Her Majesty My Love - eBook - Final Read online

  “Hold on!” one of the men shouted as they crested a large swell. They rowed frantically, trying to stay ahead of the oncoming wave. Water splashed all around them and drenched the inside of the boat.

  Merrick wrapped his arms tightly around her and braced his feet on the bottom as they swayed precariously. Thick fog hung over them like a suffocating blanket making it impossible to see anything.

  She gasped in shock as another wave blasted over them, the icy cold like a knife blade through her back.

  She watched in horror as one of the men washed overboard when another wave crashed down on them.

  “Take the oar,” the front man barked at Merrick.

  Not hesitating, he scooted over and took up the oar, pulling furiously as they skated closer to shore. Her hands curled around the sides of the boat, and she held on as if her life depended on it. And it did.

  A few yards away, the man came up sputtering and one of his fellow sailors extended an oar to him so he could pull himself back into the boat.

  “We may not make it to shore,” the first mate muttered.

  She glanced behind them and blinked when she saw a monstrous wave looming off the backside of the boat. Her mouth opened to shout warning but no words would come out. Then it fell on her like the weight of a hundred carriages.

  She felt herself being tossed from the boat like a weightless rag doll. Sucked underneath the foaming, furious water, she struggled to break the surface and take a breath.

  Pain racked her as her hip knocked against a boulder. Her head broke free of the water, and she gulped in air before she was dragged underneath once more.

  Then Merrick appeared in front of her, grabbing her, bearing her to the surface. They held their heads above the water, and he immediately started a powerful stroke, holding her against him with one arm.

  Several times she slipped from his grasp only to be hauled up against him once more. She coughed and sputtered as mountains of water spewed from her lungs. But still they continued toward shore.

  Finally she felt the bottom beneath her feet and dug in with her boots. Breaking from Merrick’s grasp, she forced herself toward the beach. She was so cold, she was numb, but she was almost home. The thought gave her the necessary energy to push herself the remaining distance to the shore.

  When the water became only knee-deep, the waves calmed, and she nearly collapsed in her relief. Merrick pulled her up and half carried her the remaining way. But when she got a good look at the shoreline, her heart sank.

  The rocky cliff loomed like a great hulking death sentence. How on earth would they scale it to the top? She glanced down the very small stretch of beach but saw no alternate course.

  “Are you all right?” Merrick asked breathlessly as he struggled to catch up on his air.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, the cold causing her teeth to clash together like two titans bent on destruction. “What happened to the crew?” Fear gripped her and she prayed they were safe.

  “I told them to head back to the ship before I dove in after you,” he said. “I don’t think the boat could have made it ashore.”

  She sighed in relief. “What do we do now? How do we get up this?” she asked gesturing up at the steep cliff.

  “We climb.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” she muttered.

  “But first we have to get warm.”

  “A lovely idea. Now how do you propose we do it?”

  He glanced around, the beach barely illuminated by the half moon. Then he strode toward the base of the cliff and picked up several large pieces of driftwood. He stacked them in a pile at her feet. “Let’s hope they are dry enough and that I can find a suitable stone for striking a spark.”

  She glanced nervously down the narrow stretch of sand, but quickly realized they would be nearly impossible to see except from the sea. The cliff provided perfect privacy to build a fire and dry themselves.

  After several attempts, a small plume of smoke curled from the wood, and he quickly began blowing. Soon a small flame flickered as it began licking at the wood.

  She stretched out her hands over it, desperate for any warmth it provided. Then she remembered the map.

  Frantically, she dug the pouch from her breeches and yanked it open. She gingerly drew out the dampened parchment, praying the ink hadn’t run.

  She spread it out beside the fire and examined it carefully in the dim light. To her relief, it looked no worse for the wear. She picked it up and held it at a safe distance from the fire to dry.

  As the fire chased some of the numbness from her, she began to shake in earnest. Her teeth chattered, shaking her entire jaw in the process. She rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to infuse warmth into her limbs.

  Merrick stepped behind her and wrapped strong arms around her, drawing her against his chest. He held her tightly, and his heat seeped into her, creeping over her body and infiltrating every pore.

  She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, reveling in probably the last intimate moment they would have.

  “We should set out,” he said with regret in his voice. “It will be dawn soon.”

  She pulled away, knowing he was right. She helped him douse the fire and conceal the evidence of it then they turned their attention to the wall of rock before them.

  He hoisted himself up and tested the footholds then motioned for her to follow him up. “We can make it if we go slowly and are careful where we place our feet. It isn’t too steep and there are several rocks to grab onto and step up on.”

  With determination, she followed his path, grasping the cold rocks with her hands and pulling herself up. With each step, she carefully measured the strength of the footholds and prayed she wouldn’t slip.

  Dirt and pebbles rained down on her as Merrick steadily made progress above her. She blew the sand from her mouth and gritted her teeth, trying to keep pace with him. As she climbed higher, she focused all her attention on him, refusing to look down.

  Suddenly a spray of rocks hit her full force in the face. As she sputtered and looked up, she saw Merrick had lost his footing and now dangled precariously just a few feet from her.

