Knights Divided

“You’ll stay till I have your confession.”

“Nay! I have to be in Cornwall by Wednesday,” he exclaimed.

“Well, your latest doxie will just have to wait.”

“This isn’t about some woman.” He choked back his anger. “’Tis a matter of import to the whole country,” he risked adding.

“And I’m the queen of England.” Her lips thinned. “You men are all alike, full of lies and deceit”.

Jamie cut her off with a string of creative curses garnered from ten years at sea. He strained and thrashed against the chains, but they didn’t give an inch.

“You will cease spewing such filth.”

“Want I should gag him?” Toby asked eagerly.

“Nay. We will remove ourselves from earshot”. Emmeline stood and glared down at him, her arms crossed over her chest. The gesture was robbed of its militancy by the way the plain brown cloth molded to her surprisingly generous breasts.

Jamie was in no mood to appreciate the sight. “I’ll take you with me, and Toby, too, if it would make you feel safer.” Lies and more lies. He couldn’t afford to have anyone witness his meeting with DeGrys. But he was desperate enough to promise anything to get away.

“As if I’d trust you.” Her lips curled. “You’ll find I’m not the gullible fool my sister was where men are concerned.”

“Nay, I’d say you’ve shriveled into a vengeful prune because no man would have you,” he snapped.

“I thank God I am not a target for every puffed-up male who fancies himself nature’s gift to women.” She marched out, head held high as a queen, the faithful Toby close on her heels.

“Damn you, let me out!” Jamie shouted at the top of his voice.

“Not till you confess,” Emmeline snapped. She punctuated the statement by slamming the door.

“But I’m innocent,” Jamie shouted.

“Men are born guilty” came the muted response.

“Come back here.” But beyond the door, all was quiet She’d left him here. Bloody left him here. Enraged, he tugged on the chains till the rusted cuffs bit into his wrist and ankles.

“Damn. Damn!” Seething with impotent rage, he closed his eyes. If he wasn’t there when DeGrys landed, months of planning, hundreds of pounds in bribes would be wasted. Worse, he might not get another chance to act.

All because of one puny woman’s misguided sense of justice. A niggle of respect for her boldness and loyalty Worked its way past his anger. Jamie shook it away and set his mind on the only course open to him.

Escape.

By fair means or foul, he had to get out of here.

“What do ye mean ye can only give me a pound for this.” Lily picked up the brooch and shook it in the old man’s face. “Tis solid silver, and my lady set great store by it.”

“The unicorn design is unique, I grant. But it has no gemstones, and the silver’s not of the best quality,” the pawnbroker insisted. “Mayhap it had sentimental meaning to her.”

Lily sighed glumly. “Aye, her sister, Mistress Emmeline, gave it to her. My lady sold off the pieces her husband had given her after he died…so as she could buy new gowñs and such and go to court to find another. Husband, that is.” She stared into the old man’s crafty eyes, trying to gauge his honesty.

The pawnbroker was licensed, she’d asked to see the parchment. Though the words made no sense, the seal was that of London’s mayor. And the broker was hardly skulking in an alleyway. He’d set up his table outside a fine inn a block from the tavern in which she’d found work serving at table. It was early evening, and there were few about to see her barter the trinkets she’d taken when she’d left Lady Celia’s house. Not that she felt guilty. ‘Twas her due. She’d been cast into the streets with no reference to help her get another post, and Lady Celia had owed her a quarter’s wages.

“Make up yer mind,” the pawnbroker grumbled.

Lily sighed. “I’ll take the pound ye offered for the plate, but I’ll keep the brooch.” Mayhap she’d find a way to return it to Mistress Emmeline. She carefully tucked it and the coins the broker gave her into the pouch behind her belt. The cutpurses weren’t getting what little she had.

Lily headed off in the direction of the tavern. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night and hoped the cook would give her a good price on whatever was left over from the—

“Lily?” inquired a deep voice.

She whirled and saw a man behind her. He wore a long, fur-trimmed cloak, the cowl pulled forward to obscure his face. “Wh-what?” She backed away, eyes darting about for an escape route.

“Easy. I mean you no harm.” He took a step toward her. The door of a nearby inn opened, sending a brief flood of yellow light over his face.

All she saw was the patch…a slash of black over his left eye. It was him. The dark pirate who’d been Lady Celia’s lover.

