Chapter Seventeen

Cat’s slippered feet flew under her despite the heaviness of her rage and hurt, as if she sought to outrun the pain.

She ran down the empty hallway as tears, which she’d thought she’d rid herself of after her mother died, streamed down her cheeks. Not since seeing the woman’s feet dangling above her head, had Cat felt such a crush against her chest, such anger and turmoil. Such utter abandonment.

She had built a new cottage and moved her mother away from the house that held the memories of her husband. She had thought that with him gone, her mother might actually improve, since he wouldn’t be there to yell at her in drunken stupidity. But she’d become more despondent after he died, going for days without rising from her bed. Despite the cures Cat had forced on her and all the attempts to sway her from her melancholy, the woman had risen during one night to climb a tall tree to end her life.

Betrayal—it surrounded Cat. A father who had spent most of his waking life drunk and bellowing until he left his family to plot with covenanters. A mother who had left Cat to raise her younger sister all by herself. And now Nathaniel, the man with whom she’d fallen in love. A sob tore through her at the confession, for she knew it was true. Nothing but love could cause such piercing pain.

Cat threw herself into the door opposite the unicorn painting. Jane stood at the fire, her hands clasped together. Could she possibly already know everything that had just happened?

Jane didn’t say a word, just handed her a square of cloth for her face. Cat couldn’t even look at her, knowing there would be disappointment, judgement, fury, or condemnation. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the bed that she’d shared with Nathaniel.

There are things you should know about me, Cat. My past— He had tried to stop her, but she’d thrown herself at him, certain that he would just talk about his father’s will and his need to marry someone who was not her. She hung her head, letting a few fresh tears drop onto the silk of her petticoat.

The older woman knelt before Cat and slid her slippers off one by one. She went to the side table and brought back a glass of brandy. “Tonight will fade away. There is always something new to make tongues wag at court.”

Cat glanced up at her. Instead of judgment, there was compassion, and more tears bled hotly from her eyes.

Jane motioned to the drink, and she took a sip of the strong spirits, letting the fire burn along her throat. “Best to let the tears swell out of you…Cat,” she said, using the familiar name.

“Ye…ye heard…about the card game in the salon?” she asked, her voice strained.

“Master Brooks ran here straight away,” she said.

Cat met her gaze. “After…all of it?”

“When you stood up from the table to leave, he ran out first. He is quite spritely. Slips right out without people noticing.”

“Then ye know what was said likely won’t fade away during my lifetime.”

Jane didn’t agree, but she also didn’t disagree, because she must know the truth in Cat’s words. She’d let her anger and hurt boil away her sanity in a fury-blinding attempt to cause Esther Stanton pain for telling her the truth of Nathaniel’s past.

Jane helped Cat ready for bed and even tucked the blankets around her before leaving the room, using one of the chamber’s two keys to lock her in. The other one perched on a hook beside the heavy door. Cat lay, much like the stone coffins that she’d seen in one of Evelyn Worthington’s history books at the Highland Roses School. She’d never actually been tucked in before. When Izzy was a little lass, and their mother had been too tired and low in spirits to care for anyone, Cat had tucked Izzy in with blankets, though she hadn’t made them quite this tight. Stretching against the layers, she loosened the bedding to turn on her side.

What must Nathaniel think of her? She flopped to her other side. Damn him. It didn’t matter what he thought of her or her mother. Why had she even told him about her suicide? It had just gushed out with her tears, as if the rending of her heart had let the poison bleed out. For she’d never told anyone about finding her mother that way, not even Izzy. She had told everyone that she’d died of illness, so she’d be buried properly. No one had questioned her about the bruises and rope burn around her mother’s neck, kindly turning their eyes from the truth.

Nathaniel had seemed sorry for not telling her about being at the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. He hadn’t tried to defend himself, just admitted it. He hadn’t railed against her for everything she’d declared before his aristocratic friends, about him tupping her, and revealing everything she knew about Esther, who would now refute it all, calling her a liar.

Cat flipped again, shoving her face into her pillow, but the blasted thing held the faintest scent of Nathaniel. She pushed back from it, glaring down at the spot where his head must have rested the other night. Clutching the offending plumpness, she hurled it away from her so that it rolled off the end of the bed. Frig is all. She’d ruined everything with her anger. And damn him, Nathaniel had ruined everything with his silence.

