Her Majesty My Love - eBook - Final Read online

  After assuring herself that the woman was going to help her, Isabella returned to her horse and tied the boots to the saddle. Pulling her hat lower over her eyes, she leaned against the horse’s warmth and waited for the woman to return with the things she’d asked for. Her position allowed her to observe the dusty street for anything of alarm.

  About a half hour later, the woman scurried down the street, a grizzled older man with her. He carried a large burlap sack, and the woman had two wrapped parcels secured with thin rope.

  “Here you go, miss. Everything you asked for. Henry here will help you get it all tied to your horse.”

  While the man Isabella assumed was the woman’s husband busied himself with the supplies, the woman thrust a warm sandwich into her hands. “I thought you could use this,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Isabella said with a smile.

  She took the sandwich as the man stepped away from the horse. Looking back at the woman, she said, “I trust that you will keep everything in confidence? If anyone asks after me, I would appreciate it if you would say you have never seen me.”

  “Indeed not!” the woman exclaimed. “Me and Henry are leaving just as soon as we can pack our things. What with the ring you gave us, we can start a new life away from this place.” Her eyes shone with excitement, and she clasped her hands in front of her in glee.

  Isabella turned to mount her horse, but the woman put out a hand. “Here is the money you asked for.” She dug into her skirts and pulled out a small coin purse. “I didn’t have quite as much as you asked for, but I scraped together all I had.”

  Isabella accepted the purse gratefully. “Thank you, madam. I appreciate your help.”

  She swung up into the saddle and quickly turned her horse out of the village. Merrick would worry if she didn’t return soon, and the last thing she wanted was him charging into town after her.

  As she reached the spot she had left Merrick, he limped up to her horse and helped her dismount. “What took you so long?” he demanded. His voice held a hint of irritation in it, but she could see the relief on his face that she had returned safely.

  She untied the boots from behind the sack and handed them to him. “We should build a fire so you may warm your feet.”

  He shook his head and bent down to pull on the boots. “We don’t want to draw any notice, and now that you’ve been seen in the village, we need to put as much distance between us and the town as possible.”

  “I purchased food, two knives, ammunition for the pistol and a change of clothing for both of us,” she said, gesturing toward the bag. She drew out the coin purse and tossed it to him. “Hopefully it is enough to hire a ship.”

  He nodded approvingly and pulled the bag down to survey the contents. He pocketed one of the daggers and handed one to her. “Keep this on you,” he advised. “We might have need of it.”

  He took the pistol and tucked it in his breeches then tied the ammunition pouch to his belt.

  Isabella held out half the sandwich the woman had given her in town. “Here, eat this.”

  He accepted the sandwich and quickly wolfed it down. “You ready?” he asked as he secured their supplies back on the horse.

  She nodded and he quickly lifted her up into the saddle.

  Seconds later, they urged their horses to a trot and melted into the trees leading further west.

  “If we press on, we can reach Dover by tonight,” he said after several minutes. “We will stop and rest the horses twice more and hope they can last the remainder of the trip. We can trade them in Dover for food or more supplies.”

  Isabella wiggled her toe in her boot, feeling the map at the end. Though she regretted the loss of her signet ring, she knew it had aided her return to Leaudor.

  As the afternoon stretched on, she grew wearier in the saddle. Her muscles ached from the day before, and the insides of her legs were chafed and raw.

  When they stopped to allow the horses to drink and rest, her relief was great. But all too soon, Merrick urged her back on her horse, and she settled gingerly into the saddle.

  By the second time they rested the horses, Isabella feared she would be unable to remount at all. Her legs felt numb from her waist to her toes and they shook discernibly. As she stood staring at the saddle, she felt sick to her stomach. Her fatigue had seeped into every crevice of her body, and she could not go on. Not another mile.

  Warm hands curled around her shoulders, and she moaned aloud as they began massaging the stiff muscles in her neck. Tears pricked her eyelids, her weariness making speaking impossible.

  “We must go on,” Merrick murmured behind her. His tone carried a great deal of sympathy.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the effort.

  Suddenly she was lifted up in his strong arms. He placed her gently into the saddle but still every muscle in her body screamed in protest. She bit her lip, unwilling to make more of a ninny out of herself than she already had.

  As Merrick took out ahead of her, she nudged her horse forward, tears slipping down her cheeks as the rocking motion tortured parts of her body she daren’t speak of.

  Dover couldn’t come too soon.

  It was past midnight when they reached the outskirts of the harbor town. They were a sorry couple, their horses plodding along, the two of them slumped in the saddles.

  Merrick looked back at her and motioned for her to draw abreast of him. She complied and looked over expectantly at him.

  “We’ll stop off at the inn. You can go to a room while I poke around and see what I can find out about possible passage to Leaudor.”

  In her current state, she didn’t so much as utter a single protest. If he wanted to forego sleep, she wasn’t going to argue. Neither would she insist on accompanying him. A lot of help she would be to him anyway in her near state of unconsciousness.

  She nodded her head, unable to even voice her agreement.

