Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (47 page)

His
scar creased in a flat, thin line, which for the first
time,
did not skew his smile. I tried to turn my head, my body to flee from the bleak
hatred poisoning his eyes. It rendered my hatred for him a pallid sham. It
spoke of unclean things, and the pleasure got in doing them. It relished pain.

“But
I will take her—soiled though she is,” he drawled. “And she will devote
every last moment of her waking life to showing me her gratitude.”

John
raised the sword, balanced the hilt across his palm then thrust it at my
breastbone.

Enowes’
hand covered my mouth, catching my scream. John’s quiet laugh opened my eyes.
The swordpoint hovered an inch from my flesh.

“Finish
your task,” John murmured for Enowes. “Then join me upstairs.”

 
“Aye, m’lord,” Enowes mumbled.

John
tossed the blade over his shoulder and went down the hall, cat-quiet in his
riding boots, for the stairs.

A
knife appeared at the corner of my eye. Enowes wove it, using the moonlight to
show me its sharpness.

“Give
me the ring,” Enowes hissed.

The
fleshy part of his hand, walnut hard, pressed my windpipe again. I started
choking and he lightened his hold.

“Now,”
he said and slid the tip of the knife inside my left nostril. The cold edge
tested the tender skin.

“If
I have to cut your nose, the world will know you for a whore instead of just
wondering.”

He
wiggled the knife.

My
fingers shook too badly to grasp the chain on the first try. Enowes grinned.

I
hooked it on my fourth attempt. I gasped, the skin at the back of my neck
tearing as the chain came away. Enowes released me to grab it and I threw the
chain as hard as I could out the garden door.

“Bitch!”
Enowes shoved me away. He dove through the door and I took my chance. I ran to
the front doors, flung them open, and was jostled aside.

“Holy
Mother! Get out of the way—can’t you see it’s raining?”

Emma
and Gabrielle elbowed past me inside the vestibule. Gabrielle paused just
across the threshold, shaking off her waterlogged cloak. Emma ran by her and up
the stairs.

“Wait!”
I cried, but she didn’t stop.

“Jesu,
what are you doing here?” Gabrielle demanded. “You’re supposed to be at
almighty Greenwich.”

I
grabbed Gabrielle’s arm. “Enowes has a knife—“ I gasped.

Gabrielle
flung me off. “Stop handling me! Who is Enowes? What are you babbling about?
Did you bring a man here?”

“I—

A
long, high-pitched scream rent the words from my mouth.

Gabrielle
grabbed my arm. “Sweet Jesu!” she cried.

Emma’s
second scream tumbled down the stairs. Then the screamer herself ran down and
into Gabrielle’s arms.

“There
is a man in my chamber!”

Boots
pounded down the stairs, heavy as oxen.

Mariah
and Lady Frances slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. They both wore
their plaids, hoods drawn, ready to brave the weather.

Gabrielle’s
mouth dropped. “Jesu. Lady Mary Howard.” She blinked twice like a newborn lamb.
“My lady. You do us such honor…”

Mariah
managed a tight-lipped smile. “We came to dine with Mistress Shelton and it
grew so late she invited us to stay.” Her eyes swept my way. “We were told the
house would be empty tonight.”

“It
was, my lady,” Gabrielle said with a curtsey. “That is, it was supposed to be.”

“Who
is the man upstairs?” Emma asked without curtsey.

Mariah
folded her hands. “One of my grooms.”

Emma
frowned. “Well, why was he naked?”

Gabrielle’s
eyes bulged. “Stop telling stories.”

“I
am not! His clothes were on the floor.”

Gabrielle
cuffed the back of her neck. “For God’s sake, shut your mouth.”

Emma
slapped her arm. “You are not my mother!” Hooves punctuated her shout.

“What
in God’s name?” Gabrielle said. Emma’s hand was already on the door.

Thank God, Cromwell is come!

Emma
flung the door wide. Torchlight flared, blinding me for an instant. Then I
heard his voice.