“Oh, God.” She’d known he’d find her. Sobbing, she put up a hand to ward him off. “What…what do ye want?”

“Only to make certain you are all right. You disappeared so abruptly, I feared you’d seen Celia’s killer and he’d found you.”

“Nay. I…I didn’t see anything that night.”

“Really?” His single eye glittered in the shadows of his cowl, slithering over her like a snake’s.

She shivered, wondering how her gay, frivolous lady could have loved such a dark lord. Lily had never been this close to him before. He’d always come at night, mysterious and secretive as a wraith, and gone directly to Lady Celia’s chamber. Once or twice Lily had brought them refreshments, but always her lady had taken the tray at the door. She knew who he was, of course. Lord Jamie Harcourt. “Really, milord. I was in my room…sleeping.”

“You didn’t hear or see anything?”

Voices, arguing. They’d wakened her, alarmed her enough so she’d crept up the stairs to her lady’s chamber to investigate. She shook her head. “Nay.”

“Pity, if you had, you might have seen her killer.” The very silkiness of his voice raised her hackles.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, had he done it? Had he been in London? In Lady Celia’s chamber, instead of out to sea? Lily was taking no chances. She had survived for years on her wits; she hoped they’d save her now. “I’m a sound sleeper.”

The lie stuck in her throat, clogged by the memory of what she’d seen when she’d crept up the stairs and peeked through the keyhole…her poor lady lying on the floor, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Lily had known Lady Celia was dead, but she’d started to go to her anyway. A sound had stopped her.

A rasping sob. The harsh breathing of someone else in that chamber. An instant later, a shadow had fallen across Lady Celia’s face. A man’s hand had reached out to touch her face.

Lily hadn’t waited to see anything more. She’d fled down the stairs and out the back door. Clad only in her shift, she’d cowered in the privy till dawn when the cook had came out and rousted her from her hiding place. Lily had been tempted to pack and run, but she’d been more afraid of being accused of the lady’s murder herself than that the murderer would guess she’d seen him. It seemed she’d made a tragic mistake.

“Why did you leave Celia’s?” Lord Jamie asked.

She itched to run, but he was too close. The street was empty except for a drunk snoring in the gutter. “To find work.”

“Of course. I’d not thought of that. Poor Ceila was fond of you, she’d be saddened to know you’d been forced to earn your way serving in a tavern.”

“Y-ye know where I work?”

The cowl bobbed as he nodded. “If you’ll come with me, I may be able to find something better for you on my estate. My sister has reached the age where she needs a good lady’s maid.”

Lily debated, caution warring with practicality. Maid to a wealthy young lady. If she was wrong about him, if he wasn’t the one, she’d be throwing away an opportunity to better herself.

“What is it? Why do you hesitate?” He took a step closer, and this time she didn’t flee. “You know, don’t you?” Before his question had scarcely registered, his hands flashed out from beneath the cloak and grabbed her shoulders.

“Please, milord, ye’re hurting me.” She tried to twist free, but his fingers sank into her flesh like talons.

“You saw me, didn’t you?” He gave her a little shake.

It jarred her brain, and the pieces fell horribly into place. “Oh, God! It was ye.”

“It was me.” He sounded sad. “I’m sorry, Lily. Celia’s death was a tragic accident. But yours…I’m sorry.”

“Wait. I didn’t see anything. I heard voices and came to the door. I saw she was dead, but not who’d done it. I didn’t know.”

“Then I am doubly sorry. But I couldn’t take the chance that you’d left Celia’s because you knew something and would eventually tell.” He spun on his heel, tripping over a pile of garbage as he carried her deeper into the stinking black alley.

She opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late even for that. He cut off the sound and her breath with a wide, icy hand.

Chapter Four

“Why do ye not let me get rid of him for ye?” Toby asked as they trudged up the steps from the cellar.

“I do not want the death of an innocent man on my conscience,” Emmeline said indignantly.

Toby snorted. “So, he’s charmed ye into changing yer mind.”

“Nay, he has not.”

“Has not what?” Molly asked as they emerged into the small room at the back of the house that served as a kitchen.

“Made me change my mind about him.” But he’d shaken her resolve and a good deal more. To hide her confusion, Emmeline walked over and poked at the pottage simmering in a pot suspended over the fire. Behind her, she heard Toby bolt the trapdoor and slide the woven mat and worktable over it. “I do want him to pay for what he’s done,” she said, half to herself.

