A Love for All Time (34 page)

“Be calm, amigo,” said Miguel de Guaras. “Our plot has been successful. Lord Bliss faces execution and his brothers will be next. Retribution will fall upon his sister Lady de Marisco. The O’Malley thorns will be removed from the paw of Spain, and King Philip will show ye his gratitude, I promise ye. There was always the possibility that this could happen. It is not uncommon for convicted traitors to have their properties confiscated.”

“I don’t recall ye mentioning it though,” said Cavan bitterly.

Miguel de Guaras shrugged. “An oversight, but ye need have no fears. We will leave tonight for Spain, amigo, and once there my king will reward ye suitably.”

“With what?”

“A small estate,” said Miguel de Guaras smoothly. “Surely that will make up for the loss of this woman’s puny lands.”

“Puny lands!”
Cavan’s face grew mottled with his anger. “Have ye any idea the size of her estates, ye fool? Several thousand acres is what ye’ve lost me! And the heiress next door for my future son! An heiress with an equally large holding! I was going to build a dynasty, de Guaras, and now ye offer me in exchange a
small estate
in some godforsaken village of Spain? And what of her wealth? Her gold? Will yer damned king make up for that as well?”

“King Philip’s generosity extends only to giving ye lands, FitzGerald, and ye should be grateful to him. As for gold, well, my innocent Irish fool, ye have a prime opportunity to gain a small fortune if ye would but open yer eyes.”

“What the hell do ye mean?” demanded Cavan angrily.

“What do ye intend to do about yer cousin? Ye can’t let her go now, can ye?”

“What do I care about her,” said Cavan FitzGerald meanly. “Strangle the bitch for all I care! She’s no use to me now.”

“She’s gold in yer pocket, amigo!”

“What?”

“London is an international port, man. How do ye think we’re getting out of here tonight? We’re going down to the river, amigo, and hiring a werryman to row us into the London pool to the ship of an old friend of mine; Rashid al Mansur.”

“A Moor?”

“No, a Spaniard who decided the crescent was far more profitable than the Cross. In Spain they call him a renegade, but it has never detracted from our friendship. Rashid brings little luxuries to England. Oranges and morocco leather goods. He returns with tin, and English wool, and more often than not a delectable girl for the slave markets of Algiers. Fair-skinned, light-eyed women are highly prized.

“Look at yer cousin, amigo. Fair-skinned, light-eyed, and hair like polished copper. She’s no great beauty, but she’s pretty enough, and she’ll bring ye a fortune. That’s better than killing her, isn’t it? Killing her will gain ye nothing. Selling her will bring ye wealth.”

“Cavan, ye can’t!” Aidan cried. She was suddenly terrified but not just for herself, for her baby. “Cavan, I am with child!”

“That is even better!” said Miguel de Guaras. “A fiery-haired woman with fair skin and a big belly. The Turks and the Arabs love a fertile woman! Ye’ll get double the price!”

“And how the hell am I to arrange for that? Do I go to Algiers with her?”

“No, no, amigo, it is not necessary. My brother, Antonio, he who is now imprisoned by the English, did business with Rashid al Mansur for all the years he was Spain’s agent here in England. Each time Rashid was ready to return to Algiers, Tonio would arrange to find a little yellow-haired, blue-eyed girl to send with him. Some London waif or another that no one would miss. When the sale was made Rashid would take his ten-percent commission, and the rest of the monies would be deposited via the Kira bank into Tonio’s account either here in England or at home in Spain. The same thing can be done for ye. Rashid will let us off at dawn on the French coast. From there we will make our sway to Spain. The king will give ye yer lands, and when yer cousin has been sold in Algiers, the wealth she brings ye will be deposited through the Kira bank in Algiers to the Kira bank in Spain. Is that not simple enough?”

“What do ye think she’ll bring?”

