Chapter Nineteen

Princess Ekua’s room was in a different tower, closer to the duchess’s quarters. Had she heard what was going on within the palace?

Cat lifted her skirts to hurry up a back stairway she’d seen servants use. She paused at the top as she glanced down the corridor toward Ekua’s bed chamber. Armed men stood outside, the door thrown open.

“She is not inside,” one said, and two more filed within, probably to hunt under the bed and in the clothes press for the poor woman.

Had they already checked with the duchess? Cat pushed off the stone wall, running back down the steps to fly toward the other end of the corridor to climb the main steps to Catherine’s bed chambers.

Thankfully there were no guards near her room at the top of the stairs. Yet. Cat grabbed the doorframe as she flew to it, her knuckles rapping on the door. Tap, tap, tap… She continued until she heard some movement within.

“Who is there?” It sounded like the duchess.

“Cat,” she said, her lips close to the door. “Lady Campbell. Your Grace, it is important I find Princess Ekua.”

A key turned, and the door swung inward. Cat rushed inside to see Catherine fully dressed in black and Ekua dressed in blue silk. The princess clasped her hands before her, a worried frown on her face.

“Why are guards searching for Princess Ekua?” Cat asked as the duchess locked the door.

“Lady Stanton begged to leave this morning in exchange for delivering a name of the person who asked her to buy poison,” Catherine said, her eyes meeting Ekua’s. “She said that Princess Ekua poisoned Charles and has been attempting to poison Queen Mary, to rid her of an heir, and King James.”

Ekua’s lips pursed tight. “What motivation would I have for such a thing?” she asked, her exotic accent rolling across the words, anger making them fiery. “I care not for your England,” she said, looking to Catherine. “I have asked to leave numerous times, before and after my brother left for Scotland.”

“Perhaps not being allowed to leave is the given motive,” Cat said, her heart thumping as she glanced to the door. “We must get ye away from Whitehall.”

The duchess nodded quickly, her gaze going to Ekua. “The Stantons are powerful at court. If James believes her, you are certainly in danger. The fact that James let her leave this morning instead of sending her to the Tower with Dr. Witherspoon and Iain Padley means he must think she speaks the truth.” Pain flashed across the duchess’s face at the mention of her contact.

Cat met her dark eyes. “Ye can’t trust anyone.”

“I never truly have,” Catherine answered in the Portuguese accent that she still spoke with even after all her years in England.

The sound of boots hitting the wood planks of the corridor as men ran past, caused them all to turn to toward the door. “I must change into something less…cumbersome,” Ekua said.

“Of course.” The duchess looked to Cat. “Where will you take her?”

“She must sail home,” she said, looking to the princess. The woman’s dark eyes shone with unshed tears, and she nodded.

“I will find her warm clothes,” Catherine said. “You find Lord Worthington.”

She shook her head, holding back the thought of him. It would only weaken her. “Lord Worthington has been asked to head up the King’s Guard. I will find her safe passage on my own. We will flee to the docks.”

“’Tis too dangerous,” Catherine said. “You must request his help.”

Cat met her stare. “Ye heard I was informed about Nathaniel leading the men at Bothwell Bridge,” she said. “He commanded the men who killed my father.” Her words didn’t have the bite that they had before.

Catherine passed the sign of the cross before her and murmured a prayer. For Cat’s father? Catherine studied her. “You are furious with Lord Worthington for this.”

She didn’t answer but turned to where Ekua had flung open Catherine’s wardrobe in the other room. Cat rushed toward the clothes to help her. The duchess followed. Catherine caught her arm. “Anger makes us do foolish things. It eats one’s soul up.”

She turned to the dethroned queen. “I have dealt with anger. I will keep the princess safe. Alone.”

“You have been angry a long time,” Catherine said softly. “Long before you found out that Lord Worthington followed the orders of his king, unknowingly hurting your family. Lady Campbell… Catriona… With whom are you truly furious?” she whispered.

