“Oh, I understand very well.” He began to pace the small, circular space, as he tore his hands through his hair. “You’ve chosen to whore yourself to a Cavalier because you’re credulous enough to believe his pretty words. I don’t care what pr
omises he’s made, I’d rather die than see you possessed by another man.”
Elizabeth ran to him and tried to put her arms around him, to arrest his furious agitation. Her heart was thundering and she was terrified he’d strike out at her. His strength when roused was fearful. “Where’s the vial of poison you wear round your neck, Silas. Don’t you see, I can use it against him. I can save your life, and mine, without dishonouring you.”
He stilled and she pressed herself against him, running her hands over his face and body in the soothing manner that had on occasions served her well. Silas was quick to anger but, if she could arrest it now, she had a small hope that he’d hear her out before he thrust her against the wall and hurt her as he’d done before.
“Husband, I have a plan,” she went on quickly. “I thought of it while Captain Reynolds was speaking. I thought if I had him alone and could persuade him to…” She swallowed, “entertain me like a lady…in a civilised fashion with wine, perhaps I could tip the vial of poison in his drink.”
Silas looked at her with narrowed eyes. He did not speak, but with slow, deliberate movements he removed the cord from around his neck upon which the silver filigreed vial hung. He was placing it around Elizabeth’s neck when footsteps sounded on the stairs that wound to their tower room.
Suddenly he grabbed her close. His breath was hot and sour in her face. “We are in the hands of the enemy. Trethveyan betrayed you once, he’ll do so again. Remember that. You have the vial. If you can’t use it against Reynolds then you know what you have to do.”
Roughly he pushed her away as the door was thrust open. Elizabeth held his gaze. “I know, husband.” She felt chilled to the bone. Even if she had no choice in the matter, Silas would rather see her die than dishonoured. The vial pressed against her skin. She had to see that Reynolds drank it. Her life wasn’t much but she clung to it.
As two of the King’s Men took her arms and told her to say goodbye to her husband she felt that her will to live had never been greater, and tried not to think that the sudden reappearance of Charles Trethveyan had anything to do with it.
3
“You owe me your life.” Charles Trethveyan kept his tone smooth as he faced Reynolds, warming his back before the fire. It was imperative to conceal the urgency of his desire and though he was confident he held the balance of power, Reynolds was volatile and unpredictable when he’d been drinking. It was also clear that his commander was relishing his forthcoming assignation with the beautiful Lady Drummond.
Charles closed his eyes as he felt his cock swell. God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her face was like an angel’s carved from alabaster, her lovely, willowy figure reigniting the urge to caress the flesh he’d only dreamed about. It was not just her body he wished to possess. She’d loved him once and though eight years had elapsed he’d never forget the two weeks of the greatest happiness he’d known. Seeing her again reinforced how much he’d risk to experience even the transient pleasure of her willing embrace.
Reynolds was staring mulishly at him. Charles turned to hide the nervous tic that might give him away and said, “If you agree to my reasonable request we’ve balanced the score.”
“This is not the time to settle the score.” Reynold’s voice was petulant. His eyes were heavy lidded and his jowls drooped over his pot of porter. “Lady Drummond is as tasty a little morsel as I’ve seen in many a year.” He refocussed his gaze upon Charles and added with a leer, “You think I don’t know about you and her. You’re mad with lust.” He grunted. “Well, you’ve waited eight years, you can wait a little longer. She’s all yours when I’m done with her.”
Quickly, Charles renegotiated his battle plan. Reynolds was right. He was mad with lust but let that be where Reynolds’s assessment of the truth ended. For eight years Elizabeth’s defection had been like a superating wound that refused to heal. Charles had not mourned the wife he’d lost in childbed two years ago as he had the Puritan maid whose golden beauty and radiant smile he’d have given his soul to harness for himself. “Mad with the lust for revenge,” he said carefully, schooling his voice into the right tone so as not to betray his desperation. “Lady Drummond spurned me in favour of Silas Drummond. She settled for a Puritan whose position in the world was assured. I was an uncertain bet but by God I wager I’d have been a more pliant bedfellow. In eight years I’ve neither forgotten nor forgiven. Now is my chance to show the lady what regret really is.”