Catherine de Braganza likely knew of her scandal by now. She would be so disappointed in Cat, embarrassed that she’d sent for her from the Highland Roses School. Cat sighed heavily as she stared up at the silk canopy lit by the cast of firelight from across the room. Had her outburst hurt the reputation of the school? Would Catherine withdrawal her support? She covered her face with her hands. Evelyn and Scarlet would…she couldn’t even imagine the looks on their faces when she had to tell them that she’d put a terrible taint upon the school.

“I must do something,” she whispered. Something to redeem herself in the eyes of the court. She glanced toward the door. There was a traitor here, for she was certain that Esther Stanton had bought Wolfsbane for some devious reason. Even if no one believed what Cat had spewed at the Whist table, it was still true. If only she could prove it.

Cat slid from the warm covers and padded across the thick carpets to the trunk that held her black training trousers. The white leather trousers had been scrubbed of river taint but were still drying and stiff, and the black ones would hide her in the shadows. If someone was creeping around the castle at night, she must catch them.

Without a candle, dressed in her dark, sleek clothing with her hair braided, Cat slid her daggers in their attached sheaths, the twisted hair stick holding the braid in a knot on her head. She grabbed her dark cape and moved through the door, locking it softly behind her. She slid the curtain, which blocked the window next to the unicorn painting, aside to hide the key on the sill of the casement. She looked out into the darkness upon the gardens beside Whitehall. In the daylight, she had seen the extensive orchard of trees and the labyrinth of flower beds and arched trellises, covered with tarps or dormant for the winter. She watched the shadows appear and disappear as the moon shone down through fast moving clouds.

Cat’s inhale paused as a faint speck of light sparked amidst the flower beds. Then it blinked out. From the corner of her eye, another light shone from one of the dozens of windows opening onto the long gallery to the right. Turning her face, she pressed her cheek against the cool glass pane, holding her breath so as not to fog it up. The candlelight blinked out. Cat looked back out to the darkness of the garden, and the speck of yellow light reappeared and disappeared. Two heartbeats later, the light along the gallery did the same. Two people were signaling each other. Was it a romantic liaison in the gardens or a meeting of traitors? Her stomach clenched at the thought of Nathaniel signaling to Esther, but despite his betrayal, she didn’t think he would meet with the evil woman.

Keeping to the shadows, Cat flew silently along the corridor to the gallery. Could she catch the person signaling? Her heart pounded as she rounded the corner, the vast gallery in shadow, and stopped. The few lit sconces showed…no one. Damn. But that made sense. Why would someone go to the gardens to be signaled to come inside when it was so cold? No, the meeting must be outside.

Cat hurried toward the steps that led down to the back doors into the gardens. She would just take a walk outside to get some fresh air. Being a country lass, she missed the open air, and she wasn’t a prisoner here, at least not yet. She kept to the shadows, using light, quick steps to keep her boots silent when she stepped off the scattered rugs and onto the wooden floor.

Down the steps, she raced as lightly as possible, the gentle tapping of her boots the only sound. Guards would surely patrol the doors, so she peeked out before opening one fully. No one. Could they have been sent away by someone powerful? Blast. Her mind was running dark and suspicious.

She kept her cloak wrapped closely around her and ran on the balls of her feet to minimize the crunch of gravel. Maybe she should just change directions and run for Stella in the stables. Nay. She might be rash and headstrong, but she wasn’t foolish enough to run away by herself, trying to journey alone up to Scotland after picking up her kitten at Hollings.

Crouching low, she ran down one bricked path in the general direction of where she thought she’d seen the light. She would circle behind and keep low to the flowerless rose bushes and hedges of holly. If no one was near, she’d simply slip back inside and up to her room. But if traitors were planning, perhaps she could redeem the name of the Highland Roses School. The thought of ruining all that Evelyn and Scarlet had started, on top of the disaster of Nathaniel’s betrayal, was too much to bear. Damn. How had she let these people mean so much to her? How could she have let herself fall in love?

The chill in the winter air helped cool her flush. Cat moved slowly, bent closer to the ground, and concentrated on setting her feet down soundlessly.

A gasp came from a spot off to the left where a thick hedgerow blocked the path. “Lord Hunt? Why are you here, too?” It was a woman’s voice. Cat paused, straining to hear.

“Two will give you more pleasure than one.”

“But…Wallace, Lord Danby…I thought to meet you…alone.”