An ashen face with fixed open eyes flashed into Cat’s mind, and she pushed the memory away. “I am angry with people who kill my family. I am angry with those who keep secrets and plot for their own purposes. I am angry at God and death for taking people too soon. And I am angry at ye for delaying us,” Cat finished with a huff.

Catherine’s brows drew together. “All of that fury is a heavy burden to carry. It weighs on you. Forgiveness is freeing.”

Cat pulled away from her, turning to the press of clothes. “Do ye have trousers for her to wear, under her skirts to stay warm on the ship?” She lifted the hem of her petticoat. “Like these.”

Catherine whisked over to a chest across the room, lifting the inlaid lid to remove some thick hose that were similar to Cat’s training trousers. “These will keep her warm. I had them made after returning from the Highland Roses School.”

She pulled out a little sack and brought it over to Ekua. “And this coin will pay for the passage I should have granted months ago. I too want to go home, to Portugal.” She weighed the pouch in her hands. “As much as I will miss you and your talents for music and company, you must have the freedom I strive to find.” She tucked the sack into Ekua’s hand, wrapping the woman’s fingers around it. “I know how it is to have no power to decide your fate.”

Cat watched the exchange. How could the duchess remain so calm and regal even when she’d been treated terribly? First by a family who’d married her off to a foreign king, second by a people who’d found her accent, customs, and religion suspicious, and then by a husband who’d flaunted mistresses before her throughout their marriage. The woman continued, despite it all, to be serene, strong, and effective.

“Does fury not eat at your soul, your grace?” Cat asked. “The fire that burns inside when you remember those who wronged you, who still wrong you, lying and plotting to further themselves and see you dead or exiled and forgotten?”

Catherine held up another pair of woolen trousers, shaking out the wrinkles. “Não,” she said in Portuguese with a calm shake of her head. She turned to meet Cat’s gaze. “I let anger infest me when I first came to the English court, but when I realized that it did nothing to those who hurt me, I strived to rid myself of it.” She leaned in close as if imparting a secret. “Anger only harms the angry person.” Her brows gathered. “It is best to figure out what or who truly has hurt you, and then forgive them.”

Cat swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. “What if they are dead?” she whispered.

Catherine laid her hand on her arm. “Especially then. There is nothing other than forgiving that can be done, else you spend your life hauling around the burden of hate. A life cannot be joyous under that weight.”

Joyous? Had Cat ever experienced joy? Her breath caught as she remembered the feeling of laying with Nathaniel, the stroke of his hand as he kissed her freckles, the feeling of being safe and cherished. His smile. The warm, light feeling had made Cat feel as if she could fly.

She felt caught in the duchess’s stare, the sincerity in her eyes and tone holding her for several heartbeats until Ekua came up to them, throwing a cloak over her slim shoulders. “I am ready,” she said, and Cat pulled out of Catherine’s light grip. Time was running out.

The duchess ran over to her wardrobe. “Lady Campbell. A cloak for you, too.”

“Thank ye,” she murmured as she threw it around her shoulders.

“Do you know the way to the docks?” Catherine asked.

“I came from them,” Ekua said. “My brother and I.”

“I have a horse,” Cat said. “And I almost know how to ride her.”

…

“Nothing was found in the African princess’s bedchamber,” a guard said to King James. Nathaniel stood in the king’s private salon with the members of James’s soon-to-be reinstated parliament.

Only James’s most faithful guards, the ones who had been with him through his time in Edinburgh, stood near the doors of the room, muskets at the ready.

“And Lady Stanton’s rooms?” Nathaniel asked.

“She is not involved,” her father said, his voice booming.

“Of course she is involved,” Nathaniel said. “Or does she have the habit of meeting conspirators in the gardens at two in the morning for other reasons other than plotting treason? She confessed outright, or was she just acting on your orders, Lord Stanton?”

“Slander,” Lord Stanton yelled.

“Enough,” James yelled even louder. “The traitors will be discovered. Since I allowed your daughter to journey to your country estate after giving the name of the traitor who had her buy poison, for now, Lord Stanton, you will be held at the Tower, although she may join you shortly.”

