A Love for All Time (29 page)

Conn was awaiting her now, and she handed him the purse which he put within his doublet. He was now dressed for travel, in high sturdy boots, an embroidered brown velvet doublet which was unbuttoned several buttons as was his silk shirt unlaced beneath for comfort, and he carried a long cloak.

“Where are yer riding gloves?” she asked. “Ye can’t ride all the way to London without them, Conn.”

“I have them, Aidan,” he said softly, and he held them up.

“How long?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it can’t be serious. Not long, I think.”

“I love ye,” she said low.

“I love ye,” he said, and then pulling her to him he kissed her passionately, his lips tracing hers as if he were memorizing them. “Take care of the baby,” he instructed her, and then loosing her he strode from the hall.

“Conn!”

He stopped and turned. “Stay here, Aidan,” he ordered her. “I don’t want my last glimpse of home to be ye waving me off. Rather I would prefer my first sight of home to be of ye waiting for me in the door.”

She nodded, understanding him totally. “Godspeed, my lord,” she called, “and bring ye safely home to me.”

Blowing her a lighthearted kiss he turned and hurried from the house. He was damned near close to tears, and he certainly didn’t want her to see them. They mounted their horses.

“Ye’ll ride next to me, my lord,” said the captain of the guard. “My name is William Standish.”

Conn nodded. “Thank ye, Captain Standish.”

They had not yet come to the end of the drive when two figures came galloping across the fields halloing to them to stop.

“ ’Tis my sister, and her husband, Lord and Lady de Marisco,” said Conn.

“By God, my lord,” said Will Standish with a smile, “news travels faster here in the country than it does at court.”

“One of the servants probably set off the second we knew yer mission,” said Conn. “We’re a close family.”

Skye and Adam drew abreast of Conn and his escort, and Skye demanded, “What is this, Conn? Is it true that ye’ve been arrested? Why? I thought ye said yer trip to London was successful, and that ye were back in
her
good graces once again.”

Captain Standish was openmouthed at the beauty of the woman before him. He had heard stories of Skye O’Malley, and he had never expected the legend to outstrip its reputation, but she did.

“Skye, as God is my witness, I do not know what is going on. I have no idea why I have been arrested, and don’t bully this poor captain here because he doesn’t know either.”

“Doesn’t know, or won’t tell,” she snapped. “Will that woman never leave our family alone? I’m going to London with ye!”

“Ye can’t, Skye. Yer forbidden London and the court. Adam, reason with her! Yer her husband.”

Adam de Marisco chuckled a deep, rumbling sound. “I very much appreciate yer confidence in my ability to deal with yer sister, Conn, but ye know better. However in this particular instance I am going to try.” He looked straight at her. “Listen to me, little girl, yer brother is right to worry. The queen has sent ye here out of her sight. If she wanted to see ye in this matter she would request yer presence, and she may yet. If she does then ye may go to London, but for now, ye’ll stay home and watch over yer two daughters both of whom need ye a great deal more than Conn. I will escort Robin and Padraic back to their respective posts,
and
see what I can learn.”

“But . . .”

“There are no buts, Skye! Do ye think ye can aid yer brother by offending the queen?”

“Skye, please look after Aidan. She’s very frightened. Her whole life has been a quiet one, and I’m afraid for both her and the baby,” Conn pleaded with his sister.

“Do ye have monies?” she demanded of him. “It costs a fortune to survive in the damned Tower.”

He nodded, giving her a smile.

How alike they are, thought Captain Standish seeing her return the smile.

“Then God speed ye, little brother, and if
that
woman should harm a hair on yer head, I’ll . . .”

“Skye!” cautioned Adam, and with a little moue of her mouth she ceased speaking, and turning her horse about galloped off. “Don’t worry, Conn. She’ll ride off her bad temper, and her fears for ye before she gets home. She’ll watch over Aidan, and I’ll be in London by week’s end, my lad.” He held out his big hand, and Conn grasped it with an equally large paw.

“Thank ye, Adam. See what Robin can ferret out.”

“I will.” Adam backed his horse up a bit, and addressed Captain Standish. “Ye’ll see that my brother-in-law arrives safely?”

