Lovestorm (14 page)

He'd had many weeks to mull over, her denial. After she had come to the place where he was chained, his captors treated him better. He was given fresh water and food twice a day. Men with tools had come to build a platform so that he might sleep above the filthy bilge water. They had even left him blankets against the chill. The question was, had she ordered him to be well cared for out of affection or guilt? He wanted to believe in her innocence, but common sense told him that she had indeed betrayed him.

The inactivity enforced by the chains that bound Cain had tormented him. No torture could have been worse for a man who had known only the freedom of the forests and open sea. His eyes had ached for the sight of green grass and the flash of a bird wing; his ears had strained in vain for the cry of a hunting hawk.

The fetid odor of the ship's hold had sickened him, but it was nothing to the stench that enveloped him as the coach rattled and bumped along the city streets. He had been manacled hand and foot when the sailors had dumped him facedown on the floor of the coach, but he was alone inside the vehicle. It had been easy to work himself onto a seat where he could see out, despite the drawn leather curtains.

When Cain was a child, he had marveled at his grandmother's wonderful tales of London—of trading places, called shops, where all manner of wonderful goods could be had for the asking; of brightly decked noblemen riding through the streets on magnificent horses; and of houses so tall they blocked out the sun. Of course, he hadn't believed all her stories; even a little boy knew that men couldn't build wigwams higher than trees.

Cocumtha
had said that London was only one town, that England had many, and she had said that more people lived in England than there were grains of sand upon the beach. Until today, Cain had believed she was exaggerating—stretching the facts to make a good story. Now, he wondered if she had been telling the truth about how many Englishmen there actually were. He hadn't imagined so many people walked the face of the earth.

Grandmother had never seen the land of her ancestors; all she knew of England was what her own parents had told her. Cain thought that much had been lost in the telling. No wonder the English wanted to come to Lenni-Lenape land. This place was as foul and crowded as a nest of buzzard fledglings.

From the window of the coach, Cain saw a woman taking water from an open ditch beside the street, and not an arrow's shot away a man was dumping the carcass of a dog in that same stagnant stream. True, a few people were dressed in garments of fine cloth with weapons of shining steel at their waists, but even those men gave off a scent as strong as week-old fish.

Eventually, the space between the houses became father apart and the road rougher. Patches of green and an occasional tree were visible from Cain's window, and he realized they must have reached the end of the city. He tried to fix directions in his mind. He must remember the way back to London if he was ever to make his way home again.

“It will not be easy,” Cain said to himself. “I am a stranger in this land.” He knew that he must learn English ways if he was to defeat his captors. “I must become as one of my enemies,” he murmured. The thought was bitter, but not as bitter as having his bones lie forever in this far-off land. “I will learn,” he promised himself, “and I will use their own wisdom against them.”

Night fell over the English countryside, and the coach traveled on. Cain stretched out on the leather seat and closed his eyes. He did not know - if he could sleep, but he would try. Whatever waits ahead, he thought, I will need my strength.

Unbidden, an image of Elizabeth rose in his mind. “I will find you again,” he promised softly, “and you will learn the price of betraying a warrior of the Lenni-Lenape.”

 

Elizabeth had wasted no tears over the slap her father had given her. Instead, she'd retreated to her own chambers, then she'd sent Betty to the kitchen for cool water to bathe her smarting cheek. To her surprise, it was not Betty who returned with the pitcher but Bridget, her Irish maid who'd failed to sail on the
Speedwell
with her when they'd left for Virginia.

“Ye wanted water, m'lady.”

“What are you doing here, you faithless limmer?” Elizabeth demanded. “You've nerve enough for two to show your face.”

Mischief danced in Bridget's dark eyes, and she giggled shamelessly. “ ‘Tis awful glad I am to see ye, and that's a fact.” She carried the silver ewer across the room and poured water into a painted china bowl. “Where ever did ye find that bird-boned little baggage? Too timid to say boo to a mouse. Cook put her to work turnin' the spit.”

“Bridget.” Elizabeth hid her delight in seeing her old companion behind a sharp tone. “I asked you a question. Why are you here at Sommersett House?”

The Irish girl's eyes widened in feigned innocence. “Here, m'lady? Where else would I be? Haven't I been in yer service since we were children?”