“Your majesty,” Stanton began, his head bowed. “We are loyal—”

“Highly doubtful,” James cut in.

Stanton’s eyes bulged. “If you would call parliament together, your majesty, and halt the work on the queen’s Catholic chapel inside Whitehall, your people and government will fully support your rule.”

“They will support me regardless, as it is my God-given right to rule,” James said, his voice still loud and his face burning with anger. “My brother allowed you all to stray too far, giving you freedoms that ended up costing him his life.”

Stanton, despite his intrigue and plotting, was right about the need for James to recapture the loyalty of his people, but there was no swaying the furious, sleep-deprived monarch. A battle with him now would only lead to one’s head rolling from one’s shoulders.

“Efforts should be made to secure the queen’s safety,” Nathaniel said, as appropriate to his new appointment as Head of the King’s Guard, although he had not officially accepted the position. “Doctor Witherspoon and Iain Padley have been locked in separate cells at the Tower, far from one another. There will be no opportunity for them to concoct a story together.”

The bodies of the dead guards, Matthew Hunt, and Wallace Danby had been dragged inside and were likely to be beheaded and buried in the traitors’ graveyard, their lands and assets taken by the crown.

“Find Princess Ekua,” James yelled. “I want her taken to the Tower.”

“There is no reason to suspect the princess. There was nothing of consequence found in her chambers,” Nathaniel argued once again, which earned him a brutal glare. “Lady Stanton flung her name out in desperation to be allowed to leave Whitehall.”

James’s fist pounded down on the arm of his throne. “Princess Ekua is known for her mysterious ways, her African religion being very different from the true religion of Christ. The queen’s ladies have found her mixing herbs and teas for the duchess, and if my brother was indeed poisoned, all the likely suspects must be detained and questioned.”

Nathaniel’s gut remained tight. With suspicion swirling about like a hurricane, guilty traitors and non-guilty victims would be thrown together, likely dying by the ax or the noose no matter in which group they truly belonged.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his mind focused on the king rather than striding through the palace to Cat’s chambers to make certain she was unharmed. “I will find the princess,” he said.

James flicked his beringed fingers toward him, and Nathaniel pivoted on his boot heel.

Before the door closed, he heard Lord Stanton. “Lord Worthington and Lady Campbell could be traitors.”

James snorted loudly. “Traitors who tackled and skewered those who wished to shoot me in the garden? Actions show the heart of a man, not words.”

Nathaniel didn’t bother to listen further. At least the king believed them to be faithful to the crown. Although, if the king continued to antagonize the country to civil war, the Worthington family would not be able to stand with him.

He broke into a jog through the halls. Cat might be with the princess, but where would that be? Down the corridor, Nathaniel watched the oil paintings tick by until the one with the unicorn stopped him. Rap, rap, rap. “Cat,” he called but heard nothing. Turning the knob, his gut tightened as he entered. She hadn’t locked her door. A quick glance around and under the bed, showed the room to be empty except for the floral scent that she wore. The sweet spice made his jaw harden with missing her. Where was she?

Running the corridor and up the central staircase barely burned off the energy firing through his blood. He halted before the duchess’s chamber where her late husband’s manservant, John Padley, stood, his face in his hands. As Nathaniel stopped, the old man looked up, worry in his eyes. His son, Iain, had been dragged to the Tower. John straightened, using a large white handkerchief to mop his nose before tucking it back into his trousers. “I had no idea of his plans,” he said. “His treasonous plans.”

Nathaniel set his hand down on the man’s shoulder. “Some say traitor, when in a year’s time, Iain may be viewed as a patriot, fighting for the good of England.”

“Unless he goes quickly to the block.” The man stared hard at him. There was no honest rebuttal that would make him feel better. Sensing this perhaps, the man nodded, and Nathaniel moved past him to the door, knocking. “Duchess,” he called. “Duchess, it is Lord Worthington. Much has occurred.”