  With a loud grunt, he pulled himself back up with his arms and regained his foothold. As they neared the top, the rock became slicker, smoother and offered fewer places to get a good grip.

  Then he disappeared as he threw his leg over the edge and pulled himself the remaining distance. And she made the mistake of looking down.

  The ocean crashing below her spun with dizzying speed. How had she gotten so far from the ground? If she fell now, her death would be certain.

  Sweat beaded her forehead and dampened her palms. Her breathing came in shallow spurts as she fought off the clawing panic at her throat. One hand slipped, and she quickly grabbed at the rock, desperate to hold on.

  She rested her forehead on the rock and closed her eyes, trying to regain control of herself.

  “Isabella,” Merrick called. “You must continue on.” His tone was firm. It brooked no argument, and she knew he could sense her terror.

  She glanced up at him, and he extended his hand out to her.

  “Just a few more feet,” he said. “I’ll pull you up. Just grab my hand.”

  It may as well have been a mile from her. Even as close as she realized his hand was, getting to it seemed impossible. Her feet felt as though they were encased in bricks. She was afraid to let go of the rocks she clung to because her palms were so damp.

  “Isabella, you must move,” he said in a firmer voice. “Do you want the bastards who killed your family to find you here? Make it so easy for them to kill you? Or perhaps you want to do the job for them.”

  A surge of anger shook her, and she pulled her foot up to find another rock to boost herself up with. His hand loomed closer, and she ground her teeth together in abject concentration as she reached out for it.

  One more step. Just one more step.
Her foot slipped and she grabbed hold of the rocks and hoisted herself up again, reaching with her feet for a hold of any kind. Then her hand touched his. He made a grab for it and missed. She flexed her fingers and stretched them out as far as she could.

  His strong hand curled around her wrist, and he pulled her effortlessly up to him. She collapsed on the ground at the top, her heart pounding with the force of a hundred horses’ hooves.

  She gulped in deep breaths of air and sought to steady her nerves.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice just shaky enough for her to realize how frightened for her he had been. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  She shook her head and slowly got up to stand beside him. “Thank you.”

  “Where do we go now?” he asked taking her hand in his.

  She looked around but could make out nothing in the darkness. “If the captain was correct in his calculations, we are just a few miles from the monastery. But I am unsure as to whether we should head north or south.”

  Even as she cursed the darkness, she knew it was their salvation. “Perhaps we should wait until dawn before we set out. Find a safe place to hide. I would hate to lead us in the wrong direction.”

  “All right. Let’s head east,” he said, nodding in that direction. “We’ll find a place to hide and wait it out until dawn.”

  As they plodded forward, a thrill settled into her stomach and bubbled around like a net full of butterflies. She was home. She felt the silly urge to kneel on the ground and run her hands through Leaudorian soil. In the months following her family’s deaths, she had gained a new appreciation for her homeland. And a deep-seated commitment to setting to rights the disaster that had befallen it.

  They found a large hollow tree and huddled against the base, waiting for dawn. After thirty minutes, the eastern sky started to lighten. Isabella studied their surroundings in the dim light, searching for any familiar landmarks. She turned north and scanned the horizon for the signature mountain range that shadowed the monastery.

  A twinge of pride swelled her chest as she caught sight of the peaks jutting upward into the sky. They were truly an awesome sight.

  She then turned south and held her breath as the first rays of sun struck Soleil Mountain. Tears stung her eyes even as she smiled. Though she couldn’t see it from this distance, she knew the palace sat nestled atop the mountain overlooking the village of Bourgis, the most populous town of Leaudor.

  Merrick’s hand on her arm broke her reverie and galvanized her to action. “We head north,” she said firmly. “The monastery isn’t far. We should be there in less than an hour.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  As they topped a grassy hill, the monastery loomed in the distance. Isabella stopped and pointed. “There it is.”

  Simon paused alongside her and took in the impressive structure. No, not impressive, awe-inspiring.

  The huge stone building stood against granite cliffs. Indeed it appeared as if it had been built right into them. It was unlike any structure he had ever seen. Certainly nothing like the English abbeys or monasteries. For that matter, he was fairly certain it didn’t resemble anything French either.

  As if sensing his awe, she smiled. “We have many influences here in Leaudor. And not just French or English. Many of our monks travel from the east to live and serve here. They practice their religion, our national religion.”

  “You don’t practice Christianity?” he asked in surprise.

  A twinkle lit her eye. “Aghast to learn we are a bunch of heathens?”

  “I find it fascinating,” he replied. “I’ve long been interested in the east. When I retire from service, I fully intend to travel to China.”

  There was a long pause, and Isabella knew he was thinking of the other less desirable duties that awaited his retirement.

  “You see why we aren’t taken very seriously among England’s allies,” she said dryly. “We are merely infidels. But it has allowed us to live in peace and harmony for many centuries, unbothered by the chaos that exists around us.”

  As they topped the next hill, he stopped short and put out a hand to Isabella. In front of the monastery gates was a line of people at least half mile long. Carts, people on foot, children, elderly, a vast array of citizens milled about.