“Ye need have no fears on that account, my lord de Marisco,” was the reply. “We are ordered to deliver Lord Bliss to the Tower, and that is precisely what we will do.”

Adam nodded. “Then I’ll wish ye a Godspeed, too,” he said, and with a wave to Conn he followed his wife’s trail back across the fields again.

Conn and his escort rode until past ten that night, only stopping when the twilight grew too thick and dark for them to continue on their way. They sheltered in the large barn of a prosperous farm whose goodwife offered them nut-brown ale, fresh bread and a tasty hard cheese the following morning to break their fast. Conn’s easy manners, and good looks brought him a great deal of attention from the farmer’s two buxom daughters. As they were preparing to leave he gave them each a kiss, and dropped a silver penny down their bodices to the accompaniment of high-pitched giggles.

“We’ve done naught fer yer generosity, me lord,” said one of the girls.

“But if yer not in too much of a hurry,” said the other, “we’d be happy to take ye to the loft.”

“Ahh, lassies, I do regret refusing such a kind offer,” Conn said, “but ’tis the queen’s business we’re about, and it cannot wait.”

They rode off, and the Gentlemen Pensioners accompanying Conn voiced their admiration amongst themselves while Cluny grinned like an idiot, as Conn quickly told him, and thought that it was just like the old days.

“Ye’ve quite caught the attention of my men,” Captain Standish said, smiling.

“They’re young,” noted Conn dryly, “and youth is easily impressed.”

Each day they rode from dawn until dusk, stopping only to rest their mounts, eat, drink, and relieve themselves. Reaching the city Conn was escorted to the Tower, and admitted as a prisoner. His silver bought him a fairly decent-sized room with both a fireplace, and a small window that looked out upon the river. The room was empty, but for a pile of moldy straw and a slop bucket, and more silver was required to acquire pallets for them both, a table, and two chairs. When a guard came to inform Conn that he was wanted for questioning Cluny said, “I’ll be going out, m’lord, to buy us some things we’re going to need.”

Conn nodded to his servant, and followed the guard from his cell through the corridor, and down three flights of stairs to a dark, windowless room. It took a moment for his eyes to grow used to the dimness, but when they did he realized that the room was indeed lit though not particularly brightly. He also saw William Cecil, Lord Burghley, and another man he didn’t recognize sitting before the table. He was brought to stand before them.

“My lord Burghley?”

“Lord Bliss,” came the reply.

“My lord, why am I here?”

“Come now, Lord Bliss, let us not be coy with one another. Ye are caught in yer treason. Tell me all, and we will see what can be done to aid ye.”

“Treason!”
Conn’s jaw dropped. “I know naught of treason! All I know is that several days ago I was arrested without explanation, and brought from my home to London. My wife is frantic with worry. She is expecting our first child. Who accuses me of treason? Against whom? Against what?”

“Come now, Lord Bliss,” said Lord Burghley in a fatherly tone. “Will ye deny that ye are yet a member of the old faith?”

“Nay, though God knows it matters not to me.”

“And will ye deny that with others of yer persuasion ye have plotted to assassinate the queen, and place Mary of Scotland upon the throne?”

“What?”
Conn shouted outraged. “
Kill Bess?
Nay! Never! Replace her with that poor misguided Scots whore? Nay! A thousand times nay!”

Lord Burghley looked a trifle perplexed for a moment. His information was usually reliable although he, himself, had to admit that this particular tale had disturbed him for he would have never considered Conn a man to involve himself in treason. Still in all one had to be careful, and his usually reliable informant had claimed that Spain was involved once again in a plot against Elizabeth Tudor.

It would not be the first time Spain and its ambassador entangled themselves in this sort of business. There had been five ambassadors from Spain during the queen’s reign to date. The first, Count Feria, a holdover from Mary Tudor’s reign had been married to Jane Dormer, an English gentlewoman. He had departed England in 1559 to Elizabeth’s great relief for she had not liked the pompous count at all.

Alvarez De Quadra, the Bishop of Aquila, had come next, and served his king four years before dying of plague in London. The queen enjoyed outwitting him which she always did since the bishop lacked a sense of humor. He was followed by the only ambassador from Spain that the queen had liked.