Miguel de Guaras looked at Aidan with a critical eye. “I’d have to see her naked, but from what I can see, I’d say several hundred pounds. It is not the wealth ye lost, but ’tis a fine amount, and the truth of the matter is, amigo, that ye’ll be far better off than ye’ve ever been in yer entire life. Wealth, and lands, and with those the hope of a respectable wife. A wife who doesn’t know, and can never learn of the sad accident of yer birth. Think well, amigo.”

Aidan was horrified by what she had heard. This whole thing had been a mad plot to bring down Conn’s family, but she didn’t understand why, nor did it matter. What mattered was that she had to escape these two men who talked so casually of selling her into some kind of slavery. She stood up, and both men turned to her.

“I have no intention of standing by while ye kidnap me,” she said bravely. “Cavan, if ye don’t open that door I am going to start screaming. I will scream louder and longer than anyone ye’ve ever heard in yer entire life. I will not allow ye to be responsible for Conn’s death! I love my husband! Whatever made ye think I could love ye? I despise ye! As a man yer a jest!”

He hit her a blow that sent Aidan reeling, her hand to her face. “Bitch! I only wanted ye for yer money!” he said cruelly.

“Amigo,” cautioned de Guaras, “do not damage yer merchandise lest ye drive the price down.”

“She’s an overproud bitch,” said FitzGerald. “Neither her father, nor that pretty husband of hers ever beat her. She needs it!”

“There is no time, amigo,” said de Guaras. “Let whoever buys her see to her discipline. Yer angry now, and ye could hurt her, and ye would, I promise ye, regret it. She is valuable merchandise.” He smiled toothily at Aidan. “Ye have not finished yer wine, madonna,” he said in a silky voice. “Let me freshen it for ye.” He took the goblet from the table, and without any pretense emptied some powder into it from one of his rings. Then he added additional liquid, and handing it to her he ordered her: “Drink!”

Aidan stared down into the cup horrified. She could see nothing but the reddish wine. Whatever he had put so boldly into the goblet had instantly dissolved. “What did ye put into it?” she demanded, her voice slightly shaky.

“It will not kill ye,” he responded without answering her query.
“Drink!”

“Never!” Aidan shouted, and she attempted to stand up once again.

Miguel de Guaras was of no mind to argue. He had but one interest now. To leave England. With surprising strength for so slight a man he pushed her back into the chair, barking an order to Cavan at the same time. “Hold her down, amigo. I will see she drinks,” and as Cavan went behind Aidan and pinioned her arms so she might not prevent him, Miguel de Guaras pinched Aidan’s nose shut with two fingers, and when she was finally forced to open her mouth to gasp for breath, he forced the potion down her throat.

Aidan gagged, and choked in an attempt to spit the wine out before she swallowed it, but releasing his grip on her nose de Guaras used his two hands to close her jaws, thereby impelling her to swallow. With a burst of superhuman strength Aidan tore one of her arms free, and struck him a hard blow. The Spaniard grunted, surprised, and staggered slightly while Aidan opened her mouth and began to scream at the top of her lungs. Cavan FitzGerald released his grip upon his cousin, and leaping around the chair hit her on the chin. With a look of total surprise on her face, Aidan slumped, unconscious.

“Do ye think anyone heard her?” Cavan said.

Miguel de Guaras shook his head. “These rooms are at the back of the building. The window was closed, and the dining room is full right now. No one heard her over the din of all those voices, the eating, and the serving people. Now, amigo, go and tell the lady’s coachman that ye’ll personally escort yer lady cousin back to her home after she has taken the evening meal with ye.”

“What if he insists upon waiting?” Cavan was becoming nervous. He suddenly realized the implications of what he had done, of what he was doing, should he be caught.

“He will not question ye at all. English servants are such an independent lot that he will be delighted for an evening off. Tell him that her ladyship says he may have the evening off. That will do it, I guarantee it.”