The sound of a key turning in the lock made him take a step back, and she opened the door. “Yes, Lord Worthington,” she said, her glance sliding past John, the only other person in the hall. “You may enter to speak to me.”

Shutting the door behind him, Nathaniel gazed about the room, but she seemed to be alone. “I’ve come to find Princess Ekua. Has she been here?”

“Yes, but she has left. With Lady Campbell,” she said, keeping her voice hushed.

“Left? Lady Campbell?” he repeated. His gaze roamed the richly furnished antechamber as if answers were hidden in the shadows.

Catherine’s mouth tightened, and her entire face pinched. “She should have asked you to help her. Two women alone, riding to the docks.” She shook her head. “But she is still angry with you. She feels betrayed, and I fear it will make her act rashly.”

Damn it all! When did Cat Campbell not act rashly?

…

“I have a confession to make to ye,” Cat said, her gaze connecting with the striking African princess whom she was determined to save. The court would demand a guilty traitor, and if Lord Stanton or his daughter could convince King James that Ekua was that traitor, she’d be tortured and killed.

They stood in the shadows of the royal stables. All the guards had been recalled into the palace, abandoning the animals. “A confession?” the princess asked in a whisper.

Cat stroked over the star blaze along Stella’s long nose. The horse whickered softly, and she looked back at Ekua. “Aye. Ye need to know… Before my journey to England, I had never ridden a horse but fleetingly, once. And…I am fairly terrible at it. Although, this sweet mare is Stella, and I am certain she will help us.”

The woman tipped her head as if studying her, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “Your dark secret is that you do not ride.”

“I suppose it is one of several dark secrets, but aye,” she said, and slid into the stall to throw off Stella’s blanket to replace it with the saddle pad. “I thought ye should know before ye put your trust in me.”

Cat turned when Ekua’s hand touched her arm. The woman smiled. “I trust you, Cat Campbell. We are both not of this place or these people.” She looked to Stella. “And I trust my own talents for riding.” She let Stella smell her palm. “She is beautiful.”

“Perhaps ye should guide her then.”

“No, she is yours,” Ekua said and went to help with the heavy saddle. She worked efficiently, tightening the straps and securing the stirrups, and Stella was ready in just a few minutes.

The early sun had given over to clouds, and a dimness shrouded the area, but it wasn’t the same as escaping in the dark of night. Ekua draped a wide scarf over her head and shoulders, hiding her exotic coloring.

She followed Cat as she led Stella along the wall where the grass grew as if she were just taking her horse to nibble there. Charles had been expanding Whitehall before he died, and his project at adding more to the King’s Gate had stalled, leaving several open areas that were only lightly guarded.

“How do we get past those two?” Cat whispered as they spotted two of James’s guards near the closest opening into the streets beyond the castle.

“The child perhaps,” Ekua said and nodded toward a small opening through the wall where a girl waved.

“Mouse,” Cat said, handing Stella’s reins to Ekua so she could hurry over. Cat smiled. “Ye look well.” The child was clean, her cheeks pink, and the clothes that Jane had found for her were wrapped snuggly around her.

Mouse grinned back but then glanced over her shoulder, tipping her head as if beckoning someone. “Come on. She won’t call the guards.”

Cat snorted softly. “Unfortunately, the guards will be more interested in the princess and I than ye.”

“Princess?” Mouse asked, looking past her toward Ekua and Stella.

“Aye. I need to get her to a ship down at the docks, so she can sail back to her kingdom. Can ye help us get past the guards?” She lifted her gaze to a tall, slender boy with thin rounded shoulders who walked up beside Mouse. He hid his face, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes cast downward.

Mouse glanced toward the guards. “Only two? Michael and I can get them to chase us, and you can ride out.”

“Michael?” Cat said, eyeing the boy. Mouse had said Michael watched out for her, but she had bruises. Could the boy be hurting her? “Do ye speak?”

“Say something,” Mouse said, using her elbow to knock Michael’s arm. The boy looked up, meeting Cat’s gaze.