The words were terrible enough, but it was the woman’s tone that made Cat’s head snap around to stare in their direction. For the pitch held panic, suppressed, as if the woman was trying to figure out a way to escape without letting on that she was desperate for help. Cat had experienced the horrific trembling of the heart herself, as she hid up in trees to escape the English bastard who had stalked her months ago. And she wouldn’t leave a woman to suffer such a fate. Cat turned in their direction, walking as silently as she could. Discovering traitors would have to wait.

“Wallace, pull him off me,” the woman said, the pitch of her voice higher.

“Blast it, Lu, you are too much of a tease for your own good. Don’t do anything permanent to her, Hunt. But darling, if you are going to meet a man out in the dark, you need to come with an understanding.”

Cat peered through the bushes at the three figures, illuminated by lantern light. Wallace Danby glanced up to the windows of Whitehall, and Cat saw another lantern light from a different part of the palace away from the gallery. “Damn, we best hurry,” he said, making Hunt grab the edge of Lucy’s petticoat, tossing it up as he held her with one meaty arm.

Cat stepped out from around the hedgerow, her legs braced, ready to strike. “And what understanding must a lady have?” she asked, and Matthew Hunt lifted his slack face from where he’d been sucking on the exposed skin of Lucy Kellington’s neck.

Wallace Danby pivoted toward her, the moonlight revealing surprise across his face. “Lady Campbell. I would have thought you writhing with passion under Worthington at this hour.”

She took two steps forward. “What understanding must a lady have when meeting a man at night?” she repeated. She kept Danby before her but glanced toward Matthew Hunt who held Lucy around the waist, his paw grabbed onto one of Lucy’s breasts as he stood behind her. Fear shone brightly in the woman’s face, illuminated by a lantern set on the gravel.

Danby walked closer to Cat. “If a lady is foolish enough to meet a man in the dark alone, then she must be willing to accept the consequences.”

“I thought we would walk the gardens and spy a star or two,” Lucy cried. “That you would not bring another to…to touch me.” She stood there while the other man slid his hands up and down her. She didn’t even try to fight back, but loathing pinched her face as she closed her eyes.

Cat let her cloak fall off her shoulders. “Back away from the lady,” she said.

Matthew Hunt paused to try to focus on Cat. He looked drunk. “Be…gone, woman,” he slurred.

“Ho now,” Danby said, walking closer to Cat, his gaze raking down her fitted costume. “What is this?” He reached forward, capturing her wrist. “Perhaps you need a lesson too, Lady Campbell, since your protector is not hovering. Your curves are quite lovely.” He pulled her closer with the manacle around her wrist and looked down into her face. “I wager I can make you moan even louder than Worthington.”

All the turmoil that had been churning inside Cat over her seemingly constant mistakes and embarrassment mixed with her fury over Lucy’s attack and Danby’s words. Her eyes narrowed as a dark smile crept along her mouth, fierce enough to make the Baron pause in his threats.

“If ye care to keep your cock, it best stay very far from me and Lady Kellington,” she said, and the other man laughed. “Let go of me and get that bastard off her. Or I will.”

“God’s teeth, Worthington must have his hands full with you,” Danby said without releasing her. His smile sharpened into a dark frown as he touched what looked like a swollen jaw. He tugged her closer. “Be sure to tell him how I taught you to hold your tongue.”

Fury, like fire, roared through Cat’s ears, feeding into her muscles. Just like her many practice sessions at the school, she twisted and jerked her wrist, yanking it out of Danby’s steely grip. Surprised, but quick, he lunged forward to grab her waist. Her hands dropped hard on his shoulders, her fingernails curling in, though he’d not feel it under his padded jerkin. It gave her an anchor as she stepped into him, the muscles of her leg shooting upward to jam her knee into his ballocks.

The scoundrel doubled over with a deep grunt, but still had enough thought to grab toward her leg. With a quick punch with the heel of her hand, Cat caught his nose, jamming it with the distinctive sound of a break. Baron Wallace Danby slammed onto the ground, one hand grabbing between his legs and the other cupped around his nose as blood flowed freely from it.

“Lady Campbell,” Lucy called, just as thick arms clenched tightly around Cat’s stomach, picking her off the ground.

“You damn bitch,” Hunt said, spitting the curse into her ear.

As he dropped her to the ground, Cat aimed her booted heel directly down on the man’s foot. It wasn’t enough to win her freedom, but it gave him pause. Kicking like an angry mule, she slammed her foot into his knee, bending it backward. He cried out, his arms loosening enough for her to yank her hair spike out. She stabbed it into the back of his forearm at her stomach, feeling the sharp point cut through his clothing and into his flesh.

