The Lady Series (30 page)

Anne sat at the end of her bed and stared at the door. Everything had gone wrong. A helpless sound escaped her as the vision of Kit being borne away between two guardsmen again filled her. No one heeded her when she’d tried to say he’d done no wrong.

Nay, no one heard her. No one could. Anne tried again to swallow and flinched at the pain. Hidden below her ruff were the bruises Deyville laid upon her throat. Her voice was nothing but a whisper.

At least she was properly dressed again. With the help of Mary’s maid Anne now wore her tawny brown gowns, her neatened hair confined beneath the black velvet headdress. All that needed doing was for the queen to call. If that didn’t happen soon, Anne knew she’d surely die.

There was a tap then Mary opened the door. Anne leapt to her feet. Her kinswoman tried to smile, but there was too much worry in her face for that.

“She’s called for all to come. Beware, Nan. She’s fair beside herself over this.”

Mary’s warning only sent Anne’s terror spiraling. If their royal mistress raged there was no hope for her or Kit. Anne followed Mary across the maids’ chamber. Once down the stairs, they exited the building, Mary leading Anne to the royal chapel, then back from there, chamber by chamber, to the queen’s apartment.

Anne stopped before the door, her terror truly high now. “She sees us in private?”

Again, Mary tried to smile. “This she does for your protection. If there’s no blame to be placed on you, she wants no stain on your name.”

Even as Anne tried to take hope from this, it died. It wasn’t every day Sir William had the guard dragging a courtier into the palace walls. There’d be no stopping the tongues or the speculation.

Mary opened the door, standing aside to allow Anne to enter first. Tapestries covered every inch of this chamber’s walls, their blues, reds, and golds brilliant. A great arched window looked out over the river. Through the glass Anne could see the water’s surface gleam with the setting sun, as bright as any diamond.

A desk stood near the window, lighter of design than a man’s and decorated with pretty woodwork. Papers were strewn across its surface, but its chair was missing, having been moved to the room’s center, where England’s monarch sat. Elizabeth’s face was rigid, her eyes narrowed.

Anne glanced to the queen’s hands. A touch of relief woke. The royal fingers were yet relaxed against the chair’s arms. Wroth her royal mistress might be, but Elizabeth was still prepared to listen before she spewed what boiled in her.

Kit knelt close to the queen’s chair, dressed in his green doublet with its gold spangles. Master Wyatt was nearby, again wearing his rust-colored attire. The skin along his swollen jaw was purple. Lord Deyville, again in mourning black, was on his knees to their far side. Anne’s grandsire knelt still farther back, closer to the door. At Amyas’s side stood Sir William.

Wondering what clues she should take from their arrangement in the room, Anne stepped within and dropped into a curtsy. So deeply did she bend that her head nearly reached her skirts. Mary did the same alongside her.

“Bring in your kinswoman, Mistress Mary,” the queen called, her voice hard and cold.

“Madame,” Mary said, not yet raising her head, “she must kneel close to you. I fear she is without voice.”

Anne heard the queen’s sharp intake of breath at this. “Then bring her near.” There was no change to the royal tone.

Rising, her head yet bowed, Anne strode across the room, choosing a spot where she might be within Kit’s line of vision. This meant she could see the others as well, all save for her grandfather. As Anne knelt, her head again bent over folded hands, Mary went to stand behind her royal mistress’s chair.

“We would hear from your lips who it was that did the attacking, Mistress Anne.” This was a regal command.

“Lord Deyville, Madame,” Anne managed in her croak.

“God’s eyelid,” the queen swore softly. “Lift your head, lass then open your collar so We may see it all.”

Anne did as she was bid. When her ruff was removed and her collar open, anger blazed in Elizabeth’s dark eyes. “You say Lord Deyville did this to you? A nod is good enough.”

Anne nodded.

Confusion flickered through Elizabeth’s gaze. “If he is the attacker, then what explanation have you for the note Sir Amyas bears?”

“What note?” Anne asked, startled.

The queen lifted a scrap of paper from her lap and read aloud. “Greetings to you, my good and kind employer. You must come this afternoon at three of the clock. I fear Mistress Anne is set on a private meeting with the one you so despise, the appointment to be at Duke Humphrey’s tower above Greenwich.”

