Tangled Hearts (10 page)

“You will just follow along in the hunt,” the king continued. “Soft Lucinda here won’t be able to keep up with the rest of us.”

“A hunt?” Dory nearly choked and glanced toward Ewan. Was she actually asking for help? He didn’t think she knew how to.

“Yes, don’t you enjoy the activity?” Henry thumped his round chest while sucking in air through his dilated nostrils. “It’s good for the blood.”

“My dear wife has little experience riding, sire. She was raised along the sea and spent most of her youth on a deck rather than a horse.” Ewan laughed then. “She’d probably feel more at ease steering one of yer ships into harbor.”

Dory smiled and nodded while Henry frowned. Excellent! Something to turn the royal leach away from her.

“My cousin, Searc, though, would appreciate the exercise,” Ewan said and the king nodded to Searc. “I was thinking to take Dory to see the lions at the Tower, sire. So she would not slow down the hunt.”

“Oh yes.” Dory clapped her gloved hands. “I have never seen lions.”

“Very well.” Henry waved his hand. He looked back at her, capturing her chin in his leather-clad fingers. Her eyes widened and Ewan felt his palm itch for the blade at his waist. “Just be careful, little dove. There are pickpockets everywhere in the streets and you look like a plum waiting to be plucked.”

She couldn’t have possibly missed his innuendo and blushed, propelling Ewan forward, but Henry dropped his hand and turned on his heel.

“Sheath your sword before someone thinks you suggest treason,” she hissed and he realized he’d taken the blade from its scabbard.

Henry’s chief minister, Thomas Cromwell, stared in his direction. Ewan examined the blade as if there were dust on the gleaming steel and then resheathed it.

“Let’s get ye up in the saddle,” he said and turned to Searc, who stood near. “Do ye want to follow the hunt?”

Searc nodded, his eyes brightening. The lad could use some fun, and he sat a horse with homegrown ease.

“See if you overhear anything about Dory or Boswell,” Ewan said in their own tongue. “And whatever you do, stay to the background.”

“I’m simply a cousin enjoying my first hunt in England while here on royal business.” Searc was a level-headed lad, and he’d become a strong leader when Alec left the Munro clan to him.

“Try not to bring back any stray foxes,” Ewan teased and rubbed the dog’s fuzzy head.

Searc chuckled and whistled for Maggie.

Ewan turned back to Dory, who already had a boot in the stirrup. “A little help here,” she said and sucked air in a quiet gasp when the horse redistributed its weight.

That small breeze of air across her soft lips sounded so enticing that Ewan stepped forward immediately. He wrapped hands around her slender waist and lifted, setting her into the side saddle and her foot into the stirrup.

“I didn’t think ye were so eager to ride,” he said.

Dory huffed and leaned toward him. “I’d rather ride a sea beast than this horse. But I can’t believe our luck to be going to the Tower. Now we can free Captain Bart and Will well before they’re scheduled to be hung.”

Ewan’s smile at her gratitude soured, but she’d already taken the reins and looked away. He’d meant to show her that the Tower of London was impenetrable, hoping that once she saw it she’d understand how ridiculous her plan was.

She stiffly patted the mare’s head between her ears. “Good horse. Calm and sweet then,” she whispered and looked down where Ewan still stared. “Well, come on!” She flapped a hand toward Gaoth.

They clopped through the gates and headed down the cobblestone toward the Tower of London while Ewan schooled her on the basics of horsemanship. It would take nearly an hour to reach it if they didn’t get turned around among the twisting streets.

Dory listened silently to his instruction, her back stiff as she held her arms out before her. Her fingers gripped the reins as if the docile horse might take off on a rampage at any moment.

“Are ye enjoying the ride?” he asked.

“About as much as canoeing down a river with two warring native tribes on either side imagining what my heart must taste like,” she mumbled. The horse shivered and cleared the skin over its rump with a swish of tail to scatter the flies. She gasped and clung tighter to his reins.

“Ye’ve led one hell of a life, Pandora Wyatt Wellington Brody.” Bloody hell!
Brody
?

She smiled sideways at him. “You have no idea.”

“And how should I go about extracting these life episodes from ye?”

