” He leered down at her, his hand slipping about her waist with a familiarity which left no doubt as to his intentions. His eyes seemed to seek out a dark corner and every fiber of Heather’s body was aware of danger.

“I am just as virtuous, sir,” she retorted, turning her head away in time to escape his mouth as it sought her own. Yanking free of him with a violence which took him off guard, Heather fled down the rough-stoned road, dodging the people milling about. She put as great a distance between them as she could manage. From time to time she tripped over her long skirts and cursed the farthingale which hindered her flight. Stumbling over a loose cobblestone, she was hurled to the ground by the force of her haste and looked behind her, fearful that now her pursuer would catch up with her. Instead she was relieved to see that she had lost him.

“That overbold buffoon!” she swore, panting hard to catch her breath and reaching her hand into her bodice to make certain the letter was still safely nestled there. “If our paths never cross again in this lifetime, I will have no regrets.” She felt as if his very touch had soiled her, and shuddered again.

Picking herself up and dusting off the dirt from her dress, she once again headed for the Tower, keeping careful watch lest she again suffer the company of the man named Hugh Seton.

At last, after hiring a boatman to paddle her up the Thames, Heather found herself before the water gate at the Tower of London and eyed that formidable portal with awe. Her heart lurched in her breast at the thought of what she was about to do, but it was too late to turn back now.

After announcing herself to the guard and pulling the samples of cloth from the folds of her sleeve, she stepped out of the barge and upon the first stone step which led up to the Tower. Hearing the gate click shut, she swallowed hard. Now was not the time to become queasy.

Taking a step forward, nearly slipping on the wet stone step, she asked the guard to lead her to the council chambers. The red-clothed man-at-arms looked at her with suspicion, his black bushy brows furled in annoyance.

“I’ve not seen you before,” he snarled. “What is your business?” He stepped in front of Heather to block her way.

“I am here on the
queen’s
business,” Heather answered, speaking the truth. She neglected to mention which queen.

“The queen, eh?”

“Yes, the queen.” Head held up, shoulders thrust back, she took on a regal stance as he looked her up and down. “I have samples of cloth for her coronation gown.” She held the pieces of cloth before her for his inspection.

“Come this way, then.”

Up and up the gray stone stairs she climbed, following close behind the guard. The steps were steep and she stopped once or twice to catch her breath. At last they were in front of the thick wooden portal which housed the council. Lifting the bar from the door, he opened the portals wide. Inside was a throng of men talking excitedly as they stood in a semicircle about a diminutive girl in brocades and furs, Lady Jane Grey, who was now the Queen of England.

“I cannot try on the crown until the coronation. It is a sacred thing and cannot be handled lightly,” she was saying in a high voice which sounded like a child’s.

“She is taking this business of being queen far more seriously than Northumberland foresaw,” chuckled a man near Heather.

“Aye, it appears he may have his hands full in managing this monarch,” answered another.

Heather looked upon the queen and was surprised at how small she was, even more so than Heather. She had not expected the queen to be in the council chambers, instead had supposed her to be in her own quarters and had therefore thought to be able to carry out her plan before the queen could be summoned. The temptation to turn around and leave before anyone noticed her teased Heather, but taking a deep breath she resolved herself to carry on what had been started..

“And as to my husband being called ‘king,’ such a thing cannot be allowed. He is not of the blood royal,” the queen continued, adamant in her anger.

“The queen is a stubborn one.” The voice was that of Northumberland and Heather trembled in spite of her resolve. He looked in her direction as if angered by the intrusion, and she held her breath, awaiting his ire. Instead he turned back to the queen. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind and make you see that for the good of England we need a king as well as a queen?”

Queen Jane stamped her foot in outrage. “No! My husband will be named as duke.” She turned her back upon him, talking to her ladies-in-waiting, who looked like brightly colored flowers in their full-skirted gowns.

Infuriated by her snub, the duke strode from the room in anger, thus saving the day for Heather, who feared confronting him. Breathing a sigh of relief, she sought out Lord Stephen Vickery, remembering the description Richard had given to her. She found him standing across the room, his hand fondling his red-gold beard in agitation. Starting over in his direction, Heather was stopped in her tracks by a short bulbous-nosed man who grabbed her none too gently by the elbow.

“Are you the merchant’s daughter? The one who claims to have been sent for?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes. My father is Thomas Bowen. I have swatches of his finest cloth with me for the queen to view.” Heather’s hands trembled and she fought to remain calm.

His eyes squinted as he looked at her. “Well, there is some mistake. You were not sent for. We are in the midst of an important meeting here and you are not welcome this day.”

Heather forced a smile. “I’m afraid it is you who are mistaken, sir. If you will only ask the queen herself, I’m certain that she will tell you.” Would her boldness be her undoing? She would have to take the chance.

He faltered for a moment, the bluff nearly working, but then said, much to her chagrin, “I will ask her. If you are telling me false, you will be punished, that I can tell you for certain.” He made his way toward the freckle-faced queen, giving Heather the precious moment she needed to seek out Stephen Vickery. Taking the man’s arm, she drew him toward the shadows.