Elizabeth peered at her maid from over the note’s top. “It’s unsigned, however we can but assume from its contents this was written by your governess.”

If Anne hadn’t just learned how much it hurt, she’d have throttled Patience. Why couldn’t the stupid chit have let well enough alone? Patience’s determination to protect Sir Amyas from Lord Deyville had only made more problems for them all.

“Madame,” Anne brought out in her croak, “might I let Master Hollier speak for me? He knows the whole of it.”

The flare of the royal nostrils said that this request pleased the queen naught at all, but she nodded. “Tell your tale, Master Hollier,” she commanded.

Kit didn’t raise his head as he spoke. “The note, Madame, was but Mistress Watkins attempt to protect her mistress. She knew Sir Amyas had settled on Lord Deyville as Mistress Blanchemain’s husband. She also believed Sir Amyas deaf to any complaint against the nobleman. Thus she formed her note in such a way that her employer would be certain to come and witness with his own eyes that Lord Deyville is not a decent man.”

Lord Deyville shifted and glared at Kit. “I’ll not stay still and listen to these insults,” he snarled, trading on his rank to look boldly upon his queen.

“You’ll stay where We command you,” Elizabeth snapped, then her gaze shifted between Anne and Kit. “God’s teeth, but we find it galling that this mere servant dares to decide to whom her employer may or may not marry his heiress.”

Anne raised her head. “Madame,” she said, straining to make her words clear, “you must understand that Mistress Watkins witnessed the nobleman’s first attack against me at the Maying.”

Elizabeth rocked back in her chair, surprise chasing all else from her expression. “He did what?!”

“He did what?” Sir Amyas echoed from the back of the room.

Anne glanced over her shoulder to her grandsire. He almost sounded concerned. Perhaps she wronged him in thinking he intended to allow Lord Deyville free rein over her.

Leaning forward, her elbow braced upon the chair’s arm, Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed in suspicion once again. “If this is true, mistress, why did you say nothing to us of it?”

“It was but my third day at court, Madame,” Anne said, offering her queen a helpless look as she stopped to clear her throat. “I feared Your Grace might send me away for the shame of it, or worse that I’d not be believed. Lord Deyville is a man placed far above me and can say what he will while I am but a maid with no defense to offer, save my word.”

“It’s none of your shame when another assaults you,” her royal mistress declared.

“No harm was done, Madame,” Kit continued on her behalf, “for by coincidence Your Grace sent me to find Mistress Blanchemain at that same instant, wishing her returned to your presence. When confronted, Lord Deyville retreated. If I did wrong when I bowed to Mistress Blanchemain’s request to remain silent on what I’d seen I humbly beg pardon.”

“Hold your pleas for mercy until all is said and done,” Elizabeth retorted stiffly. “This does not fully explain the note. Why should this servant know the exact hour of the attack?”

“Madame,” Anne tried again, “only last night Lord Deyville again made his threat of rape against me. His intent—” Her voice would go no further. She stopped and looked in frustration at Kit.

He was waiting for her signal. If he dared give no other sign to her, his green eyes were soft with his affection. Once again, he took up where she’d stopped.

“He intended, Majesty, to spoil Mistress Blanchemain for all other men, thus forcing Your Grace’s hand in his petition for her hand in marriage. To that charge, Madame, both I and Master Wyatt can testify, for we heard him utter it again at the tower.”

“He said that?” Amyas’s sharp cry rang against the dark beams that crossed the chamber’s ceiling. Anne turned her head to look at her grandsire. He glared at the nobleman.

“Not now, Amyas,” Sir William hissed in warning.

As usual, the warning to her grandsire was wasted breath. Amyas leaned forward on his knees, his gaze locked on the man he’d meant for his granddaughter to wed. “You’d have used her with no guarantee that you could wed her? What if our contract didn’t stand? You’d have left me with a spoiled maid as an heir, that’s what.”

Lord Deyville raised his head and sent icy rage in Amyas’s direction. “You’ll not speak so to me, not when your idiocy left us with no other option.”

“Be still!” Elizabeth’s command rattled the panes in the window. Both men bowed their heads and held their tongues.

