The Hawk and the Dove (37 page)

He stabled his horse and went up to the house. “Sabre, you look so pale. Are you ill?” he asked anxiously.

She searched his face, not wanting to believe that he had stolen the papers. “I had a tiring journey, Matthew. You said you would follow me to Blackmoor, but I see you must have had more pressing business.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you,” he avowed.

A dark shadow fell across the entrance to the salon and Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin as Shane’s tall figure materialized. In a deadly quiet voice Shane said, “I will say this once. This is my woman—today, tomorrow, and forevermore. Never try to take what is mine!”

Matthew was on his feet, spitting venom. “You took what was mine—my inheritance—my title—you are nothing but O’Neill’s bastard!”

Shane said quietly, “I always did my best to shield you from the knowledge. We are full brothers, Matthew, both sprung from the loins of O’Neill.”

A look of horror came over Matt’s features. Then, as full realization hit him, he tore the papers from his doublet and flung them down before Shane. “They are burning a hole in my chest. For Christ’s sake, destroy them before they do irreparable harm.”

“It is too late,” said Shane sadly.

“I beg your forgiveness; I did not know!” Matt swore.

Shane shook his head impatiently. “The man they are torturing in the Tower is the baron.”

Sabre cried out in alarm, “Oh, my God, tell me it isn’t so!”

Matthew went white. “It’s my fault! I went to Robert Cecil suggesting they transfer O’Hara and O’Donnell from Dublin to the Tower of London. I told him he’d trap the O’Neill’s contact, knowing that it would be you.”

Sabre swayed, her lips colorless, her eyelids fluttering like dying butterfly’s wings. Shane’s strong arm was about her instantly, lifting her to the couch piled with soft, brilliant cushions. He filled a goblet with wine and held it to her lips.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “Instead of burning the papers I kept them for my own gain, and now I have come between two brothers who once loved each other.” Her tears wet her cheeks and she shivered with the horror of it all.

The two men looked at her and said together, “We still love each other.” Then Matthew added, “It is my fault. I will go to Cecil and tell him they have the wrong man. I will tell him I am the Black Shadow!”

“You young fool—you will do nothing to connect the prisoner with us. Thank God servants enjoy such anonymity at the queen’s court. None recognize the baron. We will devise a plan to rescue him, never fear.”

“Shane, this is the Tower of London we are talking about!” Matt pointed out.

“I didn’t say it would be child’s play,” said Shane.

“For Christ’s sake, if you have a plan, let’s hear it!”

He looked at them both with irony. “You have both betrayed me, yet still expect to be privy to my plans.” He picked up the Walsingham files and said, “I’m needed at court. I hear the queen is brokenhearted over Essex. We will leave you to rest, madam.” He bowed gravely to Sabre and propelled Matthew toward the front door. He
did not need to tell him to keep from Thames View until he was invited.

Shane was absent the rest of the day, yet Sabre knew him too well to suspect him of frittering away precious time kissing Elizabeth’s feet. Each minute he spent with the queen was a necessary minute to help him secure the baron’s release. She remembered only too well the things Shane had told her in fevered delirium about the baron. She pushed away the unthinkable words of the sentence that would be carried out if they learned he was the condemned Fitzgerald, earl of Desmond. It was barbaric to torture men and almost inconceivable that this still happened in the enlightened year of 1587.

Sabre felt exhausted. She should never have put her unborn baby in jeopardy by riding so hard from Blackmoor. She took a supper tray upstairs and climbed into the large, soft bed to eat. The memories the bed held haunted her. She recalled the first time when they had eaten together in bed and then she remembered vividly his angry ravishment, but then all the happiness and pleasure they had shared since outweighed that one night of horror.