“I have something for you. Something of greatest importance from Richard Morgan,” she whispered.

“From Richard?”

“A letter from Queen Mary herself.” Pulling the paper discreetly from her bodice, she slipped it into his doublet. Seeing the man with the bulbous nose returning and fearing that he might suspect what was going on, she urgently whispered to Stephen Vickery, “Kiss me, act the lover.”

Stunned, Stephen Vickery nonetheless complied, gathering her close in his arms and molding his tight lips to hers. When he drew away Heather turned to find the man behind them standing with his hairy hands upon his hips, livid with fury.

“So, this is what this intrusion is all about! Lord Vickery, you must keep your womanizing beyond these walls.” He took a step forward as if to cause more trouble as Heather stepped between the two men.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I had to see him,” she sobbed dramatically, wondering all the while what punishment her father would dole out when he heard
this
story.

The bulbous-nosed man snorted in disdain, giving Heather a push toward the entrance. “The queen said that she did not send for you.” At his motion several guards armed with pikestaffs took a step forward. Heather’s heart nearly stopped beating. There was no use in running; she was trapped and could only suffer her punishment with grace. Turning toward the queen, she curtsied low as if to tell her that her fate was in her hands. It was then their eyes met as Heather pleaded silently.

“No!” It was the voice of Queen Jane, who motioned for Heather’s tormentor to come to her. Heather could see them talking and could only wonder what was going to happen next. At last the guard walked back to give sentence. The look of annoyance on his face gave Heather hope.

“Queen Jane is a kindhearted woman and has requested that you not be punished. She will keep the swatches which you have brought, for I daresay being a woman she fancies a new gown.” He took the materials from Heather’s shaking fingers, then pushed her beyond the doorway, saying, “Now, be gone with you and thank your lucky stars that you have been shown mercy. Were it up to me I would have you flogged for such a deception.” With that said, he banged the portals shut.

Heather’s heart nearly burst, and her hands trembled like the leaves in an autumn wind. She took a deep breath. The letter had been delivered. She had done it. Closing her eyes, she fought to regain her composure. Now it was up to Stephen Vickery to aid the queen and get the letter into the right hands.

“Come with me!” It was the guard returning, a scowl on his face. No doubt he had heard that she had come uninvited.

Walking down the stairs, Heather felt an overpowering sense of relief, despite the feel of the guard’s hand in the small of her back, pushing her along. She could return to Richard Morgan and pridefully relate to him the experiences of this important mission she had taken upon herself.

It is done,
she thought to herself, and I had a part in it. Stepping into the boat which would take her up the Thames, she somehow felt that all would be well.

Chapter Eleven

Richard Morgan tossed and turned upon his straw bed, besieged by worry. How could he have allowed her to go on such a hazardous mission? He should have insisted that someone else be sent. What if she were caught? What if Seton or Northumberland held her captive at this very moment? He knew what treachery they were capable of.

“Where is she? What is taking her so long?” His voice was a mournful cry. His jaw was clenched as he thought about what had befallen
him
. No doubt it was Seton’s work. The bastard! Had it not been for Heather, lovely red-haired Heather, he would be dead, a victim of an assassin’s blade. Instead of thanking her, he had sent her into danger.

“Heather,” he whispered. The name came forth like a benediction. She was everything he could want in a woman, beautiful, brave, kind, loving. Even with the danger and excitement of riding to Hunsdon, he had not been able to put her out of his mind.

He glanced up at the rough wooden ceiling with its thatched roof and envisioned her face before his eyes, the slight slant to her brows, her full mouth, the gleaming white teeth, those fascinating eyes which seemed to change color with her moods. And her hair, that mahogany-rich glory which glistened like flames in the sunlight. She had felt so right in his arms. What a mockery it was that he could not claim her.

“If I were any kind of man I would leave here as soon as I can and never see her again.” He groaned. He was not free. Not free to offer her that which she so rightly deserved. But how could he do what was right when with every ounce of his being he wanted to taste of her beauty, feel her body entwined with his, plunge deep within her softness?

“No! I cannot even think such thoughts.” He sat up so quickly that his head seemed to spin in a whirl of dizziness. His strength still had not come back despite the young woman’s ministrations of prickly ash, nettle, and shepherd’s purse. If he were to leave he could not go far in his condition; thus he lay back down.

Closing his eyes, he was assailed by memories of days gone by. He thought about his brother Roderick, that holy monk who so closely resembled him. No twin could have looked more like him than his younger brother. He hoped for Roderick’s sake that he was happy in his calling and had no regrets.

“No regrets,” he whispered. Richard had so many. He had trusted those to whom he should have given none, and the thought was like a pain in his heart. If one could not trust one’s own mother, then whom could one trust? And yet, she had been the one to enslave him in this hopeless bondage, this farce called matrimony. He had believed her; let her arrange the proxy ceremony, not knowing that he was soon to be tied to a woman with a child’s mind. Insane. That was what Edlyn was, and well his mother had known it at the time, yet her greed at the thought of latching on to the poor young woman’s fortune had been more temptation than she could resist, and so Richard had found himself married to the poor pitiful creature.