Her Majesty My Love - eBook - Final Read online

  “Yes, Isabella. I will help you,” he said with only a twinge of guilt. Once she was on the throne, it would matter little to her why he had aided her.

  “Then I can bear it,” she whispered.

  The two stared at one another for a long moment, their hands still joined. Finally, Simon pulled away, rising from his perch on the stool.

  “I need you to tell me everything, Isabella. Don’t leave any detail out, no matter how painful it may be. I will help you, but I must know all.”

  She nodded her head in agreement.

  “Then tell me what happened on the day your parents were assassinated.”

  She stood as if unable to bear the confines of the chair any longer. She took in a deep breath and twisted her hands nervously in front of her.

  “Jacques Montagne, Father’s military advisor, summoned my father from breakfast. We always took breakfast together,” she said with a slight smile.

  “I could tell it was urgent. Jacques was not one to interrupt our family meals unless it was of the utmost importance. Davide and I decided to take a walk in the gardens immediately following breakfast, so we left Mother and Stephane in the dining hall. After collecting Davide’s easel, we went outside to enjoy the autumn weather. Davide was going to draw a portrait of me.

  “Maybe an hour later, we went up to my mother’s chamber. Davide was eager to show her his work, and we knew she would be getting dressed for her mid-morning session with the ladies in her court.

  “When we found her chamber empty, we thought to find her in the music room where she routinely held court. On our way there, we were stopped by Jacques, who asked us to come with him. There was a note of urgency in his voice that unsettled me. Davide felt it too. I remember him taking my hand as we rushed after Jacques.”

  Her agitation increased, and she began to wring her hands in earnest. Simon crossed the space separating them and once again took her hands in his.

  “I am here, Isabella. You don’t have to bear this alone. Hold on to me if you must.”

  She gripped his hand almost painfully and continued in a shaky voice. Her pupils were dilated, and her face chalky white.

  “When we reached the throne room, I knew something was amiss. Father’s personal guards were nowhere to be seen. The room was frightfully empty. And then I saw Mother and Father.”

  Her voice broke off and she briefly closed her eyes as if to regain her composure. When she opened them again, all the light was gone, a dull, lifeless barrier covering them.

  “Mother was standing by Father, her back stiff with pride. She would never allow Jacques to see her fear. Two men on either side of them held a sword to their throats. I remember well the last words they ever spoke to me,” she whispered.

  “As they stood there, Father looked at me and Davide with such love and pride in his eyes. He said, ‘I love you, my children. Never forget how proud you have made your mother and me.’ And then the soldiers killed them.”

  A high keening wail escaped her, and she jerked her fingers away from him, covering her face with her hands. “Oh God,” she sobbed. “They killed them right in front of me.”

  She pressed herself into his chest, her hands gripping his forearms. Her sudden movement took him by surprise, and he stood stiffly, unsure of how to react to her embrace.

  She trembled against him, the force of her emotion unsettling to him. He lifted a hand and awkwardly ran it over her hair in an effort to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

  She spoke again, her words muffled by his chest. He tried to pull her away, but she clung to him. He reached down and smoothed the hair from her face, stroking it gently behind her ear.

  An unidentifiable sensation snaked through his chest. A feeling, that if he examined closely, he’d realize he liked. He allowed the strands of her hair to slip from his fingers then made a fist so he wouldn’t be tempted to continue touching her.

  She moved her mouth away from his shirt so he could once again hear. “Jacques laughed. The bastard laughed as my parents died. He then held up a bloody hand—” She broke off again and clenched his shirt in her fists. “My brother’s hand.”

  “Stephane?” Simon murmured.

  She nodded against his chest. “Jacques had presented the hand to my father in an effort to sway him to his cause. When my father refused, he summoned Davide and I, then killed them in front of us. His plan was then to use me to bend Davide to his will.”

  “What did he want?” Simon asked.

  “My guess is the map,” she said softly. “Without the map, even with my entire family gone, he could not assume leadership.”

  “But what of the minister of foreign affairs?”

  She shivered against him. “I do not know, though I suspect Jacques got rid of him before my parents.”

  “What happened after…after he killed your parents?” he prompted gently, wondering how much harder he should push her.

  She went still in his arms again, and he felt her draw in a deep breath.

  “I remember screaming and screaming. Davide was in shock. The next thing I remember is Jacques slapping me and telling me to be silent. He looked at me and smiled. I’ll never forget that smile. He said he had plans for me.

  “Then, he ordered one of the men who had killed my parents to take Davide and me and lock us in the small holding cell in the east wing of the castle.

  “His mistake was only sending one,” she said in disgust. “His arrogance was such that he never imagined needing more than one armed escort.”

  “So that is how you escaped,” Simon mused.

  She nodded. “I waited until we were well away from Jacques. I caught Davide’s eye and prayed he would catch on to what I was trying to convey to him. Then I pretended to fall.

