The Boleyn Reckoning (39 page)

“Elizabeth,” her brother said flatly, then to whoever was with him, “Leave us.”

Elizabeth drew a shaky breath as footsteps receded and the door was closed.

Straightening, she fixed her brother with what she hoped was a look of modest submissiveness. Not that she could overplay it, for William knew her far too well.

“I don’t recall inviting your presence today, sister.” His words were like a slap, but she knew that he wasn’t furious so much as afraid. He didn’t want her here because at least part of him was ashamed of himself.

She knew him even better than he knew her.

“I have come to petition for a commutation of sentence.”

His eyes flickered. “Which prisoner?”

She had toyed briefly with the idea of pleading for both, but had reluctantly concluded that Dominic was beyond anyone’s aid, especially as his execution order had already been signed for tomorrow. “Minuette.”

His face might as well have been carved from granite for all the expression in it. He has finally learned to control his countenance,
she realized wryly, as he said, “She was tried and convicted fairly. I cannot overturn the court’s verdict.”

Repressing her opinion of the trial’s fairness, Elizabeth said quickly, “But you can commute it. A death sentence is not valid until you have signed the execution order. Leave her in prison, or send her to house arrest far from here. Surely she need not die merely to assuage your wounded heart.”

She tried to bite back the last words, but too late. William’s eyes hardened. “She will die because she is a liar and a whore and a traitor. Her life is mine.”

“And the life of the child?”

She thought for a heartbeat she might have overreached, but William answered, if rather glacially. “Of course she will live long enough to safely deliver the child.”

“And then?”

“If it is a girl … I have no need of another daughter. But if it is a boy, I will acknowledge it. Neither son nor daughter will save the mother.”

It was the first confirmation that he had reason to at least consider the child might be his. Elizabeth wanted to weep at the thought of what that experience had cost Minuette and William both, and it was that emotion that wrung out in her next words. “William, please, you are not yourself, you must not do this.”

“Go back to Hatfield, Elizabeth. I will send for you when you are wanted.”

As she tried desperately to think of any words that might suffice, William added abruptly, “Jane is pregnant.”

Startled, she met his eyes—and she knew. Why death, and why now. He thought he could bury his pain and regret in blood. He wanted to be free of his ghosts before his legitimate son was born.

So much for hope. Now was the time for action.

By sunset of his last night on earth, Dominic was ready. He had written his will, disposing of those few items that had been wholly his—horse, saddles, books, sword—and, more terribly, a last letter to his wife. He had pressed that upon Harrington, who had reluctantly been released earlier that day.

“I’ll stay,” Harrington had said stubbornly, when told by the lieutenant that he was free to go with no charges laid against him.

“You’ll go,” Dominic ordered.

The lieutenant had withdrawn and allowed the two men to fight it out among themselves. Dominic had won. Harrington’s continued presence would accomplish nothing but a show of support in his last hours, and though Dominic valued that, it was more important that Harrington be free. “There is nothing you can do for me,” he’d told the big man who’d become his friend, “but you might be able to help Minuette. And if not, then Carrie will need you. Keep your head low, but stay in London. I’ll bet you that within a day, Walsingham will have found you for Princess Elizabeth’s sake. They will tell you if there’s anything you can do.”

So Harrington had gone, bearing Dominic’s farewell to his wife and leaving him, grateful for the twists of fate—and Lord Rochford’s scheming—that had brought the two of them together.

If it were not for his memory of the night Minuette had been poisoned, Dominic would have thought this the longest night there had ever been. But even counting down the hours to his own certain death was not as difficult as the hours he’d waited in desperate uncertainty of hers.

He stood at the window of the inner chamber, from where he could see little but the bulk of Middle Tower to the west. He could smell the river and tried to let his mind ease into the tidal rhythm of the Thames. When the door opened behind him, Dominic ignored it. If it was William, come to gloat at the end, he would not engage.

He recognized the lieutenant’s voice. “One hour.” Then footsteps retreating, and the door closing. Then absolute silence.

No, not absolute. Someone was with him—someone whose breath came soft and fast. He closed his eyes, afraid to turn around for fear that he was dreaming. If it were a dream, he didn’t want it to end.

But even in dreams, self-control extends only so far. He turned.

If he were dreaming her, surely he’d dream her in her wedding dress—or nothing at all. Minuette wore a gown he’d never seen before, dark brown and clumsily cut. There were shadows beneath her eyes and lines around her mouth. She looked older, and weary. Only her hair was unchanged, hanging loose to her waist and seeming to warm the air around her. And beneath the gown, cut high just under her breasts, the perfect shape of a woman heavily pregnant.

One moment they were staring at each other, the next moment she was in his arms and he was crushing his wife against him and breathing out a prayer of thanks to whatever god or mortal had given them this hour.

Beneath his almost terrifying joy—and the round swell of the child—Dominic was aware of how thin Minuette was, her neck and shoulders as fragile as a bird’s. He was afraid he might break something if he held her too tight. Slowly, he eased the embrace until he could see her face. She looked as dazed as he felt.

“Come here.” He led her to the hard, neatly made bed in the corner of the room. “You look as though you haven’t slept in a week.”

Her voice was stronger than he’d expected. “You don’t think I’ll sleep now.”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry and he laughed, a half-choked laugh at the gift of her expression. “Nor do I expect anything else.
It’s the most comfortable spot in the room. We’ll sit, love, and talk.”

He braced his back against the wall and Minuette nestled beneath his arm. He was dizzy from the feel of her and the scent of her, as though all his senses were heightened, imprinting this moment upon him so that he would remember it …

The rest of his life.