  “One other thing,” he said somewhat reluctantly. “I think it best if we pose as husband and wife. We don’t want to draw any unwanted attention or raise any eyebrows. We can only hope your attire is overlooked.”

  Again she nodded.

  “It will mean we share a room,” he said after a pause. “And a cabin on the ship.”

  That awakened her.

  How could she possibly share a room with a man who made her have crazy thoughts? Shameless longings, and even worse, vivid images of precisely what she would like to do to him. In exacting detail.

  She closed her eyes briefly, trying to rein in her untoward thoughts. If he could approach the situation with such calm fortitude, then certainly she could as well. She didn’t see him reacting ridiculously to the arrangement.

  “Good thinking,” she finally choked out.

  Never before had she been so grateful for the cover of darkness. Her cheeks were aflame, and she likely resembled the boiled lobster that was her favorite meal.

  When they approached the inn, she saw an adjacent tavern, still very well lit for the hour. Through the large window, she saw a dozen or so patrons hunkered around small tables, mugs of ale gripped in their hands. Raucous laughter filtered out onto the street, and a series of catcalls echoed as the barmaid sauntered through the carelessly laid out tables.

  A scruffily dressed boy hurried up to take their horses around to the stable. Isabella was careful to take her meager supplies from the horse before allowing it to be led away. Merrick ushered her into the inn where they were greeted by a sleepy-looking older man.

  “We’d like a room,” Merrick said, again adopting a plainer accent.

  The man nodded and shuffled behind the counter. He handed over a key and eyed them balefully. Realizing he was expecting payment, Isabella dug for the coin purse the woman had given her and shoved it at Merrick.

  He counted out the amount and tucked a few coins back into the purse. Then he turned and gestured for Isabella to follow him.

  When th
ey were safely ensconced in the room, he set the sack containing their food on the bed and turned to her. “I am going over to the tavern to see what I can find out. You rest.”

  Indecision rocked her. She looked longingly at the bed, but pondered the wisdom of allowing Merrick to go to the tavern alone.

  “Isabella,” he said firmly. “The tavern is no place for a woman. You would only be a distraction. I can find the information we need much quicker if you remain behind.”

  She nodded, knowing he was right. And the bed did look rather inviting. And warm.

  “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  He let himself out of the door leaving her alone in the room. Isabella moved over to the small fire that had obviously been lit minutes before. She undressed quickly, careful to keep the map next to her.

  After warming herself by the fire, she crawled beneath the covers and sank gratefully into the softness. As her eyelids grew heavier, she briefly wondered where Merrick would sleep.

  “Oh, Mother, it’s wonderful.”

  “Do you really like it, dearest?”

  Isabella gazed at the painting with rapt attention. “Oh, yes, it’s ever so wonderful. I wish I could paint like you. Davide is so talented, but there is nothing I can do.”

  Queen Marie-Claire hugged her ten-year-old daughter to her. “Heavens, Isabella. Wherever did you get an idea like that? Why, you can ride, and shoot, and fence. I imagine there are any number of other things your father has made sure you learned that I don’t approve of.” Her eyes twinkled merrily as she smoothed Isabella’s hair from her face.

  “But I want to be like you,” she said softly. “You are so beautiful.” She glanced down at her muddied skirts and fidgeted uncomfortably.

  Gentle hands pushed her chin back up so that she looked directly at her mother. “My precious daughter. There is no one more beautiful than you. You embrace life with such tenacity. It is a joy just to watch you grow. One day, my dear, you are going to do truly splendid things. I just know it.”

  She smiled at Isabella then pressed a kiss to the top of her unruly hair. “Now run along, I want to finish our family portrait so I can present it to your father for his birthday.”

  Isabella threw herself in her mother’s arms and hugged her tightly. Surely there was nothing better than a mother’s embrace. She sighed and breathed deeply of her mother’s comforting scent.

  As she drew away, she glanced over at the easel again and smiled. Her mother had painted Isabella in her father’s arms, her two brothers standing proudly on either side. A space remained between her father and Davide. All that was left was for her mother to add herself into the portrait.

  “Think your father will like it?” her mother asked, tussling Isabella’s hair.

  “He will love it! Mother, will you paint one exactly like it for my birthday?”

  “If you wish it, my darling. If you wish it.”

  Isabella awoke, her cheeks damp with tears. The dream had been so real, so vivid. She could still feel her mother’s arms around her, smell the faint scent of lilacs.

  She sat up, burying her face in her hands. Sobs racked her body as she wept openly. Raw pain twisted in her chest like a hot knife had been plunged within. How she missed her mother.

  She rocked back and forth, grasping her knees and pulling them tightly to her chest. Laying her head on her knees, she closed her eyes as more tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks.

  She hadn’t even been able to attend her parents’ funerals, or Stephane’s. Didn’t even know if they received one fitting of their station, or if they had been discarded like yesterday’s rubbish. The thought agonized her. Their bodies should have lain in state for weeks while the country mourned and paid homage to the beloved king and queen.

