Grasso, Patricia (23 page)

As the strokes of the bell ceased, the chaplain swept in. Resplendent in the scarlet robes of a chaplain royal, he nodded at Richard and Keely, who were the lone worshippers in attendance that morning.

Matins began. The longer it went on, the more agitated Keely grew. Extreme apprehension filled every pore of her being as a heavy melancholy settled on her. The weight of a thousand souls seemed to implore her to help them. Couldn't the earl feel the unhappiness permeating the air? What about the chaplain? Was she the only one sensitive to the horrors of the past?

Keely sat statue-still, though her life's blood pumped wildly throughout her body. Her nerves tingled in a rioting panic, and perspiration beaded her upper lip. Her breathing became shallow gasps. Suddenly, she bolted to her feet. She tried to get past Richard, but he grabbed her wrist to prevent her flight.

"Let me go!" Keely cried.

The chaplain whirled around. He stared in surprise at the frantic noblewoman struggling to escape the Earl of Basildon.

With a strength born of desperation, Keely shoved Richard and flew past him out of the pew. She ran down the aisle, crashed through the door, and dropped to her knees on the cool damp grass. Keely bent her head and swallowed great gulps of reviving air.

"Darling, are you ill?" Richard asked, kneeling beside her.

Keely looked up and recognized the concern etched across his features. She shook her head.

Richard helped her stand and then drew her into his embrace. "You should have told me you were unwell."

Keely leaned heavily against his comforting solidness, the reality of his flesh and blood body easing her panic. She glanced at the chapel and then at the cobbled scaffold. Finally, Keely turned her violet-eyed gaze on him and said in a voice that mirrored her misery, " 'Tis the saddest place in the whole wide world."

"I don't understand," Richard said, stroking her back in a soothing motion. "I hear mass in the chapel whenever I visit. I never intended to upset you."

"M-murdered queens lie buried beneath the chapel's flagstones," Keely said in a quavering voice. She turned in the circle of his arms and pointed toward one of the fortress's distant towers. "And over there—"

" 'Tis called Wakefield Tower."

"Two murdered princes lie together beneath it," Keely told him.

"You cannot know that," Richard said. "No one knows where Edward Plantagenet's sons were buried. Their uncle ordered the execution."

Keely stared at the Tower. "You are wrong. The Tudor usurper ordered their—"

Richard snaked his hand out and covered her mouth to prevent further speech. Keely looked into his eyes and recognized the fear he tried to mask with anger.

"Richard Plantagenet ordered the princes' execution," the earl insisted in a voice that brooked no argument. "Never express a different opinion. The princes disappeared nearly a hundred years ago. Stirring up old controversies can serve no good purpose. Do you understand?"

Keely nodded. The slaughter of the two young princes had been regicide at its most horrific worst. The Tudor usurper's granddaughter sat on England's throne. Labeling the founder of that dynasty a murderer of innocent children would be unappreciated.

Richard and Keely retraced their steps across the Tower Green. The farther they got from the chapel, the calmer Keely became. Before them stood the Lieutenant's Lodgings.

"Basildon!" a voice called.

Richard turned around and smiled at the middle-aged man walking across the Green toward them. "William Kingston, the Tower constable," he said. "I'll return in a moment." At that, Richard started across the Green toward the man.

Anxious to be away, Keely started to turn back to the Lodgings but stopped short. The woman she'd seen earlier stood no more than three feet away.

Spectacularly dressed, the woman wore a black velvet robe over a vivid scarlet kirtle. Her ebony hair had been caught up in a pearl-trimmed headdress. Though regally garbed, the woman wore clothing that was a shade outdated.

For some unknown reason, Keely felt compelled to drop her a curtsy. "Good day, my lady," she said.

"What do you do here?" the woman asked. Her eyes were black and her expression vivacious.

"I came with my betrothed to visit the chapel."

The woman flicked a glance across the Green and said, "He hath red hair like my husband. I've a need to speak with my husband about an important matter. Have you seen him?"

"I don't know who he is," Keely answered, "but my betrothed knows many men here. What is his name?"

"Henry," the woman answered with a bemused smile. Then: "Child, beware the treacherous blacksmith."