“Why,” her voice was yet raised near a shout, “should the governess know the exact hour of the attack?”

Anne cringed, her head lowering once more. She sent a sidelong glance at Kit. He offered a brief and crooked grin. From this point on explanations became a mite more difficult.

“Madame,” Kit said, “given the nobleman’s previous attack, his new threat left Mistress Blanchemain fearful of being surprised whilst alone and unprotected. Thus, we arranged the meeting, thinking to expose him.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to her maid. “Prove to us you are as intelligent as We believe you to be by saying you sent no note to Lord Deyville to lure him to this trap of yours.”

“I sent no note,” Anne replied without lifting her head, her voice as strong as possible. “I have no idea how Lord Deyville knew of my location.” That was true. She knew Lady Montmercy had carried the message, but not how the lady had come into possession of that knowledge.

“Thus we move our attention to you, my lord.” There was a new sneer in the royal voice. “As our maid-of-honor says you had no note from her, how is it you knew she was to be at the tower at the appointed time?”

Anne again glanced at Kit. Excitement filled his gaze. The queen, herself, would draw out the accusation against Lady Montmercy.

“Madame,” the lord raised his head, his brow creased in anger. The sun had set far enough to turn his bald pate a ruddy hue. “I again protest this whole inquisition. None of my accusers are fit rank to bring a charge against me.”

Elizabeth’s chin lifted as her brows rose. “It was our maid, a young woman under our protection, upon whom you left your bruises. The charge you face comes from this chair,” her index finger drilled into the chair’s arm, “and nowhere else.”

The nobleman gave an angry toss of his head as his lip curled in scorn. “I’d have left no bruises if Your Grace’s maid had been as forthcoming with her favors to me as she has been to Master Hollier. I say she got no more than she deserved for toying with me,” Deyville snarled, throwing his own accusation.

Once again Amyas’s cry rang out, but it was Elizabeth Anne faced. Fiery anger filled the queen’s dark eyes. “Have you lain with Master Hollier as Lord Deyville accuses?” This was no question.

Fear tore through Anne. Which would it be? Lie to her queen, or speak the truth and earn naught but ruin for it? Of a sudden Deyville’s earlier words echoed in her head. She straightened on her knees and looked boldly into her monarch’s face.

“Madame, I vow to you upon my mother’s life, whose existence I hold most dear, that I am the same woman now as I was the day Your Grace accepted me into your service.” The words filled the air around her, ringing with the truth, because they were.

“As for Master Hollier,” Anne again bowed her head against the possibility her royal mistress might read something she shouldn’t in her gaze, “he’s been naught but honorable in his behavior toward me. Not once has he forced a touch upon me or made any sly suggestion.” She coughed as she fell silent, daring to peer up from her meek pose at her monarch.

Elizabeth’s face was more relaxed as her gaze returned to the offending nobleman. “It appears you are mistaken about our maid’s morals, my lord. Now, how is it you knew where to meet Mistress Blanchemain?”

Lord Deyville’s spine was stiff. Outrage marked his expression at being thwarted in his attempt to turn accusation away from him. There was a long moment of silence.

“Speak, my lord.” ‘Twas a whipcrack of command.

“Lady Montmercy informed me of the maid’s destination and when to meet her there.”

Amyas’s gasp was deep and pained. Anne looked at her grandsire. His face was wan as he sagged back to sit on his heels, his lips moving as if in prayer.

“Why is it We’re not surprised to hear her name mentioned?” Elizabeth said, glancing from Anne to Kit. Anne watched the memory of the events surrounding Kit’s naming as Anne’s dancing tutor flashed through the queen’s eyes. Her sharpened interest showed as she turned her gaze upon Kit.

“Sir William,” the queen called to her secretary without looking up from her gentleman, “put your head outside the door and tell our page to bring the lady here. I think We must needs ask her a question or two.”

Anne’s knees grew numb as they waited. Elizabeth drummed her fingers against her chair’s arm, the tempo increasing as her impatience grew. Anne dared but once to glance at Kit. He tried to smile, but worry marred the attempt. As the sun settled into its bed for the night Mary set to lighting the many candles in their sconces and their branches.

