A Stranger's Touch Page 17

  ‘I am for France this night and you should flee while you can.’

  ‘They will be guarding the roads to the coast,’ Michael said. ‘You are a fool if you run now. You should lie low until the heat is over.’

  ‘Please yourself.’ His fellow conspirator shrugged. ‘I’ll take my chances and try for a ship. You have your own ship. You could get us all away to safety.’

  ‘Nay, we should never reach her. If I am known, they will be watching her. I’ll stay here and wait until the chase cools. Besides, I still have a score to settle.’

  ‘Well, never say I did not warn you.’

  Michael scowled as the man left him. Had he not captured Morwenna he might have run like the others, but he felt secure here and the plotters that ran now were sure to be caught. He would wait and when the opportunity came he would kill the man who had shamed his sister.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Some of them made a stand when we caught up with them at Holbeche House,’ Rupert said. He was still covered with the dust of the roads as he stood in Lord Henry’s hall. ‘Catesby was killed as were one or two others, but most were taken. I think only a few of the minor conspirators may have escaped.’

  ‘They will be tried and punished for their crimes,’ Lord Henry said with satisfaction. ‘My thanks go to you and the Sheriff of Worcester for a task well done. This will stand as a lesson for others and show what happens to those who plan treason against their rightful King.’

  ‘They deserve their fate,’ Rupert said. ‘Now, my lord, what news have you for me?’

  ‘Concerning the woman, you mean?’ Lord Henry frowned. ‘None that will please you, I fear. My spies followed him into a nest of rogues and gave chase, but he got away. Since then there has been no sign of him.’

  Rupert cursed beneath his breath. ‘You will give me the direction he was last seen?’

  ‘Yes, of course, though he may have moved on. We have kept a watch on the ports and the roads, but he has not been seen. I think he is lying low, holed up in some dark alley where none dare venture after nightfall.’

  Morwenna being kept prisoner for so many days in a place of despair! Rupert’s guts turned at the thought, and it was all he could do to stop himself striking the older man. Yet he was to blame—for he should never have allowed himself to be turned from his purpose. His first duty had been to Morwenna and he had let her down. He had only himself to blame, but his thoughts would not allow it to be. He would find her. She must be safe, for if she were not there would be no reason left for living.

  ‘I must leave you, sir. If anything happens to her, I shall blame myself.’

  ‘If she is still alive, he means her no harm. Stay and dine with me, Melford. I would hear more of this business.’

  ‘Forgive me, I cannot.’

  Rupert gave him the terse answer, striding from the room without another word. It was what he should have done before. Too much time had passed since Morwenna had been snatched. If she were still alive, she would believe he had deserted her and in a way he had, putting his duty before his personal needs.

  ‘God forgive me,’ he muttered as he left and strode through the darkening streets towards the house he’d shared with Morwenna for such a short time.

  It was as he approached the door that a shadow lurched out of the gloom and he found himself at the end of a wicked-looking blade. He gave a start, his hand going to his hip, but then, as the moon sailed out from behind a cloud, he recognised his assailant.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘I am not your enemy. We need each other to find her.’

  ‘You deserted her,’ Jacques accused, but lowered his sword. ‘You swore to me that you would protect her, but you allowed her to be snatched and then you went off to apprehend the traitors and left her to her fate.’

  ‘I was promised she would be found,’ Rupert muttered and then thrust open the front door of his house. ‘Come in. I would not argue with you on the street.’

  Inside a lantern was burning, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. His footman and housekeeper hovered. He waved them away with instructions to bring food and wine.

  ‘You should not have left the search for her to others. She was but your mistress, yet you owed her a duty,’ Jacques accused. ‘If she is dead, I shall take your life if it costs me my own.’

  ‘I’ll not prevent you if she is dead. Yet I had little choice,’ Rupert said and rounded on him with a frustrated snarl. ‘I sent you word. I thought you might know where your brother would take her.’