“Where
is that whoreson de Vere?”

Emma,
stunned, did not move fast enough. Fitzroy pushed her aside as he stormed in.
Mariah and Frances froze. Frances’ face went crimson. Mariah’s went grey as
cold ashes. Surrey, at Fitzroy’s heels, gave them a look steeped in disgust as
he followed inside. Fingers grabbed my elbow and swung me around.

“Tell
me he’s not here.” Raindrops clung to Tom Clere’s stubbly cheeks. He must have
come through the garden. My mind spun away from his balefire eyes. How had he
come past Enowes unscathed?

A
door slammed above.

Fitzroy
went for the stairs. Lady Frances threw herself in his path.

“Please,
my lord, you are mistaken. Do not disturb the peace of this house for naught.”

Mariah
recovered herself in the moment Frances gave her.

“You
are such a fool,” she said.

Fitzroy
spun around. His face flared apoplectic red. “I’m a fool?” He took a step
toward her. Surrey put his hand up to stop him taking another. Fitzroy knocked
it away.

“You
are a whore,” he spat.

Mariah’s
shoulder rolled like a calm wave lapping the shore. “You would think so, which
proves you are a fool.”

“I
know he’s here,” Fitzroy snarled.

“Aye,
he is.” Mariah’s dispassionate voice took my breath away. “But not for me.”

Clere’s
fingers stabbed my elbow.

Fitzroy
and Surrey looked at me.

“Jesu!”
Emma squealed. “You brought Lord John de Vere home?”

Clere’s
fingers started stabbed and stopped me speaking the denial I meant to make.

“Yes,
I invited him,” I murmured. The digging paused.

Surrey’s
laugh startled me. “You see,” he said. “It’s as I told you. De Vere and the
Shelton girl.”

Fitzroy’s
eyes shrank to blazing blue pinpoints. “Then why is Mariah here? With your
wife?”

“We
are witnesses,” Mariah answered, every inch of her person cool and still as
well water. “Lord John and Mistress Shelton mean to marry tonight.”

Clere’s
fingers disappeared.

Surrey
whistled. “My God.
Quelle scandale
.”
He clapped Fitzroy’s shoulder. “We should stay well away from it.”

Fitzroy’s
gaze grabbed me. “Is this true?”

His
rosebud lips folded in on themselves just like his father’s. For an instant it
felt as if I lied to the King.

“Yes,
my lord.” Terror not artifice dropped my head to my chest.

“Well,
if that is so, it is no concern of mine. But you are a fool, mistress. John de
Vere is no fit husband for any girl.”

Wood
creaked above our heads.

“Mariah
is not any girl, bastard.”

All
eyes flew up the stairs. John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the
infuriating, reckless smile I’d misread for too long, shining down on us like
God’s own sunlight.

Emma
gasped. “He’s too handsome for Mary.”

Gabrielle
didn’t hit her, indicating she thought the same.

John
started down the stairs. “Well met,” he said. “Now we have a household full of
witnesses. A Duke, an Earl and his Countess, some fine Norfolk gentry…” his
eyes flickered my way. “And the whipping boy Clere.”

“John,
please turn back,” Lady
Frances
cried as he neared the
bottom of the stairs.

John
paused. “I will.” The entire weight of his scornful look landed on Fitzroy. “If
Mariah wishes it.”

“By
Christ!” Fitzroy tore his sword from of its scabbard. Surrey ducked as the
blade flew near his head. Frances and Gabrielle screamed. Clere pushed me back
against the door.

John
ripped his own sword from the scabbard concealed under his cloak.

“Outside!”
Mariah’s voice rang through the chaos. “If you mean to do this, it must be
outside.”

“Aye,
my lord,” Surrey’s voice trembled. “There is no room to maneuver within.”

Fitzroy
lowered his sword. “Come along, de Vere.”

John
shrugged. “Take some more uisge, Frances.” He patted her shaking shoulder as he
finished the stairs and followed Fitzroy toward the back of the house.