Yet she felt a qualm when she relived their ambush in that little glade: the swiftness with which Jamie had charged to the rescue when he’d thought she’d hurt her ankle, followed by a curse as he tripped over Toby’s rope, and the ground-shaking thud of his big body hitting the dirt…the rocks. One of them had gashed open his skull and rendered him senseless during the long journey home in her grandfather’s wagon. They’d stanched the bleeding, of course, and she’d stitched the wound after the three of them had wrestled his deadweight down the cellar steps, but—

“Ye’re certain he’s guilty?” Molly asked.

“Aye.” Calmer now, Emmeline turned to her servants. “Well, he’s surely the greatest rogue and womanizer ever born. Why, he reminds me of that little brown man we saw at the fair, the one who coaxed the snakes from a basket and held them in thrall with the power of his music. Lord Jamie’s magic is in his words. They flow smooth and free as warm oil, slipping around every question I ask. But when he said he was not in London the night Celia died, there was something in his eyes…his eye. I know he was lying. I know it. Is it so wrong to want him punished?”

“Of course not,” Toby and Molly said in unison. They’d been with her family forever and would support her no matter what.

“But he’s a tough one, make no mistake,” Toby added. “A man doesn’t lose an eye or get the kind of scars he bears on his body by being a coward.”

“Scars?” Emmeline said faintly.

“Aye. When I removed his clothes for ye, I saw someone had taken the hide from his back. ‘Twas years ago, but—”

“Oh, dear,” Emmeline murmured. She had no qualms about imprisoning him, but if he didn’t confess, would she have the stomach to apply physical pressure? “He’s anxious to be free and about important business in Cornwall. Mayhap if we just wait—”

“Mistress! Come quick!” Peter catapulted into the room, eyes agog. “’Tis Sir Cedric. He’s here. In your solar.”

“Father?” Emmeline gasped, forgetting she hadn’t called Cedric that since the day she’d discovered the truth about her parents’ marriage. Or non-marriage. “Why?” But she knew why. There was only one reason why Cedric came visiting. Money.

She found him seated in her chair before the hearth, swilling the expensive Burgundy from her only glass goblet. Swine! “How much do you want this time?” Emmeline demanded.

Cedric turned, the handsome features he’d passed along to Celia blurred by drink and hard living. “What a way to greet your father.” The sensual mouth that had cajoled her mother into trusting him now turned down in perpetual dissatisfaction.

“Why lie to ourselves, Cedric. Money, or your constant lack thereof, is the only reason you seek me out.”

“Tut-tut, my dear. Such cynicism is why you’ve reached the age of two and twenty and are unwed.”

“Is it?” She glared at him, seeing through the veneer of polish to the soft, weak core. The only reason he hadn’t wed her to someone was because he didn’t want to lose the profits from the shop, which would go to her new husband. The gross unfairness of the whole thing made her furious. Her mother had left the shop to her. She ran a successful business and was a member of the guild in her own right. But simply by virtue of the fact he was her father, Cedric had control over her life. If he received a lucrative offer, he could marry her to the worst dog in all Christendom and no one would say him nay.

Emmeline curled her hands into fists. Men! A pox on all of them. “Why have you come?”

“Actually, I have got myself in rather a fix.” Cedric sighed, an affectation that always preceded a particularly huge demand. His smooth, supple fingers lazily stroked the arm of the chair. Minstrel’s hands, capable of coaxing a tune from harp or trumpet, but he had wasted his talent.

Jamie’s palms were callused, the backs sprinkled with the same fair hair that swirled over his chest. The capable hands and taut muscles of a man who worked for a living. Or wanted to impress a woman when he undressed for her, a sly voice taunted.

”…could use the money, but what I really need is a place to stay,” Cedric was saying.

“Stay?” Emmeline gaped. “Here? Now?”

“Why not?” One sand brow rose. His bloodshot green eyes grew frankly speculative. “Never say you’ve got yourself a lover hid in the cellar and don’t want your dear father around.”

Emmeline knew him well. One hint he was onto the truth, and he’d pick at her like a dog on a bone. “Ha! As if I’d let a man into my house much less my life,” she snapped.

“Did Margaret and I set such a poor example of wedded life?”

“Wedded, ha! ’Tis called bigamy, and you are lucky Mama was too ashamed to report you to the church.”