Diego Guzman de Silva, Bishop of Toledo, had remained for six years. A naturally elegant, cultured sophisticate he was well liked by the entire court. He, in turn, liked Elizabeth for though he was loyal to Spain, he was clearheaded, and not fanatical as had been his two predecessors. But the bishop grew so homesick for Spain, that he requested his release of King Philip, and was granted it.

In choosing his successor, Spain did a complete turnabout, and sent England Guerau de Spes, an unpleasant little man whose outrageous manners, thoughtless remarks, and genuine capacity for troublemaking made him highly unpopular. Involved in the Ridolfi plot he was expelled from England in late December 1571.

For the next six years there was no ambassador from Spain to England, and then just last year Bernadino de Mendoza had arrived. The queen was highly dissatisfied with him for he was an ignorant, pompous, and vengeful man. Already there was indication that he was as his predecessor had involving himself in plots to remove the queen. Just several months ago, Antonio de Guaras, a Spanish agent in England since 1570, had been imprisoned for his involvement and dealings with the captive Queen of Scots.

Now another plot, code name:
Deliverance,
was being unraveled by Lord Burghley’s secret agents, and everything pointed to Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss, as being hip-deep within it. Still Conn was denying it. Of course he denied it, William Cecil chided himself. They never admitted anything except under torture. He turned to the man by his side.

“It appears, Master Norton, as if we shall have to interrogate my lord Bliss a little more strongly.”

“Aye, me lord,” came the reply, and the man called Norton smiled showing several blackened stumps of teeth.

Norton!
The name slammed into Conn’s brain, and he felt sick to his stomach. Norton, the Tower’s infamous dungeon master! Norton, who had perfected the art of torture so well that he could drive a man to the brink of insanity without even breaking a bone. What in God’s name was happening? How had he become involved in something so serious? Feeling himself beginning to panic he took a deep breath, and spoke.

“My lord, ye accuse me of involvement in a plot to kill the queen, and replace her with Mary of Scotland, and yet ye offer me not one shred of evidence of my culpability. Have I been accused? By whom? Let them say it to my face, my lord! Is this English justice?”

Again Lord Burghley found himself rattled, and somewhat nonplussed. He liked young Lord Bliss. He had never known him to be either a plotter, or a fanatic. This whole thing was most disturbing, and when the queen learned of it she was going to be very distressed. Still there was evidence, and Elizabeth Tudor’s safety was paramount. Already three people had been rounded up, betrayed by one of Lord Burghley’s double agents, and each one had implicated Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss, as the ringleader in this plot. He shook himself.

“Ye’ve been accused by three men in this plot,” said Lord Burghley. “Tell me, my lord, if yer as innocent as ye claim, then why would three men implicate ye in such a plot? Nay, we shall have Master Norton interrogate ye for a bit, and then we shall see what ye have to say.”

Before he might struggle Conn’s arms were pinned to his sides, and he was dragged across the room to where upon the wall he could see a large wheel rack which was now lowered so he might be hoisted upon it. His doublet was expertly removed, his boots roughly yanked from his feet, his shirt pulled open to his waist, and then he was spread-eagled upon the rack which was raised up again some six feet off the floor.

Horrified, and yet fascinated in spite of himself, Conn watched as below him the infamous Mr. Norton checked the ropes and levers that operated the rack. Why hadn’t he struggled against his captors? he wondered, but he knew. He couldn’t actually believe that the whole thing was serious, and now as he felt the ropes securing him begin to tighten, drawing his arms and legs into a painful stretch he suddenly realized just how very serious this whole thing really was.

With seemingly great care Mr. Norton tightened one of his screws, and Conn, unable to help himself, screamed as a sharp pain tore through his shoulder; and screamed again as his opposite leg was loosened within its hip socket. The pain continued to pour through him, now filling his entire body with such incredible agony that Conn began to pour sweat. The dungeon master looked up at him, smiling his unpleasant smile.

“Do ye have anything ye want to say to my lord Burghley, Lord Bliss?” he inquired solicitously.

Conn groaned. “I know of no plot,” he gasped. “I am not in-involved in a-any damned plot. Arrrrrugh!” he cried out as his other leg was pulled out at an unnatural angle, and the people below him began to fade before his eyes. His head slumped upon his chest as he began to lose consciousness.