They talked, much in the manner they had in the first weeks of their marriage. At night, after other activities, they would lie drowsily tangled and play “Do you remember?” And so they did tonight. They rambled in memory through every moment of their brief times together—the day she’d jumped to him at sixteen and tipped the balance of his heart forever, the night she’d confronted him in anger in Hampton Court’s kitchen lanes, the perfect moment when he’d kissed her for the first time, setting a seal upon their future.

Beneath the surface words and pleasant memories, Dominic was achingly aware of the opportunity he’d been given. He had said nothing of this in the letter he’d written her, but now that she was here, now that he could see her face-to-face, there was something he must say. A favour he must plead.

She wasn’t going to like it.

“Minuette,” he said softly, his hand twined in the silk of her hair as she leaned against him, “has William been to see you?”

He felt the answer in the slight stiffening of her body, and hoped she would not bother to lie. They didn’t have time for that.

She didn’t lie. “Yes.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

She drew breath to say more, and he stopped her. “I can guess. He has offered to spare your life if you will be his mistress.”

Her answer was quick and tart. “Since he cannot have me when
I am dead, my life is a necessity, not a bargain.” When she continued, her voice wavered. “He offered your life. Was I wrong to refuse?”

He kissed her hair. “You need not ask me that. I would not want a life in which you were kept from me, and I doubt he would have kept his word in any case. But there’s something more I must say and I want you to listen until I am finished.”

She nodded warily.

“Tomorrow, when I am … William will come to you once more. He will give you one last opportunity to choose—him or the scaffold.” He could not look at her as he finished. “Minuette, choose him.”

He heard the shock, even a twist of betrayal in her voice. “You would have me sell myself?”

You haven’t already?
he nearly answered. But that was jealousy, not reason. “I would have you
live
. Bear children …” He touched her stomach and felt the lazy kick of the child within. “Find a measure of happiness.”

She was silent for a long time. At last she faced him, her hazel eyes steady and unequivocal. “I would not do it for your life—I won’t do it for mine.”

She kissed him once, then slipped back into the comfort of his embrace. “Besides, you are wrong. William is finished with me. He will not offer again.”

By some inner sense, they knew when the hour was nearly done. Without a word, he helped her to stand and wrapped his arms around her, made clumsy and unfamiliar by her shape.

She flinched when the knock sounded. “Oh, God.”

Dominic looked to the half-open door and met the lieutenant’s eyes. “One minute. Please.”

The man drew the door to without shutting it completely.

Minuette was shaking and Dominic felt his own panic building.
She couldn’t fall apart now, he couldn’t take it, he knew it was selfish but he needed her to be calm.

He whispered in her ear, a plea for himself. “I can do anything if you are strong, my star. Just a little longer.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and asked a most unexpected question. “Will it hurt?”

His arms tightened in reflex, but he managed to answer without hesitation. “No, love, it will be too quick to hurt.” He didn’t even know if she were afraid for him or for herself, but he plunged ahead recklessly, offering the only comfort that came to mind. “It’s a jump, Minuette, that’s all it is. A jump out of this world, straight into my arms.”

Incredibly, she managed to smile. “You will catch me?”

He pressed his lips against hers. “Always.”

When the lieutenant entered, they were ready. One kiss—one last, hard kiss—and Minuette was walking away.

He could not have been more proud of her. She did not cry or linger or force the lieutenant to assert his authority to remove her. She did what he needed her to do—she went without looking back.

But if he thought that was the end of things, he was very much mistaken. Against all odds and expectations, Dominic managed to sleep until sometime deep in the utter blackness of the hours after midnight he was woken by a stinging slap to his face. He sat bolt upright, seeing only the outline of two men, and in spite of the months of imprisonment he still reached instinctively for a dagger that was no longer there. He kicked out and caught one man in the stomach, hearing the man’s garbled cry, but then there were two more men in the doorway and he was outnumbered and couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on. Was William not to be satisfied with hanging, disemboweling, and beheading?

It seemed not. For the fifth man that came through the door, though cloaked in heavy dark wool, was unmistakably the king.

Dominic swore as the other four men held him fast (he was proud of how hard they had to work, for he was past the point of honour or instinctive loyalty and would gladly have done what damage he could to William before the end). William removed his cloak and though there was not moonlight enough through the tiny, deep-set window to read expressions, Dominic knew he was taking his time to savor the moment before he struck.

The beating was vicious, and all the more so for being perfectly controlled. William knew just where and how hard to hit and kick to do maximum damage without sinking Dominic into unconsciousness. He seemed particularly interested in Dominic’s face, landing blow after blow until his jaw throbbed and he was sure he’d lose several teeth (not that it much mattered—he wasn’t going to go hungry between now and the scaffold) and his eyes began to swell shut. Blood trickled from several gashes on his forehead, deliberately inflicted by the heavy rings on William’s hands.

The only pride Dominic could summon was to keep his mouth shut and not ask why. When William stepped back for several long moments, he thought dizzily that it was over. But then the king drew the sword he wore and held it out for Dominic to consider. Even with the faintest of light, Dominic knew that sword, knew that if he could see clearly he would recognize the four star-shaped gems laid into the hilt. A gift for his friend and king, offered a lifetime ago. Dominic kept his eyes as open as he could manage through the blood and stinging and waited for William to kill him.

When the blow came, it was not the blade that struck, but that sentimentally decorative hilt. William slammed the butt of the sword into Dominic’s temple and he crumpled into blackness.