She turned her face towards him, though her eyes continued to stray to the horse moving under her. “Why, warrior, I didn’t think you were interested.” She saw his frown and added. “Though perhaps you can wheedle some stories out of me in payment for your help at the Tower.”

He let out a loud, “Ha! My curiosity isn’t worth my life.”

She rolled her eyes and swiveled to face front. “That again. My, my, aren’t you an augur of death and dismemberment?”

“It is a potent possibility around ye.”

“Perhaps we can ask a guard where the prisoners are kept. I wonder if they have a special place for pirates.”

“Aye, the pit of hell.”

Her breath hitched. “Really? Is that an actual name for part of the Tower? Where is it?”

“In hell.”

She pinched her mouth shut and sent him a glare. “They are good pirates. Captain Bartholomew Wyatt saved me, protected me, and raised me.”

“Kept ye from yer true family.”

“He had his reasons,” she snapped.

“Aye, to play whore in port and climb the mast lines.”

She turned back to the road, jaw locked. Bloody hell, why did he have to bully her until she clammed up? He exhaled long. He needed to focus on coaxing her toward reality. She just had to see that whatever plan she came up with was useless. No one escaped London Tower.

Silence ensued as he led her through the streets littered with garbage and poor. She kept her head straight and didn’t place a handkerchief over her nose like most women. The smell of old dung and urine clung to the gullies flanking them, despite the rain from yesterday. Children sat on doorsteps watching. Occasionally a woman came out to find one or send one on an errand. A few followed, walking barefoot. Others had thin wheels to roll, a game.

“They live in rags?” Dory asked from her seat.

“They have a roof over their heads. Some aren’t so lucky.”

She shook her head. “And yet we parade around on chargers in pretty little hats. I don’t like London.”

“Poverty is everywhere, surely ye’ve seen it. ’Tis ugly.”

“What’s uglier is those who exploit it.” She spoke like a woman who’d seen it firsthand. Had she felt the bone cold that comes with sleeping on the floor with threadbare blankets? Perhaps they had more in common than he’d thought.

…

London Tower sprawled beside the Thames River, a formidable structure of gray and tan stone blocks. The central White Tower, the original palace-fortress of William the Conqueror, could be seen from outside the surrounding stone walls and linked buildings. Used originally to protect the monarch, it had become a symbol of justice—or murder, depending on what side of the wall you found yourself.

“It’s large and complex,” Dory said as they came to the massive gates by a guard’s hut. She scrunched her nose with a frown and her pink lips pulled together in a tight bow. What plans were forming in that intelligent-yet-rash mind?

“Aye, and ye could get easily lost in there, so no running off.”

She huffed like he was daft, but he knew that finding her father and this Will boy was her top priority. Heaven forbid that the guards were away or Dory would be picking the lock with a hairpin. Probably another talent of hers.

“Get me down from here,” she said. “I can’t think straight on this uneasy beast.”

“Lucinda is the most docile mare I’ve ever encountered. If she’s uneasy it’s because ye’re uneasy.” He dismounted and lifted her down.

A group of children clad in oversized coats and hats strode toward them. The smallest stopped to tie a shoe. Ewan met the gaze of the leader, a tall lad whose eyes seemed much too hard for a boy of his age. Ewan pulled his short sword, and the boy glanced at it. Pickpocket gangs roamed rampant in London. It was obvious the boys were turning toward a shadier way of life. Would he have ended up picking pockets in the streets if he’d been orphaned down in London instead of at Druim?

The leader jerked his head and turned to saunter away when the younger one finished tying his shoe.

“Wait, Randolph,” the higher-pitched voice sounded feminine, showing the youth’s immaturity. The slender boy came close to Dory as if he didn’t even see her, veering in a half-run to keep up with his gang.

The child collided with her. She gasped and whirled as the boy made to run out of the folds of her skirts, but her fingers encircled his scrawny arm. Did Dory know she’d just been hit?

“Let go!” the child yelled, but Dory held tight to the slight wrist.

She bent down to eye level with the lad. “I will as soon as you return my purse.”

His eyes grew round while his other hand seemed to search.

“Looking for this?” Dory produced a thin blade that looked so dull Ewan doubted it was much danger.

“Give it back!” the boy yelled. “You stole that.”