“Well, now,” Cat whispered, taking a moment to notice everything about the boy, who wasn’t a boy at all, but a young woman. But what was startling was her swollen lip that had dried blood along it. “Who cuffed ye?”

“Michael gets hit a lot because she won’t go with the lads who realize she ain’t a boy.”

“My name is Michaela,” the girl said, her voice soft as if she were used to whispering. “I go by Michael because it is a little easier to not be noticed. Mouse says you have a school up in Scotland, for girls.”

Cat glanced behind her where Ekua stood patiently talking to Stella as if it was a normal morning. She looked back to the hopeful two. “Aye, we have a school, and ye are welcome.” Although how she would get them there if Nathaniel wasn’t going to take them, she didn’t know, especially if helping the princess would cast Cat as a traitor. Just the thought of the long journey home, Nathaniel left far behind, made the heaviness in her chest deepen.

Mouse smiled broadly, turning back to her friend. “I told you she would help. Jimmy will not be able to find you way up in Scotland, and the lady says they have food up there and shelter.”

“I can work to pay,” Michaela said. “But I will not…whore.” She shook her head, and a braid slipped out from under her cap. She coiled it quickly, shoving it back up.

“No whoring. I promise,” Cat said. “Ye can work for the school to pay your way. Cooking and such.”

Mouse raised on the balls of her feet and back down. She looked ready to ride off to Scotland immediately.

“But first I have to get the princess on a ship. Can ye help?”

Michaela smiled, and her face lit up to reveal a beauty, despite her lip and the haunted look about her eyes. “When the guards give chase, slip out.”

Cat nodded. “Thank ye. Do not get caught.”

Mouse threw her arm through Michaela’s. “We never get caught.”

“I caught ye,” Cat reminded her.

“We ain’t picking their pockets,” Mouse said as they hurried off.

Cat walked sedately back to Ekua. “Be ready to ride. Our two friends are going to lure the guards away.”

“The Creator is with us,” Ekua said as they led Stella over to a mounting block.

Cat pushed up to carefully throw a leg over, her skirts rucking up. Ekua followed in graceful silence. “Are ye sure ye do not want to lead?” Cat asked as they waited. One of the guards yelled something, and she saw Mouse run around the second guard.

“Now,” Ekua said, and she pressed her legs in, clicking her tongue.

Stella took off, Cat’s eyes wide as they neared the open space that served as entry. She pulled Stella to the right to avoid the one guard who had stopped chasing the girls when he saw the horse barreling down on him.

“Halt!” he yelled, but Cat leaned forward, and Stella sensed that the man’s command meant to take flight, her hooves barely touching the earth as she raced out of the gates and down the cobblestone street. They galloped until the guards’ voices faded, and Cat slowed Stella, so they wouldn’t keep attracting attention from the many London inhabitants. Glancing back, she didn’t see Mouse and her friend.

“They are free,” Ekua said with confidence. “I am certain.”

She would return for them if they didn’t catch up but after she found a ship for the princess.

Cat breathed in the cold. Outside the gates of Whitehall, London felt even more cramped and crowded. The air, though moving, was not what Cat would call fresh, with the tang of human filth wafting in waves of dank breeze that snaked through the closely packed rows of houses. She looked down every street at the multitude of people and carts. Damn. She was completely lost in this city of stench and scoundrels. Wandering downhill, she turned to loop back around toward the Thames, hoping it would lead to the docks that Nathaniel had pointed out at the Frost Fair.

Her chest tightened, making her stomach roll. Should she have found Nathaniel first? Asked him for help? Or would he turn Ekua in to James, because his new position demanded it? Nay. Cat couldn’t imagine Nathaniel handing the princess over while the king still raged, determined to find traitors.

Bloody hell. She didn’t know what to do. Catherine’s words about forgiveness, working with Nathaniel in the gardens last night, and his apology had all taken the sting from his betrayal. Self-forbidden tears pressed in her eyes, and she inhaled deeply. She’d been betrayed her whole life. Love would only hurt her again. Perhaps it was better if she left him here in London to journey home as quickly as she could.