  ‘They are not in Cornwall and though his ship lies in Greenwich harbour waiting to convey him to France, the crew have received no orders.’

  ‘Where the hell are they?’ Rupert burst out as frustration overtook him.

  ‘In London.’

  ‘You’ve seen them? Is she well—unharmed?’

  ‘I’ve seen Michael. I know where he is living, but I haven’t seen Morwenna. I was afraid to go into the house alone, because if I were killed she would have no help left. I came here to ask for your help and was told you were off after the traitors. Had you not returned I would have tried to rescue her myself this night.’

  ‘My hand was forced. I was promised help in the search. I swear to you that I thought she would be found when I returned, but if you have discovered Michael’s hiding place we shall go there now.’

  ‘It may be best to wait until it is dark,’ Jacques said. ‘From what I saw of Michael he had been drinking more than he was used to. He looked desperate—as if he knew he was being hunted like a rat. I almost felt sorry for him.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Rupert was on fire with impatience.

  ‘If she’s still alive he means her no harm. I think he will take her to France with him if he can. Michael would not harm her too much or he would have nowhere to hide. Either you or I would find him and kill him. He knows that and in his heart he loves her, too.’

  Rupert nodded, a sense of relief filling his mind. ‘I thought something of the kind, but I was not sure whether he was too far gone to care for anyone else.’

  ‘Michael is ruthless. Yet in a way he had always tried to protect his family. He put money by for Morwenna’s dower, but she refused to marry the man he suggested.’

  ‘Perhaps she will marry me, though by now she may think I have deserted her. If Michael has been drinking and she is stubborn …’

  ‘Morwenna will never give in whatever he says to her. I have not eaten for hours. We should dine now and then it will be time to discover if my sister is where I believe her to be.’

  Morwenna stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth, chewed slowly, swallowed and then drank two mouthfuls of water. It was poor fare and she was starving, but she refused to give in, because Michael didn’t deserve that she should. The food he gave her was less than at the start and sometimes he seemed to forget her for hours. She believed he was drunk most of the time and hardly knew which day it was.

  A surge of anger went through her. He had no right to dictate to her, keeping her a prisoner in this wretched place. It was bitterly cold now without a fire and few blankets and she did not like the way he’d let himself go these past few days. She wasn’t sure how long she had been here. Just a few days or was it three weeks? At first she’d tried to count the days, but now her mind was hazy and that was because she was feeling so ill. The cold and lack of food was taking its toll on her and she was not sure how much longer she could hold out.

  When would Rupert come for her? Had he given up his search or was he finding it hard to discover where her brother had hidden her?

  She looked at the window, which was boarded up, the shutters nailed into place and impossible to open. The cracks in the old wood let in a little light and air, but otherwise she had only the candle, the bread and water. Michael had kept to his word and would give her only enough to keep her alive. There was not enough water to spare for washing and her skin crawled because she’d picked up fleas from the bed and they were in he
r hair and her clothes. She felt dirty and tired and she was getting weaker each day that passed, but still when Michael asked, as he did each time he visited, she refused to give in. She would not go with him to France and she would not marry anyone but Rupert.

  Of course Rupert would never marry her. Sometimes her hazy mind thought of the house he’d taken her to on the way to London and she dreamed she was living there with her husband and her children. Such a dream of a happy future that it brought a lump to her throat. Surely Rupert must want this, too? Yet why had he not come for her before this if he loved her as he’d claimed the night she was captured?

  ‘Please come soon,’ she whispered. ‘Find me, Rupert, I beg you or I may die.’

  Hearing a crashing sound below stairs, Morwenna tensed. It sounded as though Michael was drunk again and had knocked something over. He had been drinking more and more these past days and she had begun to fear him. The man who stared at her with wild eyes was no longer her brother, whose rages she had never truly feared, but a stranger who might do anything.

  Now she could hear shouting, more crashes as though furniture was overturned in a fight and then a shot. Had someone found Michael? Had they killed him? She heard screaming and then another shot and then she started to scream and bang on her door.