“Why weren't you on the
Speedwell?
”

“I truly meant to be there,” Bridget avowed. She averted her eyes, and scarlet circles tinted her plump cheeks as she busied herself with the bowl of water. “Me sister Maureen was taken wi' the fever so sudden like that I had to fetch the priest for her. He gave her last rites, she was so bad. By the time she took a turn for the better, it was too late. I went to the docks, m'lady, I swear on me dear mother's soul, but the
Speedwell
was gone.”

“You lie as well as ever, you shameless slut,” Elizabeth accused. “You were afraid to go to Virginia with me. Admit it.”

“Fearful I was,” the black-haired girl allowed, “and rightly so—seein' how so many went to their doom aboard that cursed ship—but I'd never disobey ye. ‘Twas Maureen's fever that's at fault. When I found I was too late, I came straight back here to Sommersett House. Mistress Wells let that lazy Maggie go and kept me on in her place. I was
that
glad when I heard ye'd not drowned in the sea. Ye'll be needin' me to do for ye again, won't ye, m'lady? Nobody else can do yer hair like I can, you've said that often enough.”

“Maureen is as healthy as a pig,” Elizabeth declared. “And you are a bald-faced liar.” She smiled and held out her arms. “But I'm glad to see you anyway, Bridget. I've missed you.”

Bridget flung herself into Elizabeth's arms and hugged her tightly. “They said ye were dead,” she cried, “but I lit a candle for ye every Saturday, and I prayed to Saint Anne to bring ye safely home.”

“If Saint Anne is the one who saved me, she took a peculiar form.” Elizabeth stepped back and chuckled. “Wait until I tell you what happened to me. I vow, even you've never spun a tale so outlandish.”

“Do tell, m'lady,” the maid urged. “There are such rumors flying belowstairs, ye'd never suppose.” She tilted her head to one side. “That wench Betty has sense enough to keep a still tongue in her head. She'd admit or deny nothin', though Cook tried to bribe her wi' a pork pie.”

“Betty's loyal. I promised her she'd be trained as a proper maid. Since you're back, you can take her in hand yourself.”

“Me, m'lady?” Bridget grimaced. “That fluttersome jade's better suited to the scullery. She's not got the looks for a lady's maid, nor ever will, I vow.” She grinned at Elizabeth.

“Betty can't be blamed for her face, no more than you can take credit for yours. You'll treat her well, or I'll turn you out for good and set her in your place,” Elizabeth threatened. “Now, do you wish to hear of Virginia or not? If you do, hush your chattering and listen to me.”

The two of them talked all afternoon and into the evening. Bridget squealed and laughed and watched with sparkling eyes as Elizabeth related all that had happened to her since she'd left London, omitting only her personal feelings toward Cain. At dusk, Betty came up with a tray of food. Elizabeth inquired whether the girl had eaten, then sent her away with a few kind words. When they were alone, Elizabeth and Bridget shared the repast as they had done when both were children.

The great clock on the landing had just struck ten when an unfamiliar maid came to summon Elizabeth to her father's bedchamber.

“Wait here until I return,” Elizabeth bade Bridget. “No, go and fetch Betty. She slept in my outer chamber last night. God knows where Cook put her tonight. Put her on the pallet, then wait to help me prepare for bed.”

“Yes, m'lady.” Bridget gave a proper cursty.

Elizabeth nodded her approval. Bridget was canny enough to know when and where to behave more like friend than servant. For a few hours they had scaled the walls that lay between their stations in life. Now, that time was past. Wordlessly, heart pounding, Elizabeth followed the new serving woman down a long flight of stairs and along the twisting corridors to her father's rooms in the Tudor section of the house.

They paused in the shadowy hall outside his lordship's chamber and the maid knocked, then opened the heavy oak door for Elizabeth when he gave permission to enter.

Elizabeth greeted him formally. “Sire.”

Sommersett was reclining on a walnut daybed near the fireplace, wineglass in hand. This wing of the house was always chilly, despite the time of year, and a small fire burned on the hearth.

Elizabeth noticed that her father had changed from his earlier stylish attire into a comfortable old dressing gown and had removed his wig, covering his close-cropped hair with an embroidered man's cap. He beckoned her to come closer.