Keely froze. Her mouth opened in surprise at the woman's warning—almost the same words Megan had spoken on her deathbed.

"Keely!"

Keely whirled around. Richard, wearing an amused smile, and the constable advanced on her.

"Were you praying or merely talking to yourself?" Richard teased.

"Neither. I was speaking to this lady," Keely said. She looked at the constable and asked, "Please, sir, can you fetch her husband Henry?"

Both Richard and the constable lost their smiles. "Dearest, you stand alone," the earl told her.

Keely turned around. "She was here a moment ago. You must know Henry's wife. Didn't you see her talking with me?"

"Was the lady dressed in black and scarlet?" the constable asked, unable to stop himself from making a protective sign of the cross.

Keely nodded, relieved the man knew the lady.

Casting an unhappy glance at the earl, the constable said, " 'Tis the ghost of Queen Anne."

Richard burst out laughing and slapped the man's shoulder in easy camaraderie. "Give over, Kingston. Ghosts do not exist."

"My father was constable during those tragic times," Kingston said. "The queen passed her last days in the Lodgings. Many have seen her pacing beneath these windows, but she's never spoken before."

"Her soul is caught between two worlds," Keely said, drawing their attention. "Perhaps if I—" She shut her mouth abruptly when the earl frowned at her.

"I believe we'll save the Menagerie for another day," Richard said, grasping Keely's arm and guiding her toward the door.

When they emerged on the other side of the Lodgings,

Richard led her down the passage toward the Middle Tower. "Never utter a word about what transpired here today," he ordered. "Elizabeth will not thank you for your unsolicited opinions."

"How did the queen die?" Keely asked.

Richard stopped short and looked at her. His emerald gaze mirrored his amazement. "You don't know?"

Keely shook her head.

"Queen Elizabeth's father, King Henry, ordered her mother beheaded on Tower Green."

"Why?"

"For failing to deliver a son."

Keely glanced over her shoulder at the Lieutenant's Lodgings. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and then turned pleading violet eyes upon the earl. "I can guide her to the Great Adventure."

"Are you mad?" Richard shouted, grasping her upper arms and giving her a shake.

"But she'll never find peace unless—"

"No!"

"Very well," Keely agreed. "I'll ask Megan to do it."

Richard closed his eyes against her incredible stupidity and wondered why he was still bent on marrying her. Yes, Keely needed his protection and guidance, but it appeared the daft
taffy
was hell-bent on seeing both the Devereux and the Talbot families axed on the block.

"Dearest, your mother is dead," he reminded her in a deceptively calm voice.

"Megan promised to return on Samhuinn," Keely told him. "I'll ask her then."

"Good Christ!" Richard exploded, drawing the yeomen's curious stares. He lowered his voice and insisted, "The dead cannot return to visit this world."

Keely opened her mouth to argue the point, but Richard added, "Do not answer me. In fact, keep those lips shut until we reach Talbot House."

During the long ride through London to the Strand, Keely seethed in silence. She had half a mind to end their betrothal. How could she live the remainder of her years beneath the shadow of the earl's disapproval? Her Druid upbringing told her to let things slide, but the English blood flowing through her veins urged her to slap the overbearing arrogance off the earl's handsome face.

Reaching the Talbot courtyard, Richard dismounted and turned to help her, but Keely was too fast for him. She leaped off Merlin and shouted in anger, "I had a wonderful time! Thank you for a lovely day!"

Richard chuckled at the disparity between her words and her emotion, then yanked her into his arms. "You're very welcome, dearest," he said, his voice a soft caress.

Keely sagged against him, his gentleness depleting her of the anger she suffered. After all, the earl's ignorance regarding the afterlife wasn't really his fault. He'd been bred to live in the Here and Now without giving the Beyond any serious consideration.

"Why do you insist on marrying me?" Keely asked. "I'm so different from the other ladies of your acquaintance and unwilling to change my ways."

"You're the only woman who ever inspired jealousy in me," Richard said. "And 'tis most disconcerting to want to challenge a damned tree."

Keely giggled. "Pretend you are a noble oak."

"How do I do that?" he asked.

Keely lifted both of his arms until they stretched out straight in the air on either side of his body. "Behold, your branches."