Reynolds leaned protectively over his porter. “She’s agreed to the bargain that I negotiated.” He waved an arm vaguely in Charles’s direction as if he were tired of the conversation. “All’s fair in love and war, Trethveyan. I’m your commander, I go first.”
Charles moved forward and put his mouth close to his superior’s. Superior because the buffoon was the king’s boyhood friend. Reynolds had not distinguished himself on the battlefield as Charles had and who was impatiently awaiting his command within the month. “There are plenty of ladies as comely as Lady Drummond.” Charles fought to steady his breathing. Too much was at stake to risk pushing Reynolds. The flash of recognition that had crossed Elizabeth’s face when he’d stepped out of the shadows and made himself known had given him no clue as to her real feelings. He dared not hope. Not when her rejection of his marriage proposal all those years ago had been so definite.
Plastering a look of the utmost derision upon his face, Charles paced in front of the fire. “Now’s my chance to make Lady Drummond pay for her inconstancy.” He glanced at the door to ensure they were not overheard. He dared not risk humiliating Reynolds with his final risky gambit. “I’m willing to go to great lengths to do so,” he added, studying his half moons with feigned casualness.”
Reynolds jerked up his head. The unspoken threat hovered between them. Two weeks ago Charles had fought off the cutthroats who’d nearly taken Reynolds’s life in a dark Blackfriars alley. That was not the worst of it. The whore Reynolds had assumed was a woman had in fact sported a cock the size of a mutton hock.
“Good God, Trethveyan, enough!” Reynolds banged his fist upon the table and fixed a pair of blood shot eyes upon him. “Take the damned woman if that’ll settle the score in your eyes. No doubt she’ll be as willing to whore herself to you as to me though if she’s the good Puritan she appears you’ll have as much joy of it as spearing a dead oxen.”
Charles was careful to dress his relief up and parade himself as the cockerel Reynolds would have been in switched circumstances. His inner jubilation was short-lived, however, by Reynolds’s final stipulation. “Before you burst your breeches Trethveyan, you can round up the men who’ve made free with the motley crew who took refuge here. There’d better be a cook somewhere worth his salt, for by God, I’ve no intention of supping on the fare that masqueraded as my dinner.”
Charles acknowledged the order with a bow, though he was seething.
“You hear that, Tretheyan!” Reynolds’s voice was slurred. “If you don’t ensure something decent is served from hereon in, then you forfeit the woman! I take it you’ll want her tomorrow night, too.” Clearly he’d decided it was wise to appease Charles without making it too obvious. “We’ll take two days to rest the men and secure our stake here before we move on. That’ll be incentive enough, eh - for both of us!”
Two nights. Charles left the chamber, his gut churning, barking orders as he furiously considered how best to approach Elizabeth. She’d loved him once; he didn’t doubt it. But though she’d gone some way towards resisting her father’s pressure to wed Drummond she’d not had faith enough in Charles.
Granted, she might have preferred Charles in her bed but Charles was still a man on the make. Were guilt and regret the reasons he’d seen no flare of excitement when surely she must have understood Charles’s objection to Reynolds’s outrageous proposal?
There’d been no glimmer of pleasure in her expression the last time he’d seen her, and God knew, the memory of that painful encounter was been branded on his memory.
* * *
When Charles returned to the Great Hall to report to Reynolds he was told the captain had left twenty minutes before. “To pay his respects to his fair Lady Captive,” the sergeant-at-arms informed Charles with a leer.
Charles pounded up the stairs, pushed past the guards who were sniggering at the keyhole and threw open the bedchamber door with no ceremonious knock. The sight that greeted his eyes was no less sickening for being as he feared.
“God rot you, Reynolds, you promised her to me!” he snarled, hurling himself upon his commander who was labouring upon the woman on the bed. From Elizabeth he heard no screaming, just quiet sobbing as she lay still and rigid, her hands gripping the bed post.