At last the door opened. No sign of worry touched Lady Montmercy’s face as she stepped within and closed the door behind her. She glanced at the room’s occupants. Candlelight played against the jewels in her small cap and gleamed in her fair hair. Her ruff glowed like snow against skin only a little less pale.

When she was but a step into the room, she drifted down into a deep curtsy, her silken skirts flowing around her, her sapphire earbobs glinting. “Madame, you called for me?” the lady said, her head yet bent.

“Aye, my lady,” her monarch responded, her words chipped from ice. “We would know why it was you sent Lord Deyville to attack our maid.”

Anne eased to the side to better see the noblewoman. A wee frown touched the lady’s perfect brow as she shifted into a kneeling position. “Madame, I did no such thing.” The woman played her role to perfection. Rather than outrage, which might have been suspect, confusion filled every word.

Across from Anne, Kit loosed a bitter breath. Sour amusement twisted in her. Had he truly believed Lady Montmercy would walk into the room and admit all? She watched as he undid the middle buttons of his green doublet then pulled a small packet from against his shirt. At his sign, Mary came to take the fold of paper from him.

“Majesty,” he said, as Mary placed the paper into the royal hands for him, “perhaps this will help to clarify matters.”

The queen turned the packet in her hands, touching the wax that sealed it. “Whose signets are these?”

“Madame, they are mine and Lady Montmercy’s,” Kit replied.

Only then did Anne understand this must be Kit’s contract. Even as fear for him filled her, she glanced at Lady Montmercy. The noblewoman maintained her humble pose, head bent and eyes focused on her clasped hands.

“That cannot be, Madame,” the lady said without raising her head, a touch of sharpness to her tone. “I’ve never had occasion to use my signet when Master Hollier was present.”

“Is that so?” the queen replied. The faint line of her red brows rose. “Shall We look upon what it is you haven’t set your ring to?”

As she opened the paper, Mary stepped close with a branch of candles. The queen scanned the contract. Her breath hissed from her as she threw the paper from her.

“What is this foul thing!” The words dripped like venom from her lips. She glared at Kit.

He kept his neck bent. “Madame, there is no way to explain myself, save to say I was a desperate man, hounded by my creditors. My only defense is that after I signed that sheet I discovered myself incapable of doing as the lady required. To this end, Mistress Blanchemain has already attested. But the lady refused to release me, threatening vengeance if I didn’t comply.”

“This is so, Madame,” Master Wyatt seconded. “When I tried to repay the sum Lady Montmercy expended on Master Hollier’s behalf, she refused my coin.”

The queen’s gaze shifted to Lady Montmercy. “What have you to say of this?”

“Madame,” the woman said meekly, her head yet primly lowered, “I know nothing of what lays upon that paper. Ask anyone. I am barely acquainted with Master Hollier. I cannot imagine why the gentleman should go to such efforts to impugn me.”

“So you’d charge forgery, then?” Elizabeth’s expression stiffened. “You’d vow you never asked Master Hollier to take Mistress Blanchemain’s maidenhead in trade for the payment of his debts and the marriage of your daughter to Squire Nicholas Hollier?”

Master Wyatt made an odd gagging sound and wobbled on his knees. From the back of the room Anne’s grandfather’s voice rose to a keening cry. The sound was so terrible that Anne turned to look, fearing the same fit of madness that had taken him after her presentation. Moaning, he buried his face into his hands and rocked on his knees.

Sir William crouched down beside the old man. “Amyas, what is it?” he said, catching his former friend by the wrists to still his movement.

Amyas drew a shuddering breath and let his hands fall. Pain etched deeply into his face. His gaze was fixed on Lady Montmercy. The lady didn’t look up from studying her twined fingers.

“So does God strike another blow against me,” Amyas said with a shuddering breath. “She is a temptress, a Jezebel.” This was more aching cry than harsh accusation. “She drew me into sin. In retribution, our Heavenly Father has done to me as he did to Job, stripping me of all I held precious and more.”

Anne’s brows rose. Did he count the deaths of her sisters and her cousins as his payment, or was it only the loss of his manhood he bemoaned? She shot a glance at Kit. He met her gaze with astonishment at her grandsire’s blatant loss of control.

Elizabeth’s brows drew down, and her mouth tightened into a narrow line. “God’s teeth, what’s he babbling about, Sir William?” she demanded.