She finished her wine and blew out the candles. She needed to sleep—surely a good rest would restore her spirits. But sleep would not come. She examined Matthew’s betrayal and knew his coveting her had a great deal to do with it all. Why had Shane forgiven him? she wondered. Then she knew the answer. It was because Shane was a truly good man … a fine man … and, oh, God, how glad she was that he was her husband and the father of her unborn child. Even though she had stubbornly demanded a divorce, it was the very last thing she really wanted. She would love to have been wooed and to
have received a formal proposal of marriage from him. She would love to have stood beside him and exchanged vows in the church. But what was done was done and she wouldn’t exchange husbands with any other woman on earth. She shivered at the thought that it could so easily have been Shane who was now a prisoner in the Tower of London … a prisoner who was at this very moment being tortured.
No,
her mind screamed,
do not think of the baron, that way lies madness.
She could see him in her mind’s eye when they had stood on either side of this bed and administered to Shane when he lay near death. Death … that’s where Shane’s reckless behavior would lead him if she did not keep him from O’Neill.

The bedchamber clock chimed three, and she caressed her belly, where the child lay secure for the moment. She was determined that this baby would have both mother and father to cushion him against a harsh, cruel world. Suddenly the chamber door opened, and she struggled up onto the pillows as Shane’s dark figure advanced into the room.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sabre, but I must talk.”

“It’s all right, Shane. It’s impossible for me to sleep…. I’ve been trying for hours.”

He lit the candles and sat down close beside her on the edge of the bed. “I’ve racked my brains over an escape plan for the baron. I’ve examined every avenue of thought, every idea, and discarded them one after another, for they were all flawed. The only sure way for a prisoner to leave the Tower of London is dead, in a coffin.”

She gasped, and sought one of his strong, brown hands.

“I’ve procured a drug that simulates death. It slows
the heartbeat down so much that not even a pulse can be detected. The only problem is how to get it to the baron. It would be so simple if he were in the Fleet or Newgate. I would hire girls from the brothel to go in and pleasure the guards. They are open to any bribe, but the Tower of London is a different kettle of fish entirely.”

She clutched his hand tightly. “Shane, if you go in and try to get the drug to him, you will be implicated, then they will have both of you!”

His rough thumb rubbed the silken skin of her hand as he said tentatively, “It would be impossible for me to go in alone, but … we could do it together, Sabre.”

“What are you talking about? They would never let me inside,” she cried fearfully, shuddering at the mere thought of the Bloody Tower.

He brushed the flaming tendrils back from her temple with his free hand. “Sabre … if you dressed as the queen you could go wherever you wished.”

She stared at him wild-eyed. “You are mad; I could never get away with impersonating the queen!”

“You’ve done it successfully before and could again,” he urged.

“No! Shane, don’t ask it of me!” she begged.

“I do ask it of you, Sabre. It is the only chance the baron has. You go in as the queen and I go in at your side as her Sea God. If we act with confidence and authority and arrogance, none will deny us access to him. I will arrange for a whole retinue of attendants to accompany us, and between us we can pull it off!”

“Shane, it is impossible. I can duplicate the dress and the hair, but my face is nothing like hers. The guards would know immediately that I was an imposter!”

“How often do you think the guards have seen the
queen? Most, probably never, and the ones who have, only from a great distance. You will carry a stick mask to hold in front of your face and protect you from such sordid surroundings; Sabre, it’s all in the attitude! I have every confidence in you.”

“Shane … no!”

“Sabre, if you will do this thing for me … I’ll give you your damned divorce that you want so badly.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She shivered. “Shane, I’m so very frightened … hold me.”

He gathered her to him, longing to absorb her body into his, to pull her into the bed and lose himself in her. Yet he felt a crushing guilt at what he was asking her to do. How could he be such a swine as to risk her safety? He loved her with all his heart and she was infinitely precious to him, and yet he was willing to gamble her freedom, perhaps even her life, to help the baron. The inexplicable truth was that he knew together they were invincible. Together they could overcome any danger, any odds, and he loved her best because, like himself, she had the courage, the raw guts, to risk everything and take pleasure from the heady, reckless hazard.