He sucked in a curse, the fingers of his good hand grabbing the twisted braid of her hair that had come loose without the spike. But she dropped into a half crouch, ignoring the pain along her scalp, and swiveled to leap upward, her curled fist jabbing right into the bastard’s nose. Pain erupted along her knuckles, but there was no time to notice as she stepped into the howling man, her knee thrusting upward between his legs. As he fell, Cat spun around to find Lucy standing there, hands to her mouth, eyes as wide as the queen’s tea saucers. Striding past the two moaning men, she caught Lucy’s hand, tugging her along the moonlit path toward the palace. “Come away,” she said in a hushed voice. They ran toward the doors where Cat had left the castle.

“But what…what are you doing out here?” Lucy asked, her words breathless.

“Shhh.” She tugged her up next to the door and placed her hands heavy on the woman’s trembling shoulders. She looked right in her eyes. “I need to go back out there. I think traitors might be meeting in the garden.”

“Traitors?” she whispered, glancing over Cat’s shoulder. “Could Lord Danby be a traitor?”

“He apparently rapes women, so I am certain plotting the king’s assassination isn’t below his moral standards,” Cat said. She rested her palm on Lucy’s face. “I am sorry, Lady Kellington.”

Tears welled out of the woman’s eyes. “I was so stupid to believe—”

Cat shook her head. “This is their crime, not yours.” She looked over her shoulder and then back at the frightened woman. “Can ye make it to your room on your own? Or better yet, go to Lady Wickley if she is your friend. Lock the door and do not let anyone in. Can ye do that?”

Lucy nodded, wiping away the tears flowing down her cheeks. “How did you do all of that? Making them fall?”

Cat squeezed her hand in the dark. “I am a Highland Rose.” At least she still had that, for now anyway. “I have been trained to protect myself and those who cannot. Go on.” She opened the door for the woman and watched her run inside and down the hall before turning back to sprint off into the darkness.

…

“Dr. Witherspoon has always been a loyal man,” King James said to Nathaniel, his voice hushed as the two of them strode quietly through the dark gardens.

“I saw him leaving the herbalist’s tent, the same woman that signaled to Lady Campbell that Lady Stanton had bought Wolfsbane from her,” Nathaniel said. Word of everything Cat had said in the salon had reached the king’s ears within moments.

“Lady Campbell…” The king glanced to Nathaniel. “Brash and temperamental.”

“And honest above all else,” Nathaniel added.

They walked softly behind a thick hedgerow toward the place that Nathaniel had spotted a signal light from his bedroom window. He’d spent the evening trying to decide whether to visit Cat or give her space and sleep. There’d been no sleep for himself, and when he’d spotted the light, he’d walked toward the doors to the gardens. The guards had deserted their posts, and he’d turned to head to James himself to ensure the king’s safety.

“Why did you not mention the Wolfsbane when we spoke earlier?” James asked, frowning.

“A mistake perhaps.” Their boots hardly crunched as they walked, their voices as low as a whisper. “Lady Campbell and I were tasked with investigating the possibility of Charles’s assassination. I did not want to cause false rumors to lead to innocents being suspected of treason.”

The night wrapped a dark shroud about them, the clouds thick overhead. The king had demanded to come with Nathaniel into the garden to catch any conspirators.

“Lady Campbell’s unorthodox and rash words have caused the court to erupt in rumors,” James said.

“Her words tonight were not thought out, despite their truthfulness,” Nathaniel replied. “Lady Stanton also revealed more than you desired with regards to the political and religious uprisings in Scotland.”

James nodded, his face grim. “It seems you could have told your lady about the strife at Boswell Bridge from the start.”

He walked next to the king damning himself for ever keeping the misguided oath.

James looked at him, cocking his brow. “So, you ruined all other men for her then?” Nathaniel didn’t respond. “And my press to have you wed Stanton’s daughter is not going to sway you toward her, is it?”

“No, your majesty,” Nathaniel said, meeting the man’s gaze.

“It will be Lady Campbell or no one?” the king asked, looking forward and not waiting for an answer. “A shame she thinks you killed her father. She does not seem the forgiving type.” They fell silent, the careful placement of their boots the only sound as they walked through the labyrinth of winter rose beds.