“I trust your day was satisfactory, Father,” she murmured.

He frowned. “You care not a damn for my day, Elizabeth. You've come to hear my decision on your request.”

“I have.” She stood before him, hands clasped, hiding her terror behind a calm exterior.

Sommersett drained the last of the wine and rose to his feet. “I met with Dunmore late this afternoon,” he said sternly. “I find no fault with him. Your wedding will take place on Michaelmas Eve.”

Elizabeth blanched and grasped the arm of the daybed to steady herself. “But, Father—”

“We will hear no more of this romantic fancy of wild men. You will wed Dunmore and—”

“I will not!”

Sommersett rose and stood over her. “You will wed where you are bid, and you will never mention that Indian again.”

“Will you drag me bound and gagged to the altar?” she cried. “I tell you, I 'll not have him.”

He seized Elizabeth's shoulders and shook her. “You'll obey me, girl, or I'll have your Indian lover drawn and quartered, and you locked away in Bedlam for a madwoman.”

Hot tears scalded her cheeks as her hair tumbled loose and fell about her shoulders. “You would take your spite out on Cain for my rebellion?”

“Stupid bitch,” he roared. “Do you think you can stand against me in this?” His fingers dug into her flesh until she gasped with pain. Swearing, he thrust her away, and she fell back against the daybed.

“All my life you have prated on of Sommersett honor,” she accused, finding her balance and facing him brazenly. “Where is that honor now—to so abuse a man who has done our family naught but good?”

His face grew suddenly old. “You were always my favorite, Elizabeth. I coddled you against your stepmother's good advice. But I will not let you ruin your life on a romantic whim. I swear to you, if you do not yield, you will see what's left of that savage fed to the hounds.”

She turned away and let the chill of the room seep into her bones. When she spoke again, it was in a strained whisper. “And if I wed Edward Lindsey, will you send Cain home to Virginia?”

“Do you dare attempt blackmail?”

“No, Father—not blackmail but a bargain.” A bargain penned in hell, she thought as she twisted to face him once more. “Compromise, if you will. Surely, compromise is a worthy Sommersett trait.”

His lips thinned. “So be it.”

She sank into a deep curtsy. “Then I am once more your obedient daughter, sire.”
And a bride,
she cried inwardly,
whose heart lies not with her intended, but already in the grave.

 

 

The intensity of the sensation brought her upright in the great poster bed. Elizabeth stared about her in confusion. The covers and pillows were all awry, and Betty's sleepy face was just appearing over the foot of the bed.

“M'lady! Are ye all right?” Betty was as naked as the day she was born, and her hair stuck out all over her head like an overripe cattail. “I heard ye cry out.”

“No, no, nothing's wrong,” Elizabeth stammered. Breathless, she fell back against the goose-down feather pillows and tried to reconcile reality with the vivid memory of her dream.

“Yer fevered, m'lady,” Betty insisted. “Look at ye. Shall I fetch Bridget?”

“No,” Elizabeth answered sharply. “Go back to your pallet. It was only a bad dream.” She ran her fingers through her damp, tangled hair and pulled the covers up to her neck. It was only a dream, she reminded herself, only a dream.

She began to shiver and wondered if she really was ill. Her body was drenched in sweat, and her heart was beating in a rapid, irregular rhythm. Her mouth and throat were as dry as chalk. She licked her lips to moisten them, then sat up and reached for the water goblet beside her bed. It was empty.

“Betty! Betty,” she called. “Fetch me something to drink. I'm parched.”

The girl mumbled sleepily, and Elizabeth heard the rustle of clothing as Betty fumbled for her shift.

“No need to go belowstairs. There's wine in the japanned cabinet.”

Betty brought the silver chalice, filled to the brim and spilling over. Elizabeth leaned over the edge of the high bed and took a sip, unwilling to stain the rose silk sheets. She waved the child away, then retreated to the center of the curtained bed with the cup.

After several sips of the unwatered wine, Elizabeth's brain began to clear. It was the same dream, the fantasy she'd experienced over and over in the months since her marriage to Edward.

You're a fool,
the voice in her head said sternly.
Cain is back in Virginia by now. He's forgotten you, and you must do the same by him.