Cavan hurried from the room, and Miguel de Guaras smiled. The Irishman was a fool, he thought, and then he shrugged. If it were up to him he would eliminate him, but the king had been most specific. Cavan FitzGerald was to be brought to Spain where he would continue to be of use to Philip. He would indeed be given his land, and a wife would be found for him, to help bind him even more to Spain; and then just when he was feeling comfortable and safe, he would be brought to the king to learn the real price of all his newfound wealth. Spain needed men like Cavan FitzGerald to foment trouble in Ireland, to prepare for the eventual uprising against England that Spain would finance.

At least, thought Miguel de Guaras, he had saved his king the monies he had intended to bestow upon Cavan. Selling off the Irishman’s cousin in Algiers had been a stroke of genius on his part. He moved to the chair where she was slumped, and tipped her head back. Pretty, he thought to himself again, but no great beauty. Still in all the hair, the eyes, and the skin more than made up for it. It really would have been too much had she been beautiful as well. His gaze moved downward as he remembered Cavan saying she had plump tits. He pulled the lace from her bodice for a better look, and a creamy flesh swelled provocatively. Very nice, he thought to himself. They would get a better look at the woman once safely aboard al Mansur’s vessel later tonight, but for now it appeared as if she would bring a pretty penny to FitzGerald.

The door opened readmitting the Irishman. “Her coachman’s gone, de Guaras. Now when can we get out of here?”

“Immediately,” said the Spaniard. “Rashid al Mansur is expecting us although our little bit of extra baggage will come as a surprise to him. A pleasant one, however. Let us depart through the window and go out through the back courtyard so no one will see us. It being the dinner hour all will be engaged. The bill is paid through today so the landlord will have no cause for complaint, but it is best no one know when we went, nor see us with the lady.” He picked up Aidan’s cloak which he had taken from her as she entered earlier, and with Cavan’s aid managed to get it around the unconscious woman.

“Put the hood up about her face,” said de Guaras. “If we meet anyone in the street we don’t want them remembering her red hair.”

Neither man had much baggage, just a few changes of linen, and they were willing to leave that behind in their flight. Cavan opened the window, and climbed out. The Spaniard half-lifting, half-dragging Aidan managed to get her over to the window where Cavan pulled her through. Miguel de Guaras followed, and carefully drew the window closed behind him. Balancing the woman between them they moved carefully across the inner courtyard and out the alley behind the Swan. A dark shadow scuttled across their path, too large for a rat, either a small dog, or a cat. The two men crossed themselves, and continued on down the alley which led to the river. Above them they heard the sound of a window opening, and quickly flattened themselves and their burden against the wall of the house as both the contents of a slop jar, and the words “Guardez ’low!” emerged from the building at the same time.

The alley was very dark, and here and there slippery with the slime of garbage of all descriptions. It had been a warm day, and the air in the alley was fetid and stunk with a thousand unpleasant odors, not the least of which was the mud flats of the low tide from the river ahead. Reaching it they could only stand helpless and wait for a werryman with a large enough boat to come by, and they worried about finding one for already a fog was beginning to arise from the Thames. Then just as Cavan was thinking he would have to begin walking downriver to find a vessel for them one came rowing out of the fog, and they eagerly hailed it. To their relief the boatman pulled for the shore, and took them on.

“Is the laidy all right then?” he asked helping to drag Aidan aboard. “It ain’t plague, is it?”

“Nay, man,” laughed Cavan lightly. “My wife is young, and not used to good wine. She is drunk!”

The werryman poled into the middle of the river, nodding. “My old woman is just like that. Some just don’t have a head for it. Wine is a rich man’s drink.” Then he asked, “Where will ye be going, sir?”

“To the
Gazelle
in London pool,” said Miguel de Guaras.

“The
Gazelle
it is, sirs,” said the werryman, and he began to row downriver.

T
he
Gazelle,
having taken on its passengers, weighed anchor and slipped easily down the Thames with the outgoing tide. Its captain waited until his vessel had safely nosed out into the stretch of water that the English liked to call the English Channel before he joined his old friend Miguel de Guaras and his Irish companion. Settling themselves comfortably in Rashid al Mansur’s cabin they shared a bottle of dark, red, wine, served to them by a silent black slave.