Nathaniel wasn’t about to discuss Cat with the king. He didn’t even know if she’d ever speak to him again, but it was true that he wouldn’t wed Esther Stanton, even if she wasn’t plotting against the crown. He’d realized it from the moment a fiery haired lass had shown him how clever, tenacious, and brave a woman could be.

Part of him wanted to wrap her up and ride them both up to the cabin in Scotland, keeping her there until she softened to his apology. He may have no experience in wooing or making amends, but he did know that one couldn’t force another to accept an apology or…fall in love.

Love? He’d thought it a myth, despite watching his two sisters wed for it. Was this pain that hammered his chest the consequence of unrequited love? Damn it all. Would he start writing poetry and stare out windows with a forlorn expression? No. Even if he couldn’t make Cat love him, tomorrow he’d make her talk to him, listen to him. Although he still didn’t know what he’d say.

Nathaniel lifted his hand to halt the king and pointed to a thick length of hedgerows. “If I was meeting at night, it would give good cover,” he whispered, and they advanced quietly. Stepping around the holly bushes, the light from Nathaniel’s lantern caught the glint of something in the gravel. He walked toward it and bent to pick up…a twisted piece of steel with blood on it. He stared at the oddly-shaped rose at the top. “Cat’s,” he whispered, his gaze scanning the ground to stop on a dark smear along the scuffed dirt. “Blood,” he said and looked at the king.

James held a cape in his hand, shaking the dirt from it. “Left behind after a struggle?”

Nathaniel reached him in two strides, grabbing the soft cloak to bring to his nose, inhaling the fresh rose scent that always lingered on Cat. “It belongs to Lady Campbell.”

The king nodded to a second area with smears of crimson. “For your sake, I hope that does not also belong to her.”

Nathaniel’s fingers curled inward on the cape, his blood raging. If anyone harmed Cat, they would die. His cold stare met the king’s. “I have to find her.”

The king’s eyes widened. “You would abandon me here in the gardens to find Lady Campbell? Now?”

Nathaniel wasn’t taking the time to explain something to James that he didn’t fully grasp himself. But yes. “You should return to the castle, your majesty.”

The hint of rapid footsteps made Nathaniel turn, his sword sliding out of its sheath.

“Nathaniel?” Cat halted just around the hedgerow. “I…I came to collect my cape.”

They stood across from each other, unmoving, staring, as Nathaniel’s heart pounded with his need to grab hold of her.

“There now,” James said, a frown heavy in his voice. He threw his arm out toward her. “No need to commit treason by abandoning your king. Your lady is well and curiously out here in the gardens at night. In trousers.”

“Are you bleeding?” Nathaniel asked.

“Commit treason?” Cat asked.

The king looked between them with an impatient frown. “There is blood on the ground, and my brother’s best lieutenant was about to leave me unprotected to find you.”

Her lips opened and closed, and then she looked at her hand where Nathaniel could see the dark shadows of dried blood. “Most of it belongs to Lord Danby and Lord Hunt,” she said. “Two foking bastards who I found assaulting a woman here.”

“Bloody hell,” Nathaniel said, closing the distance between them. He lifted her hand to the low lantern light. “They are dead men.”

She met his gaze. “Dead? Perhaps later since they seemed to have dragged themselves off,” she said, purposely misunderstanding.

James cleared his throat behind them. “If this interlude could finish, we have traitors to catch, which once again brings me to the question of why Lady Campbell is out here,” he said, his final words coming with force.

Cat looked past Nathaniel, pulling her hand back. “Someone was signaling from the garden with a lantern. I saw a return signal from the gallery, but found no one there, so I came outside to investigate.”

“By yourself,” Nathaniel said low with a small shake of his head, his face grim. He handed back her hair spike.

“Ye don’t trust in my abilities,” she said, returning his frown and leaned down to wipe the blood from it in a patch of snow.

James spread his hand wide. “She can apparently take care of herself. Now let us off,” he added, picking up the lantern. “I command it.”

Cat straightened, shoving her hair stick back into her hair at the top of her braid. She moved forward to follow the king. “You, Lady Campbell, may return to your chambers,” James said.

Her chin tilted higher. “My task in coming to Whitehall is to discover traitors, your majesty.”

James shook his head and strode off down a path. “Headstrong,” he murmured like a curse.

With a glance to Nathaniel and then away, Cat stalked off after the king, her steps almost silent. He watched her long braid swinging across her back in the light of the moon that filtered down through the thinning clouds. Damn it all. She would never forgive him for not telling her sooner about his stint in the army and that blasted battle. Nathaniel forced his gaze away from her to scan the bushes on either side of them as they walked.