She sighed and took another swallow of the strong Dutch wine.
Why can't I forget him? Why must I torment myself night after night with these sinful desires?
She smiled wryly in the darkness. “If I knew that—”

“M'lady?” Betty called. “Did ye want-”

“Go to sleep. No.” Elizabeth scooted to the end of the bed and parted the heavy drapes. “I wish to be alone. Take your pallet into the dressing room and sleep there.”

Betty rubbed her eyes with her fists. “But m'lady, the lord bade me—”

“Sleep at the foot of my bed like a dog,” Elizabeth finished. “As if you could prevent me from putting horns on him if I wished to do otherwise.” She made a sound of derision. “Never mind, ‘tis not your fault. At least drag your bed near the fire. ‘Ods-heart! I cannot break wind without you there to hear and repeat it to Dunmore.”

Betty began to sniffle as she tugged her pallet toward the fire. “I didn't mean t' get ye in trouble, m'lady, I swear. His lordship only asked me did we go t' early service, and I—”

Elizabeth sighed impatiently. “No, 'tis nothing, Bett. I'm not angry with you. You had no way of knowing I'd lied to him. You must obey Lord Dunmore, of course. Go to sleep, child.” She drew the curtains closed and slid back against the heaped pillows. “None of it is your fault,” she finished softly.

Two and a half months a bride, she thought, and I'm not yet a wife. No wonder Edward was eaten up with jealousy.

She and Dunmore had been wed with all pomp and splendor on last Michaelmas Eve. The simple marriage ceremony had been followed by a grand supper at Sommersett House. Both the King's brother, the duke of York, and the Lady Castlemaine had danced at her wedding, and the festivities had gone on until daybreak the following day.

According to custom, she and Edward had been undressed and put into bed together some time after midnight. She had been willing, if not enthusiastic, to complete this essential part of the ritual, but Dunmore had other ideas. As soon as the doors to the chamber were closed, he rose and donned a dressing robe. Ignoring her, the bridegroom spent the better part of an hour drinking beside the fireplace. Then he produced a tiny gilt flask from his pocket, threw back the sheets, and liberally splattered blood on her bare thighs and the linen.

“Say nothing of this, if you wish to live to enjoy what this marriage has brought you,” he snarled. Then, without another word, Edward called for his manservant, dressed, and returned to the celebration.

After a suitable time, she followed his example. They danced and laughed and blushed in response to the general teasing. Later, they joined the guests of honor at an elaborate breakfast. When the festivities were over, she went to her own chambers and slept alone. At noon, Dunmore's man, Jim, came to tell her maids to prepare to depart for his country home in Essex.

Elizabeth stifled the urge to hurl the costly silver cup against the wall. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she set it down on the table beside the bed and covered her face with her hands.

Day by day, her frustration had grown. How was she supposed to accept the role of wife and mistress of Dunmore's estates? How could she provide him an heir if he did not remain at her side long enough to carry out a decent conversation—let alone perform a man's duty?

The staff at Sotterley was without reproach; a capable steward, Hugh Cardiff, managed all outside the house, and his wife acted as housekeeper within. Mistress Cardiff instructed the maids, other than Elizabeth's personal servants, and supervised the kitchen. Mistress Cardiff carried the great ring of keys on a belt at her waist—the keys that unlocked the doors, the spice chests, and the money box. She paid the servants on the first day of every month, and she hired and fired staff members.

I'm nothing more than a fashion poppet, Elizabeth thought, waiting here on the shelf until some spoiled child comes to play with me.

She had seen Edward four times since their wedding in September, when he'd come to the country to hunt. They'd shared three meals, including their wedding breakfast, and he'd not spoken more than a few dozen words to her.

“At least let me come down to London with you,” she'd suggested the last time he'd been at Sotterley. Autumn was a lively time at court; there were masques and balls, horse races and stage plays. In London, she could expect to be invited to private parties and elegant suppers with all manner of gaming and entertainment. Her sister Ann and her family were in residence there, as well as many of Elizabeth's friends. “I'll die of boredom here, m' lord Dunmore.”

“I think not,” Edward had replied coldly. “Are we not, after all, honeymooners?”