  Beside him she uttered an oath.

  “What is going on down there?” he asked.

  “They are in line for a blessing,” she explained. “Every morning the monks grant blessing upon the sick and those in need. I had forgotten. The line grows quite long at times.”

  “I don’t suppose you know another way in,” he said grimly.

  She shook her head. “It’s impossible to access the monastery except through the gates.”

  “Then how do we get through the line without gaining notice? I assume you are a well known face here.”

  A thoughtful expression pinched her face for several long seconds. “How is your Leaudorian accent?” she asked, turning to look at him.

  “It’s passable,” he said mimicking her accent perfectly.

  “Now all we need is a cloak or sheet,” she said, turning away from the direction of the monastery.

  He fell in behind her as they headed toward several small cottages in the distance. “What is your plan?”

  “Two years ago we had a terrible outbreak of influenza. People are still deathly afraid of the word here. I’ll wrap myself in a cloak and cough convincingly, and you can lead me to the front of the line, dropping the word influenza along the way. I assure you, they’ll part like someone cut them with shears.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  At the second cottage, they found linens hung out to dry. She quickly pulled down a sheet and wrapped herself in it, completely hiding her face from view.

  “Remember this cottage,” she told him. “I would repay them for what we have taken.”

  “Let’s hurry,” he urged, taking her elbow and leading her to the main road.

  “Your shirt,” she spoke up.

  “What about it?” he asked looking down.

  “It’s too fine to belong to a villager.” She rushed back to where the clothing hung on the line and quickly tore off a tunic. She thrust it at him. “Put it on.”

  As he did her bidding, she retrieved her knife from her boot and slashed a hole in the right leg of his breeches. Then she reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it into the legs of his pants. Rising back up, she smeared dust onto his cheeks.

  “There,” she said approvingly. “You look more like you just came from the fields.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  They hurried back to the road. As they grew closer to the gates, their pace slowed, and she assumed the stance of a person who was very ill. She leaned heavily on him and coughed as they approached the back of the line.

  Several people stared suspiciously at her as they shuffled past them in line.

  “Influenza,” Simon explained in low tones.

  The looks of horror were instantaneous, and as Isabella had predicted, the line parted instantly giving them a clear path toward the front.

  They were nearly there when the thunder of hooves sounded behind them. The ground shook beneath their feet. His grip tightened on her elbow as he turned to see what the ruckus was about.

  “Make way for Jacques Montagne, future King of Leaudor,” a voice called.

  Isabella stiffened beside him, and when she looked up, hatred burned brightly in her eyes.

  “Not now,” he warned in a low voice.

  Montagne was accompanied by a large entourage of guards, and if Isabella chose now to exact her revenge, it would mean certain death for both of them.

  The man trotted up on his horse, looking from side to side at the people gathered on the road. He was a smallish man, mouse-like in the face with a thin mustache and beady eyes. He appeared to be enjoying the attention he was receiving as he rode ahead of his guards.

>   “Good morning, my good people,” he called out.

  The crowd cheered and reached up their hands to touch him as he passed.

  Simon could tell Isabella was growing more agitated by the minute as Montagne grew closer. He tensed as well when Montagne drew up his horse in front of them and fixed them with a frown.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, pointing at Isabella whose face was still covered by the sheet.

  “Influenza,” Simon said shortly, afraid his accent would give him away if he said more.

  Montagne paled, and he immediately backed his horse several paces. “Good God, get her out of here.”

  On cue, Isabella dissolved into a coughing fit, and Montagne turned away as fast as his horse would allow. He motioned to his men. “We’ll come back later.”

  As they disappeared down the road, Simon all but hauled her the remaining distance to the gate. The people next in line stepped back until they were the only two standing close to the two monks at the entrance.

  Just as the monk standing to the right was about to begin the blessing over Isabella, she let loose the sheet around her face and leaned forward. “It is I, Princess Isabella,” she whispered.

  Before she could say anything further, the monk turned and gestured her inwards. “We have been waiting for you, Your Highness,” he said in a soft, somber voice.

  As Isabella made to follow him, Simon put out a hand. “I don’t like this,” he said, an uneasy feeling sweeping over him. “How did they know you were coming?”

  “They know all,” she said simply. “Come, they will do us no harm.”

  Mystified, he allowed her to lead him inside the gates. Once in, a group of three monks surrounded them and escorted them through a heavy stone door.

  The chamber echoed the sounds of their footsteps and the stones felt cool around them. Torches were lit along the sides of the walls but the ceilings were so high the interior still seemed dimly lit.

  Their bodies cast elongated shadows along the walls as they hurried along the maze of corridors.

  And suddenly the hall opened up into a huge chamber. Simon gazed around in stupefaction at the vastness of the room. The walls exploded upwards seemingly to the sky. Along the top was a walkway with columns, and he could barely make out the tiny outlines of the monks hurrying back and forth. The entire back of the room was fashioned entirely out of the most beautiful stained glass, making the cathedrals of England pale in comparison.