He flushed and dragged the lank blond hair away from his face. “I was happy with Maggie as I never could be with the wife my father foisted on me.” He glanced sidelong at Emmeline. “Your mother gave me love and children. We were happy here.”

“Until she found out how you’d betrayed her.”

“I loved her,” Cedric whined.

“You used her.” Margaret Spencer, plain only daughter of a wealthy spice merchant with lofty aspirations. He’d been thrilled to wed his daughter to the son of a noble family. But Cedric’s title had been as false as the rest of his story. Emmeline had been twelve and Celia ten when the truth came out. They were bastards, daughters of a glib-tongued rogue with a wife in London. He’d run through his wife’s money and been cast out of the Golden Wait for stealing their instruments and selling them. “All you ever wanted was the money from the shop to augment what you earned when you played in Grandfather’s Wait.”

“He never paid me what I was worth.”

“So you stole their instruments and sold them…except for the lute, which you gave me as a gift”. Alford had found out, of course, and ordered Cedric to leave London or face arrest. Cedric’s wife, Olivia, had decided to follow him to Derry and discovered his guilty secret. “Your lies ruined our lives.”

“I did not mean to. I loved your mother. I would have married her if I could have shed Olivia.”

“Liar. You did not care one whit for our pain and shame so long as you had what you wanted. You cheated us all, Cedric.” Tears welled, blurring her vision. She turned away to pour herself a cup of wine, unwilling to let him know his betrayal still had the power to hurt her.

“Celia forgave me. I went to see her in London, and she—”

“Don’t you speak to me of her,” she said, rounding on him. “If you hadn’t filled her head full of tales of the splendor of court life, she never would have eloped with Roger de Vienne.”

“Roger made her laugh. He helped her escape from the dull—”

“He was a scoundrel. If he hadn’t taken her to London, she never would have gotten herself killed by James Harcourt”.

“Celia hated being stuck in this dreary town as much as I—what’s that? I thought Harcourt had been cleared of her murder.”

Drat her hasty tongue. “So I heard.”

“Pity, I’d like to see her murderer caught.”

“But not enough to bestir yourself to pursue the matter?”

“Lord Jamie has an alibi.”

“Hmm. So I’ve been told.”

“You are up to something. I know that mulish look of yours.”

“What could I, a poor apothecary, do against such a man?”

“That has not kept you from tackling lost causes in the past”. He stared at her intently, then settled back in the chair, stretching his feet toward the fire. “But this is beyond even your stubbornness.” There were holes in the heels of his hose but he looked about as movable as a rock.

She couldn’t afford to let him stay. “How much do you need?”

Cedric pursed his lips, but she saw the triumph edging them. “Ten pounds would see me out of debt.”

“Ten! What did you buy, half of London?”

“Nay. ‘Twas a scheme gone bad, naught more.”

“You have more schemes than a dog has fleas, and they always go bad. I don’t have much, but I’ll give you some of the precious spices, saffron and cinnamon, which you can sell in London.”

The crafty old devil shook his head. “I could not take your trade goods. I’ll just bide here till you have the coin.”

“I don’t have that much profit in a year.”

“I don’t mind rusticating a bit. London has grown tedious.”

Dangerous, more like. But naught short of a fire would drive him away. “I’ll tell Molly you’re staying, but I’ll not give up my bed. You can sleep in the workroom with Peter.”

“A pallet here in the solar would be warmer.”

“I’m certain it would be, but I’ll not spend my nights listening to you snore.” Her chamber adjoined the solar. If he slept there he’d see her coming and going from the storeroom.

“Very well.” Having gotten most of what he wanted, and doubtless smelling secrets in the air, Cedric smiled. It was the same, unabashedly roguish grin that Jamie Harcourt had worn when he attempted to seduce her.

Damn both men, Emmeline thought as she stamped off to inform her cohorts in crime that fate had added a new wrinkle to her own already precarious scheme.

The candle had long since gutted when Jamie heard the key scrape in the lock. As the door eased open, he closed his eye against the blinding flood of light and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Lying alone in the dark with naught but pain and the prospect of his failed plans for company had been a humbling experience. He’d been afraid they’d leave him here to die.

Jamie opened his eye. The fact that they’d left the patch on his left one gave him a measure of comfort. He hated exposing the worst of his scars to others. Especially Emma, for some reason. “I thought you’d decided to starve me to death.”