“I am not used to inactivity,” she'd flung back at him. “I need something more to do than try on the new gowns you've so thoughtfully provided. At least instruct your housekeeper to give over the running of Sotterley to my care. I assure you, sir, I am not ignorant of such affairs.”

“With your reputation, your time might be better spent in prayer than in the pursuit of frivolous pleasure.”

She had been angry enough to slap his face, but she'd realized it would only further alienate him. Instead she'd curtsied as an obedient wife should and retreated to her own chambers. When she came down the next morning, she learned he'd returned to London.

Before leaving, he'd subjected her maids to the usual interrogation. On each visit, Edward had gone to great lengths to question all the servants on her daily routine. It had been her resentment of this petty tyranny that had caused her to lie to him about attending church services. Now she'd been caught in a foolish untruth, and she didn't know if she was angrier at her husband or at herself for stooping to such childish behavior.

Elizabeth tugged several pillows into position behind her back and curled her legs under her. Pride wouldn't allow her to shed tears of self-pity. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she stared at the glowing coals on the hearth and tried to reason out what had gone wrong with her marriage. Other than this latest exchange of heated words, she knew she had given Edward no reason to be dissatisfied with her.

“If he was repelled by my experience in the Colonies, why did he go through with the marriage?” she whispered. “Why?”

Edward Lindsey did not appear to be a spiteful or vindictive man. His round, freckled face, ready smile, and butter-blond hair gave him an almost boyish appearance. His eyes were a clear, pleasing shade of blue, his voice manly without sounding harsh to the ear. A thin, aristocratic nose and a full, sensual mouth added to his charm.

Elizabeth pursed her mouth. If I didn't know Edward's reputation, I might suspect that he was one who preferred his own sex to women. But Edward had kept as many mistresses as any other young man of his station, and Bridget had pointed out several by-blows of his among the flocks of servants' children that ran in and out of the courtyard. No, her husband was not a lover of men. What then could be his problem?

She had known Dunmore as a child and had not liked him very much. But then I was a brat myself, she reminded herself. She had quarreled with him—struck him in the face if she remembered correctly. She had been only nine years old; surely, he could not carry a grudge for so many years over so insignificant a matter. The details of the incident were hazy—something about a kitten. Edward had been teasing another girl, and Elizabeth had come to her rescue in a whirlwind of righteous fervor.

Elizabeth tried to remember anything she had ever heard or seen of Edward's behavior that might explain his attitude toward her. As she recalled, he had been a lazy boy, rather than malicious. He'd been good at his studies, and was an exceptional horseman. As a young man, he'd gathered a reputation as an unlucky gambler and a heavy drinker, but that was far from unusual among noblemen, especially second sons. Edward had suffered no real disgraces that she'd heard of, committed no crimes.

As far as she knew, relations between the Sommersetts and the Lindseys were good; Edward's father and hers had been companions in France. And, even though she was bitter toward her father for insisting on this marriage against her will, she was sure he'd never have knowingly given her over to a monster. Try as she might, she could not come up with an answer to the puzzle.

By morning, Elizabeth decided that she had been reasonable long enough; it was time to take drastic action. Regardless of what Edward said, she would return to London. “I'll hunt after breakfast,” she informed the maids as they laced her into her blue wool riding habit. “Mary, go you down to the mews and tell the falconer I want the small merlin.” When the girl was gone, Elizabeth beckoned to Betty. “Do you ride?” she asked quietly.

“A horse?”

Bridget tittered, and Elizabeth glared at her.

“Bett, have you ever ridden pillion behind a man?”

Betty's eyes widened. “No, m'lady. I never did.”

“Then Bridget will go and you must remain here today. Have Mistress Cardiff instruct you in your duties.” Elizabeth patted the girl's arm. “You belong to me, Betty. You needn't be afraid. I will look after you, no matter what.”

Betty nodded. “Yes, m'lady. But what am I t' do?”

“Go downstairs and ask one of the cooks for bread and cheese, cold meat, and wine. Have him pack a basket to take with us. If the hawking is good, I'll stay out until late afternoon.” She motioned toward the door. “Run along with you.”

Betty hastened to obey, and Elizabeth turned to Bridget. “Dress warmly and pack a change of clothing. Tuck the bundle under your cloak. We ride fast and far this day.”