  It didn’t seem fair that only she had survived. She was ill-fitted to serve her country as queen. She hadn’t the patience or gentle spirit of her mother or the wisdom and intelligence of her father. She was far too headstrong and willful to ever step into her father’s shoes.

  Stephane had been groomed to ascend the throne. Even Davide had been charged with learning the rigid responsibilities and protocols. But Isabella had been left largely to her own devices, spoiled shamelessly by her father and indulged by her brothers. Loved beyond measure by her mother.

  Her head came up, and she stared into the dying fire. She would not fail them. With her dying breath, she would not shame them. And they would all be avenged.

  Simon walked down the hallway and paused outside the door of his and Isabella’s room. Quietly, so as not to disturb her, he turned the knob and let himself in.

  To his surprise she was sitting up in bed, softly illuminated by the last vestiges of the fire. She turned to look at him as he closed the door behind him and the anguish in her eyes robbed him of breath.

  He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private moment, but at the same time, he felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort her.

  She turned away, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. He found himself closing the distance between them, and he sat down on the bed beside her. A long silence ensued, and finally, he looked up at her. “Want to talk about it?”

  She kept her head turned away, her throat working up and down as she swallowed back sobs. “I dreamt of my mother,” she said shakily.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing there was little he could do to comfort her. Even though he never knew his own mother, there were times when he keenly felt her absence.

  She turned her gaze to him, her eyes bright with tears. Her pain tore raggedly at his heart, making him feel incredibly helpless. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and he reached out a hand without even realizing it, smoothing it over her tear-riddled cheek.

  No force on the earth could stop him from kissing her. Her lips invited him, her eyes implored him. And if he didn’t, he might well explode.

  He lowered his lips slowly to hers. Her swift intake of breath denoted her surprise, but she made no effort to break away. Gently, he brushed his mouth across hers, the brief contact with her lips sending jolts of exquisite satisfaction all the way down his legs.

  Not content with the feather-like kiss, he returned to her lips, this time letting his mouth linger on hers. His tongue moved slowly forward, outlining her full bottom lip. She tasted of heaven and he wanted more.

  She opened herself more fully to him, inviting him further inward. He sucked her lip between his teeth, savoring the feel and taste of her.

  To his surprise, her tongue darted forth to meet his and they tentatively dueled as if each were experiencing their first kiss. And in a lot of ways, it was his first. For never had he kissed any woman in this manner. Tenderly, patiently, slowly.

  He captured her sigh and swallowed it completely. Working his hand around her neck and up into her hair, he deepened his kiss, moving his lips over hers with more urgency. Her hands slipped around his shoulders and gripped him tightly until he felt the imprint of her fingers in his flesh.

  Forgotten were her tears, her sadness, as he lowered her back to the bed, laying her gently upon the covers. His mouth never left hers, their ragged breaths coming in spurts as their lips moved hotly together.

  From the back of his pleasure-induced euphoria came a distinct warning. At first he ignored it, lost in the feel of her, but it became louder and more insistent. He was taking advantage of a woman in her most vulnerable state. A member of royalty, no less.

  With more restraint than he ever thought he possessed, he tore his mouth away from hers and quickly raised himself off of her. He ran a hand through his hair, ashamed to even meet her eyes. When he did, they were alight in confusion…and desire.

  “You mustn’t look at me that way,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot think straight when you look at me thus.”

  She quickly glanced away, but not before he saw hurt reflected in the glimmering pools.

 
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t know what came over me. My actions were unforgivable. You must think me the lowest of baseborn women.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to meet his eyes. “It is I who should be apologizing, Isabella. What I did was disgraceful. I took advantage of you in a most unpardonable manner. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I admit, I do not always think clearly when I am in your presence.”

  A peculiar light glinted in her eyes, and her lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. “Your apology is accepted, my lord. As long as you don’t apologize for kissing me.”

  “It won’t happen again,” he said firmly. It mustn’t happen. Not if he was to keep his wits about him.

  She mumbled something as she rose from the bed, and he had to strain to hear. But surely he hadn’t heard correctly. For it sounded very much like she said, “I sincerely hope you are mistaken.”

  He shook his head. He had gone too long without adequate sleep. His mind was playing tricks on him.

  When she turned to face him again, the Isabella of a few moments ago had disappeared. In her place stood the calm, confident Isabella. The one who could take on the world, not the vulnerable, fragile woman he had held in his arms not three minutes before.

  “What did you learn at the tavern?”

  He turned so that his feet rested on the floor, but he didn’t rise from the bed. “I have the direction of a captain who might be able to help us,” he replied. “He has a ship and has sailed countless times into the North Sea, at least according to the men I spoke to in the tavern. We’ll look him up in the morning.”

  She nodded, an excited gleam to her eyes.

  “Now, I propose we rest,” he suggested.

  She cleared her throat nervously. “There is but one bed.”

  “I will sleep on the floor in front of the fire,” he offered.

  Her cheeks colored prettily, and she glanced away for a moment. Then taking a deep breath, she said, “We slept with one another last night with no mishaps. Surely this is no different?”