Toby ducked into the cell, a tray in his hands, a chamber pot dangling from one stubby finger. “Serve ye right if she did. Us waiting on the murdering scum like he was royalty.”

“That’s enough, Toby.” Emmeline followed him in, carrying linens and a candle. “Set the things there.” She jerked her chin toward a table in the corner. Above it hung shelving loaded with crocks. Jamie had tried and failed to reach it, thinking to break a pot and fashion a weapon. “Then go out and lock the door.”

‘I’m not leaving ye in here alone with him.” Emmeline sighed, and Jamie noted with grim glee the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. “He’s chained to the wall and cannot hurt me. I need you to stand lookout”. For whom? They’d not done that before. Was there someone about? Customers in the shop, mayhap? Jamie’s dulled hopes flared, but he kept his expression bland as he watched Toby go.

When the door closed, Emmeline moved in, stopping short of Jamie’s feet. Her gaze went to the linen wrapped around his head. The candlelight picked out the green flecks in her hazel eyes, making them glow like gemstones. “There’s blood on the bandage. I warned you not to move about or you’d reopen the wound.” “What did you hit me with, a sword?” “You cracked your head on a rock when you fell.” “Tripped…over a rope, I think, coming to your aid.” Her gaze dropped. “I do not normally resort to trickery.”

“Really? Your cry of pain sounded authentic,” he taunted.

She flushed, her expression remorseful. “I had to—” “So, you believe the end justifies the means?” “Only in this case.” She set the candle down and knelt to rummage through her supplies for a roll of linen and a small knife. “I’m going to cut away the old bandage. If you attempt to take the knife, I’ll stick it in you. Is that clear?”

“Very. Never argue with a wench wielding a blade. If you think I’m guilty, why did you not kill me in that glade?”

“I want justice.”

“Ah, a kidnapper with scruples.”

Her brows jammed together. “If you do not stop trying to bait me, I may be forced to bend my morals.”

“And cheat yourself of torturing me?”

“I am not torturing you.”

“What else would you call leaving an injured man in this dank cellar with a host of hungry rats?”

“Rats!” She pulled her skirts close and gazed into the shadows. “I don’t believe you.” An obliging vermin chose that moment to streak toward the table, likely drawn by the smell of his supper. Emmeline shrieked, leapt up and shooed it away.

“If you rattle your chains at them, it keeps them at bay.”

Emmeline looked disconcerted as she set the food down at his right side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” She blinked and glared at him. “Why am I apologizing to you?”

“Mayhap because you realize you are wrong to hold me here like this. Sir Thomas has already cleared me of the charges.”

“He no more believes in your innocence than I do.”

“Is he in this with you?” When she shook her head, his temper boiled over. “Idiot woman. What do you hope to prove by this? Don’t you realize that a confession obtained under such conditions would carry no weight with the courts?”

“It will.” Her face was so close to his he noticed the freckles on her nose. They made her look younger, more vulnerable. “When your sailors hear you have been arrested and are unable to coerce them, they will tell the truth, too. They’ll tell Sir Thomas you weren’t aboard your ship that night.”

How could she know that? Jamie groaned inwardly. Damn. Most of his men had been with him for years; they’d lie for him till the bitter end. But all it would take is one mistake to bring this whole scheme down. “I have no time for this,” he snapped. “Look, I have vital business elsewhere. I’ll do anything you say, if you’ll let—”

“Will you confess?”

“To a crime I didn’t commit? Certainly not.”

“Why? If such a confession is worthless, why not admit—”

“I may be many things, mistress, but I am not a coldblooded murderer of women, and naught will get me to say so.”

“Then I guess you are stuck here.” She uncorked a flask and dabbed a vile-smelling potion on his wound. It burned like fire.

Jamie yelped and flinched away, setting his chains to rattling. “You will rue the day you did this,” he said through his clenched teeth. Though he’d left a trail of broken hearts behind him, he’d never consciously harmed a woman before. But he’d make an exception for this one.

“Did you say something similar to Celia?” she asked.

Jamie swore vilely, but took no pleasure in her shocked gasp. He wanted more. He wanted her to pay for ambushing him and endangering his plans. But most of all, for making him want her, then deceiving him. “I never harmed your sister. Nor any other woman. I like women, and they like me.”