Richard cocked a copper brow at her. "What do I do now?" he asked.

"Nothing." Keely stepped close and pressed her body against his. She wrapped her arms around his body, then stood on tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. Before his arms could trap her against his masculine frame, Keely turned and disappeared inside the house.

Your maidenly days will be ending in less than a month, Richard thought as he watched her retreat. Enjoy your teasing games while you may....

Chapter 10

"Cousins, lift me up."

"Now, little girl. Climbing the earl's tree is a less than sterling idea," Odo said.

"Even now, he could be watching us from yonder window," Hew warned, glancing over his shoulder.

"We need those sprigs for tonight's celebration," Keely insisted. She turned to her brother. "Since my cowardly cousins refuse to help me, will you? The thought of the earl catching us here doesn't frighten you, does it?"

"A marquess outranks a mere earl," Henry boasted. He cupped his hands and crouched down to give her a lift.

"You win, little girl," Odo relented, stepping in front of the boy. "I'll give you the lift."

"I'll do it," Hew insisted, trying to push him aside.

"I'm stronger," Odo said, cuffing the side of his brother's head.

"You are not," Hew disagreed.

"Am—"

"Not!"

While the Lloyd brothers argued about who would lift Keely into the tree, Henry locked his hands together and bent down. Keely placed one dainty booted foot in her brother's hands and surged upward, grabbing the lowest of the yew tree's branches. A devilishly wicked grin slashed across the boy's face as he cupped her buttocks through her skirt and gave her a boost.

"Nice arse," Henry said. Then: "I can see up your skirt."

"English swine," Keely called, moving to sit on the tree's thickest branch.

Both Odo and Hew reached out and cuffed the sides of the young Marquess of Ludlow's head.

Keely made herself relatively secure and comfortable on the limb, then reached for the leather pouch hanging with her dragon pendant around her neck. She withdrew the golden sickle and, murmuring the secret prayers her mother had taught her, lovingly began cutting sprigs from the yew. Keely kissed each sprig she severed, then dropped it to the three pairs of waiting hands.

Glancing up at the sky, Keely sighed with contented satisfaction. The Great Mother Goddess smiled upon their holiday venture and promised a perfect evening for their Samhuinn celebration. The morning mists had already evaporated beneath a radiant sun, and the autumn air was mildly crisp. The day was a rarity of clear skies, with only an occasional puffy cloud marring the perfection of the heavenly blue blanket covering the earth.

"Henry, all the participants around the bonfire tonight will receive a sprig of yew," Keely instructed, giving her complete attention to her task. "Samhuinn is the festival of our ancestors, and the yew tree symbolizes death and rebirth. These sprigs of yew represent our ability to commune with those loved ones who have gone before us into the Great Adventure. Do you understand?"

No reply.

"Henry, do you understand?"

"I understand you have a penchant for trespassing on my property." The voice belonged to the earl.

Keely looked down, and her mouth formed a perfect
O.
Holy stones, but the earl appeared none too happy. He stood in a challenging stance with his hands resting on his hips. Gazing down at her irritated betrothed, Keely realized the duke had been correct. The earl's pinched expression exactly resembled a man's with a pike stuck up his— Keely decided to
pretend
her actions were perfectly normal.

"Good morning, my lord," she called, masking her unease with cheerfulness. "I'm
visiting
your garden, not trespassing. A world of difference lies between the two,
dearest."

Richard snorted at the lie, and his emerald gaze dropped from his disobedient betrothed to her cousins. "I believe I heard May and June arguing in the scullery. You have my permission to join them there."

The two Welshmen turned uncertain gazes on their mistress. "Will you be all right?" Odo called to her.

"Do you expect me to beat her for climbing my trees?" Richard snapped at the man.

Wanting to escape the Englishman's anger but reluctant to leave their mistress to his mercy, Odo and Hew looked from the earl to Keely. When she nodded, giving her permission, the two Welsh giants hurried away.

Next, Richard turned his blackest scowl on the marquess who outranked him. Henry suffered no qualms about leaving his sister to the earl's mercy. Without a word, the boy gathered the yew sprigs and started back to Talbot House.