With infinite gentleness his lips began to kiss her. His fingertips feathered her temples and cheekbones, then stroked her hair as he murmured against her mouth and throat all the love words that filled his heart. “Sabre, I love you beyond life. You are a part of me … the other half which makes me whole.” He cradled her against his heart, which beat madly. “My lovely one, I adore you,” he whispered, and a tress of her hair brushed against his face. He stroked her possessively. “You have the most wondrous hair I’ve ever seen, and all men who lay eyes upon it must ache to caress it and play with it like this.
My love, you enthrall me. Your image is ever before me, night and day. I have an unquenchable thirst for you. When I glimpse you across a room I must draw close, and when I’m close to you I must touch you. Once I’ve touched you, I have an uncontrollable desire to touch you all over. Your fragrance fills my senses, and I never get enough of smelling you and tasting you. Your voice and your laughter arouse me immediately, no matter who is there to see. Sabre, my darling, you hate me because I didn’t come myself to marry you, but, oh, my darling, don’t you see I would have wed you and left you and never come to savor and cherish you as I do now? By becoming my mistress you snared and enchanted me for all time. Now we are bonded … you must feel it, darling … it’s so strong, it’s so right!”

The rapture of his closeness enveloped her, and she felt precious to him and deeply loved and cherished. In that moment she knew that with his strength beside her she could do anything. Her fear receded and she wanted more than anything in this world for him to come into the bed with her and join his body to hers. They were starving for each other. It was a need so great, it transcended mere hunger and thirst. Their love for each other was so strong, it was a force to be reckoned with.

First light found her torturing her magnificent copper tresses into the ugly simulation of Elizabeth’s wig, and she shook out the purple velvet gown and took the small crown from its jewel case. Now that she had committed herself to this insane venture, Sabre decided she would give it everything she had. She knew that in order to carry it off successfully she would have to
become
Elizabeth.

She sat before the pier glass and paid infinite attention
to the details of her makeup. She applied powder to whiten her face, then she was rather liberal with the rouge pot to copy the queen’s slightly raddled cheeks. She applied the lip salve in a way that narrowed her lips into a straight, firm line, then turned her head from side to side to gauge the effect.

When Shane came in to see how she was progressing, he gave her such a look of approval and gratitude that her confidence was bolstered considerably. They did not really trust themselves to enter into a conversation, but each supported the other with a quiet air of confidence.

He chose a flamboyant outfit of gray velvet slashed with amethyst satin, then pulled on gray suede thigh-boots. His choice complemented her elaborate purple gown perfectly. They were both costumed for the roles they would play as if they were about to step out onto the stage of the Rose Theater, but the parts they played were a matter of life and death.

They traveled by closed carriage, following the River Thames all the way to the Pool of London, where numerous Hawkhurst vessels were anchored. There, to Sabre’s amazement, they transferred to a barge done in the Tudor colors of green and white. It was not the royal barge, but at a glance it could pass for it. Somehow Shane had assembled three ladies-in-waiting, a young page, and two gentlemen attendants for himself. They looked so authentic, they would have fooled Sabre had she not known for certain they were bogus.

It was a drab, pewter-colored day and she shivered with apprehension as the barge made its way to the water gate of the Tower, Shane handed her a golden face mask on a long stick and suddenly her insides were jelly, her mouth was so dry her lips stuck to her teeth, and her
eardrums were ready to burst from the thunder of her heartbeat.

Much too quickly the barge drew up and Shane was assisting her to alight, face-to-face with half a dozen yeomen of the guard. Her feet stumbled, Shane placed a firm, steadying hand to the small of her back, and the portcullis was being raised to permit the entry to the first set of heavy, iron-studded doors.

“Open in the name of the queen,” piped the page.

“Open in the name of the queen,” repeated the yeomen of the guard in their deep, stentorian voices.

Shane handed her the precious vial, and as she tucked it securely between her breasts her mind scattered into millions of fragments and her chest constricted so tightly, she thought she could not breathe. Then, like a miracle from out of her childhood, the words of a novena her father had taught her came to her rescue.

“Oh, holy Saint Jude, apostle and martyr, great in virtue and rich in miracles, near kinsman of Jesus Christ, the faithful intercessor of all who invoke your special patronage in time of need, to you I have recourse from the depths of my heart and humbly beg you, to whom God has given such great power, to come to my assistance. Help me in my present and urgent petition. In return I propose to make your name known and cause your name to be invoked.”