James led them around the back of a labyrinth of holly bushes and held up one arm to signal a halt, his old military training rising to the front. “Let us show the beacon now,” he said, uncovering the globed candle that he’d been carrying. The night breeze couldn’t reach the bright flame through the glass, though it whistled around them. Nathaniel moved past Cat to take the candle, holding it high for a few seconds, hid it, then lifted it again. Dark and then light, he repeated the signal several times. There was no way to know that the traitor was even watching.

“Keep your gaze on the palace, sire,” he said.

“There,” the king whispered. “To the right, above the gallery.” A candle shone in the window. Nathaniel waited for it to go dark and then held his candle up again and then hid it. The candle in the window showed again and went dark.

“Now to wait,” he said, setting the light on a low bench. He heard James slide his blade free. The king had been in many battles when he joined the French and then Spanish armies before his brother recalled him to stay in Edinburgh. The monarch seemed determined to fight his own battle in the gardens of Whitehall.

“There may already be traitors in the garden,” Cat said, her voice a whisper beside them, and they ducked back behind the holly to wait.

Nathaniel stood beside her and felt the brush of her arm. Her hand needed tending, and he had some business to finish with Danby and Hunt. Perhaps they would show up tonight, giving him the perfect reason to finish what they’d started when they threatened her.

Several minutes passed as Nathaniel tried to keep his senses outward and not focused on the warm woman beside him. He scanned the darkness for movement as footsteps crunched along the path toward them, hurrying closer. He could tell it was a man by the heavy gait.

From the other direction another set of steps crunched on the path, a lighter tread. Just as they reached the beacon, Nathaniel heard a third set of steps striding toward the center.

“What is going on?” a woman’s voice asked. He peeked past the spiked holly leaves to see Esther Stanton talking with Dr. Witherspoon. “Why did you move from the usual meeting place? Did Danby not get rid of the guards?” she asked, glancing around behind her.

“I saw your signal over here,” the doctor answered, turning toward the sound of the oncoming man.

“Danby,” Witherspoon said. “Who raised the signal over here?”

Wallace Danby dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, switching hands to pull his sword. “I did not,” Danby said. “Perhaps you saw Hunt’s light out here.”

Nathaniel glanced at Cat. She’d fought off Danby and his brutish friend. What if she hadn’t been trained? What if they’d had a musket or anticipated her fighting techniques? His hand fisted tightly around the hilt of his short sword.

He signaled to James and Cat to stay low as a fourth person hurried toward them from behind Lady Stanton. Iain Padley, the duchess’s man, halted, his breath coming in pants. “I could not find you, until you signaled again.” The other three turned to look at Iain.

Esther waved off the comment and looked to the doctor. “Must I take matters into my own hands again to get rid of that woman?”

“I sent a tonic,” Dr. Witherspoon said.

“Obviously she did not drink it,” Danby said, nursing his nose. “She broke my nose here in the gardens, and Hunt is not even able to stand.”

“She attacked you? When?” Iain asked, looking around, but the three of them remained still behind the holly, the lantern hidden by Nathaniel’s cloak.

Danby ran a hand through his hair and looked around as if Cat might jump out at him. Nathaniel turned to see her face in the moonlight. She was only too ready to finish her fight with the bastard. “Less than an hour ago,” Danby said.

“What was she doing in the garden?” Iain asked.

Danby shrugged. “I did not have a chance to question her. She was saving that ninny, Lady Kellington.”

“Saving her?” Esther asked, glaring at him. “You were only supposed to have a sweet tryst with her as an excuse to bribe the guards away from that door.” She paced. “Now Lady Campbell knows you were out here.” She glanced up at the imposing structure of Whitehall. “She must have seen the signal. She could still be running around out here.”

“Then we must disperse,” Witherspoon said. “I have made enough of the tainted drink for another dose, but it is for the queen, unless you would rather I have one of my servants add it to Lady Campbell’s tea.”

Danby shoved his fingers through his tousled hair. “I also want Lady Campbell to suffer, but it is far more urgent to make sure the queen does not birth a living heir. Then we can take our time convincing William of Orange to seize the throne.”

Hell and damnation. They were traitors, all four of them. How many more were there at Whitehall?

Without any indication, James surged upward, his sword brandished. “You have been caught. Traitors, one and all.”