“An eye for an eye, hmmm…” She straightened, her eyebrow raised.

The boy looked to Ewan for help.

He shrugged. “The lady doesn’t take to pickpockets.”

Dory nodded toward the open gates to the Tower. “And so convenient, too, here before the guard. Perhaps they can accommodate our young thief.”

“Nay, m’lady.” The boy nearly choked and produced the small velvet bag that Ewan knew held her locket when not against her breast, and some coins.

“Now there,” she said, flipping the knife in the air to land blade-side in her palm to hand back to the child. The boy’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You may want to sharpen this if it’s to get you out of trouble in the future.”

He just nodded, open-mouthed. Ewan realized his own jaw had lowered and shut his mouth.

Dory still didn’t release the urchin. Her face grew serious. “I saw ships along the river, boy.”

“The king’s fleet.” The boy tucked his blade in a worn leather holder beneath his coat though.

“I know ships,” Dory said so quietly that Ewan had to strain to hear. “Stay away from the docks. ’Tis not safe.”

“Randolph watches out for us.”

“Ye are an orphan,” Ewan said and the boy shifted his glance to him and nodded.

“Then you have much to do to survive,” Dory said. “Start with staying well away from the docks. And from the Tower. ’Tis too easy to throw you in and forget about you.”

She waited for him to nod then let go. The boy took off running in the direction of his gang. She watched, her lips pinched tight, brows drawn.

“Shall we enter?” Ewan asked.

They tied their horses before the stone house that guarded the moat crossing. Guards stood around the perimeter, swords at their sides. The gate master walked over to them.

“My bride fancies a look at King Henry’s lions while we are visiting London,” Ewan said.

Dory waved her little gloved hand and batted her long lashes. “I just love the royal strength and power of the beasties.”

The gate master stared at her, and the poor man’s throat moved with his swallow. “The menagerie is off to the right, on this side of the moat.”

Dory squeezed against Ewan. “Are they locked up tight, master of the gate?”

“You have nothing to worry over, m’lady. The lions are housed behind iron bars,” the man assured her.

She tipped her face to the looming towers that blocked the lowering sun and shuddered. “Do you have the criminals locked up tight then, too? There are criminals here?”

The gate master inflated like a bloody cock about to announce the dawn. “Aye, we have some of the most vicious villains locked in their cells all around us.”

Dory grabbed Ewan’s arm as if for support. He reminded himself never to accept anything she said as truth without further proof. If women were allowed to act, she would do fantastically well on the stage.

“Are there pirates here?” she whispered, bending slightly toward the rooster.

“Some of the bloodiest,” he replied.

She put her hand on her chest as if to keep her heart from leaping out. The gate master’s eyes followed it to the curves below the tight jacket.

“They aren’t anywhere near the menagerie, are they?” Dory turned in a tight circle to view the thick stone walls and shivered. “Are they close?”

Ewan pulled her into his side as if comforting his worried bride, but it was more to make certain the stupid rooster wouldn’t try anything to make him draw his sword.

“The pirates be locked up tight in the Bell Tower.” The guard pointed to the curved top of one of the inner towers. “Don’t fear, m’lady. They are shackled and locked behind bars. Most are too sick and weak to make trouble anymore.”

Ewan felt Dory’s back go rigid and heard the little exhaled huff as if she’d been punched in the gut.

“I’m sure they are under guard as well,” Ewan said.

“Ah well, there’s no real need for guards when they are shackled, but we do check on them. Make sure they ain’t dead. That just stinks up the place and they don’t get hanged as they should.”

Dory’s breath came quickly. “Yes, you should feed and water them so they are strong enough to hang, don’t you think?”

The gate master nodded, but didn’t really look like he agreed, since feeding and watering villains would only add to his duties.

“Thank you,” Ewan said, his lips forming an O to hide his Scottish accent. “Let us off to the lions, love, so this man can get back to his important work.”

Dory bowed her head slightly and walked on Ewan’s arm. She put more weight on him for a time, though he knew she’d never admit it. The thought of these two pirates dying seemed crippling to her.

He touched her hand, then covered it.

“The way to help them is through Henry, not by breaking them out,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. He inhaled the light floral scent that covered the stink in the breeze.

“Did you hear that?” she asked. “Weak and ill.”