  “When the guard reached down to yank me back up, Davide and I attacked him. Davide was injured in the fray, and so when we overcame the guard, I sent him to safety. I knew I had to retrieve the map.”

  “You are an incredible woman. I cannot credit how you managed to survive.”

  “I had to live,” she said firmly. “Jacques and everyone who supported him must pay for their treachery.”

  “So you retrieved the map. Then what?”

  “I met Davide outside the castle grounds. As children we had spent hours navigating the many passageways, so it was easy to get out. From there we fled to the harbor. There were two ships leaving. One for England. One for America. I begged Davide to take the map and go to England. Seek the regent’s aid. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He opted to stay behind and make it appear as though we had taken the ship to America. I stowed away on the ship leaving for Dover. Davide would remain in Leaudor long enough to be able to board a ship to England undetected. I would wait for him, and together we would go to the regent. But as you know that never happened.”

  She pulled away, her eyes sad and…tired.

  “The entire plan was stupid,” she said dully. “But then we hadn’t the time to think it through properly. We should have both boarded the ship and left for England, taking our chances on British soil. His remaining behind served no purpose but to facilitate his death.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. He quickly pulled them away and let them fall to his side. “It is amazing that you managed to escape at all.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, she moved closer to the fire and gazed aimlessly into the dying embers. When she turned back to him, her eyes burned as brightly as the coals.

  “There is something else you should know.”

  He waited expectantly.

  “A month before my parents were killed, my father was visited by a small contingent of Bonaparte’s supporters. I do not know the purpose of their visit, but Father was very agitated and Mother seemed upset. I barely saw either of them until the men left the palace.”

  Simon’s mind reeled as he absorbed the new information
. Could the visit have had anything to do with the upheaval that followed? A sense of foreboding tightened his chest. He didn’t like the coincidence at all. And if his nagging feeling was correct, the regent had been justified in his concern over the implications the assassinations had on England.

  Now more than ever, he needed to get to the bottom of this whole matter. But he couldn’t be in two places at once. Kirk would have to investigate from England while he took Isabella back to Leaudor. If they were to thwart whatever scheme had been concocted to install a new Leaudorian ruler, Isabella would have to ascend the throne.

  And in order to do that, he had to keep her alive.

  If they were truly after the map she held in her possession, then they were obviously trying to capture her alive. Once they had the map, they would likely dispose of her.

  He and Isabella held the advantage, and somehow he had to make that advantage work in his favor. He had Isabella and the map, the two key components in the future of Leaudor and perhaps England itself.

  “What are you thinking?” Isabella asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  He shook his head and frowned. “I was just trying to plot the best possible course for us to get safely to Leaudor.”

  “Then you do plan to help me,” she said, her eyes brightening.

  “I said I would. I don’t break my word.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “I think it best if you try to get some rest now,” he said. “We will leave at first light.”

  Chapter Eight

  Isabella slept fitfully. Now that she had recounted the horror of her parents’ deaths, the images came alive in her dreams. But she was powerless to wake and stop the barrage of memories that flashed before her.

  Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing would come out. She tried to put out her hands to ward off the attackers, but they were paralyzed at her side. She ran through the corridors of the palace, but her feet were heavy, and she moved in slow motion.

  Then strong arms surrounded her and enclosed her in their safe embrace. A deep voice murmured in her ear, urging her to wake up, that everything was all right. Warmth curled around her, and a comforting scent filled her nostrils.

  Even in her semi-conscious state, she recognized Merrick’s touch. Her cheek rested on his muscled chest, and for a brief moment, she gave herself completely over to the safe haven he offered. Gave her feelings free reign. Allowed herself to contemplate what would happen if she let herself succumb to the desire that had been building within her.

  Tentatively, she snaked her arms around his waist, seeking more of his warmth. His hand gently stroked her hair as he continued to murmur soothingly in her ear.

  All he had to do was be near and she felt safe. For someone who vowed not to rely on anyone, she felt precariously dependent on Merrick for more than just her personal safety. She had, in essence, placed the entire future of her country in his hands.

  Her eyes fluttered open, the last thought eating at the back of her mind. What was she thinking? How could she place her own comfort and desires ahead of her people?

  She looked up to find Merrick staring down at her, the flames from the fireplace illuminating his expression of concern.

  “Are you all right now?”

  She nodded, but made no move to separate herself from him. Slowly, she rested her head back on his chest, her cheek tickled by the smattering of hair at its center. And then she realized. He had no shirt on.

  Pulling away, she glanced down, her eyes drawn to the well-defined muscles across his abdomen, the hardness of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders. She was entwined with a half-naked man, only slightly more dressed herself.

  Quickly she shifted, attempting to put some distance between her and Merrick. He reached out and cupped her chin, his thumb rubbing softly over her cheek.

  “You were having terrible dreams,” he murmured.