“I know naught, Your Grace,” her secretary said with a shrug as he returned to his feet.

Anne cleared her throat. “Madame,” she said, forcing the words from her throat, “I do. My grandsire and Lady Montmercy were intimate many years ago. I suspect he promised marriage to her upon her widowhood,” she said, editing Mistress Alice’s tale to protect Andrew. “When the lady became available he rejected her. Thus her plot. She seeks to wreak her vengeance on my grandfather through me.”

Lady Montmercy gave a single, sharp cry as she raised her head. Panic replaced her blankness. She pressed a fist to her chest. “You cannot know this,” the noblewoman cried, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Indeed I can,” Anne said. Despite the wrong the lady meant to do her and Kit, pity woke. There was no victory in revealing that the only one this lady yet trusted had betrayed her in order to foil the very vengeance she sought. “My lady, you’ve forgotten that Mistress Godwin was my mother’s governess before she came into your employ.”

“Nay,” the noblewoman whispered as horror shot through her blue gaze. Even as she understood she was revealed, her shoulders tensed in resistance. “This is but another lie.” What should have been a protest of outraged innocence was a shaken breath.

Elizabeth slammed her fist against her chair’s arm. “Will you say again, my lady, that you didn’t tell Lord Deyville where to make his attack against our maid? By what means did you ferret out that information?”

Lady Montmercy shivered as if suffering the ague. “Madame, I said nothing to Lord Deyville, nor do I have any means by which I would know where and when Mistress Anne might be.”

“Lying bitch,” the nobleman shouted at her, loud enough to make her flinch. “Tell Her Grace the truth! You overheard me speaking with the maid in the Presence Chamber, or so you said when you came this morn, offering the very opportunity I wanted.”

“Nay,” the lady cried out, control slipping from her grasp with this assault.

“Your Grace,” Kit said, addressing the queen even as he kept his gaze on the noblewoman, “she sought out Lord Deyville because I refused to comply with the terms of her contract.”

Lady Montmercy pressed her fists against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut as she sought to escape her accusers. “I know nothing of this, Madame.” Her voice shook like a leaf in a storm.

Elizabeth stood, every line of her body afire with outrage. “How dare you persist in your lies when it seems only you could have done this! Sir William, we’ll have her Tower-bound for planning the assault of one of our maids.”

A strangled sound left Lady Montmercy. She threw back her head. Her lips were drawn back into a vicious snarl, her pale cheeks blazing. Leaping to her feet, she turned on Sir Amyas.

“I loved you,” she shrieked, throwing herself across the space between them. Her fists fell. Even as Amyas cried out, he made no attempt to shield himself from her blows.

Sir William caught her from behind, holding her by the arms. “My lady, you must not,” he commanded her.

The noblewoman only leaned forward against his grip to put her face near Amyas’s. “I bore your son! How could you return and call me Delilah? You said what I felt for you was sin, and I must wipe you from my heart as you had removed me from yours.” As the last word dropped from her lips, she sagged against Sir William’s grasp, sobbing.

Anne’s heart broke for Andrew. She dared a glance at her royal mistress. Disappointment, not surprise, filled Elizabeth’s eyes. This could only mean the queen had suspected Andrew’s bastardy. Now, her hand would be forced by what the lad’s mother revealed.

“Take her from our presence,” Elizabeth commanded her secretary, her gaze shifting to the nobleman who’d been the lady’s accomplice. “Attempted rape of one of our maids is a serious matter. Lord Deyville, We command you on your honor to present yourself to the Tower, content to wait there for our decision as to your punishment. Leave us, and do no more harm to those around whom We have set our hand.”

Even as Deyville’s face twisted in rage, he yielded to his monarch’s command. “I am at your mercy, Your Grace.” Rising, he backed from his queen’s presence, until he could throw open the door and storm from the room.

Sir William turned. The yet sobbing Lady Montmercy lay limp against him as he bore her from the chamber. Mary followed to shut the door after them. When she’d closed it, she set her back against it and faced the room.

Amyas’s panting breaths echoed against the walls as he sat upon the floor. His legs were sprawled out before him. His head hung, his hands lay, open and upturned, in his lap. His shoulders shook.