  ‘Help me. Please help me. I am a prisoner.’

  There was silence downstairs. Tears ran from her eyes. If they went away and left her, she would die here, for she had not been able to break out no matter how hard she tried to force the window shutters. Her strength was almost gone now and she sank to her knees, her head bowed. Then she heard running steps. Someone was coming up the stairs. Who was it? Would they help her or kill her?

  She lifted her head, looked at the man who entered, gave a cry of relief and tried to stand, but found she could not. A moan of despair left her lips as she sprawled on the ground at his feet.

  ‘Is she dead?’ Jacques asked, holding his arm, blood running through his fingers. ‘Damn him. I hope his soul rots in hell for what he’s done to her.’

  ‘I do not doubt that he is already there,’ Rupert said grimly. ‘I had no choice but to kill him. He would have killed you had his aim not gone astray.’

  ‘He was too drunk to know what he was doing,’ Jacques replied. ‘We were many and he was but one man. We could have taken him alive.’

  ‘For what purpose? Would you have him hung, drawn and quartered as the rest of the traitors?’

  Jacques stared at him, then shook his head. ‘I would have seen him on his ship and away to France.’

  ‘Then you are a fool,’ Rupert muttered furiously. He had been examining Morwenna for signs of life and sighed with relief as she moaned. ‘Thank God we were just in time, but see for yourself what he has done to her. If you would let him live, you are more forgiving than I.’

  ‘I would have thrashed him,’ Jacques said, but looked concerned as he saw Morwenna’s state when Rupert lifted her. Until that moment he had not realised how weak she was. ‘Damn him for what he has done to her. It is as well you killed him. I did not know what she had suffered.’

  ‘She has lost weight and she is ill. I think that devil tried to starve her into submission.’

  ‘His own sister!’ Jacques was stunned. ‘I thought she had just fainted at the shock of hearing pistols fired. Michael will receive no prayers for his soul from me.’

  ‘We granted him too easy a death,’ Rupert said grimly. ‘Had I known what he’d done to her, I’d have given him to Lord Henry. He should have experienced some of the suffering he has inflicted on her—damn his soul to hell!’

  ‘If ‘tis merely starvation, she will recover. Surely a few days of good food and rest …’

  Rupert ignored him as he walked down the stairs carrying his precious burden. Jacques was lucky to be alive—it was his warning that had made him throw himself to one side and thus Michael’s ball caught his arm rather than his chest. The pistol had only fired once and then Michael had grabbed for his sword, which lay on the table before him, amongst the dirty dishes and an empty skin of wine.

  Rupert could have disarmed him and given him up, but he had killed him, deliberately, intending his death. It was the most merciful end for a traitor and one that his fellow conspirators would have blessed him for. The survivors of the traitors, many of whom had died resisting arrest, would be tried, condemned and hanged, but they would suffer torture first and then be cut down alive to be disembowelled. It was a terrible fate and Rupert had been merciful, but his expression was grim as he left the house accompanied by his men. Jacques clearly blamed him for his brother’s death. Despite his anger at the way Morwenna had been treated, he would have given his brother the chance to escape.

  Rupert was not that forgiving. Michael Morgan was a traitor to his King and country, but above all he had treated his sister shamefully, keeping her a prisoner and trying to starve her into submission.

  For that he could never be forgiven. Rupert had done what must be done in the most merciful way he could, but would Morwenna understand that he had no choice?

  Or would she hate him for killing her brother? It was the chance he’d had to take.

  She had been in a fever for some days. The physician had been each day to see her, leaving mixtures for her to swallow when she would, but still there was no change.

  Rupert looked down at her as she tossed and turned on the pillows. She was burning up, her skin as hot as fire, yet damp with sweat. Mistress Janet had sponged her with cold water several times, but though it took the heat down it came back again.