Fitzroy,
Surrey, Frances, and Mariah went after John. Gabrielle grabbed the back of
Emma’s neck before she could too.

“Absolutely
not,” she hissed.

“But
why?” Emma wailed. “It’s better than the May Day jousts.”

Tom
Clere turned on me. “Why in God’s name did you help them?”

His
scarlet face, white lips looked like a Mummer’s mask and almost convinced me
the whole evening had been a poor play and not the ruinous end of my plan.

“I
warned you to return the ring,” he growled.

“Mary
listens to no one but God,” Gabrielle told him.

“Not
God,” Emma piped. “Just the Devil.”

Clere
rounded on them. “God and the Devil have naught to do with this. You need to
leave the house.” He grabbed my hand, shoved a leather pouch in it. “Walk to
the nearest public water stairs and go back to court.”

“Running
off to Greenwich won’t help,” Gabrielle crowed. “Mother and Father won’t be at
Hatfield long, and I cannot wait to tell the tale.”

“Me
too,” Emma chirped.

“More
fools then are you,” Clere snapped. “You were supposed to be at your Uncle
Wiltshire’s house tonight.”

Gabrielle’s
face froze. “How did you know?”

“Quiet,”
Emma hissed.

“If
lowly Tom Clere knows then so does half of London,” Clere said. “What else will
your parents think, but that you were part of the mischief since you escaped
your aunt to come here in time for witnesses.”

“But
we knew nothing of it!” Gabrielle wailed. “I’ll swear on the King’s own Bible.”

“It’s
Mary’s word against ours,” Emma countered. “Two to one is fair odds.”

Tom
Clere glared. “And I’ll take those odds you’re on your way back to Norfolk come
morning.”

Emma
opened her mouth with a new argument and another scream tore through the house.

“Mother
of God,” Clere swore and ran toward the sound. “Get to Greenwich, Mary!”

Greenwich.

I
stared at the safety in my hand. Tom Clere had given me a sliver of a chance to
come away from this somewhat unscathed. Gabrielle and Emma would keep their
mouths shut, and I could
lie
Mariah to a stalemate if
it came to it. God willing.

The
peal of colliding steel rang through the house.

“We’re
missing it,” Emma moaned.

My
hand closed on the bag. If I left now for Greenwich, I abandoned all claim to
be a countess. Even if Cromwell came, who would be here to tell him the true
story of how things had come about?

My
heart pitched, but I turned to Gabrielle and tossed the bag at her. “Take a
boat back to Uncle’s house and say you went to see brother Tom at the Tower.” I
hiked my skirts and ran for the garden door.

“He
won’t lie for us!” Gabrielle shouted after me.

“He
only lies for you!” Emma yelled.

The
rear doors yawned wide open, admitting the damp night air. The rain had stopped
and a full moon illumed the garden with a cold, silver light, muting the colors
and shadows alike. Mariah stood at the edge of the garden like cold, proud
Helen watching Achilles and Hector battle from atop the walls of Troy. Clere
and Surrey hovered on the edge of the combat, silent. Lady Frances cowered
behind them.

I
ran halfway through the garden and stopped. Where was Enowes? And Smeaton? I
peered up at the windows, but saw no light, no movement of someone watching. If
Enowes were still about he would have come to his master’s aid by now.

Fitzroy
had pressed John back toward the edge of the garden. Their swords flew at each
other, slashing, nimble as needlework.

“Where
the Devil is Cromwell?” I seethed. This was the moment to take them. He would
question Lady Frances first—she’d crack like a walnut and spill all their
sordid secrets.
But only if he came now.

Fitzroy’s
sword drove for John’s exposed shoulder. At the last moment John spun, showing
Fitzroy his back and brought his sword up, forcing Fitzroy to a momentary,
stumble-footed retreat.

“Whoreson!”
Fitzroy screamed.

They’re too near the steps.

Frances
saw it too.

“Please
stop, brother!” she cried.