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment then dropped his hand away from her face, leaving her oddly disappointed. She twisted around on the makeshift pallet she had fashioned to stare into the fire. Drawing up her knees, she hugged her arms around them, pulling them tightly to her chest.

  Behind her she could hear him pulling on his shirt, then he joined her by the fire. He sat a few feet from her and gazed into the flames. She glanced sideways at him. “Can’t sleep?”

  He shook his head and continued to gaze into the glowing embers that lay scattered in the hearth.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said. “We’ve talked so much about me, and yet, I know nothing about you.”

  He grimaced. “There’s little to tell really. I’ve already explained my role in the English government.”

  “But what about you?” she asked softly. “Do you have family? Anyone that worries when you’re off saving princesses in distress?”

  He cracked a half smile. “No family. No one to worry over me.”

  She frowned, hearing the slight echo of pain in his voice. Or was it disappointment? He was uncomfortable talking about himself, but she was curious about this enigmatic man.

  “What about your mother?” she asked. “I assume your father is dead since you are the earl.”

  His features hardened and his body grew rigid. “She died giving birth to me.”

  Isabella waited for him to speak further, but he remained silent. How awful that he had never known his mother. Perhaps in some ways it had been easier than losing her later in life. No. No matter how much she missed her own mother, how terrible the images of her death, she wouldn’t trade her childhood memories for anything.

  “Did you love your family very much?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

  She gazed at him in surprise. What kind of question was that? Of course she loved her family, else she wouldn’t be here with him now, plotting her way back to Leaudor in order to exact vengeance in their name. Merrick spoke as a man who…

  Realization hit her. A man who hadn’t shared the same kind of love with his family that she had with hers.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “I loved them dearly.”

  “Tell me about them,” he said, a slight edge to his voice.

  She stared at him for a long moment. He seemed eager to hear about her family, yet his voice displayed only a polite interest.

  “Well, let’s see. Stephane was the oldest. He was impatient even as a child. Very serious about his duty as the future king. He had a temper my father despaired of, but he was dedicated to learning everything he could about his impending role.”

  She shifted on the pallet, rested her elbow on her knee then cupped her cheek in her palm. “In a lot of ways, Davide and I were lucky. Our childhood was relaxed, though our parents never encouraged Stephane to be so focused. It was his choice.

  “Davide, I don’t think, was cut out to be king, though he would have been a good one. He was more interested in the ways of the monks. I think he would have given serious thought to joining the monastery.”

  A smile eased the strain on her face. “We were a close family. Even as serious as Stephane was, he always had a smile for me and a quick tussle of my hair. But pleasing Father was everything to him, and something he worked constantly at.”

  Merrick’s face twisted into one of disgust. “What a waste.”

  She lifted a brow, confused by his reaction. “It was Stephane’s choice,” she defended. “Father was very proud of all of us. He never missed an opportunity to demonstrate his pride in us. Stephane merely took it further. He wanted to be the kind of king our father would approve of.”

  Merrick shook his head but said nothing. After a long moment, he glanced up at her, a curious longing in his eyes. “And your mother? What was she like?”

  Isabella caught her breath at the surge of pain that hit her. She offered a shaky smile, determin
ed not to break down again. “She was wonderful. She smelled of sunshine and unconditional love. Her touch, her voice, was the most soothing I have ever experienced. She kept Father, our family, grounded. She was…the fundamental component in all our lives,” she said, struggling for just the right words to convey how very much her mother had meant to all of them. “I don’t know how I shall ever live without her,” she finished in a whisper.

  “I’m sorry,” Merrick said in a low voice. “I didn’t intend to bring back painful memories. It’s just that I never knew my mother. I can’t fathom what it must have been like. My childhood consisted of a nurse and later a bag-faced governess who was overly fond of her ruler.”

  Her heart ached for the little boy buried deep within the embittered man. She knew how fortunate she was to have had the family she’d had. Even for as short a time as it turned out to be.

  “There must be someone you feel close to,” she murmured.

  He smiled sardonically. “Kirk has been like a brother to me. The kind of brother I had always imagined having. Edward, my real brother, wasn’t…bad. I doubt he really gave me much thought. He didn’t hate me. One must be at least acquainted with someone to hate them.”

  “And do you hate him?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I always admired him. Envied him. Longed to be everything he was.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “It’s nearly dawn,” he said, checking his timepiece. He rose, making no effort to continue their conversation.

  She glanced toward the window, seeking confirmation from the dark sky. “I suppose we should be making ready then.”

  He nodded. “I’ve thought of a plan if you would like to hear it.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll go into the village and acquire the horses Kirk arranged for us. There should be supplies for our trip as well.”

  Isabella looked at him in confusion. “How does Kirk know to get us anything at all?”

  A slight smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Kirk and I have worked with each other long enough that we know the other’s move before we make it. I told him of my plan to come here from London. I know without a doubt that he provided for us in the neighboring village.”