It didn’t matter that her compassion might never be returned; Anne couldn’t bear his pain. “Madame,” she said to her royal mistress, “might I go to my grandsire?”

The promise of the coming storm darkened Elizabeth’s face. “Aye. See if you can settle his senses. We must speak with him as regards his son.”

Taking care to step backward until she reached her grandsire, Anne dropped to kneel beside him. Since her touch had once before stirred him from a similar state she lay her hand upon his shoulder. “Grandfather, you must gather your wits.”

He raised his head. His gaze was unfocused, his tears laid their tracks upon his stony cheeks. As Anne stroked her hand down his arm, a sigh escaped him. His gaze slowly centered on her.

“She set Lord Deyville to use you,” he muttered, “and I in my arrogance didn’t see the evil he intended.”

This was more apology than Anne ever expected from him. She offered a small smile. “Aye, but she failed. You must give your thanks to Master Hollier, who not only refused her evil, but stopped Lord Deyville from doing his,” she said, hoping the queen could hear her. It wouldn’t hurt to remind her royal mistress that Kit had contemplated wrongdoing, but done no wrong.

“Now, give your attention to our queen’s grace. She must speak with you about Lord Andrew Montmercy.”

The mention of Andrew’s name sent pain flowing through her grandfather’s gaze. Here was proof that he knew Andrew was his son. Anne bit at her lip, wishing there were aught she could do to stop the young lord’s destruction.

Amyas watched her as if seeking to decipher her reaction. Anne caught her breath. He wasn’t going to claim Andrew. Since he’d lost the title he so craved for his legitimate line, he meant to see his illegitimate line kept its peerage. A certain stiffness followed, as if he expected her protest.

Anne let the corners of her lips lift in approval. Surprise started in her grandfather’s gaze then his face softened. Lifting his hand, he touched his fingers to her cheek as if in thanks.

Anne’s smile grew. He offered her his acceptance, just as she’d given him hers. They weren’t much, these last two Blanchemains, but they were all they had.

Drawing a deep breath, Amyas struggled to right himself on his knees. Anne caught his arm to aid him. “Majesty,” he said, his head bent and his voice yet thready with pain.

“Sir Amyas, is Andrew Montmercy your son?” Harsh and uncompromising, Elizabeth’s words rang in the room.

Amyas drew a shuddering breath. “Majesty, he is not.”

“You can say so after the lady’s claims and her hysteria?” There was frigid skepticism in his queen’s voice.

Raising his head, Amyas stared boldly at England’s monarch. “Madame, I admit the lady and I did sin, but our affair ended before she came with child. If it is proof you’d have from me, then I can offer it. I cannot be the boy’s sire; I am impotent. This is what God demanded of me in retribution for my adultery with the noblewoman.”

Overcome by the shame of his admission, his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Even as Anne grabbed for him, he toppled back onto the floor.

Kit stared in shock as Amyas sprawled, senseless, upon the floor. By God, the man had opened himself up to the worst of shame to save his son’s title. Forgetting the right and wrong of what was done Kit couldn’t help feeling new respect for Old Amyas.

Anne looked up from his prone form. “Have no fear, Madame,” she called out, her voice hoarse and strained, “he is but fainted.” His Nan knew well enough that her royal mistress was no lover of illness or death near her person.

With that assurance Elizabeth turned her attention to Kit. New color touched her cheeks, her eyes blazed. There was nothing left of her lips, so taut was her mouth. She set her hands on her hips.

“God’s eyelid, but you are a miserable piece of misbegotten manhood!” she shouted at him.

“Aye, Madame,” Kit agreed. Satisfied now that he’d achieved Anne’s safety, he readied himself to take the full brunt of his monarch’s rage. She didn’t disappoint.

“We are appalled! To even consider so foul a plan besmirches your honor and your estate. We should have you drawn and quartered. All that saves you is our maid’s testimony that she is yet untouched.” Her words thundered in the room.

Kit flinched at the thought of such a death. “I am at your mercy, Madame,” he said.

“That’s God’s own truth,” she raged, moving to her desk. “Both you and your godforsaken brother had best acknowledge it’s our mercy you beg for and our mercy you do not deserve for your plots and plans!”