  ‘Rupert.’ The cry burst from her fevered lips, as it had over and over again as she lay on her sick bed. ‘Why does he not come? He does not love me … he does not love me …’

  Her cheeks were wet with tears. Rupert bent over her, stroking back her hair from her damp forehead as he whispered words of comfort.

  ‘I am here now, dearest. Forgive me for not coming sooner. Damn his soul to hell! I hope he burns for what he did to you. Death was not enough.’

  Rupert wrung out the cloth in cool water, sponging her face, neck and arms. She was so very ill. If she died, he would not know how to bear it. Her death would lie heavy on his conscience. He had left her to the mercy of that brute while he obeyed his political master. His upbringing had been to serve the Crown and Parliament, but now his spirit revolted against all that he had been taught to respect and honour.

  Why should he care what happened to the traitors? Why had he believed Lord Henry when he’d promised to find her? Had it not been for Jacques, she might still be lost to him—she might be dead. Another few days and she would have gone beyond the skill of the physicians. Even now her life hung in the balance and she might still die. She was crying out again, begging him to find her, believing that she meant little to him. His heart turned over with pain and he cursed aloud.

  How he had hurt her with his carelessness. He had taken all she gave greedily and without thought for what it meant to her to be his mistress with no hope of more.

  Regret swamped him, shaming him.

  ‘I swear I shall make you happy,’ he said as he bent over her, touching his lips to her fevered brow. ‘Please do not die, my love. Live for me, I beg you.’

  ‘Rupert.’ The sobbing cry smote at him like a heavy blade. ‘Why does he not come for me? He does not love me … he does not love me …’

  He had hurt her so badly by his carelessness. Whatever her brothers, she was a gentle lady and he’d treated her as if she were a whore.

  ‘I swear I shall make reparation,’ he said as he sat by her bed and watched her struggle for breath. ‘Give me a chance, please let me show you how much I love you.’

  Could she forgive him for what he’d done? He had killed her brother and nothing could change that fact, but would she see he’d had no other choice, or would she hate him?

  If she could not bear the sight of him, he must make certain she was provided for. Yet how could money pay for what he had taken
so carelessly?

  * * *

  Morwenna cried out as she tossed feverishly on her bed. Her body ached all over and she felt so ill. She was hot and she threw back her covers, but then she was shivering and someone covered her again. She felt cool hands touching her head, stroking her, talking to her in a soft voice she knew, but could not name.

  ‘Mother …’ she cried. ‘Please help me. I need you. I need you so much …’

  ‘Your mother cannot come,’ the voice said. ‘I am here, dearest one. You are safe now and I shall care for you. I shall always care for you. I give you my word. You have to get better for my sake, my love.’

  ‘Rupert?’ Morwenna struggled through the fog, tears on her cheeks, but she could not see him. ‘Rupert, please come for me. I won’t let him take me away, but it’s so hard. Please come for me.’

  ‘I’m here now, my love. You are safe with me.’

  Her eyes opened and she looked up into the man’s face. It was Rupert and yet he looked so different … gaunt and haggard, as though he hadn’t slept in an age. ‘Rupert … you came for me.’

  ‘Of course I did, my love,’ he said and stroked her brow with his gentle hands. ‘You’ve been very ill, but the fever has broken. You must eat now. Just a little broth to start and then everything you like. We are going to make you strong and well again, my love.’

  ‘You were so long finding me.’ She sighed. ‘I thought you would never come.’

  ‘I came as soon as Jacques told me where to find you. It was he that discovered where you were, dearest one.’

  ‘Where is Michael? He was so frightened. We have to help him get away, Rupert. You will help him, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, but you need to rest now. You shouldn’t worry about Michael after what he did to you.’

  ‘Poor Michael. He was so unlucky, he lost everything. He never meant to harm me.’

  Her eyes closed and she fell back against the pillows, somewhere between waking and dreaming.

  ‘I told you she wouldn’t want him dead,’ a voice said, but she didn’t know what came next for she was asleep. The fever had broken at last and she slept from exhaustion, peacefully and without dreams.